by Robyn Carr
“You're lucky.”
“Yeah, lucky.”
“Yeah, real lucky. All you have to do is quit the job. You could have gotten a worse ultimatum; they could have told you to go into drug treatment or hit the trail.”
John hung his head. “I didn't do a lot of that.”
“What do you want, John? Next?”
“I need some rest. Breakfast and maybe a day off.”
“And then?”
“I'll be all right. I can handle it.”
“Yeah, I saw.”
“That won't happen again, Joe. Don't worry.”
Joe grabbed his upper arm. “You don't puke all over my apartment and then tell me you're okay. If you hadn't been so damn drunk, you might have had the strength to hurt yourself. You said you wanted to die. You said it ten or a hundred times.”
“I did. Last night I did. I'm okay now.”
“Next time you might not accidentally get smashed and be too drunk to shoot yourself. Next time you want to die, you might be sober.”
“I can handle it myself. Alone.”
“Which is how all this started. No, it wasn't Janet, or the extra job, or the guy that betrayed you. Listen here, I'm not going to strap myself to you and watch over you. But I'm telling you straight up you have two choices as I see it. You can work this whole business through with some professional help, or you can wait for the next time things stack up and hope you get through it. Which?”
“I want things to be all right. I want everything to be all right again.”
“Hey, John. It just plain never is. Never! You can either learn how to live it through, or let it kill you.”
John sniveled again. Then he began some full-fledged crying. “Is there anything in this whole stupid world that is just all right? For sure? Certain?”
Joe put his arms around John and held him, rubbing his back while he cried. “Yeah. About one thing. I'll tell you about it sometime. First, let's go out and get breakfast.”
There were a few things that needed adjustment right away. Rest, money, good food, no chemicals, and some self-esteem. It is very embarrassing for a man who is studying in a field as complicated as medicine to admit to such a vulnerability, such a problem with his own sense of reason. But when the preacher can confess even worse loss of perspective, it helps. They set up a schedule to get together every day until John found the counselor of his choice. And there would be plenty of time to solve all the problems. Taking one small problem at a time would be a good place to start. “Don't try to settle everything today. You have enough headaches to spread out over the year.”
“Friend, I have a headache you could never relate to.”
“Don't count on it, John.”
Joe went to Beverly later that afternoon. She met him at the door with, “What's the matter with John?” Beverly didn't waste any time.
“After the boys have gone to bed, honey,” Joe said.
“He was really blasted,” he told her later. “He was so sick I didn't want to leave him. He really tied one on.”
“What else?”
“Else?”
“I have a right to know. He's my brother.”
“Of course. Well, everything in the world has crashed down on John. The hospital found out he was moonlighting and they're forcing him to quit. He had a big blowout with Janet, who has not been entirely faithful, and they're quits. And a friend of his, the guy you probably read about, accused of molesting a kid, admitted it and killed himself. He was a friend of John's.”
“Whew. Who'd have guessed?”
“John did the sensible thing and got smashed. But he's going to be all right.”
“You told me. You went right ahead and told me!”
“He gave me permission, Beverly. Don't get excited. I'm not breaking any more oaths for you.”
“Does he need money? I have money.”
“We know, Beverly. He needs space and time and he knows where the bank is.”
“Okay.”
“Beverly, you're getting smarter.”
Beverly was also getting lovelier. By the day, the hour, and the minute. She was blooming. Joe knew it was their intimate relationship that was responsible. She wasn't alone in that big bed anymore. Joe would stay with her until the early hours of the morning, and she was resting. He was aware that she reached for him in her sleep, sighed when she touched him, and found contentment and security in his presence. She was happier and wilier. She was enticing, charming, letting him lead sometimes, trying to please him, submitting to his will like a compliant mistress. Very attractive.
“Come here, beautiful, and love me.”
“I do love you, Joe.”
“Then check on the boys and see if they're asleep.”
“For someone who wanted to wait, you sure can't get enough.”
“I stopped at the drugstore and this thing is burning a hole in my pocket.”
“Why don't you buy a carton of those things?”
“Why don't you?”
“I did. I put them in the drawer by the bed. Your side.”
“Beverly, you're nuts.”
No, she wasn't. She did buy them and they were there, on the side that had become his. She was trying to help him out if she could.
For nearly two weeks Joe saw John every day. Rest from giving up the extra job, no more uppers, and someone who cared showed on him right away. He figured he could manage on what little bit of money he had, and he found a good therapist right at the hospital who was eager to straighten him out. He was on his way to dealing with life.
The month of June was wearing old. Joe was seeing less of John but heard improvement in his voice, and knew he was getting consistently better, stronger. Joe was still looking for that subtle pencil mark and stopping at the drugstore, but less frequently on the latter.
Joe received his notice. He was getting his own church. He would be assigned to a small church in California. The Santa Monita Christian Church. He wouldn't be the assistant, he would be the head honcho, the chief reverend. They would have a nice parsonage for him and his family, if he could get one. He had to be there by August thirty-first.
