by Harry Kraus
“If you had HD right now, I might feel differently. But you don’t. We may have years together, Claire, without HD. Just being able to have you with me for a little while is enough.”
“Say the word, Cerelli. Get on your knee.”
John stepped forward and took her in his arms. She had been everything he dreamed of wanting. Strong. Smart. Beautiful. Full of energy and life, and best of all, a soulmate who shared his love for God. He nudged her gently until he felt her relax against him. He kissed her forehead gently and buried his face into her hair, breathing in her aroma. When she had been a medical student, it was her scent that always pushed him to the limit of control. She carried a delightful fragrance mix of her favorite shampoo, of freshly washed clothing, and the unique hint of a clinical antiseptic bouquet she absorbed at the hospital. For someone else, it may have been a turnoff. For him, because of all she meant, it was the essence of heaven. He kissed her again, snuggling his face against her neck. He took a deep breath and eased her back to place his mouth against hers. After a moment, he gently pushed her to arm’s length and took her hands in his. “I’m not proposing, Claire.”
“But you just said—”
“I just said you’ve got to get your head out of the sand. Stop pretending. Face the cards you’ve been dealt. Only then can you reconnect with your family, your father . . . with love . . . with me.”
“But I don’t have to know the future in order to face reality.”
“No. But how can you know what to do, Claire? Are you heading back into surgery? You’ve said you won’t if you’re HD positive.”
“I’m afraid.”
“But knowing is better than fear of the unknown. What if you’re negative? Then all your anxiety has been for nothing.”
“I’m not afraid of being negative. I’m afraid of being positive.” Her eyes met his. “I’m afraid you won’t be around.”
“The crux of the problem is what is in your mind, Claire, not what’s in mine. I’ve told you what’s in my heart.”
“What do you want from me? Did you just come over here to tell me I’m not living in reality?”
“I came over here because we had a date, Claire, you know, time a guy and a girl spend together for—”
“I know what a date is, John. I just forgot.”
“You just forgot about your father, your mother, your boyfriend, about making sense of a life at risk for HD. You can’t hide in your work forever.”
“Okay, Cerelli, I’ve been open. Answer the same question for me. Why did you come to Stoney Creek?”
“You know why I came.”
“I want to hear it.”
“I want you back in my life, Claire. That should be obvious.”
“You love me?”
He sighed. “I love you.”
“What keeps you from asking me to be your wife?”
“It’s not time.”
“You’re afraid of the future. You’re not ready for unconditional commitment.”
He backed away to the door. “The trouble is not my fear of the future.
It’s yours.” He paused. “You’re the one who’s not ready for the commitment.”
He walked to the back hall toward the exit. How can I make her understand what I feel? Why can’t she believe in real love? “Good night, Claire.”
He heard her call his name as he let the door close behind him, but he just didn’t have the energy to return.
By the time Claire quietly slipped in the front door of her house, she was wondering if John might be right about more than just Luigi’s pizza. Perhaps it was time for her to take a surgeon’s approach to her problems: gather the facts and face them head-on.
She met Della at the kitchen table, sorting laundry.
“You’re still up.”
“Where were you? I tried calling.”
“I went to Brighton to see a patient at the women’s shelter after work. Then I had some reading to do.”
“Wally’s got some sort of stomach flu.”
Claire wrinkled her nose. “Vomiting?”
“Diarrhea. His butt is so sore from me cleaning him up that he throws a fit every time I try to change him.”
“I’m sorry, Mom.”
“Just changing a regular diaper on him is an adventure. The man can’t hold still. The last time he got his hands in it. So I’m weaving and bobbing like Mohammad Ali trying not to get hit. Wally is cursing me and we’re getting poop everywhere. It was on the sheets, the bed rails, under his fingernails. And get this. I finish cleaning everything up, changing the bed and everything, I’m sweating like a pig, so I go to wipe my forehead with my hand because I presume I feel beads of sweat, and I see it’s not sweat at all. It was a little blob of Wally’s diarrhea.”
