His Name was Ben

by Paulette Mahurin

  Ben’s sight moved toward two squirrels that sensing danger, froze. The wild dog was ready to lunge when Ben clapped his hands and frightened it off. “It’s a good day when you can save a life.”

  “He’ll find dinner somewhere else.” Watching it disappear into the culvert in the creek, “I know it happens but hate to see it.”

  “Same here. Oh look,” he pointed, “they’re wagging their tails, saying thanks.”

  “Good thing Tazzie’s inside.”

  “Yeah, something about dogs and squirrels,” he laughed.

  Embracing the natural environment she lived in, he couldn’t imagine a better place to be. Appreciating the shift he’d had at Zimmerman’s, Moment to moment is how to live, he looked at Sara, the alluring fluidity of her movement, how the sun constricted her pupils accentuating the glow of her hazel irises. I’m so glad I phoned you.

  Back in the house he caught the scent of lavender from an aromatherapy lamp. “You like pottery,” referring to a row of vases and bowls by the hearth.

  “Yes,” she smiled, “from Ojai’s very own. I like to support the local community. We’ve a lot of terrific artists here. That elephant painting,” she pointed to the large oil over the couch, “is from a favorite painter who lives in town.” Remembering the stuffed animal in her bedroom, “I can’t get enough of them. I have several,” she pointed to the bookshelves with bronze and sandstone pachyderms. “Someone told me they’re my totem animal, and that when an elephant appears, it’s watching over me. I figured out why not have that insurance—ergo the painting and herd,” she laughed.

  “Totem animal? That’s an American Indian tradition, isn’t it? Elephant, huh?”

  “I do know that totems are found in the history of other than American Indian cultures. And yes, Native American Indians do believe that animals enter and leave our lives depending on our needs, guiding us. I thought it odd that he said elephant but I didn’t query it.” Catching a questionable look on his face, Oh cripes, I don’t want to come across airy-fairy. “Not that I believe it. I’m not into believing much of anything, but I think the Indians possess a lot of wisdom. They are more in touch with the earth than anyone I’ve met.”

  Fascinated by her comment, “You’ve spent time around them?”

  The accepting tone in his voice lessened the resistance she felt that he might be judging her because she referred to something elusive. “Professionally, yes, I had that privilege of doing a clinical rotation with a tribe. They welcomed and made me feel like family. It was very fulfilling.”

  “I’m not much into believing things either but I agree with you about the wisdom of these people. Their heritage shows a deep respect for living off and with the land. My own love of nature and animals makes it easy for me to imagine that it would be very rewarding to connect with them.”

  Ellen yelled from the kitchen, “Dinner!”

  They made their way to the steaming dishes. “How nice,” Ben pulled out a chair, “of you to do this.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “So,” Ben asked, “how’d you two meet?”

  Ellen made small talk about how she met Sara. Seeing he was pushing the food around on his plate and not eating much, she joked, “I know I’m not the best cook.”

  Sara nudged Ellen’s foot under the table. “Ben, just eat whatever you want. We understand.”

  Ellen blushed and switched the topic. “Sara told me you went to Stanford?”

  Ben let out a long breath, “Yeah, I’m a Cardinal diehard,” and took a courteous bite of chicken.

  “Nineteen-seventy was a good year for the red and white.” Ellen flashed a redeemed grin. “Are you impressed I know about your football team?” Seeing Sara was confused, “It’s the only time Stanford took the Heisman Trophy home.” Ellen shot Ben a look that said gotcha.

  “Don’t be so smug, you guys only took it once.”

  “We’ve had more than one,” protested Ellen.

  Ben sat up straighter, “Nope, friend, just Beban.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “You’ve turned out dozens of NFL players but Gary Beban is the only Heisman winner.” Jokingly, he smirked, “My Cardinal minor was football.”

  “I didn’t know that.” Cutting a piece of meat, Sara said, “I’m not really into football, but El is.”

  The conversation continued while Ben, not wanting to draw attention to his lack of appetite, forced himself to shovel down more food.

