by Jaime Maddox
Ward drove without really seeing the roads, not fast, for she wasn’t in a hurry. Where did she have to get to, anyway? Only Jeannie’s empty lake house awaited her. Before she knew where she was going, Ward found herself on the newly familiar roads leading to Frieda’s house. As she pulled into the long gravel drive, she drew Hershey’s attention, and the Lab came racing toward the car. Frieda followed at a more leisurely pace.
Hershey jumped at the car door, nearly preventing Ward from opening it, but backed down at Frieda’s command. Still, when Ward stepped out of the car, she danced excitedly until her master told her she could pounce, at which point she bathed Ward in kisses. In an instant, if only for a little while, she forgot all her troubles as she felt the dog’s love.
“Yes, I missed you, too,” she said as she scratched the fur behind Hershey’s ears.
“This is a pleasant surprise,” Frieda said as she snuck around her dog to steal a hug.
“Yeah, for me too. I didn’t really know where I was going, and somehow, I ended up here.”
Frieda laughed. “I guess you’re worse off than I thought. But don’t fret—you’re in good hands. I’m going to take you out golfin’, and then we’re going to play the ponies and win some money.” Frieda rubbed her hands together enthusiastically as a wicked grin spread from ear to ear.
Ward debated for a nanosecond. What did she look forward to today? Nothing. Perhaps that’s why she’d come here. Frieda’s friendship had been a bright orb of sunshine in her dark world, and right now, Ward surely needed that. Another idea came to her, though. “Did you ever go to the rattlesnake roundup?” she asked.
Frieda puckered her lips in concentration. “Over in Noxen?”
“Yeah, that’s the place. One of the nurses I know invited me, and I have to tell you I’m very curious.”
“Well, it’s been years since I’ve been there, but if they still have a beer tent, I’m willing.”
After depositing Hershey in the kitchen with Irene, Ward sent a text message to Erin, and then she and Frieda headed to the golf course. Frieda called ahead and made a tee time, and they were paired with a father and son who were blessedly clean-mouthed and competent on the course. It took until the third hole for Frieda to begin interrogating Ward.
“So what’s the story?” she asked.
Ward was enjoying the day, the bright sky and the chatter of birds. The scent of freshly mowed grass and evergreen filled her nostrils. Her mind had buried its burdens, and it took a second to divine the meaning of Frieda’s question.
Sucking in air through her bottom teeth, she made a bizarre whistling sound. Then she spoke. “Jess ended our relationship.”
Frieda squinted. “I thought she already did.”
Ward shrugged. Was it obvious to everyone but her that it had ended back then? Rosa, Jeannie, and now Frieda all seemed to think so. “I guess she did, Free. I took this time to work in the mountains because I hoped she’d change her mind, but you’re right. It was already over.”
“What now?” she asked as they pulled up to the place on the fairway where their tee shots had come to rest. She seemed to be taking her frustrations out on the golf ball and had bested Frieda by a dozen yards.
“I have the weekend off, and then I start in Factoryville on the second. It’s my last month working in the mountains. Then, vacation for the month of August, but I guess I’ll use that to pack. Or house hunt. Or maybe I’ll just stay at the beach and let Jess take care of it. I don’t know yet. All I know now is that on September one, I’ll be back in Philly, at my old job, and start putting the pieces of my life back together.”
Frieda stood waiting while she listened, and when the men in their group finished hitting, she used an iron to put the ball on the green. “Slow down, baby. Slow down!” she cried to her ball as it hit hard and rolled toward the back, threatening to find the edge and disappear into the rough. “Yes!” she said when it stopped on the flat surface, a few yards from the pin.
“Nice shot,” Ward said. They drove to her ball, a few yards ahead, and she chose a club. Miraculously, she’d managed to clear her head enough to hit nice shots and make par on the first two holes. She lined up her shot, positioned her feet, and took her practice swings with an eerie calm. Her life was disintegrating, but she was focusing on golf. It felt good. Her seven-iron shot landed short and ran up toward the pin.
