Dr. Bridge grinned at him. “You’re married, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he said. “I have a wife. Four grown daughters, too.” He held up his ringless fingers. “How did you know?”
“You can guess when women need more alcohol and food.”
He laughed. “It’s written all over your faces. How about some guacamole?”
“How about yes?”
As soon as he left, Dr. Bridge leaned closer to me. “You’ve got the wrong idea about change. It’s not prompted by something happening to you. Change comes when you discover qualities you didn’t know you had.”
I drained the shot glass. “Unfortunately, I think I’m well acquainted with most of my qualities already.”
“How would you know?” she asked, scooping up some salsa. “One of the best things about life is that we continuously surprise ourselves.”
I shrugged. “Maybe you do.”
“Okay,” she said, switching topics, “besides family drama, what’s going on with you?”
The tequila coursing through my bloodstream made me chatty. “Even with all this mayhem, I’m still thinking about having a baby.”
“Really? That’s great.”
“I don’t know if it is. Money is still an issue, but hopefully I’ll work around that. Right now I’m working on some baby-daddy candidates.”
“You’re dating? That’s wonderful!”
“Not exactly dating.” I explained the shrinking pool of men in my life, telling her about Jerry’s offer, Paul’s rejection, Darryl’s addictive messages, and Garrett’s eager charm, purposefully leaving out his living situation.
“Jerry sounds sweet,” she said when I finished, “but this Garrett person, he’s the most practical choice if you don’t want a coparent.”
“It’s not that I don’t want one . . .” I wasn’t sure how to explain. I did want a partner. The prospect of parenting alone sometimes felt like I was deciding to fly a plane with one engine across the Atlantic. “I feel badly about searching someone out just for that purpose,” I admitted, “and then I’ll feel badly about thinking I can do it on my own. Then, I’ll spend considerable time feeling awful about putting a baby in a position of disadvantage from the start, and then I’ll get riled up that society has conditioned me to think that way. I’m kind of a mess.”
“Listen, I’m a doctor,” Dr. Bridge responded, her knowing, liquory smile telling me she understood what I struggled to articulate. “When it comes down to it, I see things in a purely scientific way. Making a child requires only one thing. Sperm needs to meet egg. Nothing else matters. Desire, love, guilt, shame—none of these things need to be present when conception happens. If Garrett is willing to give you his sperm and you’re willing to accept it, then it’s just a matter of biology. Meet your goal, and you can deal with all that other shit later.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I wanted to tell her she was wrong, that it was so much more than that, but then maybe she was right. She had three children of her own. She’d guided hundreds of women through pregnancies and beyond. I wasn’t the first person to spill my soul in her office. She listened to people and really heard them, and that gave her a certain kind of wisdom.
Dr. Bridge cleaned the salsa bowl with her index finger, licking the last of it. She raised two fingers at the bartender and mouthed, “More.” The gesture made me think of Carly, and I checked my phone. Nothing. Talk yet? I tried again, and jolted in surprise when I got an almost instant response.
Donal tonight. You tomorrow. Traitor.
I stared at the phone cupped in my hand, wondering if it offered an emoticon for I’m a total ass, please forgive me.
Dr. Bridge took the phone from my hand and shut it off. “Everything will work out for the best.”
“How can you know that? How can anyone?”
Dr. Bridge shrugged. “You love each other. The odds are in your favor.”
I knew my sister loved me, but would she trust me again? Just the thought clouded my vision.
“No crying. Let’s talk about something else,” Dr. Bridge insisted, nudging me to join her as she gulped half her drink. “So, have you asked Garrett yet?”
“No, I’m trying to help him find a job first.”
“What does one have to do with the other if you don’t want a relationship?”
“I don’t know. It makes no sense, but that’s kind of how I’m operating.”
“Look. Look. I know I’m a scientist.” Shhheyeintist. “And I meant what I said, but I still believe that there are valuable things in life that don’t make any sense at all.” She lifted her tequila shot and motioned toward mine. “To science and nonsense,” she said.