By this time, Claire was beginning to see the humor in the situation, especially with her mother’s exasperation over the event. She tried to squelch a snicker. “What’d you do?”
“I stripped naked in the laundry room and took a thirty-minute shower. I could hear him screamin’ in the bedroom for me, but at that point, I didn’t even care. I had to preserve my sanity.” She paused, as if searching for an affirmation that she’d done the right thing. “So I stayed in the bathroom and showered. I even put on my lipstick and that new eyeliner you bought me. Then, when I felt human again, I went back to see Wally.”
Claire laughed and held her abdomen.
Della threw a bath towel at her daughter. “Easy for you to laugh. I’m going grocery shopping.”
“It’s after ten.”
“I’ll go to Carlisle to the Super Wal-Mart.”
“Mom, that’s a half-hour drive. You won’t be home until midnight. I can go tomorrow.”
“You don’t get it. I want to go grocery shopping. It’s a normal activity,” she said, walking toward the door, pausing to check her face in the mirror by the door. She lifted her blond hair from her collar and sent a kiss to her reflection, before continuing to talk to herself. “You take all the time you need.” She looked at Claire and tossed back her head and laughed. “It’s a sad life when you look forward to spending time alone in Wal-Mart.”
Claire just shook her head and watched her mother disappear through the door. She could hear her mother call back one last remark from the front lawn: “He’s all yours!”
She fixed herself a cup of peppermint tea and thought about why she had returned to Stoney Creek. The house was quiet except for Wally noises, the soft bumping of his arms and legs against the bed rails, and what Della called his noises of frustration. Instead of saying, “I’m thirsty” or “I’m angry” or “I’m wet,” he often just made grunting vocalizations or yelled, “Hey!” until someone figured out what he wanted.
She’d come home to reconnect with a father she’d left as a teenager, the father she’d grown to hate, the one she’d eventually grown up to forgive. Last year, she’d even sensed the quiet return of a daughter’s love.
She listened to his noises. How can I reconnect with him? I’m not even sure he knows I’m his daughter half the time.
She walked down the short hall and into his room. “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey. Uh uh.”
“Are you thirsty? Wet?” She thickened a glass of lemonade for him, but he took only one swallow, and kept up his agitated grunting.
She checked his diaper. That wasn’t the problem.
She felt his forehead. “Pain? Are you hot?” She looked at a bowl of oatmeal which was largely untouched. “Do you feel like eating? Are you hungry? Does your stomach hurt?”
“Nnn. Nnn.”
No.
Finally, she just turned off the lamp by his hospital bed and sat down in a padded kitchen chair that Della kept by the bed. She leaned forward and took his hand, straining against his involuntary jerking movements to keep his hand in hers.
His grunting stopped.
She released his hand.
“Nnn. Nnn. I–I–I–”
“It’s okay, Daddy.” She took h
is hand again, and as before, he quieted. Daddy just wants to hold my hand.
Softly, in the dimness of the room, she began to tell Wally of her pain. “I think John’s afraid. He’s holding back from me.” She jerked forward, following Wally’s movements. I just want to know he loves me.
“I hear him say he loves me, but . . .” He knows I might end up like you. “He says I’m the one that’s not ready for commitment, but I think he’s the one protecting his heart.” She sniffed.
She rested her head on her free hand, crying in the dark. “He may be right, Daddy. I don’t want to think about the future. I say I’ve put it all in God’s hands, and that I’ll trust him to do what’s best, but . . .” It still scares me to death to think I’ll end up dancing just like you.
“It’s just not fair. It’s just not fair.” She wiped her tears with the back of her hand. “It’s never far away. The cloud is always there, threatening me.” She shook her head. “I can’t just keep pretending I’m not at risk.
“I thought John was ready to ask me to be his wife. Oh, Daddy, I was so thrilled. I knew he had my ring. I just wanted to throw my arms around him and say ‘yes’ almost before he asked.” She listened as Wally’s grunting started up, then quieted again as she stroked the back of his hand.
