by Webb, Peggy
o0o
"Dammit, Bill. No. I can't do it." Paul rammed his fists into his pockets and felt his pants sag at the waist.
They were too big. All his clothes were too big now, but he didn't care.
"You can. I know you can, Paul. I'm doing this as much for you as for the woman."
"Don't do me any favors. Get somebody else. Let Dave do it."
"I can't spare him. He's too busy analyzing that echo- location data." Bright color began to creep up Bill's neck. "I gave her my word, Paul. I told Susan Riley she could come here, and by God, you will stay sober long enough to stand out there and toss a few fish in the pond while that child watches."
"You're the boss."
Bill stiffened as if he had been punched in the stomach. Then the anger went out of him, and he gave Paul a sad smile.
"You can do it, Paul." Quietly he turned and left the room.
Paul was ashamed. He and Bill had argued before, many times. But never had Paul used sarcasm. It was a weak man's tool.
With his hands still rammed into his pockets and his shoulders hunched forward, he looked out the window. The water was deceptively calm, its glassy surface sparkling under the bright hot sunshine. Paul knew that looks were deceiving. Underneath the water lay tons of power, the dolphins who could set the surface moving with one thrust of their mighty bodies.
Life was like that. Right now, with everything around him in its place, Paul felt a certain amount of calm. Of peace.
But he knew what would happen when he saw the child. He would think of Sonny, of that small hand that used to slip into his, of that lilting little boy voice that used to call to him across the yard when he would come home at the end of a long hectic day.
Daddy, can you come and play ball?
Watch, Daddy. I can climb that tree. All the way up to the top.
Can I ride piggyback, Daddy? Can I? Can I, please?
He would think of Sonny, and then it would be as if dolphins had disturbed his soul, had stirred demons and ghosts that would accuse him, haunt him, wear him down until he couldn't cope without the one thing that would give him ease. The bottle.
With sweat forming on his upper lip, Paul walked to the closet and opened the door. The bottle was right where he had put it earlier that morning before Bill had come in.
His hand closed around the neck. It felt cool. Soothing. Swallowing the dryness in his throat, he began to pull the bottle from his boot.
Paul lifted the liquor out and unscrewed the top. He would drink it straight from the bottle. Just one sip. Or two.
With the mouth of the bottle against his lips, he hesitated. The liquor was right there waiting to perform its black magic. What was he waiting for?
He remembered a Christmas party he and Jean had given two years ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Clayton Frasier had been drinking before he came. After he arrived he had kept his stool at the bar hot, throwing back the scotch and soda. Clayton's wife had left him; his medical practice was going all to hell, and he was drowning his sorrows in the bottle.
Paul had despised his weakness. So had Jean.
"Wouldn't you think a man in his position would have more respect for himself?" she had said.
Slowly Paul lowered the bottle, screwed the cap on, and placed it back in the boot. He could get through one day. Just one. He would stay sober long enough to keep Susan Riley and her son from falling in the pool.
A man in his position. A respected physician. There wasn't much to respect anymore.
He would do it for Bill.
o0o
Susan was nervous about what she was going to do. Nervous and scared. What if it didn't work?
It might, though. When she had first thought of bringing Jeffy to see the dolphins, she'd consulted his doctor.
"I see no harm, Susan. And I will tell you this: unless Jeffy comes out of that depression, unless he wants to get better, his present condition could be permanent. He might never walk again." Dr. Freelander's voice had softened. "It might work, Susan, but don't get your hopes up too high."
In spite of what the doctor had said, Susan's hopes were high as she unloaded Jeffy from the car. If she didn't keep her hopes high, if she didn't hold onto a positive attitude, she was defeated even before she got started.
"I have a surprise for you, darling," she said, adjusting his tiny baseball cap so the sun wouldn't glare in his eyes, turning his collar back just right, folding the small hands and placing them in his lap. She wanted him to make a good impression.
"We're going inside that big fence and see something wonderful. Remember when we were here the other day? Remember those big fish that like to play and jump in the water?"