  Watching him slowly move his hands and the way his lips parted, Sara fantasized about what it would be like to be with him. Stirrings in her body stopped when she saw him look at the kitchen clock that was approaching eight.

  “Well, this has been great, you two. Glad I phoned but I’d better be heading out.”

  Ellen, taking the cue from the disappointment on Sara’s face, got up and cleared the table. “Come on, Tazzie, dinner.”

  Not wanting to miss the opportunity, and being stuck at home unless getting treatments, Sara blurted, “Ben, you don’t have to leave. Unless you have an appointment early tomorrow, you can spend the night here.”

  “You have Ellen here and I don’t want to impose.”

  “You could crash on the couch.” Sara wanted to say more to convince him to stay. Aching to have additional time with him, to utter another word might risk too much. Just stay calm. Don’t push it. Give him space. Waiting for his reply for what she was sure was going to be a declined invitation, she regretted asking.

  Ben thought of the long drive back, how bone-weary he felt, and the lonely hotel room. Feeling welcome, not wanting to be alone, and appreciating the notion, “You know that’s not a bad idea,” he said, “if you have an extra toothbrush?”

  Sara, barely believing her ears, felt like she had just beat Paula Radcliffe’s marathon world record time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Footsteps approached, sending spasms of erratic heartbeats pulsing blood through the tiny body’s vessels. Even at that age, the baby sensed evil. Its small lungs moved fast like the wings of a hummingbird.

  Low guttural growls and Tazzie’s scratching at the door woke Sara. “Shhh,” she muttered. Having only been asleep for a couple of hours, the clock on her nightstand read two-thirty. Still dazed, confused from the nightmare, lingering images were hazy. Why are these happening? Am I stressed over Ben being here? What do these damn dreams mean?

  Not to be deterred, Taz continued clawing, leaving marks in the wood. “Tazzie, stop that!” Sara whispered.

  Preventing Sara from getting back to sleep, the whimpering frenzy running in circles intensified. “Taz, no,” she pushed the covers off. A twist of the doorknob and the dog bounded to the living room. She found Taz with Ben, who’d been up pacing. The second she saw him she had a bad gut reaction, the kind of sensation she got when she walked into an ER room and saw a patient in critical condition, the visceral sense she’d learned not to ignore. “Ben, what’s wrong?”

  Attempting to fight back nausea, he pursed his lips. After eating too much for dinner, his pancreas was rebelling. Feeling so ill, there was no way to keep it from Sara, “My stomach’s bothering me.”

  “You nauseated?” She knew the look.

  “Yeah, I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She went to the kitchen to get some ginger. Handing him the candied root, “Eat this.”

  He gave it a quizzical look.

  “It’s ginger. It works well for nausea. If that doesn’t do the trick, I have a stash of marijuana muffins in the freezer.”

  Not wanting to put anything else in his bloated belly, he hesitated.

  “Ben, we use it with pregnant moms.” She watched him eyeballing the lump in his hand. “I’ve used it for my nausea from chemo.”

  Cautiously, he chewed it down and waited. Not caring if it was a placebo, Sara’s presence or the ginger, he did feel better in a few minutes. “I think I can get some sleep now, thanks.”

  Sara sat atop the sleeping bag on t
he couch and patted it. “Come sit down with me.” Her eyes rested on his face, eased of the painful contortions from moments earlier. She wanted to lead the way so he’d be comfortable communicating about his illness. “Even with the bandage on for my ribs, you can probably tell I’ve got breast cancer. I had a double mastectomy. It looked pretty bleak for me up till Zimmerman got me approved to be included in the research with a new drug.” She went on to tell him a little about her history leading up to that day when they first met. Once finished, wishing he’d redirect the conversation back to himself, she sat silently. I hope you can be open with me. It might help you.

  Despite what he just experienced, he didn’t want to speak about himself. Rather than responding in kind, he shifted away from his discomfort. “How’s it going with the study?”

  “Remarkably well. They’re talking of cure.” Knowing he was holding back, like men tend to, sensing the resistance in the tight way he held his shoulders, she took a leap. “Want to tell me what’s going on with you?”

