by Harry Kraus
“No need to worry. I’m in my car.”
“Your father called looking for you. He said you were in some kind of trouble. I went by your apartment, and you weren’t there, so I—”
“Hey, slow down, would ya? I’m okay. Just some guy-thing I wanted to talk to my father about. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”
“John, if you were in trouble, you’d call me, wouldn’t you?”
“Claire, I’m not in any trouble. I just had a guy problem, that’s all.”
She huffed. Aguy problem? “Answer my question, Cerelli. You’d come to me if you were in trouble, right?”
“I get it . . . a hypothetical situation, huh?” He paused, and she could hear the wind blowing against his cell phone. The top must be down. He loves it that way. I’m going to have to get some leatherguard for his seats so they don’t bleach in the sun. John continued, “Sure, I’d call you. My troubles are your troubles. That’s what love is all about.”
He does love me, doesn’t he? So why do I find myself doubting him? Do I really think our relationship would change if he knew I would get HD? But if his commitment wouldn’t change, why didn’t he give me the ring when he had the chance?
“Hello.”
“I’m still here,” she said.
“I thought you may not agree or something. Love is all about taking someone else’s problems as your own, right? What was that verse you’re always quoting? Greater love hath no man than this . . .”
“Than he would lay down his life for his friends,” she responded.
“Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“I think I’m being pulled over. Dog it! Uh, wait a second, Claire, I think this cop wants me to pull over.”
She waited and listened to the wind noise die away.
“Listen, Claire. I’ve got a few clients to see this week over in Brighton. I figure I’ll leave tonight and stay with my folks and go to our old church. I should be back Wednesday night. I’ll give you a call.”
She heard a deep voice asking for John’s license and registration.
“I gotta go, honey. Love you.”
She looked at the phone. That was strange.
She walked into the house to find Della in the midst of folding clothes on the kitchen table. Her mother didn’t look happy.
Claire grabbed a clump of socks and began sorting. “What’s up?”
“Your grandmother just called.” She patted the towel she just folded. “The shoe company is having a rough time.”
“How rough is rough?”
“She’s afraid they may lose everything. They’ve lost some big contracts to the foreign markets. They just had their worst quarter in over a decade.”
“She’s been through down times before. She always steers ’em back.”
“Leon steers ’em back is more like it.” Della dropped a stack of towels into a basket. “She sounded down. She’s not as spunky as she once was. She’s talking about selling out.”
“Selling McCall Shoes? Mom, half of Stoney Creek has worked there at one time or another. They can’t just cash it in, can they?”
“No, it’s not that simple. But Leon is doing the best he can to keep her from worrying about it. He has offered to buy her out for fair market value, taking into account their latest poor sales. She’ll be comfortable.”
“And what will Leon do?”
“He may try to keep the company going. If not, he’s still young enough to switch gears and do something else.”
“Grandma has wanted to travel more.”
“Sure she has. She’s paid her dues. It’s time for her to quit. I’m glad for her, really.”
Claire’s mind drifted to her immediate family. “What about Daddy?”
“We’ve still got the disability and Social Security. We’ll be okay.”
Claire nodded at her mother. She wanted so much more for her than just to get by. “I’m starting to make a decent wage,” Claire declared. “I’ll buy you a steak now and then.”
“You need to worry about yourself. I’ll be fine. Besides, what I need around here isn’t steak. It’s a year’s supply of baby food for the Wall.”
Claire looked at the stack of groceries that her mother had yet to get off the kitchen counter. “I’d gag if I had to eat that stuff.”
“Your father gags if I give him anything else. HD is a real bummer unless you really, really like pudding.”
“No, Mom. You’re wrong about this one,” she said, turning away. “HD is a real bummer even if you really, really like pudding.”
John complied with the officer’s request and handed him his license and registration. “Was I going too fast, officer?”
