Ecstasy

by Gwynne Forster

  “They gave me sleeping pills, but I don’t want them.”

  He tried to concentrate on Essence magazine while she prepared for bed.

  “I’d sleep here in the room with you, but hospital regulations don’t permit it.” He kissed her with a gentle brush of his lips over hers, and his anxiety for her dissipated when she kissed him without a hint of desperation. He lowered the light and sat opposite her in a chair. Twenty minutes later, he gazed down at her, brushed her forehead with his lips, and left.

  * * *

  Jeannetta fought the clutches of sleep; she’d wanted to tell him something. Oh, yes. That business about having a private investigator dig into his life and give her a report on him. She shouldn’t have done it, and she had to tell him so she’d have a clean slate with him. The sound of his light footsteps receded... She had to tell him...

  * * *

  At six o’clock the next morning, scrubbed and ready, Mason looked down at his gloved hands and remembered his chief’s admonishment that miracles were performed not by doctors, but through them. He had decided not to see Jeannetta before she’d been anesthetized, because he wasn’t sure how he’d react if she seemed afraid. He didn’t deserve to be heard, but he said a prayer nonetheless. Then he put the past and the future out of his mind and concentrated on the now. He knew that the group assembled in the operating theater was unusually large, that the interns, residents, nurses, and surgeons not in attendance had come to watch him make it or lose it. He smiled inwardly. They were entitled to their skepticism but, by damn, he’d show them. He looked down at her sleeping peacefully, her trust evident even in unconsciousness. He extended his right hand to the head nurse, looked at the instrument she handed him, winked at her as he’d always done in earlier times, and went to work.

  Four hours later, he found a telephone and called Laura.

  “It went well,” he told her. “She’s resting in the intensive-care room. It was a neat job, my best, Laura, but I won’t know for weeks, maybe longer, whether I’ve been completely successful.”

  “Well, if you did your best, I couldn’t expect more. Thank you isn’t much at times like this,” she said, her voice breaking, “and I know all this has been hard on you. But I do thank you, Dr. Fenwick, and I have to tell you that I admire you. You get some rest and come on back soon as you can. You hear?”

  “Thanks. And Laura, call me Mason.” He stopped by ICU to check on Jeannetta and, as he stood there, his fingers automatically went to the pocket in which he kept his keys but, instead of them, he grasped the note that an attendant had handed him after he completed the surgery.

  “‘My love,’” he read. “‘You’ve done your best, and I’m happy. I shall always be happy, and I shall always love you. This is your true calling, so, no matter what happens, stay with it. Love, Jeannetta.’” His lips brushed her cool forehead, and he turned quickly away, blowing his nose to camouflage his emotions as he strode swiftly down the hallway.

  He got coffee at a take-out shop on the way home, savored it, took a quick shower, and fell into bed. “I’m not tired,” he marveled, sitting up. He flipped on the radio and turned it off as soon as he heard the country music. No use going to the other stations, because he couldn’t stand rock or rap either, and he didn’t feel like concentrating on classical music. He needed to see Steve and Skip. He’d turned a corner, found his stride, and he had to share it with them. A call to the hospital satisfied his concern about Jeannetta, and he struck out for Steve’s apartment.

  His brother opened the door, and contentment washed over him as Steve welcomed him with open arms. He couldn’t remember the last time they had embraced so heartily.

  “Well, how did it go?”

  Mason shrugged his right shoulder and brushed his fingers over his tight curls. “So far, so good.”

  Steve walked off a few paces, turned around, and looked at him. “That’s all? What did you feel going back in there?”

  Mason hadn’t let himself think much about that. “I can’t say, truthfully, because I tried not to think about anything except the job.”

  “How bad was it?” They walked to Steve’s study, two men of commanding height and presence. Regarding Steve from the corner of his right eye, Mason had to wonder what his brother might have become had he been selfish and ignored his younger brother’s needs.

