Dora was about to remind them that she was in the room when the door opened and the subject of their conversation entered carrying a cup of coffee. Immediately the two women stopped talking and tight smiles appeared on their faces as they welcomed him back. Dora said nothing, but realized that it hadn’t occurred to Cal to ask the older women if they’d wanted coffee, tea, or even a donut. They’d been pulling equally long hours at the hospital. But he’d never been thoughtful in that way. Dora tried to brush off the thought. After all, Cal was here and he was trying. That had to be enough.
Dora’s mind froze. That had to be enough.
Wasn’t that her pat answer whenever Cal disappointed her? When he refused to babysit Nate, or pick up dinner when she was tired. When he’d said they couldn’t afford a dishwasher, or forgot their anniversary. Or when he’d recoiled from her touch. But he loved her, she’d kept telling herself. He was a good man. A good provider. He didn’t drink and have affairs, as her father had done. He was her husband. That had to be enough.
Trouble was, it had never felt like enough. She’d talked to her mother about it, hoping for some bolstering mother-daughter advice. Winifred had blown off Dora’s complaints with a light laugh, explaining that all wives were ignored in some ways and that it was perfectly normal as the years went by. The blush is off the rose, she’d quipped.
A brisk knock on the door drew Dora’s attention away from her musings. She turned her head in time to see a doctor walk in, followed by a tall, pretty blond nurse.
“Hello, Dr. Newell,” Mamaw said.
Dora watched Dr. Newell skim through her chart. The cardiologist reminded her of Opie from Mayberry—freckled and freshly scrubbed, like he just got out of school. She wondered how someone so young could have so many degrees.
“How are we feeling?” he asked her with a quick smile.
Dora hated when doctors used the royal we. “I don’t know how you’re doing, Doctor, but I feel like something the cat dragged in.”
He chuckled, amused. Dora decided to like him.
“That’s to be expected,” he replied amiably.
Mamaw spoke up. “Was it a heart attack?”
Dr. Newell glanced up from the papers he was carrying and, directing his attention to his patient, offered Dora a professional smile and a short shake of his head. “No. Dora’s symptoms mimicked a heart attack, but we’ve looked at the tests and the good news is that you actually have a different type of heart problem called stress cardiomyopathy.”
“I didn’t have a heart attack?” Dora asked, relief flooding her body.
“No. Have you been under an unusual amount of stress lately?”
Dora glanced at Cal and saw his brows furrow in concern.
“Yes.”
“I see. This condition is usually brought on by severe stress or grief. We call it the ‘broken heart syndrome.’ ”
Dora stared back at the doctor in silence. She couldn’t believe it. That was exactly what it felt like—as if her heart had broken.
Mamaw’s relief was visible on her face. “That is good news. But I’ve never heard of this broken heart syndrome. And you called it a heart condition. Is this serious?”
“Not necessarily. You see, a stressful event triggers the sympathetic nervous system, which is also called your fight-or-flight mechanism.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Winifred chimed in.
Dr. Newell smiled in the manner a teacher would at a pupil who shouted an answer out of turn. “Yes. It’s a normal reaction. Your body unleashes a flood of chemicals, including adrenaline. This sudden flood can stun your heart muscle, leaving it unable to pump properly. We all have stress in our lives. Stress cardiomyopathy is a condition that comes on suddenly and unexpectedly, mostly among postmenopausal women. And”—he paused with another smile—“it resolves itself quickly. Especially in Dora’s case, because her heart appears to be in good shape. So even though broken heart syndrome may feel like a heart attack, it’s a lesser problem that requires a different type of treatment.”
“How exactly do you treat this, Doctor?” Mamaw asked. “Are there medicines she should take? More tests?”
“When can she go home?” asked Winifred.
The doctor listened to the flood of questions, then turned to address Dora. “I want to keep you here for the night. Maybe two. You’re a little dehydrated and I’m waiting for the results of a few more tests. You won’t need medications. At least not yet.” He looked at the others. “Dora was actually very lucky.”
