Gen squirmed out of Yancy’s arms. “Now, don’t start.” She chuckled. “Yes, Normandy was a dream. I loved every minute of it.”
“Did you wish we’d had more time in Paris?”
Gen sighed. “I don’t know. The peace of the countryside was so nice. The walks along the beach and the cheese tasting. I loved the farm we visited to see the apple cider process.”
“The Calvados wasn’t bad either.”
“Mmm. I’m glad we’re bringing some home to remember. I hope we get a good price at the shops in the airport.” Gen finished squeezing the last item into her suitcase and zipped it up. “There. All ready. When’s the taxi coming?”
Yancy grabbed both their suitcases. “About five minutes.”
Gen took her arm before she could open the door. Yancy put the bags on the floor again. “Hang on. Our lesbian kiss.” She kissed Yancy and nestled in her arms. “The kiss all lesbians grab before going into public.”
Yancy looked deeply into Gen’s eyes. “I love you so much, my wife.”
“Not as much as I love you, my wife.”
Yancy grinned devilishly. “I thought I was your ‘butchusband.’”
“You goof.”
“Not dork?”
“You know, I don’t really like that name. It’s vulgar slang for penis. Doesn’t quite fit you, darling.”
Yancy’s brows went up. “Geez. I’ll give Roxie hell when we get back. She’s been calling me dork since high school.” They both laughed. “Hey, another kiss. The first one’s worn off by now,” Yancy said.
They kissed again then Yancy picked up their bags. Gen punched the elevator button and they began their journey back to the states.
****
Bobbi finished up her patient at the clinic on this quiet Sunday evening. The sunset came later each day and she was glad not to have to go home in the dark. Just as she rose from her desk at the nurse’s station, her phone went off. Another patient was expected into the clinic within the next ten to fifteen minutes.
She took the opportunity to get another diet drink from the machine and found a piece of cold pizza in the break-room fridge from a birthday party a few days ago. It tasted like cardboard, even after she warmed it in the microwave, but she figured she’d live. At least it staved off the hunger pangs.
The family, a woman in her twenties and her husband, arrived. Stan, the clinic guard who worked on weekends, let them into the building and led the young couple to Bobbi, who took them into an exam room. The wife’s shirt was torn. A bruise bloomed on her cheekbone that dripped with a bloody cut. The husband looked wary.
“Ms. Myers, right?” Bobbi looked at her chart. Bobbi noted she’d been seen in the ER about three weeks ago for stitches.
The young woman nodded, not looking at Bobbi. “Shylah.”
“What happened?”
Before the woman could open her mouth, the husband answered, “She’s pretty clumsy. She fell against the kitchen counter.”
Bobbi began her physical assessment, asking the husband to leave the exam room. She suddenly recognized him as one of the men from the tavern fight.
“I’m not budging. I have a right to be present.” He crossed his arms.
“I don’t care about your rights; I care about making a thorough exam of Ms. Myers, so I ask you again, please leave so I can do my work.” Bobbi straightened up and stood between the woman on the exam table and her husband.
Wes eyed his wife, then turned and left.
“Now,” Bobbi said, quietly to her, “tell me what happened.”
“Just like he said, I guess I’m pretty clumsy. I fell against the kitchen counter this afternoon.”
“What were you doing in the kitchen?” Bobbi needed this young woman to open up and trust her.
“Getting Wes a beer. He watches sports all day on Sunday. I try to keep out of his way, but I couldn’t get the beer fast enough. I tripped on the rug.”
Bobbi sighed at the recalcitrant Shylah sticking to her story of tripping on a rug. “Is Wes right handed?” Bobbi noted that the bruise was on Shylah’s left cheek.
“What? Yeah, he’s right handed.”
“Shylah, you need to be straight with me. Did Wes hit you?”
Shylah looked down at her feet.
“I saw Wes punch a guy at Kenny’s Tavern a few weeks ago. Did he do this?”
“Oh, Doc. I can’t tell on him. He’ll get in trouble and then when he gets out of jail, he’ll really give it to me worse than before. Just please put a stitch or whatever you need to do and get me outta here.” Shylah’s eyes pleaded with Bobbi.
