The Husband Lesson

by Jeanie London

  “Never is.” She shrugged, and he saw resignation in that one small gesture, got the sense she needed to talk. “John.”

  He went the Socratic route. “The patient?”

  “He ticks along great until something rocks his boat.”

  “Something rocked his boat.”

  “It did. Sometimes it’s his meds, and his dosage needs to be adjusted. More often than not something upsets him then he stops taking his meds entirely. The police know the situation. They only call me when it’s particularly ugly.”

  “It was ugly.”

  She nodded. “His apartment manager threatened to evict him. That set him off even more.”

  “Is he violent?”

  “No. Just disruptive. Obviously mentally unbalanced, so he can make people really uncomfortable when he goes off.”

  Rhonda looked troubled, and Charles understood. He cared about his patients as far as helping them to the best of his ability. But there were some patients who managed to sidestep the boundaries he’d erected around his personal feelings. Sometimes, for whatever reason, they slipped inside.

  A hazard of the trade, one that kept those in his profession compassionate, he liked to think. He hadn’t realized the phenomena extended into Rhonda’s field, though he supposed he should have. Live and learn. New Hope, and the people affiliated with it, had been altering his perspectives since he’d gotten here. Had that been Matthew’s plan all along?

  “So what happens to John now?” he asked.

  “They’ll keep him in lockup until his medication reaches a therapeutic level again then release him. I talked the manager out of evicting him. This time. I’ll bump him back to daily visits to the center and keep my eyes on him for a while.”

  Charles sank onto the couch, stretched out his legs. Had he not waited to come here in an effort to avoid Karan, he’d have been at the gym by now and home and a quiet night in his office wouldn’t be far behind it.

  “Doesn’t sound like much of a solution,” he admitted.

  “It isn’t. But it’s the only one he has.”

  “Bouncing between jail and the crisis center? Why’s that?”

  “When he’s on his meds, he’s functional yet outreach services aren’t quite enough. You know as well as I do that state funding can only accomplish so much. That’s what’s holding us back here.”

  “Sounds like a flawed system to me.”

  Rhonda considered him, looked thoughtful. “John’s exactly the type of person the system was created for, a person who genuinely needs help. He’ll always need help. The flaw is when the system expends its resources sustaining people instead of helping them get on their feet. Exactly what we do here. We give people new hope. Whether it’s learning employable skills or coping strategies or dealing with self-esteem issues or legal services. We give people a place to live safely until they can start fresh.”

  He liked that about Rhonda. She didn’t hesitate to challenge his perceptions. “John doesn’t have anyone?”

  “Not anymore. He’s well into his fifties. Had an aunt and uncle once who looked out for him, but they passed a few years ago. Their church still helps him out. They found this apartment. His disability check covers the rent and he feels settled there. I’d hate for him to lose it.”

  “Then he’s lucky he has people to run interference.”

  She gave a lopsided grin.

  “So,” he said to segue through the awkward silence, “you find something for Karan to do around here?”

  A tiny frown creased Rhonda’s brow and she slipped off her reading glasses. “Not exactly. But from what I hear the kitchen isn’t the best place.”

  “Um, no. That much I could have told you. If you wanted me to tell you anything about her.”

  “Which I don’t.”

  “Which you don’t.”

  “I heard she replaced the microwave.”

  “She did.” A classic Karan solution. Writing a check could solve almost any problem. “If you haven’t found a place, why does she have you swinging by on a Monday night?”

  Suddenly Rhonda was sliding open desk drawers. “Now what did I do with that file? I swear, I am such a scatterbrain.”

  His turn to frown. Rhonda was dodging his question.

  Then there was a rap on the door.

  Rhonda glanced up apologetically. “That will be her.”

  Charles was on his feet before Rhonda called out, “Come on in.”

  The door opened, and there Karan stood in all her glory, looking as impeccable as usual in a long flowing skirt and silk tank top. Her hair had been swept back from her face in a ponytail that reminded him distinctly of the striking young woman he’d met in college.

