The Doctor Delivers

by Janice Macdonald

  “To be honest, Nadj and I, well we’ve had a few problems lately.” He paused for a moment. “Not that I’m blaming her or anything, but she can be pretty strong-willed. Once she got this idea into her head that the kids would be better off with us, I couldn’t shake it.”

  Catherine felt the embers of anger reignite, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Gary reached over and caught her hand.

  “It’s okay, Cath, I told you. The issue’s closed. I’m just trying to explain how Nadia… Well, the thing is, I’m not happy with her.” He blurted out the words. “It’s not working. We fight about everything. It’s like she’s trying to rule my life. She doesn’t want a husband, she wants someone she can order around, ‘do this, do that.”’ The words came faster, his face colored slightly. “I mean, we go somewhere and it’s like she’s the star and I’m this underling, running around doing whatever she wants me to do.”

  Fighting the urge to say, Now you know how it feels, Catherine edged her hand out of his grip.

  “I can’t live my life like that.” He got up from the couch, walked over to the Christmas tree and stood for a moment, watching the colored lights blink on and off. With one finger, he gently touched a clay gingerbread boy, painted in red-and-blue stripes. “Peter made this, didn’t he?”

  “In kindergarten.” She glanced at her watch. It was late and she wanted to go to bed. Gary’s problems with Nadia were of no concern to her. The events of the day felt like fragile objects precariously stacked up around her. One false move would send them crashing down around her. Thoughts of Martin constantly crept into her head. A sick feeling percolated up from her stomach. The certainty that she’d done the right thing had given way to sheer need. If she could see his face, hear his voice, feel his arms around her again, nothing else would matter.

  Gary walked back to the couch and sat down beside her again. “We had a pretty good life, you know? Twelve years—obviously something about it had to work.” He turned to her, reached out as though to take her hand again, then drew back. “I guess what I’m leading up to is, I thought maybe we could give it another try.”

  Jarred from her reverie, unable to believe what she’d heard, Catherine just stared at him.

  “I’m doing well financially, the law firm’s growing. Money’s coming in. We could get a house down in Newport or Laguna. Something decent.” He glanced around the small living room. “Not to knock what you’re trying to do, Cath, I know you’ve got this thing about making it on your own, but this is a pretty tacky little place.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Bull. You know exactly what you said. This tacky little place happens to be my home.”

  “Come on—”

  “No, you come on. You’re doing exactly what you’ve always done. Criticize whatever I try to do. Make fun of it. Belittle it. It just kills you to think I might be able to make it on my own, doesn’t it?”

  He said nothing for a while, just sat with his eyes downcast. Finally, he looked up at her. “We’ve gotten off to a bad start, Cath, and that wasn’t what I meant to happen. All I’m trying to say is that I want us to put all this crap…all the stuff that’s happened the past year, behind us and start again. I think—”

  “Gary, stop.” She looked at him, took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t get angry, because you obviously have no idea. You sit there and describe your life with Nadia, tell me how unhappy you are, and it doesn’t even occur to you that it’s exactly the same way I lived when we were married—”

  “That’s ridiculous.” His face darkened. “You had everything. A big house, all the money you needed. You were raising our kids, taking care of a home, being my wife. It’s totally different.”

  “The only difference is you’ve realized the problem sooner than I did. I had nothing, Gary. No independence—”

  “You’ve got nothing now. I mean it’s pretty damn obvious you can’t make it. Peter’s sneakers look like they came from a goddamn discount store. And Julie’s jacket—”

  “I guess if they were name brands—”

  “Look, I don’t want to turn this into a fight. I’ve made mistakes, I know that. I’m just asking for another chance. Let’s try and make a go of it, okay? It would be better for the kids, better for you. You could give up that damn job, go back to school maybe. We’d all be better off.”

  Before she could reply, the cell phone in Gary’s shirt pocket rang. He frowned then clicked it open. From the conversation, she deduced that Nadia was on the line. Catherine got up, went into the kitchen and filled a glass at the sink. Gary’s voice carried over the running water. Nadia was apparently telling him something that surprised him. Catherine waited until she heard him say goodbye before she walked back into the living room. Gary looked up from the sofa, a frown on his face.

  “Nadj was at this big marketing shindig tonight, and I guess your boss was there.” He paused. “She said Petrelli told her you quit. I said she had to have it wrong.”

  Catherine felt her heart speed up. No point in denying it, she decided. “It’s true,” she said.

  “God.” He shook his head. “That was a damn good job. You were lucky to get it. Why the hell would you do something like that?”

  “Petrelli gave me an ultimatum that I couldn’t accept.”

  “What kind of ultimatum?”

  “It’s personal. I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Personal?” Gary’s eyes narrowed. “Well Petrelli’s gay, so for damn sure he didn’t proposition you.” He watched her face for a moment as though the answer might reveal itself on her forehead. “Julie said some guy’s been sleeping here.”

  Catherine opened her mouth to speak, closed it. She didn’t owe him an explanation.

  “Who is it? Someone you work with?”

  “You know what, Gary? This is none of your business.”