“Oooh, baby!” Frieda exclaimed. “I think that’s close.”
The men applauded as well. “That’s a gimme,” the father said as they drove up to the green. Sure enough, Ward’s ball was inches right and just a foot short of the hole.
Fourteen more holes went much the same as the first three, and Ward, who was a very enthusiastic but not necessarily talented golfer, stood on the last tee box looking down the fairway toward a record score. She’d never broken eighty. Hell, sometimes, she didn’t even break ninety. But all she needed was a five on a rather short par four, and she’d have the first seventy-nine of her career.
A driver off the tee left her less than a hundred yards from the pin. It wasn’t a difficult shot, but the trampled grass near the trees on the right of the green told what a challenge this one could be. Not for her, though. Not today. Her pitching wedge landed softly and stopped, and her two putts gave her another par and a seventy-eight. Also a hug from Frieda and the offer of a beer in the bar from the father and son they’d played with.
As they walked to their cars after their drink—Ward chose water—Frieda put an arm around her and pulled her a little closer. “See, all you needed was to shake the albatross from your neck and your talents emerged.”
“I was just lucky.”
“Maybe we should go watch the ponies instead of the snakes.”
“You really are a gambler, aren’t you?”
Frieda shrugged. “I’m just hoping to win back all the money I lost to you on the golf course today.”
They continued to talk in Frieda’s truck on the way to Noxen.
“Have you thought of staying here?” Frieda asked.
Ward shook her head. “No. Not without Jess. She’s the reason I came here.”
“But you love it here. At least I think you do. You seem to enjoy the things they don’t have in the big city—like trees and golf and kayaking.”
Ward hesitated to point out that she could find all of those things without much of a drive from her house in Wayne. The truth was more complicated than that. But Frieda was right. She did like it in the mountains. Maybe someday she’d find a place here, someday when thoughts of Jessica Benson were no longer painful. For the moment, though, she was looking forward to the rattlesnake roundup.
The line of cars, SUVs, and pickups wound through the town of Noxen, and it took them twenty minutes to reach the back of the field where they were directed to park. It was a long hike back to the festival, and they were parched when they finally made it through the crowd of children at the bounce house and the teenagers playing carnival games. Erin accosted them at the gate of the fenced-in area where the kegs were set up.
Ward had been very cautious about her alcohol intake in the months since the incident at George’s bar. That night still haunted her, and it scared her to think she could drink so much that she’d become violent and suffer a blackout. On top of that, Jess had outright accused her of being an alcoholic. She didn’t think she was, but she wasn’t so foolish as to ignore something as significant as the night she’d nearly killed Emory. She’d listened to Jess’s criticisms and examined her life completely after their split. She admitted she enjoyed a cocktail in the evenings, especially after a difficult day at work. But she wasn’t a drunk, and she wasn’t abusing alcohol, no matter what Jess said and despite the fact that she’d nearly killed a man in a drunken rage. She hadn’t had a drink since the day she’d left Garden in January, but now perhaps it was finally okay to enjoy one again. A few beers with her friends would be harmless, a way to relax on a beautiful summer’s night, and besides, now that it was officiall
y over, she didn’t really care what Jess said about her drinking.
After they all hugged, Ward and Frieda followed Erin to a corner where a group of women had gathered. Ward recognized Erin’s new girlfriend, but the other five faces were unfamiliar. Each of them, though, was young, like Erin, and suddenly Ward felt very old.
She might just drown in the dating pool. She was thirty-five years old and could hardly remember the blur her life had been at their age. She’d been in medical school then, spending her days in class and her nights in the library—studying, learning, achieving. From medical school until Jess, she’d dated only women her own age—classmates in school and residency. Their lives revolved around work, and they talked shop and managed to squeeze in sex between shifts in the ER and night call in the ICU. What did people even do on dates?
In spite of the age gap, the crowd warmly welcomed her and Frieda. They were all members of Erin’s softball team, and most of them were teachers, off for the summer and looking forward to the championship games when softball would end and their real vacations would begin.