  Fighting the recognition that felt like a punch to the solar plexus, Charles forced himself to look past the woman who impacted him physically. He forced himself to see her through trained eyes, not the gaze of a man who’d once been in love but the diagnostic gaze of a physician.

  She didn’t exhibit any signs of a substance abuse problem. Her eyes were clear. Her skin radiated a healthy, fresh-faced glow. She’d been blessed with great skin and the money to maintain it. From where Charles stood, she looked as fit as she always had. And damned if he didn’t feel relief. Full-fledged, outright relief that he didn’t see any outward signs of trouble.

  If Karan was surprised to find him here, she didn’t show it. She also gave him the option of not engaging, inclining her head and smiling politely as she stepped into the room. But that wasn’t good enough. No, idiot that he was, he let his racing thoughts and her smile get the better of him. This woman had always tested his impulse control. Looked like some things didn’t change with a signature before a judge.

  “Good evening, Karan,” he said, inviting a response.

  He got one.

  “And you, Charles. I was under the impression you don’t usually come in on Monday nights.”

  “I don’t. Not usually.”

  “My luck then.”

  Obviously not the good kind.

  Meeting his gaze levelly, she faced him and, for one blind instant, he was rendered mute, a phenomenon from so long ago he hadn’t even remembered. Not until he stared into those clear gray eyes and saw how they sparkled. A full-blown case of the middle-school-horny-boy effect. The disconnect between his thoughts and physical reaction rendered him speechless. Damned hormones.

  Only now the effect was amplified by a serious dose of reality because in this case reality lived up to the fantasy. Charles could only stand there, struck by the sight of her, by the memory of how she would feel against him naked. She was sleek toned curves, smooth lightly tanned skin. He might not have thought about this woman in years, but he remembered. Every long lean inch of her. Whatever else had gone south with their marriage, sex had never been an issue.

  The thought of sex managed to snap him from his daze.

  “This doesn’t have to be a problem,” he tossed out the first idea that popped into his head. “I can work out a schedule and get it to Dr. Camden.”

  “Fine. I’ll do my level best to accommodate you.” Her concession should have appeased him. It didn’t. Not when he could barely get past the sound of her voice, a melodious tone that filtered through him in such a visceral way.

  The only thing that saved Charles was how she didn’t seem impacted at all. Not the way he was. She’d avoid him if that’s what he wanted, but she didn’t appear to care either way. Her nonchalance aggravated him. Why would he expect her to care?

  “Great.” He forced his own nonchalance and glanced at Rhonda. “You won’t mind running interference.”

  “That’s what I do.”

  Or tried to, anyway. “Thanks. Good evening, ladies.”

  He was out of here.

  But he couldn’t shake the image of Karan, beautiful as ever, so healthy and composed, as if everything was right in her world when everything clearly wasn’t. The fact that she’d been court ordered into therapy and community service spoke vo
lumes.

  As he drove the familiar route to the gym, questions that hadn’t occurred to him before occurred. The first time they’d run into each other, surprise had distracted him. After the popcorn incident, anger.

  But right now his impulsive reactions weren’t distracting him. He shouldn’t be reacting so strongly to her. Not on any level. He shouldn’t be wondering if Karan wasn’t bouncing back from her latest divorce. He shouldn’t be remembering how she’d practically tripped over herself to divorce him.

  Of course, Charles wasn’t Dr. Big-wig Oncologist. He’d only been starting his medical career while Patrick Reece, M.D., was already living Karan’s kind of lifestyle. She obviously hadn’t been able to wait until Charles had worked his way through the ranks to earn a name in his specialty, until internships and residencies yielded to a credible reputation. Or had she simply never loved him the way he’d thought she had?

  The way he’d loved her.

  Once. Before he’d known high-maintenance women and long-term commitments weren’t his thing.

