Flowers from Iraq (The Storyteller and the Healer Book 1)

by Sunny Alexander

  Hallelujah!

  Tourists came from all over Southern California to enjoy A Weekend in Scotland. Nearby hotels were booked a year in advance and the roads swelled with buses driving from park and ride lots in surrounding cities.

  There were the usual festival injuries: sunburns, blisters (a bunch this time from the log toss that was one of the manly-man activities), and tummy aches. Helen volunteered for the first aid tent and Sam was on call at the office until Kathleen returned.

  Kathleen and Claire rode their bikes for the short trip. They strolled around the festival as the omnipresent sound of bagpipes filled the air, stopped to watch the Scottish games, and listened to the pipe band made up of a piper and three drummers.

  Claire said, “Doesn’t this connect to your soul?”

  Kathleen nodded and suggested they try some haggis from one of the food vendors.

  “Mmm, this ain’t bad,” said Claire after she had taken a big bite. “What’s in it?”

  Kathleen grinned mischievously. “Sheep’s entrails, oatmeal, and suet—boiled in a bag made out of the sheep’s stomach.”

  Claire just about turned green.

  “Am I going to have to carry you back to the office?” Kathleen laughed.

  Claire tossed the rest of the Scottish delicacy into a trash bin. “I like natural food, but not that natural.”

  As they continued to walk, Claire brushed her hand against Kathleen’s. She wanted to share her experience and hoped for a response, any response that would let her know that Kathleen was feeling the same way. Instead, she felt Kathleen abruptly move her hand away.

  After that, a dark shroud seemed to settle over their fun, and Kathleen became self-conscious and withdrawn. They began to walk in different directions. Kathleen stopped to chat with neighbors and patients. Claire was drawn toward the dance stage. Where there was dancing, Claire would find her way. Some dancers, wearing the traditional Scottish dress of velvet jackets and kilts, were finishing up a rousing version of the Highland fling. After they ended their performance amidst loud applause, they asked the audience to join them in a Scottish folk dance. Some of the dancers knew Claire and waived her onto the stage. As the lilting music played, Claire began to follow the dancers. At first she was a step behind, but her natural ability took over and she began to dance to the rhythm of the music. A crowd began to gather around the stage, clapping and shouting, “Claire, Claire, Claire!”

  Claire was out of breath and grinning when she caught up with Kathleen. “That was so much fun.” She looked at Kathleen. “You look so serious. Is something wrong?”

  Kathleen shook her head. “No, I just need to get back to the office and relieve Sam.”

  They returned to their bikes and rode home, side by side, in silence.

  Claire was stinging from yesterday. She discovered it was one thing to try to understand Kathleen’s need to be so entrenched in the closet; it was another to live it. For Claire, to be in love meant that you wanted to be visible to the world, and Claire was very much in love.

  Why couldn’t she and Kathleen have what others had? Claire had noticed gay and straight couples at the festival holding hands, speaking softly to each other and proud to be seen together. She didn’t understand it. Did it really have to be so complicated? Were people really fixed in their contempt, or was this coming from a dark place within Kathleen?

  Claire finished her office work for the day and went up to her room. She was feeling sad and the lump in her throat didn’t want to move. She sat on the bed with Oscar, petting and kissing him while they listened to Ella Fitzgerald singing achingly romantic songs from the 1940s as only the first lady of song could. The sophisticated Cole Porter and Johnny Mercer lyrics harked back to a bygone era when love and romance seemed so real, so palpable; Claire thought they seemed to fit her.

  Claire put her face next to Oscar and whispered, “Damn it, Oscar. Is it the same with a woman as it is with a man? Maybe I just don’t know how to pick them. I seem to always go for the damaged ones. I love you, Oscar; you’re the one constant in my life.” Oscar purred, content to have Claire petting and whispering to him.

  Kathleen went upstairs and stood in the hallway. Her first impulse was to go to her room, shut the door, and be miserable. Her insides were fused into a single, painful mass. She longed to hold Claire and tell her how much she loved her, but she knew the words wouldn’t come out. Kathleen stood for a moment with one hand on her door. She wondered if there would ever be an end to her pain or if it would continue to flow through her life and follow her into death. She moved to Claire’s door and rapped lightly.