Wes knocked on the door. “What’re you doing in there? You’ve had your time. I’m coming in.” He burst into the exam room.
“Mr. Myers, please leave. I have to stitch your wife’s cheek.”
Wes grabbed Shylah by her wrist and dragged her off the exam table. “We’re done here.”
Shylah let out a small squeal as she stumbled off the table.
Bobbi, despite her breathing ramping skyward, gathered up her courage to stand between Wes and his wife. “Mr. Myers, she can’t go anywhere until I treat her. She has asked for treatment and you have no authority to override that.”
Wes let go of Shylah’s wrist and pushed her away, where she fell with a loud bang into a metal and plastic chair in the corner of the room. He gripped Bobbi’s upper arm painfully with his left hand while his right swung into a roundhouse punch aimed for her stomach. She quickly turned her body to the side to dislodge his grip. He swung wide of her body. She used her hip to leverage his body across her own and down to the floor.
He rushed up from the floor swinging, while Shylah yelled at him to stop. Bobbi caught a fist across the left side of her neck, as his intended punch missed her cheek. She kneed him in the groin just as he raised his arm to punch her again. He crumpled to the floor.
While Wes groaned on the floor, Bobbi lightly pushed Shylah out the exam room door. “Go. Get to the front door where the guard is and tell him to come,” she rasped, breathing heavily.
Wes moaned and rocked on the floor, clutching himself.
Bobbi listened for the guard’s footsteps down the hall, and when she heard someone rushing, she yelled, “In here, Stan.”
Stan looked from the doorway at Wes on the floor and Bobbi standing over him, panting hard. “Better call the cops. He assaulted me.”
Stan stood off to the side, put in the 911 call, and suggested that Bobbi continue to treat her patient in another exam room. Bobbi nodded while she rubbed her left biceps and the area along her neck where his fists had met her flesh.
Bobbi sutured Shylah’s forehead, trying to keep her shaky hands under control.
Deputy Rick and a woman officer, Rosa, arrived shortly at the clinic. While the woman questioned Shylah, Rick cuffed Wes, sat him out in the clinic waiting room, and took Bobbi’s statement. They charged Wes and dragged him into the squad car. Rick left with Wes, while Bobbi clued Rosa in on the suspected spouse abuse. Rosa counseled Shylah about a no-contact order and about getting into a local shelter. Rosa suggested Bobbi call Roxie for information about the shelter.
Rosa offered to transport Shylah there, then ordered another squad car. When it arrived in five minutes, she and Shylah left. After both police cars had left the parking lot, Bobbi told Stan she would be back at her station to fill in her paperwork.
When she opened up the medical record, her hands trembled in earnest now. They were clammy and her breathing ragged.
She heard steps and called out, “I’m leaving soon, Stan.”
When she looked up, though, Gen stood in front of the counter, looking down at her.
“Um…hi, Dr. Lambert.”
“Stan called me about the ruckus, so I called the administrator, Jim McDonald, to fill him in about the arrest. I thought I would come see how you are doing.”
Bobbi stood up, immediately regretting it. Her head swam with dots before her eyes, then she crumpled into the chair.
Bobbi tried to sit up, but Dr. Lambert held her down with a hand. “Not yet, Doctor.” She nodded to Stan and he left them after closing the exam room door.
Bobbi breathed deeply. “I’m sorry. I passed out, huh?”
“What are you not telling us about your problem with violence?”
“Huh?” Bobbi began to feel trapped. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment. “Why would you say that?”
“A few weeks ago, at the dinner at Dr. Campbell’s, you checked out of the conversation when Erin started to talk about violence in relationships. Then last week, she told me you looked like you would faint when you two were at Kenny’s Tavern. Stan said that it was Mr. Myers and another man who got into an altercation at Kenny’s that night. Erin told me that you did a grounding routine to help with your anxiety attack.”
“Oh,” Bobbi answered sheepishly. “Why were you talking about me with Mother Erin?”
“She brought it up after our last prenuptial session. In confidence between us as professionals, but I feel an obligation to bring it up now, because it seems to fit your current state of anxiety.”