  “Another month or so and it might have been too late,” he said, adding that, “it’s difficult to reverse the disease after the patient loses sight. I won’t know for a while whether we have a complete cure.” When Steve raised an eyebrow, he amended it. “I mean I can’t be certain yet that I’ve corrected the problem and that she’s good as new. I don’t expect she’ll get any worse.” But the operation had been a success, he reminded himself, and released a long breath.

  “Want a drink?”

  A half smile played around Mason’s lips. His conservative brother considered daytime drinking to be a form of debauchery.

  “Not until I’ve done an examination. She has to have an MRI, a skull X-ray, a thorough ophthalmoscopic exam. Everything. I need my wits. Jeannetta’s my priority.”

  “You can’t focus entirely on her,” Steve said, clearly aghast. “You’ll be a nervous wreck. Take on some other patients—they’re waiting in line.”

  Mason watched as his brother’s eyes narrowed, warning him to expect a drilling.

  “You planning to quit if you don’t cure her?”

  Mason leaned against the edge of their father’s old roll-top desk and folded his arms across his chest.

  “I know you’re not proud of some of my decisions, but every one of them expressed the truth as I saw it. My integrity is intact, and I take pride in that.”

  “Yeah. Me, too. I didn’t mean to lecture, but you’re getting on with your life, so it’s time you forgot about that one almost-error.” He grinned, and Mason thought of their father; Steve’s likeness to him had made it easy for both of them to remember the man whom they had loved so much.

  “Now that they all know you’re human, how did they act this morning?”

  “Funny,” Mason said, a laugh lacing his words. “This morning, I had a room full of ’em, and they all looked as though they expected me to tear it. Man, that was a good feeling—no place to go but up. None of that idolatry I thought I loved.”

  “Maybe it’s a good thing you slid on your rear. I can’t remember the last time you came over here after surgery. I’ve missed these times we had when you couldn’t contain your excitement after you’d taken a difficult case and succeeded. Sometimes, I wondered if I’d have to tie a lodestone on you to get you back to earth. Then, women discovered you. A physician shouldn’t allow himself to become a socialite.” He walked over, patted Mason on the shoulder, and must have seen the emotion mirrored in his brother’s eyes, for he turned quickly away.

  “I’m glad you made it back. Come on, how about some hamburgers and a beer?”

  “Hamburgers sound good to me, but save the beer.” In the kitchen, Mason pulled a straight-back chair from the table, straddled it, and rested his chin on his forearms.

  “How about taking over my travel business? You can do it. I’d be a silent partner, and knowing you were in charge would free me to concentrate on my patients.”

  Steve looked him in the eye. “I’ve told you a hundred times that you don’t owe me anything. You’re my brother. Whatever I did, I’d gladly do all over again.” And he would, too, Mason realized.

  “There’s a woman who takes that tour every year. A high-school teacher. She once asked me if I had a brother and, when I told her about you, she said the two of you were cut from the same cloth. At least, take the tour. You’ll like her.” Interesting. Steve’s hamburgers needed a lot of attention all of a sudden.

  “Why do I have to wait until next May to meet her?”

  Mason trie
d not to show his astonishment. “Good point,” was all he said, but he made a mental note to get in touch with Darlene Jones when the tour returned.

  “What are you planning to do about Skip? He wants to be a doctor?” Mason meant to bite his hamburger and nicked his tongue.

  “This is good stuff, and it would be even better if you’d left some of this onion in that bin. Skip’s a great example of what some care and a little help can do. If he makes good grades, I’ll send him to school.”

  Steve pushed his plate aside and leaned back in his chair. Now what? “Skip wants you to adopt him, and he says his aunt wouldn’t mind.”

  Mason coughed up the crumbs that stuck in his windpipe and reached for water. “This is a day for surprises. What else did he say?”

  Steve reached for a pickle, pointed it toward Mason and grinned. “Well, if you want to know, he said he tricked you when he asked you to be his big brother because, from the outset, what he wanted was to be your son. You might say he wormed his way in.”

  Mason couldn’t suppress an outright laugh. “Slick little devil.” He glanced at Steve, who watched him closely.

