by Ryn Shell
Rose’s face glowed when she turned it to him. She beamed with happiness and cried at the same time. Her hands reached to do what she had been aching to do. She tentatively placed first one palm and then the other on the front of his shirt. With a deep breath and lowered eyelids she took her time feeling the hardened chest beneath the fabric.
Then her eyes widened, and she removed her hands. “How did that make you feel?”
Linton swallowed. “Not sure I know you well enough to tell you?”
“Touching you won’t make you have a fit or anything?” Rose asked.
“You caught me on a bad day, the other day,” Linton said. “Believe me, that was a one-off event. I never declared my epilepsy when I renewed my heavy vehicle driver’s licence because I’d been given a clean bill of health and everything was under control. I’ve been seizure-free for three years, and they’d always been mild before that.”
His hand moved from her waist and grasped her hands. “Tell me about our children.”
Rose dipped into her shoulder bag and withdrew photos. She looked up to discover Linton smiling and crying at the same time as he grasped for them.
“All those lost years.” Linton gently clutched the photographs. “Carl. Tell me about him.”
“Your son. He has the best of you in him and more. He will make you so proud.”
“Do you remember doing this?” Rose took Linton’s hands and laid them on her dress, pressing them to her belly. “That was your contact with your baby girl.”
Linton swallowed, and as she had done when she’d touched his shirt, he took his time before removing his palms from contact. Then he turned the photos to see the images of Helen from when she was a baby to the top of the small pile. Then he carefully looked through the pictures until he reached the ones where Helen and Carl were their current ages as she shared stories about them.
She came to like the man who’d gone missing from her life at the peak of their young love. He slipped his arm loosely around her waist again. She was grateful that he did not suggest more intimacy than that.
He was no fool, nor was he rough as the papers had suggested. Rose always knew that he would still be considerate and kind. The police knew it instantly. They recognised her gentle giant of a man. Rose could hardly take her eyes from his face. He’d changed in ten years. When he smiled, her heart leapt. That’s my Linton—my Linton.
29
Helen loved Linton from the beginning.
Carl’s feelings were slower to develop. He explained his feelings as, “He’s going to feel more like an uncle than our dad.”
“Father will grow on us,” said Carl. “I’m a little old to call him—Daddy.”
“Call him Dad or Linton,” Rose said. “Whatever you feel comfortable with.”
Trevor arrived by car. “I’m tired. Took me three days solid driving to get here.”
Helen raced to throw her arms around her uncle, welcoming being lifted into his arms for a hug.
“Where did you park the private plane?” Carl laughed.
“Ah, that.” Trevor feigned looking sheepish. “I have to admit that you were right; I couldn’t afford a charter flight to get here quick.”
Carl took Trevor’s overnight bag and showed his uncle through to the private sitting room. “Told you so.” His eyes twinkled.
Trevor didn’t plan to stay long. His visit with Linton was brief. They spoke quietly together out of Rose’s earshot. Rose thought that Linton seemed a lot more confident after that private conversation.
Linton inspected his truck to make it ready to continue his journey. While he was outside, Trevor took action and phoned the police to have them stop his brother from leaving. Rose sat down, shaking, and gratefully accepted the cup of tea Helen made her.
“Carl, Helen and I have been making plans,” Trevor said to Linton when he came back from his truck. “You had better sit down.”
“Why?” Linton asked.
“I’ve spoken to doctors about you, and I’m taking big brother assertive action that you are not going to like.”
Rose and Linton each took a deep breath.
“I’ve notified on the Road Transit Authority that you have a medical condition that prevents you driving a truck.”
Linton sat opposite Rose, put his head in his hands and muttered, “Thank you.”
Trevor bit his lip, reached to touch his brother then drew back his hand. He waited, expecting a stronger response. Trevor scratched his head. “You’re thanking me?”
“I’m too shattered to think straight.”
“I know.” Rose reached and held Linton’s hand. “Now, you won’t have to hate me, because if Trevor hadn’t done it, I would have. We love you.”
“You didn’t have to tell him that.” Trevor made a face.
“I’m not starting again with Linton with any secrets between us.”
Linton looked up and made a noise, as if something caught in his throat. “And we are, starting again?”
“Please do.” Helen leant forward, her eyes pleading.
Rose and Linton leant across the table and gripped Helen’s hands.
“I’ve got a beautiful girl here who loves bears,” Linton said. “Well, her daddy wants to be her big protective bear.”
Linton met Carl’s eyes. “I don’t know that you need a father to help you any more.”
Carl crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t.”
“Maybe you can be the one to help me.”
“I—I’m not even sure that I love you now,” Carl said under his breath. His head bowed.
“There is friendship,” Rose whispered. “That’s our start.”
“It’s a good start, Mum.” Carl’s voice broke.
Trevor stood and threw Rose’s car keys to Carl. “No time to muck about here.” He grinned at his nephew. “I believe you’re anxious to get back to digging rhubarb clumps.”
“What?” Rose got up from her seat. “You’re not leaving so fast.”
