When the Cameras Stop Rolling...
Page 15
Eva sat silently, clenching her fists as Mark neared the clinic.
He pulled into a parking place right in front, as though it was waiting for him.
And Eva couldn’t move.
But she wasn’t gasping for breath, breaking out into a sweat or having a dizzying kind of foggy vision, so she was doing better than the last time she’d tried this.
“Are you okay?”
She hadn’t been here since that day—the day Chuck had been gunned down trying to protect her from the drug-crazy kid who had been determined to shoot anyone who moved to get the vengeance he thought he was due.
And she hadn’t talked about Chuck’s death to anyone outside the family and her grief counselor. Could she do it? Could she tell Mark of the terror, of the loss and the guilt?
His jaw was set, his eyes bleak.
Not today. She would need his strength to get through the retelling and right now he had none to spare.
“I still can’t talk about it.”
He gave her a sideways look. “Counseling didn’t help?”
“Yes, it did. But I’ve needed time as well as therapy.” She took a deep breath and told him the tip of the iceberg. “I’ve got post-traumatic stress disorder because of it. That’s why I’m out of the field right now.”
“Yet you’re trying to diagnose my nephew who you’ve only seen a handful of times—and never in a clinical setting.”
To defuse him, she gave him a half-smile. “I’ve got PTSD. I didn’t lose brain cells.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...” He raised his hand toward her, but lowered it again without touching her. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand you’re lashing out. I did enough of it myself when my brother was sentenced to prison. Sticking up for family is like that. But it doesn’t help anyone heal.”
She rubbed her finger across her lips, remembering. “In fact, it more often tears families apart. My marriage almost didn’t make its six-month anniversary. My grandmother said my brother’s problems were no reason to leave my husband and wouldn’t let me move in with her. Besides, Susan had already moved in with her. Abuelita didn’t need a hysterical pregnant teenager and a hysterical exhausted medical student invading her tiny two-bedroom, one-bath house.”
“It worked out for all of you.”
“Not by luck or happenstance. We worked it out. Lots of talking. Lots of professional therapy. Ricky is still working out his drug addiction. He’ll work it out every day for the rest of his life.”
“Aaron’s not into drugs. I see drug crises all the time. I’d know if he were.”
“You see the patients when they’re in crisis. You’d be surprised at how many people appear to be functional in day-to-day society yet they are addicted to legally prescribed, illegal or over-the-counter drugs.”
He took his hand off her shoulder and put it back onto the steering wheel. “Do you really think Aaron is into drugs?”
Eva pulled away from him, scooting to lean against her car door.
No subtlety from either of them, just awkwardness.
“I will need to interview him to give you a professional opinion but...”
“But?”
“He’s got some signs of anabolic steroid abuse, which won’t show up under a standard drug test.” She took a breath. “The arresting officers have requested an evaluation for steroid abuse.”
Mark narrowed his eyes on her. “That’s what you were talking about with them after he was arrested. You told them to check for anabolic steroids, didn’t you?”
“They’ve seen this before, Mark. There’s not much those guys haven’t seen.”
“You didn’t answer the question. Evading. I’d expect that from Tiffany, but—”
Eva kept her voice pleasant even under Mark’s harsh tone. “They asked for my opinion, purely off the record. I gave it to them for Aaron’s sake. Steroids can be very, very dangerous, especially for a developing teen male.”
“For Aaron’s sake, huh?” He revved up the car. “I’m taking you back home. I think we need to skip this analysis, for Aaron’s sake.”
* * *
Eva rolled on a thick coat of paint. The last time she’d done this alone, she’d just lost Chuck. Had she now lost Mark as well?
But if she had swallowed her concerns, compromised her principles, would she lose herself?
She painted all day Sunday and through the night until Monday morning, not wanting to go to bed alone.
Her sheets still held the scent of Mark. She could wash them but she didn’t want to.
Was love always this complicated?
Love. She was so in love with Mark.
The intensity of her feelings made her sit down hard. Her couch squeaked as she dropped bonelessly onto it.
She hadn’t meant for it to happen, hadn’t asked for it—hadn’t looked for it, like she had with Chuck. This time it had just happened.
The idea of losing Mark was as strong as the memory of losing Chuck. Amazingly, she realized Mark’s carried more immediate pain.
For the second night in a row Eva cried herself to sleep.
* * *
Eva wasn’t sure how he did it, but somehow Mark got Aaron out of juvenile detention and back into school on Monday morning with no one the wiser about his escapade but her.
Escapade. Mark’s word, not hers.
She would see him at work, but she’d wanted to get the air cleared before that. She left messages until he finally called her back.
When he called her, his voice held hurt and bewilderment but also a longing that Eva echoed in her own soul.
“I thought we had something together. But I can’t turn my back on my family.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. But, Mark, ignoring a problem doesn’t fix it.”