“No, sir.” He lifted his eyes from the cards in his hand to look square in John’s eyes. “I’m just following up on a trespassing complaint.” He tilted his head to his right. “Seems a local up the road says a man was trespassin’ on his place. Said he acted strange. Thought I should check into it.” His eyes ran over the car. “Says he was driving a red Mustang convertible.”
John offered a sheepish smile. “What a coincidence, huh?”
“Don’t get smart with me.”
John held up his hands. “Hey, it was me. But his dog chased me up a tree.”
“Just what were you doing?”
John thought for a moment, then opted for vague, hoping he wouldn’t be questioned. “I thought something had flown out of my car.” He felt his heart quicken. “I was looking on the side of the road when a big dog tried to eat me for lunch.”
The officer seemed amused. He chuckled, nodded, then retreated toward his vehicle. “I’ll be right back.”
John squirmed, wiped his forehead, and checked the rearview mirror for what seemed like an hour, but was actually only a few minutes.
When he returned, the officer was still chuckling. “Old Jeb probably thought he’d treed a bear.” When he said it, it came out “bar.” He handed John his license and registration. “Have a good day, Mr. Cerelli.”
John nodded. He must have thought my excuse was so stupid I couldn’t have made it up. They’ll probably laugh it up at the police station tonight.
Lena sat on the back porch swing with an ice pack on her ankle and a cheap novel in her hand. The last few hours had seen another flip-flop in her willingness to give Billy Ray one more chance.
She had pulled the trigger, all right. But she’d forgotten to load the blasted shell into the firing chamber, so all Billy Ray got was a scare. The pin snapped, and he’d let out a blood-curdling scream and rolled off the couch facedown onto the floor.
At first, she’d thought she had killed him, but why hadn’t she heard the gunfire? But Billy Ray hit the floor and rolled to his back, scrambling and clawing his way behind the coffee table where he cursed and threw the table up on its side for protection. The look of terror in his eyes was something she’d enjoy for a long time.
She’d thrown the gun on the couch and spit on the table. “I was just seeing if I could do it, that’s all. But that’s what you’ll get if you ever treat me that way again!”
She’d limped off for a cry in the kitchen and made coffee. And that’s when Billy Ray asked her what he’d done to make her so angry. He’d come in late and slept on the couch so as not to bother her, so what was all the fuss about? And in the end, she really wanted to believe that he couldn’t remember, that he had suffered an alcoholic blackout. He pled. He begged for forgiveness. And when she showed him the evidence of what he’d done, he didn’t even want to make up in the usual way. Instead, he sat down and cried with her, actually cried this time, and told her she was his princess and that he’d get some help before he killed her and ruined another marriage. She was right, he said. Rachel had run because he couldn’t control his temper when he drank. “Lena, you’ve got to believe me, baby. It’s going to be different this time.”
So she’d given him the phone book and had him calling all over the county to find an AA meeting to attend on a Saturday. And so, shortly
after he finished working with Old Jeb, he headed into Carlisle to get back on the wagon of sobriety.
The last thing he did before leaving was to fix her a lemonade and fluff the pillow under her ankle and kiss her so sweetly that she thought he really could change. She wanted to believe. He wasn’t a bad man, after all. He was just a man with an alcohol problem, the man who had promised to take her away from the terror and abuse of another man she called Daddy.
Lena flipped the pages of the book, nearing the climax where the hero would re-enter and sweep his fair damsel off to a life of ecstasy. But that’s when Old Jeb nuzzled her hand, making her leg jump and the pain in her neck return. “Jeb!”
She scratched the dog behind his ears and watched his eyes droop with contentment. “What’s that you got, boy?” She reached for a patch of blue half in and half out of his mouth. It appeared to be felt, and was covered with dirt and Old Jeb slobber. It was a little box, like one she’d seen on the shopping channel that they nestle expensive gems in. She held up the box and shook off the moisture, then looked with kindness upon the hound and said, “Why, thank you, William, you really shouldn’t have.” She giggled and twisted open the dented lid. She gasped!
