Better to Trust

by Frimmer, Heather

  Emma clicked off the light clipped on the headboard of her bed. Sadie felt thankful for the sudden darkness, the only light from the streetlight sneaking through the crack between the blinds and the window frame.

  “Why did you get it?” Emma asked, her voice quiet.

  “I’m not sure. It just seemed right.”

  “The ice skate?”

  “Yeah. When I saw it, I knew it was the one.”

  “What do you think Coach will say?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “Do you want to know what I think?” Emma asked.

  “I don’t know.” Sadie wasn’t at all sure she wanted to hear what Emma thought.

  “You thought I would be judgy, didn’t you?” Emma said. “I’m not always that predictable.”

  “No, I … I guess I wasn’t sure,” Sadie said. Something about the tone of Emma’s voice told her it was okay.

  “Well, I’m not. I think it’s beautiful,” Emma said. “It’s just right.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY - THREE

  Grant

  March 16, 2019

  AS THEY FINALLY ARRIVED at the hospital, Grant got a call from Matt, his chief resident. “Just got here,” Grant said, walking as fast as he could to the elevator.

  “You can slow it down,” Matt said. “Dr. Shin couldn’t wait any longer. He scrubbed in a half hour ago.”

  Grant wanted to scream profanities. Who the hell did Cal think he was making an important decision about his patient without him? But ensnaring a resident in this drama would only serve to complicate things even further.

  He hung up and got in the elevator, Cynthia following behind.

  Grant pushed the elevator button several times, willing the elevator doors to close before anyone else got on. He needed to get to the OR as quickly as possible. As the elevator went up, he felt a little light-headed, wondering again how many glasses of wine he’d had at the restaurant.

  “What’s going on?” Cynthia asked. “Is she in danger?”

  “She’ll be fine,” he said, speaking as clearly as he could. “Just a little complication.”

  “You’ll take care of her, right?” she asked, her brow furrowed.

  “Of course,” he said. After getting Cynthia situated in the family waiting room, Grant quickly changed in the locker room, scrubbed up and entered the OR. From this side of the drape, Grant could see Alison’s face. At first glance, she looked just as she had this afternoon, peaceful and quiet, her eyes closed and the left side of her face swollen and puffy. But when Grant looked more carefully, her mouth looked slightly asymmetric, the right side lower than the left. A plastic drain exited the left side of her scalp and snaked down along her neck. Cal stood at her head with instruments in both hands, one of the senior residents at his side.

  “How are you feeling, Dr. Kaplan?” Wendy asked. “I hope you got some rest after yesterday.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He was feeling completely off his game after the encounter with the trooper, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

  Grant walked over to Alison’s head to assess the situation, but Cal had already fit the bone flap into place and was replacing the staple line.

  “You’re done already?” Grant asked. “I thought you just started.”

  “It didn’t take too long. I evacuated as much of the hematoma as I could.”

  “I told you I was on my way. You could have stalled.”

  “I waited as long as I could,” Cal said.

  “Do you think there’s more blood left? If there is, we should try to clear it out. Maybe I can do better.” He didn’t mean to be rude, but he felt the need to take over. If he left blood in the operative bed, it could cause problems with brain function and serve as a site for infection. Neither of those things would happen on his watch. Grant grabbed the stapler from Cal’s hand and edged him out of the way with his shoulder. He took the staple remover from the sterile tray and started removing the staples Cal had just placed. Alison’s scalp oozed as he jimmied the metal teeth under each one.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Cal said. “I just closed up.”

  “This is my patient,” Grant said, removing the bone flap to expose the dura. The throbbing pain in his temples told him his blood pressure was up, but he tried to ignore it. He had to focus. This was too important a moment to lose his cool.

  “Dr. Kaplan, I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Wendy said. “Maybe you need to take a moment.”

  “This is my case, Cal. You have no right to interfere.” Grant knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn’t contain himself. He felt very possessive of Alison. If something went wrong, he wanted to be able to say he had done everything he could, that he went above and beyond.