“I’m taking Linton’s truck back to the farm. When he gets there, he can start giving you truck driving lessons, if the pair of you want to keep it, or you’d get a spanking new farmhouse from the proceeds of it if you decide to sell.” Trevor drew out his keys from his pocket. “Catch!” He threw them at Rose.
Rose caught them and blinked.
“Well, we are already packed,” Trevor said.
“Bye, Mum. See you and Dad at home.” Carl gave her a hug. “Love you, Mum.”
“You’re going?” Rose hugged Carl and Helen.
“I’ll be taking your car, Mum, and tow the trailer back home. I’ll follow Uncle Trevor all the way.”
“My car is more comfortable and in better condition than yours,” Trevor said. “I’ll not need it. Take your time getting reacquainted with Linton and don’t rush home.” He turned to Linton. “See the country together. Take that trip you were always going to do to Gemtree.”
“I’m going to be the navigator,” Helen said cheerfully. “I’ll sit up high in Daddy’s truck. He’s got a fascinating rock I found on the dashboard. Do you think he will mind if I take it to show and tell when I get back to school?”
“I’m sure he will let you,” Rose said. “He is a real daddy now, so you can ask him yourself.”
Rose watched them drive away. The hollow it left when the dust from their vehicles disappeared from sight confused her. She’d lost the Linton she’d known, and now that this other Linton, who was only a friend, had turned up, and she feared losing the closeness she had with her children.
Trevor was right, Rose acknowledged. Linton and she needed time alone together.
Regardless of what happened with her and Linton, the planned changes to The Marriage Act meant she could divorce Trevor without having to prove blame. She’d see that through and have the marriage dissolved legally, given they’d only married to appease their parents. That would be something she had the power to put right, but, despite her reassurances to Helen that Daddy was b
ack, and all was good, the man Rose had searched for was gone forever.
It wasn’t going to be easy discouraging his interest in her. Now that Rose had met him again, she’d decided they should only be friends.
30
Rose sat with Linton through seemingly endless medical tests, and then a specialist gerontologist took the couple aside. Rose’s shoulders tightened as the CT scan slides of Linton’s brain were placed on the light box.
Ignoring Linton, Doctor Kaye pointed to the CT scan of Linton’s brain and warned Rose, “Rapid deterioration is to be expected.” He handed Rose the CD containing the results of the scan, proving there was frontal lobe deterioration. “Linton should never have been driving a truck in that condition.”
“I never had...” Linton stopped.
Rose gripped his hand to steady her own. Then her hand became firm and reassuring to meet his needs as a dark expression crossed his face.
“Since the accident,” Linton said hesitantly, “the one that I cannot remember—that was a long time ago—I have never had another accident.”
Linton’s hands trembled. Rose gripped them tightly in her own. His head shook.
Tears welled to Rose’s eyes. What has life done to my Linton?
“It is intention tremor; it’s not unusual. It’s very common after a certain age.” The specialist came around to Rose and Linton’s side of the desk and shone a pen-shaped torch in Linton’s eye, without even a ‘Do you mind?’
“Linton has developed brain degeneration a little earlier than most. We will be keeping an eye on how things develop.”
“Who is we?” Rose asked.
Doctor Kaye responded with a cold stare.
“You refer to yourself with the royal we?” Rose had a strong feeling that if she did not keep her outrage and confused emotions in check, she’d be ordered in for a brain scan herself. She absolutely dreaded knowing what they might discover in her mind.
“Now, there is a matter of the account,” the specialist said. “The cognitive function test has a four-hundred-dollar excess that is not covered by…”
Rose sat stiffly. “What cognitive function test?”
“The interview immediately before we did the brain scan.”
“What?” Rose grabbed her bag, preparing to leave. “You are charging my husband four hundred dollars for asking him how many words he could think of that started with the letter B? We are not paying four hundred dollars for that.”
“Be reasonable.” Doctor Kaye placed his pen light in a space within a neat line-up of pens in a desk display. “There was a lot more involved.”
Rose remembered using the “Do you need a new set of golf clubs?” line on her psychiatrist—and the thought of being told that she too had signs of brain deterioration from a pompous… who addressed himself as we and charged…
Doctor Kaye stood. “Given that we’re expecting rapid deterioration, my colleagues and I thought that Linton might like to become part of the medical trial.”
“Doing what?” Rose got an image in her head of the squawking mother duck flapping her wings that she and Linton had laughed at together earlier that day. That was exactly the way she felt.
“They’re conducting tests with volunteers to find out if the insertion of certain flora in increased infusions at above the normal levels contained within a healthy bowel will help prevent cancer.”
Rose stared at the specialist. “We are here to discover what was causing Linton’s epilepsy and to see if anything could be done to restore his lost memory.”
The specialist continued, “It’s a simple matter. The risk of a perforated bowel leading to peritonitis is minimal.”
Rose ignored what he said. “Is there anything that can be done to help Linton?”
“We will perform a cognitive function test every four months and monitor the situation.”
“At four hundred dollars per twenty minutes, and not covered by our health insurance?”
The specialist ignored Rose’s comment.