It was a beautiful ring, a crystal-clear stone on a shiny gold band. She looked around and clutched it to her breast. A real diamond! She had held her grandmother’s, and had seen countless others at the jewelry store in Brighton. Those were so little compared to this!
Her heart began to pound as she slipped it on her finger. It seemed to fit perfectly. This had to be a sign. She’d given her husband one more chance. And then found this ring. William Raymond had returned and given her an anniversary present, the ring she’d admired in Paris on winter holiday. She giggled again and held it up to the sun.
But where had it really come from? Was this to be a gift from Billy Ray? The answer to that was a certainty. The more she knew about the real Billy Ray, the more she knew he wouldn’t spend money like that—even if he had it to spend.
But still she couldn’t help but think that this had happened for a reason. This ring had special meaning for her. She’d read enough love stories to know the significance of a ring, even one that ends up in the hands of one unintended. She might not know the reason now, but she had a strange feeling that in her present state of turmoil, this ring just might be the anchor to see her through the storm.
She twisted it off and examined it from every angle, polishing it gently against her T-shirt, holding it up to the sun to watch the light dance from every surface. And then she saw what cemented forever the thought that she was following destiny’s bidding. The two tiny initials engraved inside the band were her own. She smiled and pulled the ring to her chest again. M.C. Of course, William Raymond always calls me by my real name:
Melinda Chisholm.
The crunch of approaching truck tires brought her back to reality. She quickly shoved the ring in her pocket and threw the mangled box into the bushes. Whatever this ring was meant to be, she knew it wasn’t meant for Billy Ray.
Chapter Ten
Even with John out of town, the week flew by. On Friday afternoon, when Claire was hoping to close the office early, she experienced the swell of the I’d-better-not-wait-out-the-weekend problems. By two, she was seeing her one o’clock patient; by four-thirty, her three o’clock patient was finally in an exam room. The walk-ins were killing her, but what else could she do? She was the only game in town, the first encounter most of these patients would have with a medical system that had grown so complex that navigation without guidance was impossible. So she stayed the course and sat down to talk to every patient.
There were a few joys in the midst of the work-ins. She saw Lena Chisholm back. Lena remained closed to talking about her husband, even when they were pried apart for the collection of a urine sample. Her ankle was healing, and her eyebrow laceration was ready for suture removal, but she had new bruises she couldn’t explain on the back of her neck and a urinalysis showing red blood cells. Lena declined further workup and limped out of the office on the arm of her man.
By five, she only had two patients to go, a work-in and a followup with Brittany Lewis. Claire was dictating at her desk when Lucy approached and waited at her elbow. Claire finished her note and hung up the Dictaphone. “What’s up?”
“I’ve been anticipating this problem,” Lucy began. “It’s a unique challenge running this office with totally female clinical staff.”
“Why? We’re as capable as men. Where’s the problem?”
“We have a male patient who is insistent upon having a chaperone if a female doctor is to examine him.”
Claire hadn’t really thought about this situation. But she understood. She always wanted a female present when her gynecologist was seeing her. “So you’ve anticipated it. How should we deal with it?”
“We use our male staff member.” Lucy smiled as Cyrus stepped around the corner wearing a white coat. He was still in jeans, but the coat was clean and pressed and his hair was combed for the occasion.
Claire shrugged. “Okay, he can stand in. But if I need assistance, I’ll want you too.”
Lucy nodded. “Hey, this guy’s versatile. I taught him to take blood pressure and pulse rate. I had him put down Brittany’s vital signs for me. I retook them just to be sure, but he was right on the money.”
Claire looked at Cyrus. He did clean up well. “Okay, let him assist you. But the first time the landscape looks neglected, we’re getting a new arrangement.”
She watched as Lucy winked at Cyrus, who nodded without speaking. At least he isn’t too chatty. There’s nothing worse than an assistant who interrupts to socialize with the patients.