  “You gave me no choice,” Cal said. “You said twenty minutes, and I waited for almost an hour,” Cal said. Intellectually, Grant understood exactly what Cal was saying. One of the main tenets of brain surgery, “Time is brain,” guided all of their clinical decisions. He probably would have made the same call.

  “I can fix her, Cal. I need to make this right.” All Grant wanted to do was slice through the dura and use every technique he knew to make Alison well, but something told him he couldn’t do that right now, that he wasn’t in the frame of mind to operate. He felt the sobs coming, his nose stinging and eyes burning, before the noise escaped his mouth. He dropped his instruments and escaped into the hallway.

  Grant wanted to hide in the locker room but he couldn’t make himself go any farther. Leaning against the wall, he used the cold cement for support. He could hear Cal tell the senior resident to close up the wound and get Alison back to intensive care. When the OR door opened, Grant tried to tell Cal to go away, but he couldn’t make any intelligible words come out between sobs. He knew he wasn’t really angry at Cal but at himself: for failing to get here in time, for getting delayed by the trooper, for agreeing to take on Alison’s surgery in the first place. With the mistakes piling up, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to dig himself out.

  “You’ve done everything you can for her,” Cal said. “You can’t beat yourself up because of a complication.”

  “I’m … not sure,” Grant managed to say.

  “I never operate on anyone I know for just that reason.”

  Grant couldn’t tell if Cal was judging him or simply stating a fact, but he felt the need to defend his choice. “I didn’t want to do it. I tried to convince her to go with Richman in Columbus, but they wouldn’t go for it. And Cynthia basically threatened me with divorce if I wouldn’t agree.”

  “Sounds intense. I don’t envy you, bud.”

  “Do you think she’ll turn around?” Grant asked. He couldn’t talk any more about his bad choices. What’s done was done, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

  “We can only hope,” Cal said. “There was even more hemorrhage than I thought. She must have continued to bleed while we waited.”

  “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

  “I had no choice. She was about to herniate.” Grant knew Cal couldn’t just stand by as Alison’s brain was pushed down out of her skull by the massive bleed, but he still resented what he’d done. Grant was used to being the hero, the one who saved the day and accepted the accolades, not the loser who took the fall. “What was the hold up?” Cal asked.

  Grant’s stomach burned. “Do you think she has a right facial droop?” he asked, avoiding the question. Cal didn’t need to know about his close call with the state trooper.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised. She had significant weakness on that side before we took her back. We’ll have to keep a close eye on her tonight, and see how she is tomorrow.”

  “Cal?” Grant said, after a moment of quiet.

  “What, bud?”

  “I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

  “Do what?”

  “Take care of her.” Grant said. “I thought I could stay above it all, but now, I’m not so sure.”
r />   “What are you saying?”

  “The lines are getting blurry.”

  “If you’re asking my opinion, the lines were blurred the second you decided to take on the case. But that’s done now.”

  “This must be my fault. I should have cauterized more before closing.”

  “That’s crazy,” Cal said. “We all have complications and you know it. You can’t let it all rest on your head.”

  “I can’t help it.”

  They sat for a minute, neither of them sure what to say next. Grant felt another stomach pang, the red wine lapping at his esophagus.

  “I don’t know how to ask this,” Grant said.

  “What?”

  “Since your name’s now in the chart,” Grant said, “you could just take over the case from here.”

  “And inherit your complication?”

  “I’ve never asked you before,” Grant said.

  “You’re right. It’s not like you.” Cal sighed and took off his blue cap, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, I’ll take one for the team.”