“I wish it could have turned out differently.”
“Me, too.”
But she couldn’t back down on her worries about Aaron, couldn’t wave away his symptoms and label his behavior typical teenager because he wasn’t typical for a clean teen, but he was very, very typical for a teen steroid abuser.
The boy needed help.
What could she do to make Mark listen?
* * *
After a slow, boring night at work followed by a restless sleep, Mark drove toward the studio to get his Friday pre-segment taped. This was not going to be his best day.
What would Eva do? What would she say?
He didn’t know any woman alive who could let a break-up go down easily.
Break-up? They hadn’t even been together.
But they had. They’d been together in Eva’s bed and in his mind. They’d shared a thread that had woven itself deep into his psyche. And breaking that thread felt like breaking his will to live.
With heavy feet Mark trudged towards the studio door, bracing himself to face whatever might come.
As he pulled open the door he swore to himself he would never, ever play where he worked again.
In fact, right now he felt like he would never play again.
He would do it differently if he could. Eva was special and he was certain he’d never find another woman like her. But he had a responsibility to his family. Aaron needed all his time and attention right now, and arguing with Eva about any deeper issues Aaron might have wouldn’t help the situation. What choice did he have?
Quietly, he entered the studio. In her white lab coat she looked professional and competent.
The cameras were rolling as Eva gave her spiel.
“If it’s a drug, it can be abused. This includes drugs your teen can pick up in the pharmacy section of the grocery store or can purchase online as well as drugs prescribed by doctors and illegal drugs sold by drug dealers.
Eva looked into the camera. “Here’s what you need to know. If your teen is abusing drugs, you need to intervene. It is very unlikely teens will stop abusing drugs on their own. Check your screen for local numbers of clinics that can give you a helping hand.”
The camera closed in on Eva. Without flinching, she looked into the lens. “Anyone rich, poor, young or old can be a drug abuser. You can get better. To get better you must ask for help. No one can give it to you until you’re ready to receive it.”
Offstage, Mark shifted his weight. She’d written this program based on him and his family, hadn’t she?
Eva kept talking to the camera. “Asking for help takes great courage. Asking for help isn’t a weakness. It’s a strength. And you can recover. Everyone here at Ask the Doc is pulling for you.”
From the floor, Phil said, “That’s a wrap. Nice close, Eva.”
“Thanks.” Her smile was polite but not bright. It held no energy, at least no energy for Mark.
The smile she gave Mark was hopeful and questioning. But he had no hope and he had no answers.
Mark took the script Phil handed him. He would be speaking on the influence professional athletes had over teens. The staff had put together his talking points yesterday, but getting Aaron released and back in school had kept him from running by the studio to pick them up.
He glanced down at them and suddenly felt very manipulated.
His script was on the signs of anabolic steroid use. Paperclipped to the front page was a folded message. From the many scribblings he’d seen in her script margins, he recognized Eva’s handwriting.
It read, “My fault. Education is key. I forgot that. Here are the symptoms. Judge for yourself. P.S. I would never, ever deliberately hurt you or your family. I care a great deal for you.”
Care a great deal? What did that mean? What did he want it to mean?
He tried to stop the flow of his thoughts but couldn’t catch them in time to suppress his desire, his longing, to be loved by Eva.
Love? Where had that come from?
Mark gave himself a smirk. If people knew where love came from, the world wouldn’t need poets or musicians.
“Five minutes,” Phil said as he walked past him.
As the camera light blinked red, Mark got the cue to read the list.
“‘Here are the signs of steroid abuse to watch for in your teen.’” He read starkly and flatly without even attempting to jazz it up or make it interesting.
His gut began to ache even as he tried to rationalize each bullet point as he read them to the camera.
“‘Increased oiliness and severe acne, particularly on the back.’”
Most teens had an increase in oiliness and severe acne wasn’t that uncommon, especially in humid New Orleans.
“‘Rapid weight gain, particularly in muscle.’”
Aaron had put on a lot of weight, particularly muscle weight, over the summer. He’d even gotten stretch marks on his biceps because they’d increased in size so rapidly. But Mark could easily explain that by the groceries he was always buying and the many workouts he drove Aaron to.
“‘Erratic sleep patterns due to type of steroid and use of cycling technique.’”
Aaron’s erratic sleep patterns were probably as much Mark’s fault as Aaron’s. Tiffany had always complained about how Mark’s night-shift work had disrupted her sleep, too.
“‘Early balding, particularly male-pattern balding.’”
Maybe Aaron’s hairline was receding a bit, but that happened sometimes to guys. His dad had thinned out early. It was just the luck of the DNA pool that he had a full head of hair.
Mark had to clear his throat before he could read, “‘Significant breast size increase in males and shrinkage of testicles.’”
He hadn’t really noticed if Aaron’s breasts had increased in size and he wouldn’t have a reason to notice if his testicles were shrinking. How did parents check for that on their teen sons?