  “He’s very special to me, Steve, and he needs me. He needs you, too. I’m going to listen to what he has to say.” He washed his hands, stretched out on the sofa, and went to sleep.

  Several hours later, he jumped up, startled. He’d have to get used to that beeper again; it was one of the things he hadn’t missed during his hiatus from medicine.

  “Dr. Fenwick.” That sounded strange, too, as he’d gotten accustomed to referring to himself as “Fenwick.”

  “An ICU nurse at the hospital called to say that Miss Rollins is awake and asking for you,” Viv said. His stomach unknotted, and he breathed deeply. Mention of a nurse had sent his heart racing and twisted his belly.

  “Should I start looking for another job, Mr. Fen...I mean, Dr. Fenwick?”

  “Viv, for pete’s sake. I’m not closing the travel agency. In fact, you’ll probably get a raise, because you’re going to have more work. Anything I need to do there?” Assured that there wasn’t, he headed for the hospital. He’d done it. He hailed a taxi that seemed to stand still even as it moved and, as he walked through the hospital door, he strove for professional decorum, but when he got off the elevator, he chucked it and ran.

  Chapter 9

  Jeannetta shifted in bed, reaching for the elusive sun rays as she tripped through the beautiful forest. Great elms, oaks, and pines, heavy with branches, bowed as she drifted among them; hyacinths and roses showered her with perfume; and the squirrels, raccoons, foxes, and bears smiled at her with greenish-brown eyes as she passed. She wandered out of the forest and down to the beach and dug up a handful of sand but, when she tried to sift it through her fingers, it wouldn’t leave her palm. Four little black dolls that she had crocheted for the Edwin Gould Foundation to distribute to poor children at Christmas danced around her. And from somewhere far away, Mason called her. But his voice was such a lovely masculine velvet that she didn’t want to answer for fear he’d stop. She smiled in joyful appreciation. The animals ran away, the dolls disappeared, and the forest, beach, and ocean dissolved into a lovely white cloud.

  “Darling, talk to me. Let me hear your voice. Answer me, sweetheart. How do you feel?” The blur slowly disappeared, and he was there, close. His own masculine scent, his special aura, enveloped her, and she knew that the hand holding hers belonged to him. His lips brushed her forehead, and she had to struggle not to slide back into the Heaven from which she’d just come.

  “Come on, baby, say something to me. Anything.” She squeezed his hand, and her face dissolved into that luminous smile that always thrilled him to his soul. Thank God, they’d passed the first and worst hurdle.

  “Hi.” He needed to hear a few more words so that he could judge her speech, but that one was worth a gold mine.

  “Hi,” he said, as casually as he could. “How do you feel?”

  “It is over? What time is it?”

  “About seven-thirty.” He did a few simple tests and, satisfied with the results, sat beside her bed.

  “Did you leave me with any hair?” she asked, as though reluctant to know the answer. The strength of her voice pleased him.

  “Plenty. When the bandage comes off, you’ll be able to comb your hair so that it hides that bare spot. In a few months, you won’t know it was shaved.” She patted his hand, and her smile tugged at his heart.

  “Where were you just now, honey?” He listened to her tale and almost wished he’d been there with her.

  “I’m glad you had such a pleasant adventure. It means things are going well.”

  She reached toward him.

  “Could I give you a kiss?” she asked him, her voice low and sultry. The woman had a penchant for testing his self-control at the most inconvenient times. He grimaced at the thought of what a hot kiss would do to him right then and stood, removing himself from temptation.

  “Don’t you think we’d better wait a while for that? Wouldn’t want to raise your blood pressure,” he joked, though there was little likelihood of it. She mumbled a few incoherent words, which he recognized as evidence of grogginess.

  “You always jack up my blood pressure,” she said, her words distinct and husky. “I only have to think about you, and it shoots up.”

  “Really?” He sat down beside her bed again. “I’d like to hear some more of this.”

  She smiled, shakily, he thought.

  “That’s because you know you’re sexy and...hmmm. Men like you should be banned. We females don’t stand a chance around you.” She nodded sleepily, and he settled back, enjoying himself.

