“I suppose your sons are adults now.”
“Yes, they’re all grown, with families of their own. I have three and a half grandchildren.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Three and a half? Oh, Samantha’s baby is the half, you mean?”
He laughed. “Right, Samantha’s baby, and three grandsons. So far, this family only has boys. Who knows, the fourth grandchild may be the exception.”
She chuckled. “Do you hope for a girl this time?”
“A girl would certainly be nice, but I hope for a healthy child. Cindy, my ex-wife, is really excited about this. She’s coming from Minnesota to be with Samantha before and after the birth.”
Nina was reluctant to hear him talk about his wife … they had shared years together, had three children and grandchildren. It was logical to assume that he cared about Cindy, but he’d become something of a habit with Nina and she hoped he could spare some time for her during Cindy’s visit.
“Yes, Brian mentioned her visit the other day,” she said.
He nodded, then talked about his early days in Florida. “In my profession it wasn’t difficult to get work here. I’ve never regretted the move.” He looked at her intently. She wondered what she saw in his eyes.
“After a while, Cindy became homesick for the cold winters and her family, so without too many hard feelings we divorced, and she moved back north.” He was quiet for a while.
Earlier she’d noticed that he was silent for minutes at a time, as if he were listening to a voice inside. A surprising and interesting habit. Most people were uncomfortable with silence, feeling they had to prattle to fill in the empty spaces. She didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, content to look and absorb with her senses. The quiet observation gave her insight about him, more so than words.
Their eyes met, smiling at each other.
Michael stood and glanced through the lanai door. “The sun’s almost past the treetops. Are you very hungry?”
“Not yet.”
Rounding the counter into the kitchen he took plates and flatware from the cupboard. “Then let’s give it another half hour or so.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Keep me company. And please stay off that ankle.”
Michael carried a stack of tableware to the lanai.
“Do you have a private practice or do you work in a hospital?” she asked when he returned.
“I manage a walk-in clinic for the underprivileged. It’s in the seedier section of town. Work is very busy and rewarding.”
“Sounds interesting. Tell me more. Do you only treat children?”
“Not at all. We do general medicine and gynecology, as well.”
“Is treatment free?”
“The patients’ insurance pays, if they have one. Otherwise a private founda-tion—the Family Hamilton Foundation—takes care of their bills.”
“As a loan?”
“No. Our patients are unemployed—some are unemployable for various reasons. Because they can’t repay a loan, their medical bills are paid in full. The foundation was set up for these poor, desperate people.”
“How is it funded?”
“Through the usual fund raisers. Some money comes from investments and some from private donations.”
Nina had a million questions, but the ringing of the phone interrupted her.
She grabbed the cordless. “I have to take this one,” she said. “It might be Lillian, my daughter.”
The male voice was one she couldn’t place. “This is Martin Helman with Nicholson Publishing House.”
“Yes,” she said. Both her books were published by Nicholson. Both did well in sales, mainly to institutions and corporations.
After ascertaining that she was indeed Nina Brochard, he came straight to the point.
“We’d like to commission a book from you on the heredity of chemical dependence. There’s been a comparative study on whether the condition … “
“Disease, you mean,” she said, unable to resist the temptation to put him right on this point.
“Naturally. As I was saying … we’d like you to write a book that considers both the environmental factors and genetic predisposition.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Helman. You see, I no longer write non-fiction.”
“Not even this once? We’d make the offer very interesting.”
“I’m sorry, but no. I’m busy doing other things.”
“Have you given up writing entirely?”
“Not at all,” she said firmly. “I’ve turned to fiction, I’m writing a novel.”
“You are? Would you care to send me an outline? If it fits our list and is up to your usual quality, we’d be interested in discussing possible publication.”
Nina’s heart beat faster as the words sank in. This was a real windfall. She knew it was extremely difficult for a first-time novelist to get published. She made up her mind quickly. “I’ll e-mail you a synopsis.”
She jotted down the address, and after a few polite words they hung up. She was flattered to be asked to write another documentary. At the same time, she was relieved to be in a position where she could choose what she wrote. More than anything she was delighted to have a foot in the door to possible publication of her novel.
Standing by the sink in the kitchen, Michael glanced at her.
Wanting to dance and shout from joy she put down the phone and turned to him. “That was my publisher. He may be interested in my novel.” Her voice trembled. “Wanted to commission another documentary, but I’ve lost the motivation. I want to work in the field of chemical dependence, not lecture or write about it. It’s been years since I’ve done clinical work.”
“Wonderful news about your novel! I’m pleased for you.” He beamed from delight on her behalf. “I’ve read about half of your book on alcoholism and mental disorders. I’m impressed. It’s very interesting, and written in terms practically everybody can understand. I didn’t realize you have a reputation as an expert both in France and internationally. Mind telling me about your job?”