“Lucky?” Dora asked.
“Lucky that we can look at your heart health now, before any more serious problems arise. I’m glad you’re here,” he said, turning to Mamaw. “I’d like to confirm family history. I understand your husband died of heart disease? And your father?”
“Yes. The family is riddled with heart disease,” Mamaw exclaimed. “Edward, my husband, died of a heart attack at seventy-two. His father and two brothers, all from heart problems. My son died at only fifty-five. We lost him so young. Muirs die of heart disease—or war,” she added darkly.
“And you?” Dr. Newell asked Mamaw.
“Not me, thankfully. Colsons get the cancer. Though I do get those heart palpitations when anxious.”
Dora thought about what Mamaw had just said about Parker. “Mamaw, I thought you always said it was the drink that killed Daddy.”
“True enough, but the immediate cause of death was a heart attack. Poor man was thin and malnourished. It was only a matter of time till the liver got him. But,” she added with emphasis, remembering an important point, “Parker had heart palpitations just like this when he was but a few years older than you are now, Dora. Edward and I took him to the doctor but he couldn’t find anything wrong.”
In the resulting silence, Dora could hear the scribbling of Dr. Newell’s pen as he wrote quickly on the chart. She’d never known that her family had such a strong history of heart disease . . . and it frightened her.
“The good news today is that your heart shows no sign of disease,” Dr. Newell told Dora. “But with your history, and this incident, it’s time to make changes. Are you a heavy drinker?”
“No,” she replied quickly. “I drink wine, mostly red,” she added, having read somewhere that red wine was good for the heart. “And the occasional cocktail. But just last month my sisters and I went cold turkey for a week, just to be sure we could. We worried about it, because of our father’s alcoholism. I didn’t have a problem stopping.”
“Good. What about your job? Sedentary?”
“I’m a stay-at-home mom. I homeschool.”
“Exercise?”
Dora shook her head, shamefaced.
“How many children?”
“One. My son, Nate. He’s nine years old.”
“What about your diet?” Dr. Newell looked at his chart. “You’re overweight and I’m concerned that you carry so much of your weight around your waist, which is a clear indicator of possible heart disease. Nurse Langelan is a nutritionist and she can give you advice on what you can do to change your diet and lifestyle.” He waved his hand toward the nurse beside him. She was tall and slender, an example of good nutrition and exercise. “You know the drill. But no more putting it off, Mrs. Tupper,” he said in earnest. “You must do it. Now. This has been your wake-up call.”
Dora looked at Mamaw and Winifred. Mamaw’s eyes had taken on a new gleam, while Winifred appeared haunted, as though she’d just heard herself diagnosed.
“Other than that, you’re free to go home as soon as the tests are done.”
Dora managed a smile, relieved.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Winifred said magnanimously. “We’re so grateful for the good news. Dora, you can come home with me to Charlotte. Henry would love to have you for as long as you wish. And Nate, of course,” she added. “Doctor, how long should she be on bed rest?”
“Bed rest? That’s what Dora does not need. I want her up and moving, doing nonstrenuous exercise to star
t.” He turned again to Dora. “Take long walks along an even surface. A half hour minimum and work up in ten-minute increments. Once you’re comfortable with that, you can and should ramp it up with a regular exercise routine. Nurse Langelan will give you suggestions. If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to call.” He smiled at Dora with encouragement. “Do take this seriously, Dora. You’re young and you still have time to make changes. Good luck.”
Dora smiled weakly, wondering about all those forthcoming changes.
After Dr. Newell left, Nurse Langelan assured Dora she’d be right back and followed him out. For a moment all in the room were silent.
Mamaw was the first to speak. “It doesn’t make sense for Dora to go to Charlotte. She is already comfortably settled at Sea Breeze. There’s nothing but fresh air and beaches to walk, and Lucille will prepare a healthy diet. And best of all, Nate is already settled there. He doesn’t like change,” she reminded them.
“But she needs her mother now,” Winifred said.
“Oh, Winnie, do be sensible,” Mamaw snapped, her patience running out.