  Claire sat cross-legged on the bed. The romantic music that she loved so much filled the room. Kathleen looked at her and felt an overwhelming rush of love, overshadowed by fear.

  Claire patted the bed and Kathleen sat next to her. Claire spoke quietly. “I’ve been sitting feeling really sad and kinda depressed. I think it bothered you when I danced at the festival. I thought maybe I was a bit outlandish, especially for a small town. But what can I say? I’m uninhibited, and when the spirit moves me, I’m not above making a fool of myself. Then, when I caught up with you, I thought you were angry. Were you ashamed of me?”

  Kathleen shook her head, “No, no. I just wish I could be everything you want and need. When I saw you on the stage, I thought Claire can do everything.” Unexpected tears filled her eyes. “I don’t even know how to dance! What do you see in me? I’m shy and awkward and I usually don’t know what to say or do. I don’t even know what to do right now. I want to comfort you but I don’t know how.”

  “You could start by putting your arm around me… if you want.”

  Kathleen put her arm around Claire, and spoke softly. “I can’t take the chance of alienating the people in Canfield. I’ve put everything into these offices and I’ll probably be in debt for the next twenty-five years. I can’t… I’m not willing to move out of the closet I’ve built. I tried to tell you that when we first kissed, and I’ve been afraid of this ever since.”

  “So what the hell do we do?” said Claire frustratedly. “Live together as if we’re two old maids? Pretend and look around corners when we’re out? We can’t even hold hands in public. Is it wrong to want it all? I want a family. I want you in my life, and someday I’d like to think about having children.”

  Claire took Kathleen’s hand and held it up to her cheek. “You asked me what I see in you. You’re such a special woman. I know how you struggle with your feelings, but you don’t give up. That’s why you’re here right now. I’m in love with you, and it’s sweet and painful at the same time. At least now, I know why it never quite worked out with men.

  “Kathleen, I don’t want to hide us, I’m proud of who we are and besides, we’re really a cute couple.” The music was still playing. “Dance with me?”

  Kathleen whispered, “I don’t know how to dance, and I don’t know how to do a relationship. I’m sorry.”

  “I can teach you how to dance, but I think we both need lessons on how to be with another person.”

  Claire stood up and held her hand out. “For now, put your arms around my neck and hold me. You don’t have to move your feet.”

  Kathleen stood and put her arms around Claire and drew her close until there was no space between them.

  “Now, close your eyes and take in the music and lyrics.”

  Their bodies touched as Ella Fitzgerald sang, “I’m Old Fashioned.”

  Kathleen rested her face on Claire’s shoulder. She knew all too well the cost of hidden relationships. Kathleen feared she would lose Claire, perhaps not this time, but some other time. Kathleen breathed deeply, wanting to take the moment inside and place it securely in her memory jar. She wanted to color it gold.

  PART FIVE

  Fall

  CHAPTER 31

  Kathleen drove to Santa Barbara every Friday for her double shift at St. Mona’s. She kept her car windows down and let the ocean air refresh her. Inexorably, as they alway
s did, her thoughts turned to Claire. For the first time in her life, she wanted to spend money, not save it. Robert tried to calm her fears by telling her they were ahead of his predictions and were moving out of the red. She dreamed about the day when she could afford to take Claire to San Francisco for a weekend. She fantasized about staying at a luxury hotel, The Ritz-Carlton, she thought, ordering breakfast in bed, and making love until it was time for the opera. A limo would drive them to the War Memorial Opera House where their box seats would be waiting. They would end the evening at a gay bar on karaoke night. She was certain it was something that would delight Claire.

  Kathleen arrived at St. Mona’s and pulled into the staff parking lot. She walked in juggling her coffee and bagel and was handed a chart by the unit secretary, Nancy Wright. “Got one for you, Doc. Exam Room Three.”

  Kathleen looked at the chart. “It’s not like Keith to leave a case unfinished.”