“That’s a big question, but I’ll summarize. I worked at Eastman & Merrill, with plants and offices in most European countries, the mother company in the U.S. I served as liaise between the dysfunctional employee and management. My main responsibility was to identify a troubled employee before the onset of performance problems, suggest a method of treatment, and be persuasive enough to make the employee accept my suggestion. That’s what I meant when I said I hadn’t done clinical work in a long time. In my job with Eastman I was more of an administrator.”
“You’ve had an interesting career.”
She nodded, watching him wash salad greens. He seemed at ease—the kind of relaxed, self-assuredness that comes from knowledge and acceptance of oneself without reservations. Intuitively, she knew he’d found answers for himself that she was just beginning to look for. Perhaps she could learn from him. Given the opportunity, she would ask a few discreet questions, hoping he’d tell her the secret formula, if there was one.
Chapter 8
Michael set the table on the lanai. Dinner was delicious; the shrimp crunchy and succulent. He had another beer, while Nina settled for ice water instead of the wine she would have preferred, but she’d taken the last of the pills for the ankle today.
“By the way, did you go back to see Rick Bradbury about your ankle?”
“Who? Oh, the doctor. Yes, I did.”
“Did you drive yourself? You could have asked me, you know.”
“Thanks, Michael. It isn’t far, and driving was all right.”
“How is your ankle?”
“He said I’m in great shape. The inflammation is about gone, no more crutches. And he said to tell you Hi.”
Michael chuckled. “Yo
u must be pleased to leave that behind you.”
“Oh yes. I went straight away to sign up at the gym and worked out for an hour. Got the heart pumping and recharged the batteries.”
He smiled. “Good for you. How often do you work out?”
“Most every day, unless something gets in the way.”
The sun was rapidly disappearing behind the treetops. Darkness descended quickly. Not bothering with the unpleasant yellow bug lamps, Nina lit the candles on the table, replacing the glass cover to keep them from flickering. Their glow created an oasis, enclosing them, secluded and distant from the world around.
The touch of his hand on her arm startled her.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t. Candlelight fascinates me.” Now that she had created the intimacy, she wasn’t sure she liked it. With him so close she felt vulnerable, but wished he wouldn’t catch on. She crossed her arms.
To break the growing silence she said, “Earlier, before my publisher called, you were telling me about your clinic. I’d like to hear more.”
He glanced at her, smiling, the candlelight reflected in his eyes. “Sure. We have a GP, an ob-gyn, a family doctor and four medical assistants. Counting me, we’re eight in all. We see between fifty and sixty patients a day, so you can imagine we’re understaffed.”
“That’s a heavy case load. How do you manage?”
“We handle what we can, and make referrals to other medical centers and the local hospital as often as possible.”
She held the water glass between both hands, leaning on the table. “Sounds interesting and different from what we have in France.” She thought for a moment. “I’d like to visit your clinic.”
“I’ll be happy to give you a tour, but don’t expect too much. It’s a simple walkin clinic, but we practice good medicine. When would you like to come?”
“How about tomorrow? If you can spare the time.”
“I’m on vacation for the next couple of days. I usually go by the clinic once a day to check my mail. Tomorrow suits me fine. But what about your ankle?”
“My ankle’s as good as healed.”
He laughed softly. “I’ll fetch you mid-morning tomorrow.”
“Great. I’m bored cooped up here at home. I’ll take my car, follow you to the clinic. Then I can do some shopping afterward.”
Nina was determined not to show up at Brian and Samantha’s cookout empty-handed. She would bring something—flowers, at least. In France it was inconceivable to arrive at a first visit without taking flowers or chocolates or a bottle of wine, and Nina intended to do the same here. But she was unsure of local custom; she had studied in the States, but the habits in New York and Baltimore were perhaps different from the simplified life in Florida.
Beside her, Michael cleared his throat. “Of course, you’re bored.” He sipped his beer. “You don’t need to take your car. I’d be glad to drive you.”
She glanced at him. His gaze met and held hers. Self-conscious, she brushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Thanks. It’s very kind, but you’ve already done more than enough.”
He leaned an elbow on the table. “Here’s what I suggest. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning, we’ll visit the clinic. I’ll drop you off at one of the malls, and bring you back when you’re done shopping. How about that?”
It sounded all right. But no, she wouldn’t accept. She didn’t understand what his suggestion entailed. Probably nothing. He was being nice and considerate as usual, but she felt cornered. She folded and unfolded her napkin. If it hadn’t been for her ankle, still a little sore, she would have been pacing to get free of the stifling feeling. She shifted in her chair, stacked the dishes and pushed them to the other side of the table.
Michael used one of the candles to light a cigarette. “Apparently my suggestion isn’t tempting.”
She’d painted herself in a corner. Now what? “It is tempting, but to be frank, I’m used to shopping on my own. Let’s visit your clinic as planned and leave it at that.” The fact was she had rarely, if ever, gone shopping with her own husband, let alone a strange man.
Michael’s eyebrows rose, and he looked baffled although she couldn’t understand why. He shrugged. His answer was curt. “Fine, if that’s what you want.”