“So where are these infamous snakes?” Ward asked after she’d adequately quenched her thirst. It had been only one beer, and she really didn’t need another. She didn’t want one, either. Fuck Jess. She was not an alcoholic.
“C’mon. I’ll introduce you,” Erin offered.
Frieda declined the invitation, but Ward eagerly followed Erin to a clearing beneath a huge maple tree. A small grandstand seating area stood in front of her, and Ward couldn’t help smiling as she looked around. On the perimeter, burgers and hot dogs were being served from a counter on the right. Behind her, she spotted halushki and potato pancakes. In the middle, dozens of poisonous snakes slithered around the grass of a twenty-by-twenty-foot snake pit enclosed with a fence made of fine mesh. Men, women and children gathered at the edge, chowing on their picnic food as they ogled the snakes and listened to the game commissioner discuss their merits.
A particularly fierce-looking rattler in the dark phase (whatever that meant) was paraded around the pit, the upper half of his body stuffed into a clear plastic tube that resembled a narrow sewer pipe. The handler held the tube with one hand while the other secured the lower half of the snake’s body. He shook the snake, and the telltale rattling sound echoed around the pit, to the delight of the rather large crowd gathered to gawk at the captives. Even Ward smiled, but she tried to hide her expression by lowering her head. She detected movement and jumped back as a four-foot-long black snake slithered to the fence in front of her.
“Holy shit!” she said, laughing, and Erin caught her.
Ward breathed deeply at the contact of Erin’s strong arms, and for just a moment she was tempted to sink into Erin’s embrace. From the moment they met she’d felt a chemistry between them. It had been sour for the first few hours, but after that, their relationship had been friendly and fun and supportive. Erin was obviously interested, and if Ward was honest with herself, she was too, on some level. Erin was smart, and capable, and cute. But she was too young, and the attraction would soon fade. Then they’d be left with nothing. So Ward shook the temptation from her brain and steadied her legs, easing herself up and subtly shifting away from Erin.
They both laughed. “You’re not afraid of snakes, are you, Doc?”
“Petrified,” she confessed. “But I’m determined to conquer all my fears before I die. Do you think they’ll let me touch it,” she asked, then quickly added, “while its head is in that tube thingy?”
“I don’t think so. But if you want, I’ll catch one for you and you can have all the fun you want.”
Ward turned to her, incredulous. “No way! You catch snakes?”
“Sure. There’s tons of ’em in the woods.”
“I think I’m going to faint,” Ward proclaimed. “Most of my tee shots end up in the woods.”
Erin responded with a hand on Ward’s back, and suddenly Ward thought better of the plan she’d had to tell Erin about her breakup with Jess. Her touch felt too good, and Ward thought she’d better put up some walls rather than tear any more down.
“Erin!”
A booming voice from behind startled them, and they turned simultaneously in that direction. Ward noticed the smile on Erin’s face before she saw the cause—a tall, dark, and handsome woman wearing a paramedic’s uniform. Her dark eyes were keen and penetrating. She was older than Erin, probably older than Ward, too, but looked neat and fit and impressive. And vaguely familiar. Had they met?
The other two shared a quick hug, and Ward caught the newcomer checking her out even while her arms were wrapped around Erin. Before Erin could introduce her, the woman stood back and blatantly studied Ward. “If it isn’t the rent-a-doc. You look good with clothes on.”
Erin howled, and Ward held out her hand in introduction. “Ward Thrasher. Have we met?”
“Our eyes met, across a crowded trauma room.”
Ward searched her memory. This woman was totally hot, and she was sure she’d have remembered meeting her, but since she was obviously flirting with Ward, maybe it was better that she didn’t. Better not to seem too interested because, quite honestly, she wasn’t sure she was ready to be interested at all. Perhaps, though, it was good that she was even thinking about the possibility of being interested. There might be hope for her future yet. Not love—she would certainly never do that again. But hot sex? Maybe. Just maybe she could do that.
“I don’t remember. When was that?”
“Oh, a few months ago. I was working a transfer. You sent a trauma to Scranton. Snowmobile vs. tree. No helmet. Tree won.”