“Is there anything we could do to stop this brain degeneration from progressing?”
“Go home and live life as free of stress as possible.”
Noisily, Rose sucked in her breath.
Linton sat quietly watching Rose. The traces of worry had left his brow. His face was calm, trusting, loving her. He preferred Rose to handle this.
Emotion swelled within Rose. It wasn’t young love’s passion. She was keenly aware of his feelings.
He needs me. That was enough for her. Rose would not let him down. My Linton, in bone structure, smile and a little of the mannerisms. She recognised those. He’d been a strong man; he was still a strong man physically. Now, he wanted Rose at his side to help fight this battle against what was a new foe they had to face—and the specialist wasn’t offering them any tools to fight with. That did not seem like a fair fight.
After what Rose had gone through waiting for Linton to come back into her life, she could handle this—easy!
Rose broke out of her thoughts to hear Doctor Kaye saying, “I’m checking available appointments; I can book Linton in for next Monday.”
She folded her arms. “What for?”
“For the test formula to be inserted into your husband’s rectum. If intestinal rupture is suspected, Medicare will naturally cover medical assistance…”
She glared. “Unlike the cognitive function tests?”
“Right.”
Rose turned to Linton. That expression she’d once heard called “trusting puppy dog eyes”—that was Linton all over. Gosh, you fall in love with dogs that give that look. Linton was still quite handsome. Rose realised she’d hardly taken her eyes off him since the moment they’d met—again.
“What do you think about this?” Rose asked Linton.
Linton looked from her to the door. “Let’s get out of here.”
Is Linton going to make me fall in love all over again? Her heart leapt. She experienced the surge of a hot flash. It’s early menopause symptoms, not love. You can like him, but it’s not love.
The specialist leaned forward. “Is Monday at eleven-fifteen a.m. suitable?”
“Linton will not be your guinea pig.”
“There are hookworm trials if you prefer.”
Linton’s eyes darted to the roof. “I don’t have worms, that I know of,” Linton said.
“No, we give you them. It’s to test immune functions. My colleagues and I—”
Rose discharged a shaft of air through her nose and stood, holding Linton’s hand, and he rose with her.
“I strongly advise it.”
“You said go home and try to have a stress-free life; then you want to shove something up my husband’s arse.”
Gosh, that felt good. Rose felt as if something of the spirit that she recalled having when younger had been restored to her.
“What if Linton develops bowel cancer and this treatment could have prevented it?”
The specialist lowered his glasses, setting them on the long bridge of his nose. Casting a grim look directed at Rose over the top of the rim.
“And what if you are going to develop cancer of the nose?” Rose snapped. “Why don’t you go and shove something up it?”
Rose walked to the door—no, Rose and Linton walked to the door together—they were a couple again. It would take some getting used to, and Rose wasn’t sure what it would mean, but she was ready. She flashed Linton a smile and he returned it. I so want this—us.
“Don’t forget to make an appointment for a month’s time.”
“To ask Linton how many words he can think of that start with the letter B?”
“We need to monitor changes.”
“And there’s nothing you can suggest besides—minimal stress?”
“And no driving.”
Linton’s hand trembled.
“Well, I’d love to learn to paint too. But, I’ll miss being on the road. It’s been all the life I can remember.”
“Linton, could
I learn to drive your truck?”
“Mrs Fife…” The specialist pushed his glasses back in front of his eyes.
Rose walked through the doorway—Linton and Rose were out of the specialist’s rooms and hurrying through the corridors.
“I’ll teach you to drive the truck,” Linton said.
Rose shook her head. “You won’t be allowed to.”
“I’m allowed to teach you to drive if we are on a private property.” Linton grinned. “I own land.”
“You teach me to drive a truck, and we can go out landscape painting with a mobile art studio. I always wanted to see the country. You can show it to me, Linton.”
Oh gosh, it wasn’t hot flashes this time. Rose’s body flooded with sensations. Pure exhilaration.
They swung hands; they grinned. Both of them—striving to make sense of where they were at… What were they? Only thirty-something. It wasn’t too late. Together—together they could become young in their hearts—because they had dreams to follow. If Linton could not drive his truck, Rose would drive it for him. They would not be separated again. Both broke into tears—then smiles.
They got out of the medical building—that part was like a dream that you wake from and can’t remember you transitioned between scenes.
The next thing Rose knew after they left the gerontologist’s office was when Linton and she were in the car park. She would never forget their love. Rose could feel it on her face, and recall every place he touched her body.
Linton pressed his newfound love against a tree. He felt recklessness and lust exploding within him, restrained only by the rekindling of love.
They hugged and kissed, knowing people were around; they didn’t care. Rose knew that Linton could blame frontal lobe degeneration for affecting his judgement and lack of social inhibitions. She questioned what her excuse was. Eventually, she pushed Linton away gently and smiled through teary eyes up into his.
“Come home,” she whispered.
31
Rose drove home to the farm with Linton. At thirty-five, and without children about her, she was more perceptive of the man than she’d been when younger. She learned more about him than she’d noticed before—and she liked what she discovered.