by Milly Taiden
One. And. Done.
***
Chapter Twenty Two: Dr. Darion
Tina was so quiet. I started the Mercedes, wishing I had something simpler than this showy car my father had given me when I finished med school. She would not be impressed by money. That was obvious. I racked my brain trying to think of a place to take her that would break her silence, get her smiling again. I’d take her mad and shouting over this.
I backed out of the parking spot. “Are you a vegetarian or gluten free or anything?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Just don’t make me eat meatloaf. Or spinach casserole.”
I had to smile at that. “Not a problem.”
“My mother made me eat those. I can’t stand them now.”
I almost told her how my mom rarely cooked but often got lost in some song she was writing until long after the dinner hour had come and gone. Then I realized I couldn’t say anything personal, anything that Cynthia might have also said to her about Mom. Tina would figure it out.
Maybe I should just tell her.
The garage was dim as the light fell for evening, so I couldn’t make out her expression. I had never been so nervous with a woman. Tina was hard to figure out. She made me want to know her, understand what drove these moods.
“My mom didn’t cook a lot,” I said, figuring that was safe enough. Many didn’t. “So, meatloaf sounds like some 1950s dish prepared by a woman in a lace-trimmed apron over a house dress with pearls.”
“You just described my mother.”
“Really?”
Tina tucked her hair behind her ears. “She’s older. I was a late-in-life baby. She was the sort of mom growing up that was exactly what you said, making dinner all dressed up. Bringing the martini while her husband read the paper. I think my mom wanted to be her. She certainly tried.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Ha.” Tina kicked off her shoes and propped her striped stocking feet on the dash. Now I was really grinning. She was like a teenager in so many ways.
“Picture a perfectly poised June Cleaver trying to drag a chain-smoking black-haired goth girl from a pot party with a bunch of high school dropouts.”
I almost missed the garage exit and had to hit the brakes harder than I intended. “Seriously? That was you?” I wanted to introduce my father to her now.
“I’m just skimming the surface.” Tina stared out the window as we left the garage and turned onto the parkway. “I was a wreck. A total disaster.”
“Did they punish you? Were they strict?”
“Oh yeah. I left the house through my window way more than by the door. I could count on one hand the number of days in high school I wasn’t grounded.”
“But you turned out all right.”
Tina turned to look at me. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“You seem fine to me.”
She laughed. “Well, let’s see. I got fired yesterday.”
“But you’re back today.”
Tina hesitated. “Did you have something to do with that?”
“Not a thing.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
I didn’t know how much to tell her about my father. I was pretty certain he hadn’t stepped in. “What happened with Duffrey?”
“He said I had made a powerful friend who would donate some unspecified amount of money — enough to make Duffrey squirm — if I was back in my classroom by the end of the day.”
“Wow.” I pulled up to a red light. “That is a powerful friend.”
“But not you?”
“I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t know anyone who does.” And it was true. I had a decent trust, the sort that gets you through school and set up in a nice house and lets you take European vacations as long as you are not relying on it for your income. But nothing that would impress a hospital board. Not even if I dumped the whole sum on them.
Besides, I had to save it for Cynthia. It was half hers anyway. If Dad wouldn’t sign it over, I would.
Tina blew wisps of hair off her forehead. I had the intense urge to brush them aside myself. Where could I take her that I could sit close to her? Some place she wouldn’t find pretentious?
She rolled down the window. “It’s a nice night. We shouldn’t sit cooped up in a box of canned air.”
I lowered my window as well. The evening breeze blew across my face. We still had half an hour until sunset. The light turned green, and I knew what to do. “You want to eat outside somewhere?”
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds nice.”
A little place near La Jolla did takeout picnics. You could have the whole thing packaged in a pretty basket. Lots of people did it to propose on the beach, or for special occasions. When we first came to San Diego, I had gotten one for me and Cynthia, before she had to go back to the hospital.
I wanted her to love our new town, this new home. So, we’d done the picnic and spent the day on the beach. She was feeling good then. The blast counts were high in her blood and bone marrow, but she wasn’t really sick. I remember thinking this could be the last good day for a while. She still had her blond curls, like in the picture I showed Tina. Her hair was never long, since the treatments were never far apart, but sometimes it got a chance to grow out a little.
When we stopped at the next light, I pulled out my phone and found the email where I’d ordered the previous basket. I replied with a quick message — Can you have one of these ready in half an hour? I’ll pay double.
While I waited for a confirmation, I drove toward Torrey Pines. Maybe we could walk a bit there first. “You up for a little stroll?” I asked.
“Pretty much always,” she said. She had her elbow resting on the open window, her chin propped on it.
I pulled up inside the park near one of the walking trails. If I didn’t hear from the picnic place, I could find another little bistro with an outdoor section. Right now, the timing was perfect for a moment I sometimes came to witness by myself, when I got a chance, if Cynthia was doing all right and I got away from the hospital in time.
Only one other car was parked nearby. The dirt path crunched as we walked along it, through a smattering of trees, then along rough ground covered in scrubby brush.