No response. She hadn't expected one.
"They're called dolphins, sweetheart, and we're going to see them in just a minute. You'll love them . . . and I know they'll love you."
Please, God. I'm not asking for much. Just a small miracle.
She pushed Jeffy's stroller across the parking lot, careful to avoid the cracks.
Dr. McKenzie was waiting for her inside the gate. He was smiling and his hand was big and warm when he shook hers.
"Welcome, Mrs. Riley.”
"Call me Susan."
"Susan, then.” His smile encouraged her. “I'm glad you could come today."
"Thank you, Dr. McKenzie.”
"Call me Bill. Everybody does."
It was her turn to smile. She had known from the beginning that Bill McKenzie was a nice man, somebody she would like, even when he had initially turned down her request.
"Bill, after you called last night, saying you had changed your mind . . ." She felt tears gather in her eyes. Of all the silly things. To cry. She wasn't about to cry today. She blinked hard. "Nothing could have kept me away this afternoon."
"Susan, I won't be the one to supervise your visits here. Paul Tyler will be the person in charge. Our dolphins are friendly, playful, and people-oriented, but they are also powerful. You will, of course, have to abide strictly by Paul Tyler's rules."
"Certainly. I understand."
"Well, then. I'll leave you two to get acquainted with our dolphins and with Paul. Wait here. He'll be right out." He touched her hand. "Good luck."
"Thank you." She watched him walk away. A teddy bear of a man with broad shoulders and a kind heart. If Paul Tyler was anything like him, she might benefit as much from these visits as Jeffy.
Since Brett . . .
Her mind temporarily closed down at the thought of her late husband. Foolish that after three years she still couldn't think of him without regret and a certain amount of guilt. She could only think of his death as going away, as if he had departed for a distant land and might come back some day on a whim, just the way he had left.
Since Brett went away she had been in the company of very few men. Her own father was dead, and Reverend Silas Cartwright at Hope Methodist Church where she directed music was more grandfather to her than boss. A few men had asked her out over the last three years, but they were always the brash, pushy ones with big mouths and small manners. Socializing hadn't seemed worth the effort.
It would be nice to be in the company of a good man like Bill McKenzie.
"Susan Riley?"
Startled, she looked around. The man standing beside her was tall and gaunt. His shoulders were wide, but the sweatshirt he was wearing bagged and his jeans looked about two sizes too big.
He wasn't anything like Bill McKenzie, and he certainly didn't look like a doctor of anything. She hoped her shock didn't show.
"Dr. Paul Tyler?"
"I've been instructed to stay with you while you're here. Don't get closer than three feet from the edge of the pool, and keep your hands on the child's stroller so it won't roll." He never looked at Jeffy. It was as if her son didn't even exist.
She prided herself on never making snap judgments, but she didn't like this man. And yet, her being there depended on him. She fought to hide her feelings.
"I understand, Dr. Tyler."
"Paul." When Dr. McKenzie had told her to use his first name he had been smiling. There was nothing remotely jovial about Paul Tyler. He was distant, almost hostile.
And yet there was something in his dark eyes, something sad . . .
There she was again, romanticizing. Her mother always said, "Susan, that's your main problem. You don't look at things the way they really are. You're always making it better in your mind, romanticizing." Just this morning in the kitchen as she had crammed choir
music into her briefcase, her mother had warned her. "You're setting yourself up for another big letdown. Tell me, what good are a bunch of fish when the best doctors in Biloxi can't help Jefiy?"
She really should feel nothing but gratitude for her mother. Who else would watch after Jefiy with a mother's love while Susan worked? Sometimes, though, she did wish for a little optimism, a little hope.
"One other thing, Mrs. Riley," Paul said. Susan didn't bother to say, Call me Susan. "Don't make any loud noises."
"Loud noises?"
"Some people are afraid of dolphins. Don't scream."
"I can assure you I won't scream."
If she started she might never stop.