  “I thought you’d gotten your revenge for yourself and half the other women in this country, considering what you’ve laid on me.” He didn’t want to overtax her, so he brushed her cheek lightly with his finger and rose to leave. This little touch wasn’t the kind of contact he needed with her, but she smiled in return, and his heart fluttered in gratitude. He glanced at the IV that sent life-sustaining fluid into her body, checked her vital signs, and started toward the door.

  “Mason...” He’d never get enough of the sweet sound of her voice, trusting, soft, and seductive. He turned to face her.

  “There’s something about your hands. Long tapered fingers. Smooth and perfect as though you’d never worked. Beautiful hands. First time I...saw...looked at them, I imagined...wondered how they’d feel on my naked body. Hmmm.”

  He walked back and leaned over her. “And how do they feel?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Hmmm. Hot. They make me want to scream for you to get all...all...” Her voice trailed off.

  He should be ashamed of himself for taking advantage of her, but he wasn’t. He’d been through hell in the last fifteen hours, and he deserved a boost. He watched her as she slept, kissed her cheek again and left, fingering the keys in his pocket. In about two months, he’d have some decisions to make.

  * * *

  Jeannetta gazed out of the same window that had framed her dreams as a child. Yellow leaves peppered the green mountainside, signaling the approach of autumn, though the heat of mid-August still nourished the garden and the little animals that munched on its produce. She wondered about Laura’s strange behavior. Her sister couldn’t have cared for her more faithfully since they’d decided she would recuperate at the Hideaway, but Jeannetta knew she hadn’t mistaken her sister’s coolness. She busied herself by dictating notes for her novel, since Mason had urged her not to strain her eyes with reading or writing, limiting her options for whiling away the time. She had begun a new novel, fully cognizant of Mason’s role in her decision to drop the other one; he’d shown her how special a man could be, that he could care deeply for you and still not let you inside of him. She picked up her old standby, the guitar that her father had given
her on her seventeenth birthday, and began to strum and sing, but a headache and the needlelike sensations around her wound reduced the pleasure that the music usually gave her.

  She wondered how much hair she had; a thick bandage covered most of her head, and she had to sleep on her left side. She didn’t care how it looked, though, because what it symbolized meant more to her than her thick crop of wooly hair. Mason had promised her that the wound would heal in a few weeks and that, if she wanted to, she could wear a wig. She didn’t think she would.

  She wrapped a yellow scarf around her head and ambled into the breakfast room with the intention of serving herself from the luncheon buffet table, and what she saw made her think her heart had tumbled to the pit of her stomach. She muffled a gasp and blinked her eyes, wondering whether she had lost her sanity. Surely she wasn’t looking at Clayton Miles perched on a stool at the breakfast counter and staring, as though lost, into the eyes of her enraptured sister. She opened her mouth to announce her presence and stopped herself as Clayton spoke.

  “I’m not free to say what I feel, Laura, because I’m committed. I don’t have to tell you that I’m sorry. You have to know it. Never in my fifty-two years have I felt anything so strongly. Forgive me.” She watched Laura, a woman without guile or feminine ego, and understood for the first time the true meaning of loneliness.

  “Nothing to forgive,” she heard Laura say. “I’ve been a wallflower all of my life, and I don’t expect that to change. I’m average, maybe even less, and that’s the way people have always treated me. So don’t worry—I’m used to it.” Jeannetta flinched at Laura’s self-derision.

  “If I had the right, I’d make you see that you’re talking nonsense, that you’re precious. You’re the most...” Jeannetta spun around and left; she didn’t want to hear it, and she didn’t want them to see her. Clayton married? Then how had he planned to marry her? Had he deliberately set out to mislead her sister? And why? She walked back to her room, taking care not to hurry and make herself dizzy. But she did that automatically, because she didn’t think of herself, but of Clayton. She’d considered him a man of principle; now she wasn’t so sure. She turned the curve at the top of the stairs and bumped into Connie, the chambermaid.