I touched her glass with mine. “Especially nonsense.” The tequila warmed my blood, giving me a sense of surer footing, of security. False as it was, I welcomed it.
“Let’s have one more,” Dr. Bridge said, this time waving her arm at the bartender. “And then let’s go talk to this Garrett. It’s early still, and fuggit—I am not on call.”
It felt like midnight when we pushed unsteadily through the doors of Casa Mamacita, but the sun, still orange and bright, had only dipped, beginning its slow dive toward the horizon.
“Daytime drinking is the best,” Dr. Bridge said as she awkwardly straddled my bike. “But we’re going to need something more than salsa and chips if we want to keep this going. Want to take Garrett out to dinner?”
“Maybe . . . look, I’m not sure I want to ask him just yet. I mean, I’d like to, but the timing needs to be right, okay? Follow my lead.”
“Of course.” Dr. Bridge made a motion with her hand, and we set off. The Episcopal church was only a few miles, thankfully, as Dr. Bridge and I rode slowly, wavering a bit as I balanced her weight, hoping I wouldn’t get busted for a BUI.
I ignored the voice screaming, What the fuck are you thinking? loudly in my head, the one telling me to go home and sleep it off. Instead, I paid attention to the voice I’d assigned to Darryl, a deep, sexy baritone, ordering me not to be such a chickenshit.
I spotted the white spire poking through the rooftops of the impressive residences on this side of town.
“I don’t live far from here,” Dr. Bridge said. “Garrett lives in this neighborhood?” A simple question, but she couldn’t temper the admiration in her voice.
“He’s this way.” I led her to the shelter behind the church. Mr. Williams had his back to us, stooped, raking leaves. “We need to go around the block and come up on the other side,” I whispered. There was a fire escape. Perfect for climbing.
“Gotta ask you,” Dr. Bridge said as we rounded the corner. She was puffing heavily from the ride, though her only responsibility was to hold on. “This is where Tim drops off his old clothes. Is Garrett homeless?”
“Yep.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Bridge said, without judgment, as if it really was a fact neither here nor there, simply something to add to the overall picture. I loved her for it.
“I’m going to sneak up and knock on his window,” I said, turning toward her. “It’s right behind his bed. If he’s there, he’ll see me, and I’ll motion for him to come down.”
“You know where his bed is already? You’ve been in his room?” She smiled, a sloppy, lopsided grin. “That’s promising.”
We squinted up at the fire escape. It was more of a ladder, and a precarious one at that, but if it could hold a big firefighter, it could support me, right? I climbed a couple of rungs and paused, testing my weight.
“Up you go, Juliet.” Dr. Bridge gave my butt a shove.
I went quickly, hoping momentum would be on my side. Garrett lay on his bed, dark hair pressed against the window. I rapped on it, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
He unlocked the window and tugged it open. “Miss Leona? What are you doing?” There was wonder in his voice, but not much surprise. I supposed after living the way he’d been, reacting to surprises was not a
good idea.
I smiled at him, completely at a loss.
“Are you all right?” he pressed. “You look different.”
“I had a challenging day,” I finally said. “And I came by to say hello.”
“Hi, Garrett!” Dr. Bridge shouted from below. I’d completely forgotten about her.
Garrett peered over my head, his face going slack with nerves. “Who’s that?”
“My gynecologist.”
“Oh.”
“You are adorable!” Dr. Bridge added. “You look exactly like Zac Efron, but taller! And . . . broader!”
“The doc and I are hanging out today,” I explained, feeling my face heat. “We’ve been drinking. A little bit. We were at a baby shower.”
Garrett turned back toward his room for a moment, then leaned toward me, blue eyes sparkling. “Well, I’m glad you were celebrating, Miss Leona, because I’m going to give you a reason to do more. I scored an interview with Rizer Technologies, Wednesday after next.” He paused, his expression growing dark. “Unless you think I’m not ready. Maybe I should tell them no.”