For a moment the two women eyed each other.
“Mamaw—” Cal began.
“Excuse me,” Mamaw interrupted him, looking at him with disdain. “I only allow my family to use that term of endearment. You can call me Mrs. Muir.”
The color drained from Cal’s tight face. “Mrs. Muir,” he conceded. “I’d like to speak to Dora alone for a moment.”
“Don’t you upset her!” Mamaw warned.
“I won’t.”
“I wish I could believe you.”
Cal drew himself up. “I own that I’ve made mistakes.” His eyes flashed. “But I don’t have to explain them to you. Only to Dora.”
There was a momentary pause. Then Mamaw said to Dora, “It’s quite late. Time I left for Sea Breeze. And you need your rest. Call me in the morning, won’t you, dear? I do hope you’ll return to Sullivan’s Island. We all do.”
“Good night, Mamaw,” Dora said with a smile. She wanted to go home with Mamaw right this minute. To leave this sterile hospital with its uncomfortable bed and more tests on the way. To get away from Cal and her mother. To see Nate. She longed for her son. “Give Nate a kiss from me, will you?”
Mamaw bent to deliver a kiss to Dora’s cheek. “I surely will.” When she straightened, she turned to Winifred. “Winnie, do you have a place to spend the night? You’re welcome to stay at Sea Breeze.”
The invitation clearly took Winifred by surprise. Her face softened for the briefest moment but quickly returned a mask of indifference toward Mamaw. “Thank you, but no. I’ll stay at my usual hotel. I want to be close to my daughter,” she added with self-importance.
“Of course,” Mamaw said. “Well then, I’m off.”
Winifred also said her good-byes, laced with assurances of her love and promises to take good care of Dora in Charlotte, where she belonged. Before she left she offered Cal a kiss on the cheek, then said, “You children have a good talk. Patch things up.”
When the door closed again, Dora closed her eyes as well, drawing her strength to deal with whatever Cal had on his mind. She was bone tired and heart weary. Barely able to open her eyes again, but she managed. Cal was standing beside the bed, his hands in his pockets, looking down at her, waiting.
Dora said, “I think we’ve said all there is to say for one day.”
“Dora,” Cal said, his eyes imploring. “I meant what I said earlier. About us reconsidering the divorce.”
“Cal . . .”
“All this”—he waved his hand, indicating the hospital—“made me think again about how serious a step this is. About how short our lives are. We shouldn’t be so quick to throw away all that we’ve built together.”
He had her attention. Dora listened.
“Perhaps . . .” he began, taking her hand.
She stared at their joined hands.
“. . . you should stay with me at my condo.”
Dora gave him a quick glance but didn’t respond.
“It’s a nice building in our neighborhood with an elevator, close to shops. You could walk through the park to the house.” He smiled with encouragement. “It will give you exercise and you can keep an eye on the repairs. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“I find it hard to believe you.”
Cal opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. He paused, putting his hands back in his pockets. “I know,” he said. “I don’t blame you. Dora, I’m sorry I hurt you. Believe me now.”
Dora looked long and hard at her husband. His face was drawn and pale. It struck her that Cal didn’t look happy. She struggled to remember the last time she had seen him happy. She couldn’t. She tried to recall when she’d last felt happy. The answer came quickly. It was at Sea Breeze on the dock with Nate, Mamaw, and her sisters. That crazy dolphin in the water making them all laugh. She still could see the breathtaking, ear-to-ear grin on Nate’s face, his usually taciturn expression filled with joy.
“What about Nate? Your condo is small. Won’t it be tight?”
Cal’s face clouded and he rubbed his chin with consternation. “Right. Nate . . . That’s a tough one.”
She gave a tiny shiver at the obvious implication that, for Cal once again, Nate was an afterthought. Dora watched him walk to the window, look out a moment, then return to her side.
“You’re right,” he said in a normal voice. “It is small. There really isn’t room. But here’s the thing,” he added quickly. “We aren’t talking about a long time. Just long enough for you to recuperate. And in the meantime, we can look for a bigger place. Can’t Nate stay at Sea Breeze?”