  Grant nodded, a sense of relief washing over him. He usually felt most at ease in the driver’s seat, all successes and the occasional failure attributed to him and him alone. That’s the way he liked it, but in this situation, he knew it was time to relinquish his authority. Now, Grant could focus solely on being a brother-in-law and husband. Though he hadn’t been there when Alison needed him most, he would stay next to her in the ICU for as long as it took, watching her every breath until she woke up. He wished he’s brought some Oxy with him to take the edge off. This was going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR

  Alison

  October 2, 2019

  “ONLY ONE MORE MONTH of rehearsal and there’s so much more to do.” Nate took a bite of his cheese stick. “Some people aren’t even off book. Ms. Logan keeps yelling at them but it doesn’t help. We’re not allowed to call for lines, but Cooper still does. We’re never gonna be ready.” Nate was supposed to be doing his homework, but he was doing more snacking and chatting than work.

  “I’m sure you’ll be ready,” Alison said, trying not to grin as the full sentence rolled off her tongue.

  “It’s been quite an experience for you,” Rhea said. “Putting on a show is far different than training for soccer or baseball.”

  “And a lot more fun,” Nate said. “I’ve got the bug.”

  “The bug?” Rhea said.

  “The acting bug. Elise Cohen said that’s what it’s called. When you do one show and then you just have to keep doing more.”

  “At least it’s not life threatening,” Rhea said.

  “It’s contag … it’s contagious.” Alison couldn’t help but smile this time. A few weeks ago, she wouldn’t have fathomed saying a big word like that so soon.

  “Totally. We all have it. Even the kids whose parents forced them to try out. Now you’re officially a stage mom,” he patted Rhea on the back. “Like, you have to obsess about what part I get and what song I sing for auditions and stuff like that.”

  “You’d think things would be quieter around here,” Rhea said. “You can always count on Nate to keep things lively.”

  “Full of energy,” Alison said.

  Rhea pointed to his blank homework sheet. “How about fractions?”

  “Okay, fine,” Nate said, picking up his pencil.

  “Mr. Jacobs called earlier while you were napping,” Rhea said. “I told him you’re doing much better.”

  “Much better,” Alison said.

  “Is Mr. Jacobs coming home?” Nate asked.

  “Nathaniel.” Rhea said sharply.

  “It’s okay.” Alison knew Rhea didn’t approve of her divorce and she didn’t want to go into the details with her, but she also didn’t want Nate to feel badly for asking about Michael.

  Rhea took Nate’s face in her hands and planted a kiss on his forehead. “My silly boy.”

  “Don’t treat me like a baby,” he said.

  “Now you’re going to get Mrs. Jacobs upset,” Rhea said. “Why don’t you finish your homework?”

  “Is Ms. Corrie coming over?” Nate ignored his mother. Alison’s heart sped up. She didn’t mind Nate mentioning Michael, but bringing up Becca was trickier. Since he’d seen them on the deck, he hadn’t said anything, but in the back of Alison’s mind she wondered if Becca had let anything slip at school or if Nate had seen more than he’d let on.

  When Rhea went silent, Alison panicked. Had Rhea seen or heard something when Becca had come over? Did she know how often Becca had been visiting? She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Rhea to know about Becca, but her stomach clenched at the thought of her finding out.

  “I think it’s time for you to finish up your math sheet,” Rhea told Nate. She walked over to the sink to load the dishwasher.

  “Maybe they’re in love,” he said. And now Alison really thought her heart would stop.

  “Who?” Rhea asked, her attention seemingly on the dishes.

  “Ms. Corrie and Mrs. Jacobs.”

  “Nate, why would you say that? They’re friends. Besides, love is for a man and a woman.” Rhea pointed a fork toward Nate. “Didn’t you listen to Pastor Franklin’s sermon last month? I don’t know why I even bring you to that church if you’re just going to sit there and daydream.”

  Alison’s heart sank even farther. She had known Rhea wouldn’t approve, but she’d still held out hope she would respond with grace. Because Rhea had fed her and wiped her mouth and helped her shower with the utmost patience and care, her resolute judgment felt harsh.

  “Did you hear me, Nathaniel?”