Bobbi sat up. “I’m okay now. At least I fended the bastard off and no one got hurt even further.” She looked at the wall, then at Gen and pursed her lips. Several seconds ticked by, then she spoke, “I got out of an abusive relationship a year ago with another family medicine resident in Oregon. We’d known each other for a few months, had dated some. I really fell for her, but after she moved in, her personality took a drastic change. She became very controlling. Our fighting intensified pretty quickly. Finally, she put me in the ER when she shoved me into wall, and that’s when I acted.” Bobbi hesitated to reveal the next piece of information. “She’s about Erin’s size.”
“Petite, like Erin?”
Bobbi nodded her head, not able to meet Gen’s eyes.
“What can I do?” Gen softly asked.
“Nothing, thank you, Dr. Lambert. I’ve…been in therapy, took self-defense classes, and had been doing quite well, but I began to have these anxiety attacks again since moving here. Actually, since I met Erin.”
“She reminds you of your ex.”
“Not consciously, no, and then only in her petite frame. Otherwise she couldn’t be more different.” Bobbi continued, “When we first met, I came up with stupid reasons to really dislike her. I pulled my weight, got huffy with her. But she didn’t go away, and I kept running into her.”
“Will it be a problem working with her with mental health patients or any of your patients who are admitted to hospice?”
Bobbi took a big breath and ran her hands through her short hair. “I don’t think so, Dr. Lambert. I confess that when we first ran into each other, she rubbed me the wrong way. But, now, looking back, we each were just doing our jobs. I let her get under my skin with very little provocation.”
“Okay. What about the assault tonight? I can see the contusions on your neck.”
“A few days ago, Erin and I were at Kenny’s Tavern, when Mr. Myers argued with another man. The argument escalated into violence, shoving. Milly, the owner, got punched in the jaw. Two other guys hustled them out of the tavern. I recognized Wes tonight as the same guy, but I thought I could handle him.”
“Why didn’t you get Stan right away?” Gen’s frown didn’t escape Bobbi’s notice. She reckoned then that she’d failed to adhere to clinic protocols for patient disturbances.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Lambert.” Bobbi felt herself blush a little at her weakness. “I guess I may be trying to make up for the times I let Stephanie have the upper hand. I still feel guilty about how I let a smaller woman control me physically.” Bobbi’s recent traumatic episodes always included this guilt. She felt like a weakling whenever she remembered Stephanie’s attacks. Her mind would not shut off the image of her standing passively, shielding herself with her arms, but not defending herself from a smaller woman.
Dealing with the guilt had been a major part of her therapy after Stephanie left. But, would she have felt better punching Stephanie in return? Always, she came back to that question. Her counselor helped her reframe her thinking. It wasn’t a matter of striking back, but of taking action to stop Stephanie’s abuse, by legal means, and by removing Stephanie from her life. She couldn’t control Stephanie, but she could control her response to Stephanie. Still, the lingering doubts haunted her, even though she’d gained some power over them. Nevertheless, since being around Erin, they had returned. Bobbi knew she had been ignoring them, hoping they would fade away. Unfortunately, the fight at Kenny’s Tavern and today’s assault were too close, triggering her anxiety.
Gen sat in one of the chairs. She looked tenderly on her. “What can we do to help, Bobbi? Do you need to see a counselor again? Take some time off to reduce stress?”
Appalled by these suggestions, Bobbi answered quickly, “No. No, that’s not necessary. My counselor and I put together a program for me to follow when I have episodes. I used it at the tavern the other day, and it worked well. You…Well, you caught me before I could get myself in hand today.”
“Have you ever passed out before?”
“No.” Bobbi took a deep breath. “No,” she said more quietly. “Too much adrenaline for my neuro system to handle, I guess.”
Gen looked pensively at Bobbi. “I recommend you leave the on-call to me the rest of the evening, until Dr. Bright comes on duty at ten. Go home, get some rest, some exercise, whatever you need to do. I want to see you in my office tomorrow morning at seven to check how you’re feeling. I don’t want any more episodes while you’re treating patients, and I imagine you don’t either.”