  “We had a cardiac emergency and he knew you’d be here any minute. Besides, he thought they needed your magic touch.”

  Kathleen could hear scuffling and arguing as she approached Exam Room Three.

  “I am so the bravest!”

  “Nuh-uh, I am! En garde!”

  A man, a defeated sound in his voice, said, “You’ve done enough damage for one day. I want you both to sit down and wait for the doctor, quietly.”

  Kathleen knocked on the door and smiled at the family of four.

  “Mr. & Mrs. Kaplan? Hi, I’m Dr. Moore. Joshua and Marcie… hi. I understand we have a couple of dueling wounds that need to be looked after.” She looked at the two six-year-olds, bandages on their arms and legs, who couldn’t stay still.

  Joshua said, “My wound is bigger.”

  Marcie replied, “No, mine is.”

  “Hmm, how about if I take off the bandages,and then if you’re very quiet we can try to find out.” Kathleen examined the twins’ arms and looked at their charts. “I see they’re up-to-date on their tetanus.”

  Mrs. Kaplan said, “Yes.”

  “How did this happen?”

  Marcie said, “Mommy and Daddy needed to take a nap and we got bored.”

  Kathleen avoided looking up, but got a glimpse as the Kaplans’ faces turned a bright red. “What did you use for swords? There’s a lot of dirt in your wounds.”

  “Hot dog sticks.”

  “Hot dog sticks?”

  Mr. Kaplan sighed. “Old barbeque cooking forks used for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows.”

  “Well, you can’t say they aren’t inventive. The good news is: no stitches for these wounds. When I’m done you’re going to have some awesome looking bandages, but I need you to promise not to do this again. Okay?”

  Kathleen kept up a light conversation with the family as she cleaned, irrigated the wounds with a sterile saline solution, applied an antibiotic ointment, and completed her treatment by bandaging the wounds of the two dueling warriors.

  “Okay, all done. You were both very brave. Mom and Dad, can they have some juice and a cookie? I’d like to go over the discharge instructions and talk with you for a few minutes.”

  She finished charting, chuckled as she thought about her conversation with the Kaplans suggesting tactfully that they might want to keep a keener eye on their boisterous twins, and letting them know that the local Y had fencing classes for children.

  She looked at the file for the patient in Exam Room Two, female, Tiffany Scott, eleven years old, presenting with abdominal tenderness and pain during urination. Tiffany sat on the exam table, hunched over, her hands grasping at the corners of the gown. Her mother sat in the corner, aloof from Tiffany, on a small, brown, stackable chair. Their silence made Kathleen uneasy.

  Kathleen smiled at Mrs. Scott. “Hi, I’m Dr. Moore.”

  Mrs. Scott nodded, her lips a tight band across a prematurely wrinkled face.

  Kathleen stood next to Tiffany. “Hi, Tiffany. I understand it hurts when you pee.”

  Tiffany’s mom answered, “She’s been complaining about pain when she has to pee. And stomach aches.”

  “Is that right, Tiffany?”

  Tiffany remained silent. Kathleen was focusing on her eyes: dark eyes filled with rage and pain. Kathleen knew something was wrong, horribly wrong. “Tiffany, do you go to a doctor, you know, for check-ups?”

  Her mother said, “Regular check-ups are for the rich, not for us.”

  “What about vaccinations?”

  “County clinic. We go before school starts, every year.”

  “Good. Tiffany, I’m going to give you a check-up and we’ll try to figure out what’s going on.” Kathleen proceeded, chatting lightly as she began to examine her. “Your temp’s a little high, almost one hundred degrees. What’s your favorite subject in school?”

  “Math. I like numbers.”

  “I’m impressed. Now, take a deep breath and hold it. Excellent, now let it out. Have you started your periods?”

  Tiffany shook her head.

  “I want you to follow my fingers with your eyes. Don’t move your head. So, what do you want to be?”

  “A space explorer.”

  “Science and math, a good combination for astronauts. Have you ever had a blood test?”

  “No.”

  “How long ago did you pee?”