She looked at Cyrus. “I’ll have you step in when I’m ready for the exam.” Then, to Lucy, she asked, “What’s the problem, anyway?”
“He won’t sit down. He’s just arrived from Asia. He’s been flying for two days and has a bad flare-up of his hemorrhoids.”
“Great,” she muttered with sarcasm. “I can hardly wait.”
She entered the exam room to find an elderly gentleman who identified himself with a quick bow at the waist with his hands together. “Dr. McCall. I am Mr. Sugimoto.”
She mimicked his action and responded. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sugimoto.”
“It is I who am honored to meet with someone so well known.”
She let the remark pass as a cultural oddity.
He explained his problem with exceptional English. “I always have trouble when I travel. Do you have any idea how long it takes to fly from Tokyo to Stoney Creek?” He laughed and answered himself. “Too long.”
Besides appearing a bit washed out and tired, he seemed to be in excellent health for his age of sixty-four. He was on a single common medication for blood pressure and no blood thinners. He had no blood in the stools and no constipation unless he traveled outside of Japan. He smiled when he added, “The U.S. is very constipating to me.”
The exam was accomplished with her new office chaperone at her side and revealed a single swollen purple grape at the verge of the anus. “You have what we call a thrombosed hemorrhoid,” she said, glancing at Cyrus, who stood with his hand to his mouth. “If I excise it, you will feel much better tonight.”
He complied, and she finished the task using a local anesthetic and the dexterity of a surgeon.
“I feel better already.”
She smiled and gave him a list of instructions and a box of fiber packets to use when he traveled.
“What will they cost?” he asked.
“Take them. They are free samples.”
He nodded.
She asked him to follow up in a few weeks if he was still in town and to see his local doctor to schedule a screening colonoscopy when he had recovered.
“There is one more favor I wish to ask,” he said. “Perhaps when I am dressed you will return?”
“Okay,” she said, slipping into the hall. She almost tripped over Cyrus, who sat with his h
ead between his knees and Lucy kneeling at his side.
Lucy frowned. “He’ll be fine. It was his first view of hemorrhoid surgery.”
Cyrus didn’t look up and Claire didn’t know him well enough to harass him. She was confident it was his first experience with queasiness. Taking blood pressures was one thing. Assisting with surgery, another.
She walked to the next room and picked up the chart. It seemed that beautiful Brittany had had another gallbladder attack. Predictable. She opened the door to see her patient lying on the exam table curled up on her side. “Another episode of pain?”
Brittany nodded and explained her most recent attack. “It’s mostly gone again,” she said.
Claire repeated her exam and gently pulled down Brittany’s lower eyelids to inspect the sclera, which remained glistening and white. “Let me feel your abdomen.”
Again, Brittany’s tenderness was high up under her rib margin, without signs of right lower abdominal tenderness which might signal appendicitis or ovarian pathology. Claire picked up a spiral notebook filled with color diagrams. She paged through until she found the biliary system so she could explain the problem.
After their discussion, and a phone call to the surgeon, Brittany agreed to meet him the following week in Carlisle. Claire concluded by instructing her patient how to check out, but Brittany seemed hesitant to leave. At the door, she turned. “Could you pray for me again?”
Claire kicked herself for having to be asked, then took Brittany by the hand and prayed for her recovery and peace.
When she returned to Mr. Sugimoto, he was dressed in a grey suit, sitting on the exam table. “I am able to sit.” He smiled.
She returned his smile, wondering just what he wanted to discuss.
He handed her a copy of an article from a leading neurological journal. “My son is the chairman of neurological medicine in a university back in Tokyo. When he heard that I was traveling to Stoney Creek, he gave me this article in hopes that I could find you. I could not believe my good fortune when I sought help at this clinic and I found the very doctor that he told me should be in Stoney Creek.” He pointed at her name in the midst of the others below the title. “You are this doctor?”