I felt the tequila trucking through my system, mowing down the lines of propriety. I reached out and placed a comforting hand on his forearm. “You are more than ready,” I breathed. “You are going to do spectacularly well.”
“Will you help me prepare?” Garrett asked, fearful again.
“Of course I’ll help you.” I pressed my thighs against the siding and pushed up with my palms. My face was just under his. I could see the dark stubble under his chin, the fine length of his jaw, the curve of his ear.
Garrett tilted his head down and looked at me straight on. “Miss Leona.”
I pushed up farther, and he moved down, and our lips were inches from each other, breath against breath. He smelled like coffee and man, and I strained to meet him, pushing up on tiptoe. Garrett lowered himself at the same time, so when our lips met, they crashed together, open and willing, tongues tangling, teeth grazing. His hands clutched my shoulder, and I entertained fantasies about him pulling me up and in, onto his twin bed, ravishing my body and . . .
My foot slipped.
“Nooo!” Dr. Bridge shouted.
I righted myself with Garrett’s help. We froze, both in shock at my near miss with disaster. I was terrified to move; even the alcohol pushing through my bloodstream stilled in fear.
“I’m sorry,” I said, still breathing heavily. “Before I almost fell to my death . . . was that okay?”
Garrett smiled shyly. “It was fine. I’ve been wanting to do that for a while.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Men’s voices grew louder, and Garrett glanced inside. “I apologize, but I have to go.”
“I want to help you with the interview,” I said quickly. “I’ll even drive you and wait outside.”
“I’d like that. Thank you, Miss Leona.” He reached out and gently traced the outline of my lips. “Thank you. I wish I was, I mean, I wish I could—”
“No wishing. You’re fine as you are. Let’s meet tomorrow? Library at two?”
“I’d like that.” He grinned then, and watched as I made my descent into Dr. Bridge’s waiting arms.
“That was terrifying and awesome,” she said. “But we need to find a bar. Pronto.”
Nursing 320 (Online): Community Health
Private Message—Leona A to Darryl K
Leona A: Are you thhherre??????? Late. I drank a lot. Of stuff. I feel puffy maybe margarita salt??? Drinking wine now. Found in the kitchen. Sherry? Cherry?
Leona A: Queshion—do you think kids still get made fun of for their names? Like, with people calling their kids Kale and Idle and freaking freaking Karma that anyone even thinks of teasing? Or do the kids named Mary and John get ze shit end of the stick these days?
Leona A: How bout kissing. It means something, right??? Does it always have to feel like a promise or no???
Leona A: Where are you? I’m sitting right here. Sick of waiting. Are you alive? Darryl???
Leona A: Did I make you mad? Yourmad. Aren’t you???? Talk to me . . . I need to talk to you about some
Leona A: ldskfjalksdghkdlajd.,mfkhkljh
CHAPTER 21
Someone stuck a tube in my mouth in the night, siphoning every bit of liquid from my body. That was the only explanation for how I felt when I woke up, wearing a baby food–encrusted sweater and ripped tights, my tongue stuck in place inside the vast desert known as the inside of my mouth, eyes crusted shut, lips gritty, extremities swollen.
Oh, no. No, no, no.
The messages to Darryl, Donal’s secret exposed, wobbling home on my bike . . . kissing Garrett! Everything came back to me in a Technicolor rush, and I buried myself under the comforter.
I’d deal with it all later. After someone figured out how to get a McDonald’s breakfast into an IV drip.
Only Carly had other ideas. Just as I was able to slow my thumping heart, hoping sleep would eventually suffocate my hangover, she pinched my shoulder with her small, powerful claws. “Bitch,” she said. “Megabitch, Überbitch, Bitch on Wheels. Bitch on Crack.”
I moaned. “Not really. Only circumstantially. I can explain.”
“No, you can’t. You lied. I don’t care if my shit-for-brains husband asked you to.”