  “Sure it’s my business. They’re my kids. If you’re involved with some guy, I have a right to know he’s not some… Damn.” He shook his head. “I just figured it out. It’s that Irish doctor who was on TV…the one who delivered those kids on the freeway. Nadj said she’s heard some gossip about the two of you—”

  “I said this is none of your business. I’m entitled to a personal life.”

  “And I have a right to know my kids are okay.” He gripped her upper arm. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s been sleeping here.”

  “Just let me go, okay?” She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip. “I mean it. Let go of my arm.”

  “You got horny, is that it?” He pinned her arms to the wall. “So you crawl into bed with the first guy who looks twice at you, the hell with the kids. And then you go and quit your goddamn job.” Enraged now, his face dark with anger, he shoved his knee between her legs. “Sounds pretty responsible, doesn’t it?”

  She stayed completely still, her eyes on his. He had never physically abused her during their marriage, but she had never incited jealousy in him before. For what seemed like eternity, he silently held her against the wall while the colored tree lights threw patterns onto his face and his eyes bored into hers.

  “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he shook her shoulders. “Don’t you? Miss Independent. Do you think you’re just going to waltz straight into another job? Or are you going to have your boyfriend support you?”

  She bit the inside of her lip, willed herself not to respond. Whatever she said would only incite him. And what would she say anyway? No, I don’t have it figured out. I’m scared to death.

  Then he kissed her, hard enough that she tasted blood as his teeth ground into her lips.

  “Bitch,” he said when she wrenched her head away. “I’m pouring my heart out to you, trying to make things right between us again and you don’t give a shit, do you? You’re just the same cold bitch you’ve always been. Twelve years we were married and I worked my ass off and what thanks do I get?” He flung her arms away,
grabbed his jacket and opened the front door. “When you’re out there with no job and no roof over your head and you’ve lost custody of the kids, just don’t come crying to me, okay?” The door slammed behind him, then opened again. “Oh yeah, forget about having the kids for Christmas.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AS SHE DROVE UP to Big Bear on Saturday evening, Catherine tried to blot out the thoughts of last night’s fight with Gary. Because of it, she’d stayed up half the night, finally fallen asleep around three, overslept and, as a result, ended up getting off to a very late start. Now it was getting dark and she hated driving the mountain roads in anything but perfect conditions. She glanced at the sign for Big Bear Village. Only another five miles down the road. She could do it. And they were going to have a good time. She kept repeating the words like a mantra. She wouldn’t think about her soon-to-be-unemployed status; wouldn’t think about Gary. And Martin? Snowflakes swarmed against the van’s windshield, flurried like moths around the car’s headlights. She would try not to think about Martin.

  They were going to have a good time. Snow blanketed the roofs of the cabins that dotted the road leading into the village, piled up in pillowy banks along the sides of the roads. Perfect conditions for Peter to try out his sled. She’d lashed it to the roof of the van, packed toys, games and books and enough brownies and cookies to bring on insulin shock. It would be a fun, relaxing weekend. Just the three of them.

  “Looking forward to getting out in the snow?” She reached over and squeezed Peter’s knee. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

  “The last time was with Dad.” Peter stared gloomily out of the window. “It’s getting thicker. Dad said we should take chains.”

  “I called the highway patrol and they said we wouldn’t need them.” She turned on the wipers. Crusted clumps of soft white crystals fell from the blades. “It’s only another fifteen minutes or so, we’ll be fine,” she said as much to reassure herself as Peter.

  Last night, after Gary left, she’d found Peter lying wide awake on his bed with the door ajar. Apparently he’d overheard the whole thing. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her and had barely suffered her good-night kiss. Now, despite her resolve not to think about her ex-husband, she couldn’t help wondering whether he might have talked to Peter about the possibility of a reconciliation even before he’d mentioned it to her. Gary probably looked like the good guy to Peter, wanting only to get the family back together again. She decided she would try again to get Peter to talk. Perhaps tonight, after Julie went to bed.

  With the palm of her hand, she rubbed a clear spot on the steamed-up windshield, turned the defrost to high. Despite her resolve, she couldn’t stop the worry creeping in. Last night, she’d succumbed to a raging panic attack that had her pacing the floor for hours. Gary would take the kids, she would never find another job, Martin would fall in love with someone in Boston and she would be out on the streets. Childless, jobless, homeless. Loveless.

  The snow was getting heavier, thick and disorienting. Twice she felt the tires start to slip. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Peter, distant and glum. Daylight had diminished some of her fears, but now in the warm confines of the van she began to feel claustrophobic and panicky again. No telling what revenge Gary might exact. Peter had said he didn’t want to live with his father, but if Gary really pushed, who knew? Unless she got another job right away, she had played right into his hands.

  And Martin. She swallowed hard, trying to wrest control of her feelings. Despite everything, a tiny flicker of hope that he might turn up at the cabin anyway refused to be extinguished. Longing filled her. In the back seat, Julie stirred and whimpered in her sleep. Without taking her eyes from the road, Catherine reached across the back of the seat and patted her daughter’s leg.

  A sudden thought made her smile. Julie’s all-time favorite bedtime story was “The Three Little Pigs.” Julie would insist, over and over, that Catherine demonstrate just how hard the wolf tried to blow the house down. Finally satisfied that the wolf couldn’t make it, no matter how hard he tried, she would smile sleepily and close her eyes.