  Nate walked over to the coffee table and picked up a framed photo of Alison and Becca taken at the PTA holiday lunch a few months before her life imploded. Becca had brought it over when she’d visited on Monday. Alison’s first instinct had been to stick it in a drawer after she left, but that wouldn’t have been fair to either of them. In the photo, Becca’s arm was around her shoulder, both of them beaming at the camera. In her photos with Michael, even the ones from their wedding day, Alison’s smile was never so broad.

  “I think they look nice together,” Nate said. “Like they belong.”

  At the sound of the front door opening, Alison grabbed the remote control and tried to turn off the TV, but she was too slow.

  Becca collapsed onto the couch and lifted Alison’s feet up onto her lap. “What’s happening, sexy?”

  “Not much.”

  Becca looked over at the TV. “The L word? That’s so last decade.”

  “I have to figure it out.”

  “It’s a show, Alison. Being a lesbian doesn’t mean you have to pierce your nose, chain smoke, and work at vegan cafes. But Jennifer Beals is exceptionally hot. I’ll give you that.”

  “Starting somewhere.”

  “Why don’t you start with me?” she asked. “Ask me anything you want. I’m a real flesh and blood lesbian. I don’t just play one on TV.”

  “Still thinking,” Alison said. “Trying to sort it out.”

  A look of disappointment crossed Becca’s face. Alison knew Becca was hoping she would open up, spill her feelings about her newfound sexuality and what it meant for their future.

  “I’ll wait for you,” Becca said. “As long as it takes.”

  Alison squirmed at the thought of Becca waiting for her. She didn’t want her to waste her life waiting for something that may never be right.

  “So, what did you do today?” Becca asked.

  “This,” Alison said. “Days all the same.”

  “Mine, too. We started the decimals unit today. I swear it feels like I just did it, but the carousel keeps coming around again, ready or not.”

  “Getting diz … dizzy?” Hearing Becca talk about school, about what she was teaching in Alison’s classroom gave Alison a twinge of sadness. She missed the energy of the classroom: the noise of the kids chattering, the look on their faces when they suddenly understand h
ow to multiply fractions, even the boys’ endless bathroom jokes.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Becca continued. “I love the kids. They can be supremely annoying, but they’re mostly silly and delightful. I can’t think of any other career that would inspire me as much.”

  “Yeah.” The problem was, neither could Alison. There was probably something else she could do—answer phones or enter data—but those jobs sounded incredibly dull.

  “Enough about school. What else is going on with you?” She massaged the bottom of Alison’s feet, using her thumbs to work the pressure points.

  Alison sighed with pleasure, her fingers releasing the tension from her body. “Rhea’s been strange.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nate told her.” Alison filled her in on the rest of what happened earlier in the day, finishing with Nate’s comment about the photo.

  “I knew I liked that kid,” she said. “We do look good together.”

  “And Michael wasn’t happy either.”

  “You told Michael about us?”

  “I had to,” Alison said.

  “I am so proud of you.” Becca took her hand. “That couldn’t have been easy.”

  “It had to be done.”

  “Coming out is a big moment, no matter your age or circumstance.” Becca leaned across the couch to give her a hug, but Alison pulled away sharply. Alison had told her husband that their marriage was over and that she was dating a woman, but that didn’t mean she was ready to plant a rainbow flag on her front lawn. She needed to take it one step at a time.

  Becca’s face clouded over. “What’s wrong? This should be your proudest moment. You can start living your best life now.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re a lesbian, Alison. Whether you like labels or not, that’s what you are. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can move on with our life together.”

  A lesbian? Strangely enough, even after spending time with Becca all those months—the workouts at the gym, the shower, hours in bed together at her apartment—Alison hadn’t thought much about labels. She enjoyed being with Becca. She loved her infectious laugh, and her clever intelligence and the way she could always keep a conversation going with anyone, anywhere. She desired her body—her gap-toothed smile, her muscular legs, and her musky smell—but she’d never thought of herself as a lesbian. She wasn’t ready for a coming out party. She had enough trouble making words come out of her mouth.