“You’re right,” Bobbi answered, feeling deflated and humiliated that Dr. Lambert told her to go home.
“I am not punishing you, Doctor. Please don’t take it that way.” Gen stood. “You look like a child who’s had their favorite toy taken away.”
Bobbi smiled weakly. “Sorry.”
Chapter Twenty
The week flew by for Bobbi after the episode with Wes Myers and his wife on Sunday. No other major problems presented themselves, and Wednesday, her afternoon off, came. She’d arranged to take Erin out for dinner. She’d felt so bad about falling asleep after dinner at her house last Friday, she’d invited her out to make up for her faux pas. Echoes of her mother saying, “That was rude, Roberta Francene,” would always haunt her actions in social situations, even at age thirty.
Needing some exercise in her overworked life, Bobbi went to the gym right from the clinic, did some cardio workouts, then swam for thirty minutes. She showered at the gym, picked up groceries for her sinfully empty kitchen, and drove home to do some much-needed housework. Her condo still had little furniture or accessories, but now the fridge at least looked as if someone lived there. While she still chastised herself for the low level of her homemaking, Bobbi couldn’t scare up the energy required for furniture shopping. She felt lucky to have got the groceries, and now she would do some cleaning to round out her day off like a good domestic person should.
Bobbi dutifully cleaned the bathroom and kitchen, and vacuumed, then, feeling accomplished, caught up on her reading, sitting at her desk, going through several online journal articles that had been on her to-read list. After reading two of the articles, her phone beeped an alarm that she’d set for six-fifteen. She wondered how the time had got away from her and whether these articles would ever get read. She quickly changed into dark twill trousers, a gray button down, and darker gray cardigan.
Her drive to Erin’s took less time because the roads were now clear of ice and snow. The clear road also made driving more relaxed. She hoped this dinner went well. She conceded that she liked Erin the more she knew her. She was a bright, perky person, not Bobbi’s usual type, which leaned toward snarky and sarcastic, like Amanda. But somehow, perky
met her current needs. Erin’s priesthood made her curious, as well. Not many lesbians she knew could stomach the male dominance of the church, although for her, it was only hearsay. She’d never belonged to any church, so hadn’t any experience with it.
And although those parts of Erin enticed her, Erin’s tenderness toward her also warmed her heart. Yeah, who knew Bobbi Webster’s heart could be warmed again after the fiasco of Stephanie? Erin, while triggering Bobbi’s Stephanie-meter, turned out to be the opposite of her. Erin, while not innocent or naïve, put out vibes of contentment with her life. Bobbi sensed a calmness amid the chaos of parish life, and of demands from the needy congregants surrounding her. She doubted Erin took guff from anyone yet gave them a listening ear and let them down with kindness. Bobbi liked that combination. Was it called tough love, or something?
Then, there were Erin’s assets to consider. Adorable, pixie-like face. Nice figure. Great smile with laughing, brown eyes. At five-foot-eight, Bobbi sometimes felt like a lummox next to small women, but Erin never made her feel that way. With Stephanie, Bobbi was reduced to nothingness. With Erin, Bobbi felt…cherished wasn’t quite right. Validated. That’s the word. Like she meant something in the world.
At first, Erin had treated her like the arrogant doctor she had been, and Bobbi felt bad about that. Erin was gentle and caring in Kenny’s Tavern when Bobbi had her episode. She understood what was happening. Her pastoral counseling expertise guiding her, probably. Then when Bobbi’d fallen asleep after dinner, Erin had not been angry or vengeful, as Stephanie certainly would have been. She let Bobbi sleep, knowing it had been a long, draining week.
Did Bobbi need this kind of caring in her life? Boy, didn’t everyone? Ever since Stephanie, she’d been a loner, dating the occasional nurse or other work colleague, but never letting things get close or go on too long. Even now, Amanda had been giving hints that she’d like to go out again. But Bobbi had lost interest. Maybe she’d lost interest in casual dating altogether? At any rate, Erin drew her unlike any Amanda could.
Erin answered her door, looking quite appealing and sweet, a red turtleneck bringing out her dark hair and eyes. She motioned for Bobbi to enter.
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