“But I know he’s waiting for my test results. He wants to know whether I’m free of HD, so he can decide.” She shook her head. “So much for my dream of unconditional love, huh, Daddy?” She stood up and took his head in her hands, trying to hold it still so she could talk face to face. “They don’t make ’em like Della anymore, Pops.”
Wally grinned, mouth open and grunting.
Claire risked a quick kiss on his forehead. “Night, Daddy. I love you.”
It struck her as she neared the door to leave. She did love him. In spite of their long separation, in spite of the HD, in spite of his inability to communicate it in return, she loved Wally. He was her father, and their blood link, the very thing that produced her life’s dark cloud, was the very thing that produced her desire to love him.
He was her father. She loved him.
And for now, that was normal enough for Claire McCall.
Chapter Fifteen
The following day, Claire tended to the business of a severe sunburn, an infant with colic, a well-baby check, two high school athletic T physicals, and three blood-pressure checks. She reviewed Stephanie Black-well’s ultrasound and asked Lisa to tell her she didn’t have cysts on the kidneys and to set up a referral to the transplant coordinator at Brighton University. As she set the ultrasound report aside, she found her spirit buoyed with joy. Stephanie is not at risk for inheriting her father’s illness. Perhaps the same is true for me!
By midday, she was catching up on her dictation in her office, her door open. Sensing someone’s presence in her peripheral vision, she looked over expecting to see her nurse.
Billy Ray Chisholm was holding his left elbow in his right hand. He wore faded blue jeans and a NASCAR T-shirt. “Hi, Doc.”
Claire jerked her head upright, then slowly slid her chair away from the doorway. “What do you need, Mr. Chisholm? How did you get back here?”
“Walked right in the back door.” He grinned. “I don’t need much. I thought I’d just catch you between patients.”
She glared at him and stood up. She didn’t like him standing so much taller over her when she was in the chair. She moved to her left to put the large oak desk between them.
He nodded his head with plastic sincerity. “I need to find Lena.”
“You know I can’t help you with that,” she said at a near shout, hoping to alert her staff of Billy Ray’s presence. Where is Cyrus when I need him? “Why, Billy Ray? Why should I help you find her?”
The question seemed to set him off-balance. “Well, I—. She needs me. I need her, Doc. She’s probably told you some bad stuff about me and well . . . some of it’s true, Doc. I lose my temper when I drink. But I’m workin’ on that. I’m in AA now. I need to talk to her. Find out how she’s doing.”
“She’s fine.”
“So you’ve seen her, Doc?”
Claire took a deep breath. Where is my staff? “I can’t give you details, you know that. A doctor-patient relationship is confidential.” She shrugged, knowing she was way over Billy Ray’s head. “Listen, Billy, I think it’s nice you want to talk to her. But now is not the time. I recommend getting into counseling to work on your own problems before you see Lena again. Let’s see some proof that you’re ready.”
“Lena’s brought some of this on herself, you know. Our marriage needs some work, but it’s not all me.”
“No woman deserves to be struck. I don’t care what she does.” Claire bit her lower lip. She didn’t want to argue with him.
“A woman is supposed to be faithful. When I found out she was cheatin’ on me, well, I just didn’t keep my head. It wasn’t right.”
“Lena says she’s hasn’t been running around on you. How do you know these things?”
“A man just knows.” He looked down.
“But how do you—”
“I caught her boyfriend,” he said in a low voice. “My dog ran him right up a tree.”
Just then, Lucy, Lisa, Kelly, and Amy appeared behind Billy Ray. Lucy talked for the quartet. “Mr. Chisholm, if you want to see the doctor, you’ll have to register out front.”
“Oh, no. Doc McCall and I was just talkin’ like friends, weren’t we?” He quickly pulled up his left sleeve. “I did want to show you this gash in my arm. What’ya make of that?”
Claire could see from her comfortable distance that Billy Ray’s arm was beet red and swollen, hot with infection. This was the last thing she wanted to see: a legitimate reason not to quickly rush him out of the office.