  He’d come to realize that in the years since their divorce. That part at least wasn’t Karan’s fault. In fact, if it hadn’t been for her, he might not have realized that he had no patience for the constant demands of marriage, the constant drains on his emotions and his time.

  Turned out that he didn’t like complicated in his personal life at all.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Karan’s Journal

  What bothers me so much about making an honest mistake?

  I’M NOT EVEN SURE WHY RHONDA sent me home with this question since she already asked it during our session. Maybe she didn’t like the answer I gave her. Not entirely sure why I should care since I replied honestly. But I’m determined to cooperate, so… I think it’s fairly obvious what bothers me about the popcorn fiasco.

  I hate looking stupid. Correction: I hate looking stupid in front of Charles. Although why he should factor in is a total mystery. The man has such a low opinion of me already…does it really matter if I give him a little more fuel for his fire?

  He knows better than anyone I don’t cook much. Or at all to be precise. And even if I did, I don’t like popcorn. Those kernels wreak havoc on my veneers.

  Still, how hard could microwaving a bag of popcorn be? My housekeeper from the Ukraine, who can barely speak let alone read English, can microwave popcorn. I know this because she does whenever Susanna drops by with Brandon. Teenage boys like popcorn. Or at least those of my acquaintance.

  But now that I know the secret of the popcorn button, I won’t need Marynia the next time Susanna and Brandon visit. I suppose that’s one positive to come from this situation.

  As long as I’m reflecting here, I also dislike the way one simple mistake erupted into a world-class disaster. And while I was forced to be outside in the heat, waiting until Charles could trouble himself to arrive, I got a front-row seat to the inconvenience my not-so-simple mistake caused everyone.

  How could I not feel bad watching Mia, who was apparently recovering from a virus, withering beneath the gazebo with her mother? That little girl was watching all the other kids running around like howling little maniacs, and she couldn’t do a thing except sit there feeling bad. The only time she smiled was when one of the firefighters brought her a Gatorade.

  Then there was LaShanna, who was forced to chase after her sons in that heat, which was, frankly, a little disturbing to watch. Thank goodness Elizabeth suggested kickball. The game occupied the kids and forced LaShanna to sit down. But, of course, that couldn’t be the end. No. Charles took so long to arrive that the poor woman resorted to using the bathroom in the maintenance shed because she simply couldn’t wait any longer.

  A maintenance shed? How sanitary could that possibly be? What if she came down with something? Or her baby was born with some sort of disease or deformity? All because I didn’t know the secret of the popcorn button?

  Back to obvious again. Does Rhonda really need me to rehash why I felt bad? Especially when no one had blamed me or was remotely unkind.

  Except my ex-husband, of course.

  If only the fire chief hadn’t needed a director to sign off on the walk-through inspection. Not Rhonda’s fault. She was working, a completely legitimate reason for being unavailable. But Charles had been fishing. Couldn’t get much more self-indulgent than that. Not that I’m even remotely surprised. The man had a knack for never being around when he was needed….

  “I’m due in surgery.” His blanket excuse for everything. Precisely one of the problems leading to the breakdown of our marriage.

  We managed to survive the demanding years of his clinical training and an almost impossible year of his internship. All through his med school I wrote cover letters and edited scholarship essays and helped him study so much I could probably be board certified.

  I stood beside that man through everything. I kept our lives ticking along smoothly in his absence. I kept his social life primed and ready for him to network with people who would advance his career when he wasn’t falling asleep on his feet. I made sure our home was inviting whenever he managed to get there. I brought him warm meals at the hospital when he couldn’t. And I was always coming up with creative ways for us to enjoy an active sex life—almost impossible with his schedule—so he wouldn’t ever feel the need to look twice at the women who worked with him.

  It was my connection that got him an internship in Kingston at a cutting-edge research hospital.

  Just when things were finally starting to settle down a little, and I was looking forward to spending more time together all I ever heard was “I’m due in surgery.”

  Even when he wasn’t.

  As long as I live I will never forget the night of the last straw. The memory still makes me twitch. I have never been more humiliated in all my life—current situation included.