“I haven’t made it out a lot since I moved here,” Tina said. “I’ve been to the beach a few times, but not this park.”
I almost blew it again, about to mention the times I brought Cynthia when she was well enough, but said instead, “I like walking here. It’s peaceful after a tough day.”
The ground got a little steeper as we approached a cliff. Another couple sat on the edge looking out.
Tina hurried ahead. “Wow, oh wow,” she said. “This is amazing.”
The cliff overlooked a narrow strip of beach and the wide expanse of the Pacific. The sun was a yellow ball hovering over the water, spreading gold light over the breaking waves.
Tina gripped my arm. “I want to come here every day.”
Her nearness was a comfort and a relief, and I began to come down from the anxiety I’d felt all day after our encounter in the surgical suite. She had her job back. She’d agreed to come with me. The hospital and its troubles seemed very far away.
The evening stretched out like a promise, as endless as the ocean below. And Tina was here.
For this moment, life was very very good.
***
Chapter Twenty Three: Tina
This was the most amazing moment I’d had in San Diego since my arrival several weeks ago. The sunset was incredible, the ocean vast and inspiring. I wanted to paint, to draw, to take a photograph.
Instead I soaked it in, trying to commit it to memory. The slight chill, the salty breeze, the golden light on the water, and this man, tall and strong and warm, right beside me.
As so often happened when I felt overcome by beauty, I thought of Peanut. He’d be five years old, big enough to recognize the enormity of this view. A painting came to me, full
y formed, this ocean, this sun, the cliff, and a mother and her boy. The woman would be three-dimensional, colorful, edged in gold. The boy would simply be a shadow, suffused in light, a memory at her side.
I would start it tomorrow. With Albert. I’d pick up some canvas, real paints. He was shaking less. He would paint too. Or help me. I surged with this. I couldn’t wait. I hadn’t done anything for weeks except go to the hospital and work.
I wanted to create again, fall into that heady space where vision and reality collided.
I was so excited, my hands were shaking. It became hard to stay in the moment, but then, everything I was feeling was tied to this experience, this place, and Darion.
He pulled me against him. “What are you thinking about, so serious and intense?”
I let my head fall on his chest. I felt surrounded by him, protected. What had he said in that message? Let me shelter you.
It had seemed so out of place at the time, overwrought. But now, it made sense. Despite how little we knew of each other, and this major secret he was trying to keep from me, we had been drawn together like a string closing a bag.
Maybe if I told him about my baby, he would talk about Cynthia.
“I had a baby once,” I said, surprised, a little, to hear a tremor in my voice. I hadn’t sounded so vulnerable, been so vulnerable, since those days.
He squeezed my arm. “What happened?”
“He was born prematurely.” I realized I was talking to a doctor, so I could be more technical. “Nineteen weeks.”
Darion let out a long breath. “That’s early.”
“His foot descended. They couldn’t stop him from coming.”
“How old were you?”
I looked out over the setting sun, glad for something beautiful to focus on. “Seventeen.”
Another long breath. “Was he stillborn?”
“No, he lived for three hours.”
“The father?”
“Took off during labor. I didn’t see him again for weeks.”
Darion gripped me more tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“He was beautiful. So small. I could hold his little head with my fingertips, and his little butt would fit right in my palm. Not even a pound. Have you seen one like that?”
“I did a few obstetric rounds, but most everything I saw was routine. I never did the NICU.”
“Babies this small don’t get to go to NICU.”
He squeezed me again.
“They let me keep him with me. Checked on his heartbeat occasionally. I’m not sure he actually breathed.” I pulled away a bit. Darion was a doctor. One who might give me answers to the questions I never got to ask. “Do they breathe that early? Does it take a long time for the heart to stop, even without breathing?”
“He must have been getting some oxygen,” Darion said. He looked down at me, and the sun reflected gold in his eyes. “Otherwise, your heart will stop pretty quickly. Within minutes. As soon as the oxygen in the muscles is depleted.”
“Then he did breathe.”
“If he lived three hours, then yes, his lungs had some functionality.”
“Then why wouldn’t they save him?”
“There’s so much to it,” he said, and his voice took on a softer tone. “The biggest one is bleeding in the brain. The real world is no place for babies who are supposed to be growing in amniotic fluid. We just can’t replicate that perfect environment.”
“Do you think that one day babies born that early will be saved?”
“We’ve already gotten the threshold so much younger than before. Just twenty years ago, even two-pound babies were sometimes not resuscitated. Now that would be considered robust. One pound is the minimum.”
“Peanut weighed thirteen ounces.” I held Darion’s gaze, as we both considered how close he had been. A couple more weeks. Just a little more time.
He knew what I meant. “How different your life would be,” he said.
The sun dipped into the water. We watched it kiss the surface, then Darion said, “I don’t have a flashlight. We should head back to the car before it gets fully dark.”
I grasped his hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s beautiful. A good end to a complicated day.”