Chapter Three
It was worse than Paul had thought.
Facing a desperate woman would have been bad enough, but facing one with hope shining in her eyes was torture. He had seen it too many times: mothers clinging to one last shred of hope in spite of what they had been told, looking to the doctor for miracles.
He left her standing by the side of the pool and stalked toward the bucket of smelly fish. Thank God he was no longer a doctor. Thank God he didn't have to provide miracles. All he had to do was toss a few stinking fish to the dolphins and keep the woman from felling in with them.
She didn't seem like the hysterical type, but you never could tell.
"Remember what I told you this morning, Jeffy?"
The woman's voice had a forced brightness, the kind people get when they're trying too hard. He didn't want to know the child's name. Jeffy. Too much like Sonny.
Paul's hand closed over the bucket handle. Don't think about Sonny.
"We're going to watch the nice man feed the dolphins."
Nobody called him nice anymore, not even Bill. Susan Riley would soon find out how wrong she was.
Paul trudged back to the holding pool. Ignoring both woman and child, he dipped into the bucket and brought out a fish. The smell of herring was now as familiar to him as the smell of hospital antiseptics used to be.
As usual, Fergie was first in line for his meal. He leaped and spun in the water, sending a fine spray over the edge of the pool as he caught his herring.
Susan Riley laughed, and the sound tugged at Paul's heart. It wasn't uninhibited delight he was hearing, but rather the too bright, too happy sounds of a woman trying to be brave. He edged away from her, unwilling to be drawn into her life by that poignant laughter.
"Look, Jeffy. The dolphin is playing with us. We're getting all wet."
"If you move back, you won't get wet." Paul spoke without turning around.
"I don't mind. It feels cool."
Paul tossed the fish in, counting silently. It gave him something to concentrate on besides the woman and the child.
"I think that big dolphin likes Jeffy."
Her voice was hopeful. Paul didn't reply. Making small talk was not part of the bargain.
"Does he have a name?"
He couldn't ignore a direct question. "Fergie," he said. The polite alcoholic. There was something incongruous about that, but he didn't want to think what it was.
"Look, Jeffy. Fergie's talking to you."
Fergie had abandoned his ringside seat at the dinner table and was circling closer and closer to Jeffy, leaping out of the water periodically to squeak and chatter at the child.
"Wave to him, Jeffy."
Out of the corner of his eye Paul saw Susan lift her son's lifeless hand and wave to the dolphin. He hardened his heart, silently cursing himself for looking.
As if he understood, Fergie surged upward, his sleek powerful body spinning in the sun. For a moment he hovered in the air, his sly quizzical eyes turned on Jeffy. Then, with a grace astonishing for his bulk, he made a perfect bow to the child as he plunged deep into the water.
The dolphin resurfaced closer to Jeffy, the water roiling around him. He repeated his pattern, diving and resurfacing, closer each time, until finally he was at the edge of the pool, his huge head resting on the concrete apron and his knowing eyes focused on the child.
"He's smiling," Susan said.
"That's the typical, comical dolphin expression," Paul told her, though why he bothered, he couldn't say.
"No." She put her hand on Paul's arm. "It's Jeffy! Jeffy's smiling."
Paul needed a drink. He didn't want to be aware of how soft and feminine the hand on his arm felt. He didn't want to hear the urgency in her voice. But most of all, he didn't want to get involved.
"Look!" she whispered.
He was sorry when he did. The little boy, frail in his sickness and needing so much, so very much, was smiling. It wasn't much of a smile by ordinary standards, merely a small upward quirk of the mouth; but considering his condition it was a triumph.
"He is smiling, isn't he? Do you see it, Dr. Tyler?"
Her hand was warm upon his arm, warm and trusting, as she begged him to validate her hope. Time spun backward.
You're a doctor, Paul. Tell me Sonny is going to be all right.
Paul broke out in a sweat. He shook off Susan Riley's hand and turned quickly away, shutting out both the past and the present.