Mark had to clear his throat before he could read, “‘Obvious and irrational mood swings.’”
Mood swings hit most pubescent boys, especially when they were having trouble at home like Aaron was. He himself had certainly been a victim of a fluctuating temperament. That’s why his coach had made him run all the extra laps at practice.
Making the sign to cut the camera, Mark glared at the stage door Eva had left through. If she thought he was going to suddenly believe Aaron was injecting himself with steroids because of this list she was...
No matter how hard he tried to rationalize it, that gut instinct that served him so well in the E.R. was kicking in.
How did a person start a conversation with a teen about drug abuse?
Mark’s glare melted into despair. He could have asked Eva but he’d said too much. Experience had taught him time and time again that once spoken, words couldn’t be unsaid.
As he headed down the hallway to change from his suit to his jeans, he looked over at her dressing room.
It was dark and empty. Just like his heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
EVA SAT IN the garden next to her grandmother, holding her hand. Some days, the bad days, touching wasn’t allowed but today her abuelita didn’t seem to mind it.
Because she needed to, Eva talked. She told her grandmother all about Mark’s nephew and her suspicions. She explained about Mark’s denial and family loyalty. And she talked about how she understood that loyalty because she’d felt the same for her brother.
Finally, she said what had been weighing on her heart most. “I think I love him, Abuelita.”
Rare recognition dawned in her grandmother’s eyes as she squeezed Eva’s hand. “You think you love him? You’re not sure?”
Ecstatically, Eva welcomed the gift of lucidity. “I’m not sure he loves me.”
Her grandmother’s voice was firm, the way Eva remembered it, as she said, “You can’t expect him to take the risk of loving you if you don’t risk loving him, can you? Love takes trust. You’ve got to trust him enough to be open with him and to be vulnerable with him.”
“But love doesn’t mean a person has to back down on her principles, does it?”
“It’s not like you to see things in only black and white, Anita. People are made of many shades of gray.”
Anita. Her mother’s name. Trying not to startle Abuelita back into her vagueness, Eva said gently, “I want to help him.”
Sharpness erased all the confusion from Abuelita’s eyes. “You want to prove yourself. Have you ever made anyone change his mind by forcing him to agree with you?”
Eva felt properly chastised. “You’re right, Abuelita. Trying to force my beliefs onto Mark won’t work any better than it did with Chuck.”
Abuelita patted her hand. “Appeal to his mind. Appeal to his heart.” She grinned, her smile crooked, yellow and very, very dear. “Appeal to his passion. And, Anita, dearest, stop holding back. I don’t mean in bed, I mean in your heart and in your mind.”
Eva flushed and looked away as she thought of Mark in her bed.
While bed was very, very good, his family came first in his world. “His passion is his family.”
“Whose passion, dear?” Abuelita pulled her hand loose. “Do I know you?”
And she was gone again, into that murky place Eva couldn’t breach.
* * *
During a lull in patients, Mark rested in the doctors’ lounge. It was a cold, lonely place of antiseptic, cracked orange leatherette couches and cheap blankets. The TV played an old sitcom with an annoying laugh track that screeched along his frayed nerve endings.
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What was Aaron doing home, alone, unsupervised? Mark hadn’t wanted to leave him on his own, but he’d had no one to ask.
Eva’s offer to help came to mind.
And so did her insistence that Aaron was injecting himself with anabolic steroids.
He couldn’t stop his worry as he thought about the show, the signs of anabolic steroids and Aaron. And as he thought about Eva.
In the dark of night, Mark let the pain flood through him. How could cutting himself off from Eva hurt so deeply?
He’d let her get under his skin and into his heart and then she’d broken it.
She’d tried to make him choose between her and family.
Family had to be protected.
Mark stopped himself right there. When had his father ever protected family?
How many nights had he lain in bed while his parents had fought downstairs? She’d been drinking. He’d been sleeping around.
And Mark had been told not to tell. What would the neighbors think? Maybe it was family secrets that needed to be protected?
As the frigid air crept beneath his thin blanket to wrap around his throat, he remembered Eva’s bed. Eva’s body. Eva’s heart.
She had a good heart. A caring and sincere heart.
Yet she’d advised the police to test Aaron for drugs.
Why would she do that?
The truth rang through.
Because it was the right thing for Aaron.
Not because she wanted to expose family secrets to add to society’s rumor mill. Eva cared nothing for society.
She cared for people. She cared for Aaron.
And once upon a time she’d cared for him.
But once upon a time only happened in fairy-tales and he had proved he was a real frog without a drop of princely blood in him.
But, then, Eva was no delicate princess who needed a white-knight rescuer either.
And in the real world real people had a chance to talk things out—at least he hoped they did. Personally, he’d never tried it.
He dialed Eva’s number, getting her voicemail message.