Dora felt outrage bubble in her chest; how could Cal be so willing to leave Nate behind at Sea Breeze?
“No!”
“It makes sense. You said he liked it there. He’s settled. Comfortable. Moving him twice will be disruptive for him. You know he doesn’t like change. And,” he added with import, “it will give us time to talk. Just us. We need that.”
“But . . .”
“Just for a little while.”
“How long?”
He shrugged. “A few weeks. Maybe a month.”
Her mind felt stunned by disbelief that he would think she’d be willing to leave Nate behind for even a few weeks, much less a month. Yet, his offer of reconciliation, so close on the heels of the lawyer’s office debacle, muddled her thinking. Her mother’s words came back to her: If Cal is willing to reconsider, Dora should do whatever she can to save her marriage.
“You’re right, Cal. We don’t want to just throw away our marriage. But I’m tired now. My head feels fuzzy and I need to sleep.”
“Right. Of course. I’d better go.”
Dora managed a meager smile.
“I’ll be back in the morning.”
“Will you go to see Nate tomorrow? I don’t want him to worry.”
His face was all remorse. “I wish I could. But I’ve got a full day of appointments. I’m sure he’s in good hands at Sea Breeze.”
Dora tugged the thin blanket higher around her neck as she felt a sudden chill. She looked at her nails. They were short and unpainted. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a manicure. On her left finger she was still wearing the slim channel-set diamond wedding band. Cal had not once, in all his arguments, declared that he loved her. He’d not told her that he’d missed her, or missed their son.
Dora took a breath that exhaled all the angst, anger, and worry that she’d harbored in her chest for too long. A change of address was not going to change Cal. He didn’t want her back because he loved her. That was what she wanted to hear. What Cal wanted was for her to monitor the house renovations. He wanted to soften her up to get the better deal with the divorce.
She deserved better. Nate deserved better. It was not enough.
“You don’t have to come by the hospital, then, since you’re such a busy man,” Dora said flatly. “I’ll be fine. Thank
you for the offer that I move into your condo. But it’s too soon. I need time alone to think—about our marriage, about me . . . about so many things before I’m ready to talk.”
Cal cleared his throat to speak but she pushed on, not giving him the chance to interrupt.
“As soon as I’m released, I’m going back to Sullivan’s Island. You’re right. Nate is happy there. And you know what? I’m happy there, too. I think we all deserve some happiness. We can talk again in a few weeks. Maybe a month.” She ventured a small smile on reiterating his words. “As for watching over the house improvements . . .” She shrugged. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter Five
Mamaw loved holidays. Christmas was her favorite, of course. Then Valentine’s Day, with its hearts and chocolate, and Easter, with the brightly colored eggs and pastel flowers. And now it was time to celebrate the Fourth of July. On the island, crowds of tourists thronged the flag-strewn streets.
She and Lucille were crawling through traffic to pick up Dora at the hospital and bring her home to Sea Breeze. Lucille drove her old Camry across the Ben Sawyer Bridge to Mt. Pleasant. It was a faithful car—ten years old with low mileage and nary a dent or scratch. Since Mamaw had given Carson her vintage Cadillac, she was without a car of her own. Just as well, she thought as she gazed out the window of the passenger seat. Her vision wasn’t what it used to be, nor was her reaction time. She sighed. For that matter, neither was Lucille’s.
Mamaw looked out the window as they rolled past the vast lowcountry wetlands. The tide was high, covering the oyster beds. Only the tips of the grasses were visible now, bright green from the recent heavy rain. This was the busiest week of the year on the island and even at midday the traffic was heavy and slow on the narrow road that crossed the marshes from island to mainland. Mamaw noticed, however, that there was a great deal of space between their car and the one in front.
“You drive as slow as a turtle,” she said to Lucille.
“I’m not slow,” Lucille replied with a scoff. “I’m careful.”
The Summer Wind (Lowcountry Summer) Page 6