  “Before we came here.”

  “Okay, we’ll start by getting a urine sample then I’ll check your tummy. When we’re done I’ll send you to the lab for a blood test.”

  Kathleen hit the intercom. “Nancy, Exam Room Two. I need a urine sample.”

  Nancy arrived in a trice with a specimen cup. “Tiffany, this is Nancy. She’s going to take you to the bathroom and show you how to give us a urine sample.”

  Kathleen turned to Tiffany’s mom. “There’s coffee in the next room. You can get a cup, if you want.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  Kathleen sat down with the chart. “How long has Tiffany been complaining about her symptoms?”

  “She’s had them on and off, maybe three months.”

  “Vaginal itching and discharge, as well?”

  Her mother sat without movement, a tight-lipped statue. “I don’t know.”

  Tiffany returned from the bathroom. Kathleen smiled at her and patted the exam table.

  “Tiffany, I want you to lie down and bend your knees, so I can examine your private parts. Nancy is going to help me. This isn’t something that will hurt, not at all.”

  Tiffany held her legs tightly together and started to scream.

  Her mother walked over and handed Tiffany her clothes. “Sit up and get dressed. We’re going home.”

  Kathleen pushed the emergency call button as she said sternly, “Ma’am, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do with my daughter! I’ll sue you and this damned hospital.”

  Kathleen held her arms out to Tiffany. “It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.”

  Tiffany continued to wail, leaning against Kathleen. “Daddy always gives me candy first, Daddy always gives me candy first,” she chanted, like an obscene mantra.

  Kathleen spoke softly, words she hoped would feel like a safety net. “No one will hurt you, you’re safe here; you’re safe here.”

  There was a lull. Kathleen went into the staff room and stretched out on the cot. She lay on her back, one foot touching the floor. She learned to sleep that way in Iraq, where sleep was always an uncertainty. She thought, it doesn’t matter where I am. It’s a war zone, always a fuckin’ war zone. She thought about Tiffany. Cervical cultures would come back positive for gonorrhea, she was sure. Now what? Antibiotics would take care of the sexually transmitted disease and psychological counseling might help, but most likely she’d be thrown into the system. And she was only eleven. Not a promising future.

  She dozed fitfully as Tiffany’s cries combined with the screams of wounded troops and injured Iraqi civilians.

  “Dr. Moore, wake up.”

>   Kathleen sat up, putting her head in her hands. For a moment she thought she was in Iraq. She rubbed her eyes and glanced around the room expecting to see sand seeping through small cracks in the walls. She looked at what she was wearing. Civilian scrubs.

  “What is it, Nancy?”

  “There’s been a residential fire. We just got the call, there are victims coming in.”

  Kathleen stood up. “Do we know how many? When can we expect them to arrive?”

  “EMTs on their way. Reports are family of five. Mom and dad, first and second degree burns. Three kids, second and third degree burns, smoke inhalation. I’ve called pediatrics. They’re sending a nurse practitioner with experience in burns.”

  “Where’s Theo Chandler? Has he been contacted?”

  “I called him and he’s on his way.” Nancy looked distressed. “He’s more than an hour away.”

  “Shit! He’s the Medical Director. Where’s the rest of the staff?”

  “Trying to get things ready. Doc, they need your help. Most of the team here, well, you know what we usually get, nothing like this.”

  “Get everyone assembled. I want security at the meeting. I’ll be out in one minute.”

  She ran into the bathroom, peed, and splashed cold water on her face. She knew she had to stay alert and focused. If she lost contact with the present she would be hurled into the past. She silently recited her Rosary of Reality: My name is Kathleen Moore. This is a hospital in California; it is not a CSH; I am not in Iraq. I am safe in Santa Barbara.

  She feared her worst nightmare was lurking around a dark corner.

  She looked at the staff. Keith Omafu, emergency physician; Kim Larson, registered nurse; Glenn Marston, physician assistant; Mason Temple, emergency technician; and Nancy Wright, the LVN and ER clerk, who knew more about the hospital system than anyone. Looks of anxious anticipation crossed their faces.