  Charles had applied for the new combined residency program at St. Joseph’s. We waited for weeks for that reply. It was a huge deal, and when he was finally accepted, I thought we should celebrate. I arranged a surprise party with everything he loved from the people he cared about to his favorite food. I even flew in his parents from Florida because we couldn’t celebrate without them.

  Everything was perfect.

  But when Charles got out of surgery, he was tired, and since he had another one before dawn, he didn’t want to drive home and waste time he could have been sleeping.

  Waste time.

  I can still hear his voice, so emotionless, so uncaring. Seeing me was a waste of time. Of course, I’m far too savvy not to redirect because I had a house filled with people. I had no intention of ruining the night because of his thoughtlessness or because I felt hurt. Not after all the work that had gone into planning his special night.

  I abandoned the surprise element and explained we had guests who’d come by to congratulate him. I also reminded him he’d promised to come home.

  He never bothered asking who was there. He acted like I was making impossible demands and told me to make his apologies.

  That’s when I knew it was over.

  He didn’t care about our guests. He didn’t care about our life together. He didn’t care about me. I was a waste of his time. I had no idea why or when that had happened, but there was no more denying the truth because I couldn’t make him care.

  I remember this feeling. I suppose I felt that way after the popcorn fiasco. I was trying to do something good. Back then it had been supporting my husband and letting him know how proud I was of his accomplishments.

  The other day I was trying to help Cody, who’d claimed to be starving when I came across him outside the kitchen, staring at rules posted on the wall.

  Children must have adult supervision.

  I was an adult. It should have been so simple. Might have been had I not been distracted when Elizabeth called us to the common room to show the DVDs she’d scored for the weekend.

  Cody and I took off. If only I’d stayed in the kitchen, I’d ha
ve smelled the burning popcorn long before the climate control system did, long before I torched the microwave.

  So, I guess another answer to Rhonda’s question might be that I not only feel bad about inconveniencing everyone, but I have a teensy problem with feeling inadequate and useless. With Charles in the picture, all I can think about is how he doesn’t believe I have anything useful to offer.

  Not in a marriage.

  Not as a volunteer.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LIFE WAS LOOKING UP TODAY. Karan had arrived at New Hope to find only one codirector—the one who’d dropped by on her lunch hour with good news.

  “Not only do I have the perfect job for you—” Rhonda whipped a sheet of paper from her desk and displayed it proudly “—but I have my colleague’s schedule for the upcoming week.”

  So Charles had followed through. Now they could avoid each other to everyone’s satisfaction and New Hope could remain a place for fresh beginnings as opposed to the setting of some black comedy about adversarial exes. Karan should have been grateful, but for some unfathomable reason, she wasn’t. Not even close. She felt…she wasn’t sure. Deflated, maybe? Perhaps even a little disappointed, which made no sense whatsoever. She would be grateful. Thrilled even. Charles could hear all about her accomplishments through Rhonda and their staff and feel terrible for being convinced she couldn’t help. Served him right. Now that there was something suitable for her to do around here. “The perfect job. Let’s hear it.”

  “You mentioned experience with social engagements. Come with me.”

  Rhonda went to the administrative assistant’s desk outside the door. She lifted the top from a stationer’s box.

  “Here we have social correspondence. Businesses and community organizations have been hosting events to raise awareness and funding for New Hope since the project began. I had Lori pull everything together so you could see the kinds of events. We need to thank everyone involved and encourage them to continue their efforts on our behalf.

  “If you’ll take a look at the participants, you can decide exactly who needs to be thanked then draft the letters. And I’m thinking we can edit those drafts into templates to keep on the system. That will save me and the volunteers a ton of time. To date, I’ve been writing every note personally but there are so many now, I’m not keeping up. And as we start the next stage of community outreach there will be even more.” She chuckled. “Well, we’re hoping anyway. We want lots and lots of people to become involved in helping around here.”