“He didn’t want to worry you.”
“When were you two going to tell me? As we were boarding a plane for Dublin? This is bad, Lee.”
The basement didn’t get much light, but it got enough for me to see the dark smudges under Carly’s eyes, the weight of her circumstance pulling the skin down. I wanted to smooth them away with my thumb, but instead, I scooched over to make room. She didn’t sit down. “Can you just pop me in the nose and we can be done with this?”
“I’m a girl, remember? I don’t want your blood, I want to torture you until you break.”
“I am really sorry,” I said, my voice breaking. “You know that, right?”
Her silence was indeed torture, but what she said was even worse. “I can’t trust your judgment now. You know that, right?”
I did know it. “Can I do something without expecting forgiveness?”
She hesitated before saying, “Yes.”
“I want to listen to you. To what you’re feeling.”
“Okay, Dr. Phil, how’s this for starters? I don’t want to leave,” she said, the tears in her voice crushing my heart. “I like my life here.”
“But you will, if you have to?”
She paused a moment, and I wondered what she was weighing. Leaving Donal? Finding the money for a protracted court battle? Starting over in Ireland? She finally said, “I wouldn’t desert him, because he didn’t desert me. He could have, you know. When we found out about Maura.”
“Donal would have never done that.”
“We know that now, but I didn’t then. He proved himself to me.”
What wasn’t she saying? Did she feel she hadn’t done the same? The thought was ridiculous—she’d created a life both with him and for him. “I think you’ve more than proven your loyalty.”
“Have I?” She went quiet for a moment. “I thought about it last night after we spent an hour on the phone with Kara. Letting him go. Staying here with you to help me raise the kids until he got back. Kara said it would only be a few years, like he’d gone to war or something. Plenty of women do that.”
I reached for her hand. She let me hold it. “What changed your mind?”
“Last night, after we had it out, he finally fell asleep, snoring like a racehorse. For a moment I fantasized about what it would be like to have the bed to myself every night, to stretch into crisp white silence, to throw my leg over and not hear a groan, to bury my head in our pillows and not smell WD-40. I would feel like a princess.
“But Donal made that bed. Our initials are carved on the underside. We’ve gouged permanent marks in the wall with the headboard. And he always picks white sheets because he likes the way my hair
looks against them. Those facts would turn into memories with him gone, and I’m not ready to live like a widow.”
She gripped my hand tighter, cutting into my skin with her nails. It felt good, though, like dramatic punctuation for that kind of pronouncement. “You love him.”
“I adore him.” She sighed. “And I want to punch him in the face until he bleeds.” Carly slipped under the covers, stretched, catlike, and then curled around me. “Lee,” she said, her voice silky smooth, “I’ve already thought of a way you could get back in my good sister graces. Come with us. To Ireland. I want you there, and I think it’d be good for you. A change of scenery is exactly what you need. I was a mad Googler yesterday after Donal went to bed. You can finish up your online classes from anywhere, and there’s a teaching hospital in Waterford, which isn’t far from the farm. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you complete your observation hours there.”
“You did that for me?”
“I’m looking out for you,” she replied. “If you adjust your thinking a bit, you’ll see this could be an opportunity. Be honest. Doesn’t part of you want to start over? New town, new friends, new house. You’re single with nothing to tie you down. Don’t you want to get out of this basement?”
My thought process was still inebriated—any response skittered about as if on roller skates in my cerebellum. “Wait . . . who would stay here while you were gone? Who would take care of this house?”
“We’ll rent it.”
I thought about strangers in our beds, eating cereal in our kitchen, playing basketball on our driveway.
But then it wasn’t mine. It belonged to Carly and Donal. I already was a renter.
She gently tugged on my hair. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You know it makes sense. If we have to leave, we leave together.”
“But what about . . . ?”
“What about what?”
“The baby,” I said, feeling foolish. “What if I still want a child?”
“You’re not honestly still thinking about that, are you?”
All the Good Parts Page 17