It seemed the right moment for him to kiss me, and I wanted him to. The emotion of telling him about Peanut and asking my long-held questions pulled me in. I had none of the distance that usually allowed me to pull off a one-and-done.
But for some reason, he didn’t. He just held me tightly and led me back down the path. As we crossed the scrubby ground, I looked back at the cliff, the water, and the sunset. I would come back here. I would not try to capture it with a crappy cell-phone camera. I would paint it. Get it right.
***
Chapter Twenty Four: Dr. Darion
By the time we got back to the car, the picnic place had buzzed me saying they had prepared the food. I opened the door for Tina, who still seemed lost in thought and practically vibrating with emotion.
I slid behind the wheel. Darkness was settling rapidly now. But the beach would be fine. All along the waterline at La Jolla, people lit fires. I had only walked along that stretch with a sleeping Cynthia in my arms, but it was the most romantic place I’d ever been. I wanted to go there with Tina.
The Picnic Bistro was not far. “Are you hungry?” I asked Tina.
“Sure. What did you have in mind?”
“I had a picnic made up for us. Have you been on the beach at night?”
“You can do that?” A streetlamp lit up her hair, gold like a halo around the shadow of her face.
“You can. It’s not crowded or anything, but there will be people. Playing guitars. Sitting around fires.”
“Ooooh,” she breathed.
I had chosen the right thing.
The picnic place did not have a restaurant attached, although there were outdoor tables. When I pulled up, a girl ran out with the basket. I had forgotten when I forwarded the email that the previous one asked that someone meet me outside. At the time, Cynthia’s ANC was zero, and her lack of immune system meant I didn’t take her to public places, not indoors anyway. The risk of any infection, even just a cold, was too high.
The beach had been perfect, open, warm, and while she couldn’t swim, just walking in the sand had been a great escape as we transferred from one hospital to the next. A vacation in our new hometown.
But because the email had implored them to deliver to our car, the girl came out this time as well. I opened the car door to receive the basket.
“Thank you,” I said, quickly signing the bill.
“Have a lovely time with your sister,” she said.
Damn. I glanced back. Tina was looking out her window. Hopefully she hadn’t heard, or would assume that the woman was confused about who she was.
I set the basket in the backseat.
“Sister, huh?” Tina said as we drove away. “I guess we really are good at hiding our surgical-suite moments.”
“We should try acting,” I said, silently relieved she hadn’t questioned the comment.
“I don’t know my way around yet,” Tina said. “I don’t have a car. Are we close to the beach?”
“Very.” I pulled out of the parking lot. “In fact,” I said, turning onto the next street, “we’re almost there now.”
The parking lot was mostly empty. Between the onset of winter and nightfall, the families were gone. Only a few couples and a group of college kids hung out on the fringes of the parking lot.
Tina got out of the car and looked out on the inky blackness of the ocean. I pulled the basket from the backseat and checked inside. Yes, they’d packed a thin blanket for us to sit on.
I took her hand again, small and cool, and led her between the posts and out into the sand. We only walked a few steps before she paused to take off her shoes, then lifted her skirt to roll down the striped stockings.
My pulse sped a little at the sight of her bare knees as she stripped her legs.
<
br /> “Will you be cold?” I asked.
“Not if you do your job,” she said. “Brother,” she added with a laugh.
She created a neat bundle by knotting the stockings through the strap of her Mary Janes and tied it over her shoulder. I could feel the sand filling my own shoes, but I wasn’t the sort to run around barefoot while fully dressed. I’d manage.
The moon was bright and almost full. As I’d hoped, small parties were lighting logs in fire rings at regular intervals. Tina lifted her skirt and stepped gingerly toward the water’s edge. When she got wet, she squealed.
“It’s cold!”
“You’re going to catch pneumonia,” I said.
She turned and stuck her tongue out at me. “You of all people know that wet feet have nothing to do with fluid in your lungs.”
I had to laugh. “You got me there. It’s more a function of immune suppression when your body has to pull its warmth to your core to protect your organs.”
She splashed around, kicking at the gentle waves. “Do you always talk this sexy?”
I set the basket in the sand, and before she could predict my next move, I swept her into my arms.
“Hey!” she said, laughing. “I’m going to get my dirty feet on your fancy doctor clothes.”
“Someone has to save you from a terrible death.”
I carried her back to the basket, but didn’t set her down. Instead, I dropped down into the sand, keeping her on my lap. The dry cleaners could deal with the mess later.
“You planning to keep my organs warm?” she asked. Her hand cupped my neck, and she fingered the hair at my nape.
Had we really just met two days ago? It seemed like forever already.
“I’ll do my best.”
I already knew what she was wearing beneath the jacket, the silky camisole. I wanted to touch it again, to run my hands across her belly. So, I did.
“Which organs did you have in mind?” she asked.
“Your pancreas.”
“What?” Her laugh was like a sprinkle of light. “Dr. Marks, you are very strange.”
“I can’t seem too boring.” I ran my thumb along the base of her ribs. Her face was so close to mine that each of her breaths puffed against my cheek.