Did she imagine it or did he sound hurt? What had she done? She hadn’t meant to offend him. These days, it seemed as if she couldn’t get anything right. Massaging her temples she opened her mouth to ask him to go easy on her, to please understand that she was hurt and afraid. The candle became a fuzzy ball of light from the tears she fought, and she didn’t dare to speak lest her voice betray
Collecting the stack of dishes, Michael took them inside. He stood in the doorway to the lanai. “Are you all right?”
“Sure. I’m fine.” She knew he was preparing to leave—the rest of the evening yawned fathomless. She wanted him to leave so she could give in and cry. And she wanted to ask him to stay, but lacked the courage.
“Will you promise to call if you need anything?”
She nodded. “Yes, I will.” Wondering what she would possibly need that he could help her with. She wanted it all: Florida, and her children, and grandchildren, and to stop hurting. Nobody could fix these things for her. Time could—and would—but Nina had no patience.
After Michael left, Nina cast about for something to pass the time, refusing to give in to the feeling of loneliness and the tears, knowing they were rooted in self-pity. Switching on the TV she kept flipping channels, but didn’t find anything that held her attention.
A sharp ring of the doorbell made her jump. She glanced at her watch—it wasn’t late, but she hesitated with her hand on the handle.
She heard a knock. “Open. It’s me.”
Sophie!
Nina threw the door wide. “I’m so glad to see you! Come. Have a seat. What can I get you? Coffee? Wine?”
“Nina, calm down.”
“Sure, sure. I’m so relieved to see you. I was slowly going crazy alone.”
“Alone? Not for long. I saw Michael drive off a short while ago.”
Nina chucked. “So? Are you spying on me?”
“Naturally. I’m making sure you stay out of mischief.” Sophie smiled and sat on the loveseat. “Joking aside, I was going to come earlier, but when I saw his car in the driveway I didn’t want to intrude.”
“It wouldn’t have been an intrusion. He decided I needed to be fed, so he cooked dinner for me. And he suggested a visit to his clinic and shopping tomorrow.”
“Good. I hope you accepted.”
“I want to visit the clinic, but said no to the shopping.
“Why? It could be fun.”
“It’s too much. I can’t handle it.”
“What’s too much? Can’t you handle that somebody’s kind to you?”
Nina thought for a moment, sorting out her emotions. “He is very nice, but I feel fragile … so vulnerable. Right now I need to be on my own.”
Sophie gave her a dubious look. “You know best, of course. A word of caution though—not every man is like André. As for Michael, keep your options open. He can be a real friend.” She smiled. “Now, did I hear you say something about wine?”
Nina got a bottle of red wine, still resting in its wooden crate used for transportation. Slowly, with delicate movements not to disturb the liquid, she pulled out the bottle, slightly dusty with age.
After uncorking it with care, she set the open bottle on the table. “Knowing you’re something of a wine expert I brought this especially for you. Leave it to breathe for a moment.” She sat next to Sophie. “How are your sons doing?”
“Gregg and Bruce are both doing well. They keep insisting I move to New York to be with them. I miss them terribly, but I also tre
asure my life here.” She sighed. “Fortunately, it’s not far, so we visit often.”
When she deemed the wine was ready to serve, Nina poured a little in a stem glass and handed it to Sophie who took it, holding it to the light to admire its warm burgundy color. Nina followed Sophie’s every move with intense interest. This was no ordinary wine, and Nina wanted to see her reaction.
Sophie held the glass under her nose, breathing in the bouquet. Then she sampled the wine, swirling the beverage around in her mouth, eyes half closed. Nina saw her swallow, still keeping her mouth closed. “Hmm, great body.” She took another taste. “Velvety. This is excellent!” she said at length.
“It should be—it’s one of the better vintages. I’m pleased it traveled well.” Nina filled her glass to one quarter. “Usually, a wine should be left to rest for at least a couple of weeks after transport.”
Picking up the glass, Sophie gazed at Nina. “The wine interrupted what I wanted to say—that I understand your need to take it easy right now. But don’t isolate. You need to see people, take your mind off your problems. Navel-gazing isn’t a good road to healing.”
Nina grinned. “You’re right. And I will see people, but right now I need time to myself.” She refilled Sophie’s glass. “I’ve given up my marriage, changed my place of residence and I’m separated from my children and granddaughters. I shouldn’t enumerate these things, but they’re important losses—and I need to grieve them all.”
“Do you regret divorcing André?”
“Heavens, no!” Nina rubbed her face with both hands. “Whether it’s the loss of a parent, a child, a job, grief is a healthy response. To grieve is to heal.” She shrugged. “It isn’t easy, but it’s that simple.”
Sophie sipped her wine. “But you don’t have to grieve in total isolation. You can still see people, can’t you?”
Nina smiled. “Certainly, and I will.”
“As I said, give Michael a chance. He’s one of the nicest men I know. One in a million. He’s quite a catch for a woman looking for a mate.”
Something in the way she said it made Nina prick up her ears. Instinct warned her these were murky waters, to tread carefully. And she wasn’t looking for a mate, the thought was ridiculous.
Life Is A Foreign Language Page 6