  She cranked up the heater a little and imagined the cabin with its beamed ceilings and cozy loft where the children liked to sleep. She would light the fire, put something together for dinner. After that, maybe they’d play a couple of games. Cozy and snug in their own little world, safe against the swirling, blowing snow outside. She started to feel a little better. Things would be all right. Gary could huff and puff, but she wouldn’t let him blow their world apart again.

  It was a little harder to inject the same note of optimism into her thoughts about Martin. In time maybe she’d actually believe that she’d made the right decision.

  They passed through the village, ablaze with twinkling Christmas lights, the colors blurred by the blowing snow. As she glanced at the speedometer, she tried to remember whether the road to the cabin was five or ten miles outside the village. In the past, they’d always made the trip during daylight hours, and because Gary had driven, she had never really paid attention, an omission that now made her retrospectively angry at the sheltered woman she had once been.

  At the five-mile marker she slowed the van, but the blowing snow made it difficult to see the unlit and unmarked side streets they passed. Driving at a crawl, she leaned forward in the seat, peered into the milky air. Just as she decided they had another five miles to go, she remembered something familiar about the clump of trees at the road they’d passed and glanced back over her shoulder.

  “You missed it.” Peter snapped out of his silence long enough to inform her. “It was that one back there.”

  “Jeez, Peter, you might have said something sooner.” She braked and glanced into the side-view mirror. The road behind them was empty, lit only by the van’s red taillights. As she backed up, the tires slipped in the soft snow then slid toward a ditch. Her heart thudding, she righted the wheels and started slowly up the hill. Fifteen years ago when her mother had bought the cabin, it had been the only one for several miles around. Now the road was paved, and a few A-frames had been added, but the area was still sparsely populated. As she glanced up the hill, she couldn’t see a single tire track on the pristine stretch of freshly fallen snow.

  “Mommy.” Julie’s sleepy voice came from the back seat. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  “Can you hold on a minute?” She gritted her teeth as the van spun out again. “One more bend in the road and we’re there.”

  “I’m hungry too,” Julie said.

  “I know you are, sweetie, and you’re being a very good girl…damn.” The van skidded halfway across the road, spun a couple of times then slid into a snowbank.

  She turned to look at Julie, wide eyed in the back seat. “You okay?” Julie nodded and Catherine looked at Peter. “How about you?” She shot him a shaky grin. “It’s getting pretty slick out there, huh?”

  Peter gave her a faintly disdainful look and returned to his silent contemplation.

  “I’m scared.” Julie whimpered. “I don’t like it here.”

  “Just be patient a little longer, okay, sweetie?” Catherine started up the van again and heard the rear wheels whine as they spun treadlessly in the snow. After a moment, she tried again with the same result. “Dammit.” Her hand pounded the steering wheel. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Want me to put a blanket under the back wheels?” Peter’s face seemed to suddenly come alive. “I know how to do it, Dad showed me.”

  “Might as well give it a try.” Catherine pulled on her parka, tied a woolen scarf around her neck and started to open the door. “Put on your jacket and do it all the way up,” she called over her shoulder to Peter. “Julie, throw me that old gray blanket on the back seat.”

  Minutes later, she watched as Peter, vapor pouring from his mouth, spread the blanket out behind the van’s rear tires. Panting, he surveyed his handiwork then began issuing instructions on what she should
do. His sullen mood had totally evaporated. Recalling his man-of-the-house remark of a week or so ago, she smiled behind the woolen scarf that covered her mouth. His nose and the tips of his ears were pink with cold and she fought a sudden urge to hug him.

  “You go start up the car, Mom.” He stomped his feet against the chill. “And I’ll push.”

  Ten minutes later, they’d pushed and pushed, rocked the van back and forth all to no avail.

  “It’s no good, Peter.” She stuck her head out the driver’s window to look at him. “The cabin’s just at the top of the hill. I think we’re going to have to go up and call for help.” She looked at him, his face pinched now, his breathing raspy. “Are you okay? Your asthma bothering you?”

  “It’s fine, Mom, quit fussing over me like I’m a little kid.”

  “Sorry.” Her heart turned over. He looked exactly like a little kid trying hard to play a man’s role.

  He hunched his shoulders, jammed his hands into the pockets of his parka. “If we had some buckets of sand, I could do it.”

  “I know you could, sweetie.” Her mind already on what they would need to carry up the hill with them, she climbed into the back seat and began piling food and clothes into bags. “But it’s really really cold and I think it would be better if we called someone.”

  Peter slammed the van’s door shut as he got back in and she glanced over her shoulder to say something, but the look on his face chased the words out of her head. He sat in three quarter profile, shoulders slumped, his face shadowed in the dim interior light. All the animation had vanished. A chill ran through her that had nothing to do with the cold. He looked defeated.

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, they stood shivering in the middle of the unheated cabin. Peter hadn’t said a word during their trudge up the hall. He’d shrugged away her arm when she’d tried to put it around his shoulder, snapped at Julie and walked on ahead, a small solitary figure locked in his own world.