And in came July. Rushing him. Pushing and shoving him. He didn't want to see what he was seeing and if he could close his eyes to it he would. Beverly was back to crying more often. She was growing buxom and tender and while she wanted Joe beside her at night, she wasn't exactly amorous. She was hard on the boys and impatient with Joe. And she thought dumb old Joe didn't guess what was going on.
It wasn't a habit of Joe's to go to the church alone in the evening to pray, although he loved what the sinking sun did to a stained glass window. Now he developed the habit. He was comfortable there. There was something about a church, the way it was prayed for, maintained by the faithful that made him proud. A place for them to come for peace and stability. For something that could endure.
Now, after many years and some confusion, he would get his own church. It was what he had wanted, to help the living with his work. He would have responsibility for a trusting congregation. A dream come true, or so he had thought.
He looked up at the cross that hung over the altar. His hands were plunged deeply into his pockets and he stared at the symbol that drove him. Doubt, he thought. The big “D.”
Ever since he was a kid, Joe's sins had been the real obvious kind. The first time he lied, he was caught. The only time he ever lifted a candy bar from the corner drugstore, he got nabbed. Joe couldn't get away with anything.
So he prayed... again.
Oh, I didn't come here to ask You. I already know what I have to do. I just wanted to tell You again that I'm sorry it had to be this way. I had it planned all different. I never meant to hang so many lives in the balance. My fault, of course. Well, the commitment didn't start with the baby. It started a long time ago, way back when I didn't want Beverly to be lonely anymore.
Now it's time, and I don't know if I can replace Bob. I don't want to, but that's what she doesn't
seem to understand. I don't expect her to forget him, stop missing him, stop loving him, stop seeing him in her sons. I just want to be next, after him. And I want her to find some peace. So maybe she needs me more than Santa Monita does. I don't have a choice anymore. Don't take it too hard. I couldn't have left her even if she hadn't gotten pregnant. And please... don't be too upset with Bev. She can't help it. She's just so scared.
If it's all right with You, I'm not going to mail that resignation right away. I'm going to wait a little longer and pray a little harder. Oh, Lord, I am so selfish. I still want it all. But I'll take it on the chin. Anyway You say.
You know what I'm going to do. Do You want me to see that's how it all started? I'm not really blind. I know where I went wrong. But the only thing I can do is love her. The only thing I can give her to make her happy is wrong. How did You ever get Yourself mixed up with a guy like me? Lord, I am unworthy. But I'll go to her again, even without her commitment to me, and let myself in with my own key and love her and hold her, and You will have seen me fail again. By now it must be a pretty common sight. But I'll take any help available. A little push in the right direction, maybe? I could try to make it up to You. I'd like a chance.
Oh, and about that baby. I'd like a girl. Amen.
It wasn't exactly a divine answer. More a lack of alternatives. Joe wondered if that was the same thing as an answer from heaven. He finished up the paperwork that had accumulated on his desk early in the day. Then he called John and asked for some time.
John could give him a few minutes if he could make it fast. So how do you rush a thing like this? It was enough to make a guy sick.
“I have a problem... personal... a very personal problem. I... ah, I could use a friend and some advice.”
“How the tables turn,” was the first thing John said. “I ought to beat the hell out of you,” was the next thing he said. Finally, he said, “Okay, I'll do whatever I can.”
Chapter Thirteen
Beverly's days had not been starting out very well. But this morning she felt a little better because at least she had some plans.
She knew what Carl was going to do, what he was going to say, and how she was going to react afterward. It was just a formality. She already knew she was pregnant. She had known it for a long time.
She thought when she first looked at the calendar that probably she was pregnant because she was a lot of things, but mostly she was fertile. When she was forty-eight hours late she was sure. When her bra started feeling tight, she was even more sure. When she threw up, she was almost suicidal.
She pulled on the once nice-fitting summer slacks and sleeveless blouse with a deep sigh; everything felt tight. She headed out the door. She had the little bottle in her purse, another ridiculous formality, and was on her way to Carl, the friendly neighborhood ob-gyn.
She did what any other neurotic, slightly off balance, unmarried pregnant woman would do when she saw her doctor walk into the office to greet her. She just about took his head off.
“Okay, Dr. Panstiel, let's see if just this once you can act like a professional and do the damned exam, give me the verdict, and let me out of here without any lip.”
“Nice to see you too, Beverly.”
“Oh, shut up!”
Carl looked at the chart to see if he could determine the cause of his favorite patient's unusually foul temper. “Pregnancy examination and prenatal check.” As he stood there gawking at her chart, she glided past him into the examining room to strip, just like always. This time, though, she wasn't going to get all bleary-eyed and sloppy. She was almost thirty-five, dammit, and a little too old to have to get married.
She was apparently too old to have any secrets either. Carl knew Joe and Joe was a minister and her life now would be an open book. So why didn't she go to another doctor? That, she hadn't even considered. Carl was her doctor. Carl's office had her chart. And maybe Carl could get through to her, but she doubted it because she was mad. Really mad.