Ward nodded. “I remember. That was Erin’s case.” Then Ward frowned. “I heard that guy died.”
“Yeah, I heard that, too. A lot of dying going on with the rent-a-docs around.” Her posture stiffened and the playfulness left her voice as she caught Ward’s eyes.
Ward recoiled, as if one of the snakes wandering just a few feet away had bitten her. “Excuse me?” she asked.
The woman shook her head. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean that.”
Ward knew she should let it go, but she couldn’t. “Well, what the hell do you mean?” Who was this woman, and what gave her the right to say such a thing?
Her face fell and she reached a hand out to Ward, but Ward stepped back. “Doc, I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Why don’t we get a beer?” she asked.
Ward looked to Erin. “I’ll get you a pet snake, don’t worry,” she said as she protectively guided Ward back to the beer cage.
They found Erin’s friends where she’d left them, and they quickly filled glasses from a pitcher and handed them over. Ward met the stranger’s eyes over a beer she had no intention of drinking and realized she didn’t even know the woman’s name. But she knew she didn’t like her.
Ward took a few steps toward her and leaned in. “So, why don’t you tell me why you felt the need to make that disparaging remark about me? Don’t you know how damning words can be, especially from a professional like you? People trust your opinion about medical issues. They listen to what you say.”
The medic gulped her beer and then leaned close, so only Ward could hear her. So close Ward could feel her breath tickling her ear when she spoke. “Look, I really am sorry. And I know you’re right. But there’s this other doctor. Hawk. He’s been all over the mountains in the last six months or so. And because I work per diem, I get around too. I’ve never seen so many dead patients as I have when he’s taken care of them.”
Ward turned to face her and they were nearly nose-to-nose. Ward hoped the woman could feel the fire burning within her, threatening to erupt. Without serious evidence of wrongdoing, saying such things was flat-out unprofessional and inexcusable. Such remarks could ruin a physician’s career, or at least derail it. Every doctor lost patients, sometimes for no obvious reason, and sometimes there was n
othing to be done but mourn and move on. To have professional colleagues speculate about patient care was difficult enough, but to hear one smear a physician’s reputation with a patient’s blood was inexcusable. Ward couldn’t contain her anger.
“How dare you? Who the hell are you, anyway? What’s your name? I want to know who you are so when I call the state board I know who to report!”
Apparently, the volume of Ward’s voice had risen above the whisper where it started, because everyone in the group had stopped talking and turned to stare at them. Everyone except Erin, who stepped closer and wedged herself between them. “Hey, guys, calm down!”
Ward realized she’d been out of line, and she stepped back. “Sorry, everyone.” She didn’t apologize to the medic, but instead reached for the nearly empty pitcher of beer on the tall table in the middle of their group. Erin followed her to the counter where Ward requested a refill.
“Moira really isn’t a bad person, Ward,” Erin said. “She’s just been burned.”
“Not by me!” Ward retorted.
“Yeah, I know. She’s still angry, though. It was a guy she knew. Third-degree heart block. Lyme disease, they said. Moira saved him, but then he coded in the ER. Same story, you know? The staff said Hawk went through all the motions but didn’t really seem to care that the patient died.”
Ward shook her head. “She still shouldn’t be talking like that, Erin. This is a physician, a man who’s sacrificed his life to study and train to do this job. Little comments like that are harmful. Just the suggestion of malpractice can plant the seed and bring a lawsuit that shakes the whole hospital. It wouldn’t just be the doctor. It’s the medic’s judgment in question. If he was so sick, why didn’t she take him to Scranton where there’s a cardiologist? The nurse’s work is questioned. The hospital is questioned. And truthfully, Erin, tell me how much closer to death could the guy be than third-degree heart block? His heart was practically stopped. Whatever caused it to stop didn’t go away just because he arrived in the ER. Maybe she gave him some medication or put on an external pacemaker, but there’s only so much you can do with a sick heart! It could have been Hawk, or me, or the chief of cardiology at Mass General, and the patient still would have died.”