  Ben’s larynx constricted. “What’s to say?”

  She let out the breath she was holding. “Anything you want to.”

  You’re not making this easy. He felt her attention move into his body, loosening channels that needed to flow, sending a rush of heat flushing through him. “It’s not good, Sara.”

  “Neither was mine. They’d given up on me. I’d given up on me.”

  Other than with his brother, Ben didn’t share personal stuff. It made him very uncomfortable. He understood the value of getting things off one’s chest, but with so much distrust living in his cells from bad memories, it was hard for him to let his guard down. He was moved by Sara’s honesty, how humble she’d been with him. Torn about what to do, he opted to reciprocate to avoid hurting her feelings, not because he was highly motivated, and so he spoke. “I have advanced pancreatic cancer.” He waited a long solemn moment. “You’re a nurse, so you know what that means.”

  The ache in her chest was instant for although there was the high road, his being on a study and hers going so well, she was aware of the lethality of his disease. Determined to keep positive, she felt her heart missing beats when she said, “Well then, you’re lucky Zimmerman has you on a trial drug.” Taking hold of his hand, “You’ll get better, just like me.” Rampant thoughts spurted. Before getting into my study this would have freaked me out, knowing he had no chance in hell. Shit, I had advanced breast cancer and I’m improving. The rhythm of her heart slowed back to normal. “Ben, I really feel you can get better. Zimmerman’s one of the best. Just hold that idea.” Saying the words out loud replaced doubt; she believed them herself.

  Tazzie jumped up on the couch next to him.

  “See, she knows. She found my cancer.”

  Ben patted Tazzie’s head. “She’s a great dog.”

  “She used to sniff my breast where the tumor was. I’ve read of dogs finding cancers, diabetes, and alerting people to seizures before they happen.”

  “I can tell you really love her, Sara.”

  The way he mentioned her name sent shivers down her spine, similar to how she felt listening to Ravel’s Daphnis et Chloe. Devoured by attraction, she wanted to grab and kiss him, drag him down the hall to her room. Were it not for the restraint of her rib bandage she was sure she would have seized the moment. “How’d you find out about yours?”

  The entreating softness of her countenance, their hands enfolded, the way the light hit the contours of her body, and the gentleness of her manner invited him to step into the discomfort that blocked him from entering into a deep and meaningful relationship. Much as he wanted to, he was never able to totally conquer his timidity before now. With the embers of chemistry starting to spark, he knew it was time to unlock the door to intimacy and it had to begin with opening up about his cancer.

  While Sara listened, he told his story, about the workup from his doctor for abdominal pain, the Stanford Tumor Board, and his brother connecting him to Zimmerman. Unexpectedly, the more he said the easier it became. His nausea was all but gone.

  “I know Zimmerman will take extra good care of you.” Consumed with wanting to slide over closer to him to allow their legs to touch, she made her move and put a hand on his thigh. “You’re lucky.”

  When the words were spoken, he was aroused from the motion of her fingers on his leg, and gently slipped an arm around her back. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

  Melting into him, “No,” she absorbed the movement of his body as he leaned into her and their lips met. An affectionate several moments passed before she asked, “Want to come back to my room?”

  They fell asleep holding hands, she wrapped up and in her nightgown, he fully clothed, with Tazzie on the floor.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ben woke up to the floral fragrance of Sara’s hair, the rhythm of her barely audible breath close enough to feel on his cheek. He reflected back to the wee hours of the morning while the moon beat down on them, as word by word he unlocked the cargo of emotional baggage about his illness.

  Watching her eyelids gently moving, she looked so defenseless with her arm slung to her chest and limbs showing the last tinges of yellow bruises from the intravenous lines. He yearned to take her in his arms to quell the need growing in his groin, a craving that surmounted other bodily sensations—the ones that scared him—the things he didn’t want to talk about in the living room. Despite what he had held back, he felt comfortable with her and what that did to calm his insides was unanticipated. He wanted to reach for her, not just for sex but to connect with and protect her, to keep her safe, which surprised him. Whether it was changes in him from the illness, her accident and hospitalization, or the conversations they’d had, the closeness he felt with her gave him pause. He’d opened before and was burned. Not wanting to risk it, he couldn’t help that she made him feel alive and he wanted more of it.