"Dr. Tyler?" She touched him again, lightly, her soft fingers burning into his flesh. "Is something wrong?"
The woman, burdened with a sick child and God only knew what else, was concerned about him. Paul felt shame, and quick on its heels, anger. Where in the hell was Mr. Riley? Why wasn't he there to share her burdens and her hope? Why wasn't he the one she clung to?
"Nothing is wrong, Mrs. Riley." He twisted around, and she was so close, he was looking directly into her eyes—bright green with a golden pool in die center. They reminded him of the way the ocean looked on sunshiny days when he used to take Jean and Sonny sailing.
Caught up in beautiful, painful memories, he stared into Susan Riley's eyes. Beside them, Fergie's great tail slapped the water. Paul shook off Susan's hand and stepped out of her reach. She made him remember too much, want too much.
Flushed, she tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I guess I'm magnifying every little thing, but this is my last hope. I thought . . ." She squatted beside the stroller and caressed her son's small face.
A mother's love. It hurt to watch.
Susan stood up and looked across the water at Fergie, who was playing now on the other side of the pool.
"I don't know. I guess I thought if you saw it too— you being a doctor—it might mean the beginning of a breakthrough for Jeffy." She turned to stare at him, hope still bright in her eyes. "Even if you are a marine biologist.." Her voice faded to a whisper, then trailed off.
He didn't bother to correct her. If he explained that he was not a marine biologist, he'd also have to explain why he allowed himself to be addressed as doctor. Then she might ask why a cardiovascular surgeon was at the center feeding dolphins.
Her eyes never wavered. She seemed to be expecting something from him, some small word of encouragement.
Decent men usually tried to do the decent thing. Once he had been a decent man.
Paul crammed his hands in his pockets, despising the way they shook. His need for booze almost overwhelmed him.
"Mrs. Riley, I can't help you. I can't tell you that child's smile, if that's what is was, is a sign of any kind." He studiously avoided looking at Jeffy. "If you want to keep coming here, that's entirely up to you. But don't expect anything from me except being here to feed the dolphins."
Her
face went white. "You're cruel."
"The truth is often cruel."
"Jeffy smiled. I know he did. And you saw it."
Paul didn't argue. It took too much energy.
Susan Riley stared at him with such fierce courage, he began to feel uncomfortable. Then she seemed to sag. All her energy drained away.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Tyler. I don't know what got into me, calling you names. Of all things. I wouldn't blame you if you never let me come here again."
She looked close to tears. Even in his cocoon of emotional isolation, Paul didn't want to be responsible for a woman's tears.
"I can't keep you from coming."
"Thank you, Dr. Tyler."
"Don't thank me. I'm just following Bill McKenzie's orders."
"He seems like a wonderful man."
"He is."
"Well . . ." Susan Riley stuck out her hand. "Thank you."
Paid took her hand only because refusing might have brought the brightness of unshed tears back to her eyes.
"Can I come again?"
"It's entirely up to you."
She smiled. "Then I'll see you next week, Dr. Tyler."
Paul watched her gather her child and walk away. At the gate she turned and waved. He didn't wave back.
"Damned sentimental, vulnerable woman." He grabbed the empty bucket and carried it inside to the storage room. At the small sink he washed his hands.
"How did it go, Paul?" The old desk chair squeaked as Bill sat down.
Susan Riley had said Bill McKenzie was wonderful. Once Jean had thought the same thing about him. Before Sonny's death. Before the separation.
"I survived."
"I had hoped for more, but I guess survival is better than nothing."
As Paul dried his hands he caught the feint aroma of fish. He wondered if anybody would ever call him wonderful again.
o0o
The Valium was beginning to take effect.
Jean Tyler finished off the glass of water, then closed her eyes and leaned her head on the edge of the sink.
"Please, oh please," she whispered, knowing no one was there to hear her, knowing she was alone in a house echoing with ghosts.
She kept her head down until the warm gray fog began to settle over her. It wouldn't be long now. Relief was on the way.