She didn't start out mad. She started out confused and scared. She even tried to pray about it and then got mad because all she could feel was nausea. It was time for action and not to mope around with the uncomfortable combination of cold dread and blind faith.
Life is different when you're almost thirty-five, widowed, and pregnant. There is a little less reason for hope when you've lived through a tragedy. You know how much it can hurt you, your kids, and other people when you make big mistakes. Ministers are included in the people group. Sometimes you just had to use good sense and try not to get too emotional.
Sure, Joe thought marriage was the answer to everything, but when had he been married? And when had he ever learned first-hand how horrible it could be to try to get through a failed relationship? And he would love having a baby, but what did he know about having a baby? He hadn't ever lived with a pregnant woman. He hadn't ever had to lift the diaper pail out of the tub to take a shower... every time he wanted to take a shower. He didn't understand postpartum blues or breastfeeding. Oh, he would be thrilled about having a baby, because he didn't have a clue what it was like. No, Joe could stick to saving souls and Beverly would handle the real-life stuff. Beverly the wise, strong, sensible, logical.
“Okay, Mrs. Simpson, all done. If you will dress and step into my office, I will discuss my findings with you.” Dr. Panstiel, the professional.
“Yes, Doctor.” Beverly the polite.
Carl was going to get to her, make her mad, she could feel it. He wouldn't have to try very hard. She had been looking for a good fight and there was no one else with whom to fight. Carl drew the short straw when he entered ob. He wouldn't have nearly as many mental cases in psychiatry. That's the way it goes, Carl baby. Here I come.
“Sit down and cool off, Beverly. I don't want to fight.”
“When did you get to know me so well?”
“Well, you're looking for a fight, aren't you? Go ahead, deny it.”
“So I told you I get crabby—”
“On the pill. You told me you got crabby on the pill. You obviously have not been taking your pills.”
“What was your first clue?”
“What are you going to do?”
“None of your business.”
“That's a good girl, just let it all out.”
“Carl, I'm warning you—”
“Does Joe know?”
“Know what? I don't even know. Am I?”
“You knew you were pregnant when you made the appointment. Did you tell him?”
“No. And you better not either, Carl. Doctor-patient relationship and all that.”
“Now, that's a hell of a thing to stick me with, Beverly. You know how I care about you and Joe. Talk to me, please.”
“There's nothing to talk about.”
“Bull.”
“Don't get tough with me, Carl, or I'll scream rape.”
“You're already dressed.”
“Carl!”
“Okay, okay, now what are you going to do?”
“Well, I already threw up and I suppose you want to know if I need anything for my bowels and there will be the usual vitamins and—”
“Beverly, goddammit—”
“Carl, I don't know. I think I know, but I'm not sure. I only just found out. Don't badger me, Carl. I have to think.”
“What if I tell him?”
“You won't.”
“How do you know?”
“Because if you do, I'm going to sue you right out of your boxer shorts, that's how I know. And I mean it.”
“Then why did you come to me when you knew what I was going to say and how I would worry about you and everything? Why didn't you go to some other doctor and keep it from me; some doctor who doesn't care about you and the baby's father so much?”
Beverly had the good grace to let one tear collect and run slowly down her cheek, quite a long way down before she brushed it off. It was more dramatic if you did that. “Because, Carl. You're my doctor.”
�
��You have to tell Joe.”
“Is that your professional opinion?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I'll think about it. Thank you, Doctor. Good day.”
“Good day, my ass.”
Mrs. Simpson waltzed out of the office and Carl couldn't move. He supposed it wouldn't be right to call Joe, even though he knew Beverly wouldn't really sue him. Would she? She was usually sensible. Sometimes. But it wasn't his place to interfere. For lack of a better answer, Carl clasped his hands together in front of his face and looked at the ceiling in his little cubicle. “A few dates, a nice wedding, so what was I asking? Didn't You build any restraint into that model? I can't do anything. I hope You've got some ideas. And hurry. Amen.”
There was a knock at the door and he remembered that he had another patient in another examining room, waiting with her feet up in the air while the vent cooled her bottom. He said, “Come in.”
“Did Mrs. Simpson leave her medical records in here, Doctor?”
“Didn't she drop them at the desk as usual?”
“She must have inadvertently taken them with her. If she doesn't bring them right back, I'll call her later and remind her to return them.”
Inadvertently, my aunt Sarah.
“Mrs. Williamson is ready in Room Four.”
“Thank you,” he said. He still couldn't move. “Faster,” he said to the ceiling. “Amen.”
Beverly went directly to the hospital. She was in a hurry and called ahead to John to say she was coming to see him about an urgent family matter. There was simply no one else in whom she could confide. She needed some help. She needed someone she could trust. Terry would try, but would get upset. There was almost nothing worse than an upset bride. And Terry was so very young. John was a doctor. He was rational and strong. He would be objective.
John met her in the lobby, telling her he had borrowed an empty office from a nursing instructor on the fifth floor. It would be his for up to four hours. Beverly stopped short when she saw that the office came with a secretary in an outer office, but John urged her on and closed the door.