  At a little past eight Sara’s phone rang, waking her. Knowing who it was before answering, she smiled over to Ben and motioned for him to be quiet. “Mom.”

  Playfully, he put his hand under the sheet to find her thigh.

  Sara’s attention went to his touch while she gave an ear to Rosalie. “Yes, my friends are still here.”

  “For Christ’s sake, when are you ever going to learn to take care of yourself!” The volume of her mother’s voice increased. “I hope you got your sleep!”

  Sara held the phone away so he could hear. “Yes, mom.”

  Ignoring what Sara said to her yesterday, Rosalie hounded, “We’ll come out today then?” It was really not a question.

  The heat of Ben’s body did nothing to stop the chill that her mother’s tone sent through her. Sara didn’t want to lie again, and worse be caught in one, but her mother’s indignant stubbornness left her no choice. “They’re not leaving right away. Let me phone you after…”

  Just then Ben sneezed.

  “Who’s that,” asked Rosalie. “Where are you?”

  “I’m home, mom. Where’d you think I was?”

  Rosalie wasted no time in shrieking, “Are you with a man?”

  From a sneeze? You can discern that from a sneeze? Hating that she lied and feeling cornered by her mother, she decided to come clean and suffer the consequences. “Yes.”

  Ben’s fingers moved gently on Sara’s thigh.

  “There’s a man there with you!” Rosalie screeched, reducing Sara to a five-year-old, incapable of making a decision or demonstrating wise choices. “You told us not to come because you had a man coming to visit? Every stray in the neighborhood has to land at your place, Sara. When are you ever going to learn?” With that she hung up.

  Sadly, she looked at Ben, who hadn’t taken his sight off her.

  “You okay?”

  Wanting to move on, stuff and lock her reaction to Rosalie in a hidden mental box, Sara nodded. Why does my damned mother always do this to me! I hate it!

  Seeing she was on the verge of tears, Ben said, “Talk to me.”

/>   Out it came. “She doesn’t think for one minute I’m suffering? I’m struggling with cancer! She has to lay it on. There’s no letting up with her.”

  Tazzie put her head up on the bed next to Sara.

  Ben took his hand from under the cover and sat up. “How old is she?”

  “In her seventies.”

  “Her generation didn’t sit down and talk, like ours does.” He understood this from dealing with his own dysfunctional parents. “Who knows what their cultural upbringing was or the habits they formed.” He motioned to the dog, “We’re all conditioned just like she is. Most women back when she was a child didn’t have much of a voice. It was a very submissive era for them. She’s probably making up for lost time now,” he smiled, “and, being a little overprotective because she’s frightened to have a daughter with cancer.”

  You don’t know my mother. She has an edge, razor-sharp, that cuts. “I see what you’re saying but still it’s not easy. There’s no way to reconcile with her. She knows how to push my buttons. This was nothing in comparison to some of the other…. I just have to work through it on my own, and I do.”

  “Trust me, I get it.”

  Feeling Ben’s empathy softened the thorny pricks from her mother’s words. The reverberation of the conversation evaporated into the reflection of light bouncing off his eyes, and all she wanted to do was cuddle up next to him and forget about the world of crappy relationships. “For a guy, you’re pretty smart.”

  “Well, I won’t dispute that.”

  “Figures,” she laughed.

  He stroked her face and while kissing it, “What’s so funny?”

  “I had a thought.”

  “What?”

  Hearing Ellen stir in the adjacent guest room, “Shh.”

  “What,” he repeated, “are you thinking?”

  “You’re pretty sensitive,” continuing to laugh, “for an attorney.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” he smiled and responded with a lawyer joke. “Okay smartass, what do you call a lawyer with an IQ of 50?”