“We’ve got other patients waiting, Dr. McCall.”
Claire nodded. “Just put him in the procedure room. And get me some Augmentin samples.”
Lucy wasn’t happy. But Claire didn’t want to risk angering Billy Ray any more. She probed his wound without anesthesia, gently breaking into a pocket of creamy drainage. She dressed the wound, and gave him instructions and the pills. “Take these twice a day until they’re gone. Then I’ll need to see you back.” She lifted her hand toward the door. “But make an appointment for next week.”
She had him out the door before her staff could even locate an old record of previous clinic visits. When Claire finally saw it at her desk later that day, she huffed in disgust and dropped it in the out box without opening it. The day couldn’t be long enough to spend precious minutes thinking about Billy Ray.
Lena leaned against the base of the large oak tree on the commons lawn at Brighton University. She opened the book in her hand slowly, admiring the ring on her hand. The book was a novel, the only fiction she could find amidst the shelves of self-help and Christian books at the center.
Decision time was coming. She had one job possibility, a kitchen assistant in the campus cafeteria. She would have to sell the ring if she didn’t get a job soon. Cathy Rivera had emphasized how important it was to start being proactive in her life. She needed to set goals and make plans. But plans were hard to make when she didn’t know what Billy Ray was up to. If three-adjective Eddie could be trusted to keep a secret, she could stay around. But the likelihood that Eddie was going to keep his trap shut was about as likely as snow in that eternal hot place. For now, she just wanted to lay low, wait a few days to see how things played out. If she found out Billy Ray was looking for her, she’d have to move on, and in that case, she’d certainly have to part with her beautiful ring. She sighed and tried to concentrate on her reading, but her attention continually turned to her ring and her mind to William Raymond.
He leaned over and she accepted his kiss on her cheek. “Hey, doll, I was just on my way to class. Will you be here when I’m done?”
“Of course.”
The ring dazzled in the sunlight filtering through the leaves above. It was so special, th
is ring of promise. The promise of a bright future filled with the life she’d always dreamed of.
She lifted her hand, allowing it to stay nestled safely within his. He kissed her again. As they parted, their hands drifted slowly apart until at last only their fingertips touched and he was on his way to his medical school classes again.
Her hand was still in the air when a voice shocked her back to the present. “The time. I asked if you knew what time it was.”
The handsome young man had a thick backpack and a two-day beard. He was thin, with round wire-rimmed glasses, a Beatle of another era.
Lena blushed and looked at her watch. “Four o’clock.”
The man squinted in her direction for a moment before moving on. His eyes were intense, as if he could see right through to her mind. Her hand went instinctively to cover her ring, as if in doing so, she could also hide her soul.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m late for class.”
“What class?” She was surprised she had the boldness to ask.
“Medical school,” he said, as if it was no big deal. “Gross anatomy lab.”
“Gross anatomy?” She wasn’t sure what it was, but she twisted her face at the name.
“You know, cadaver dissection.”
“Oh,” she said, now even more embarrassed at her ignorance. She waved her hand, playing the dizzy blond. “Of course I knew that.”
He smiled at her and kept walking.
And as he left, she held her hand up toward him. Bye, William. I’ll have dinner ready by seven.
Chapter Sixteen
Somewhere after two A.M. the next morning, Brittany Lewis fell into fitful sleep. It was nice to be out of the hospital, but her first night at home was far from normal. The pain she had from her gallbladder surgery wasn’t severe, unless she moved too fast or took a deep breath. It was better with the Percocet, but the drug left her feeling like a zombie: zoned out, sleepy, and thick-headed, as if she’d had too many beers at Chico’s. The thumping sound pushed her to semi-alertness, that stage between fully awake and dead-to-the-world asleep. In her Percocet-induced slumber, the thumping fit in with her dream world. Dr. Branum tapped his cowboy boots on the floor and ordered the other doctor to put her to sleep so he could get started.