All I'll Ever Need

by Harry Kraus

  She was eighteen years old, engaged to Kyle Stevens, the manager of the McDonald’s where they’d worked together for the past six months. It was Friday night and the crowds had dwindled to a few teens sharing a milkshake in a corner booth.

  With business slow at the counter, Margo turned her attention to cleaning the grill. A moment later, she felt his breath on her earlobe. She pulled away, giggling, thinking Kyle had slipped in before closing time. When she turned, she gasped. “Conner!”

  Conner Miles flashed a Crest-commercial grin. He was on summer break from Brighton University, working the grill when he wasn’t thrilling Margo or the rest of the employees with stories of college-boy antics. He paused as their eyes met. He had an irresistible smile beneath blue eyes.

  Margo had watched him, even flirted with him for weeks, behavior she considered innocent enough until now. She had teased him because she thought he was out of reach. He’d talked of college girls and parties. She was soon to be married to Kyle.

  But he was so hot. And a man with a vision for going somewhere out of this small town. And now they were alone, face-to-face with their eyes locked. She wouldn’t be the first to break their gaze. He tilted his head. Leaned forward.

  She let their lips brush. He was teasing her. He pulled away. She shivered, knowing she played with fire. “Conner, I shouldn’t — ”

  His lips were against hers, pushing her against the counter. She resisted once before surrendering to his passion. In a moment, he’d lifted her to the counter and she leaned into him, returning his kiss full force.

  “Margo!” Kyle’s voice.

  Conner released her and stepped back as her arms flew to the side to regain her balance. She planted her right hand on the edge of the french fryer, submerging the last two fingers in the boiling oil. She jerked her hand into the air, screaming.

  She heard Kyle curse and watched as the back of his blue shirt disappeared through the back door. “Kyle!” she cried.

  She ran to the parking lot after him and yelled as his car squealed into the street.

  But she was too late. She sat on the curb and cried, her tears fresh and her hand throbbing.

  A cry from Kristin’s room brought Margo to the present. She looked at her fingers. Some burn scars lasted forever.

  That morning, Claire drove back to Stoney Creek to find Lisa, her receptionist, alone in the office. They hugged. “Thanks for agreeing to answer the phones.”

  “Sure,” Lisa said, brushing a tear from her cheek.

  “Have any of our patients shown up?”

  “Only Frank Williams. I don’t think he has a TV, and he’s so hard of hearing that I don’t think he listens to the radio.”

  She held a list in her hand. “Fifteen others have called to reschedule appointments. Is tomorrow okay?”

  Claire ran her fingers through her blonde bangs and read down the list. “Mrs. Yancy should be seen. She’s worried about a new breast lump.” She traced her finger to another name. “Mr. Barber was rescheduled from last week when I ran late. And I really need to see those stitches I put in Blake Alderland’s foot. They shouldn’t stay in too long.”

  They looked up as the door opened. It was Jimmy Jenkins. “Claire, I just heard what happened. I called your home. When I didn’t get an answer, I came here.”

  The trio huddled in a small greeting hug.

  Lisa sniffed. The phone rang, prompting her to pick it up. “Stoney Creek Family Practice.”

  Jimmy took Claire’s arm and walked with her into the hall. “This office stays closed until Monday. By then, I can have security lined up to watch the place.”

  Claire shook her head. “I’ve got so many patients waiting to get in.”

  Jimmy frowned. “We cannot just go back to work tomorrow as if nothing happened. I’m concerned about your safety until this convict is behind bars.”

  Claire lifted the patient appointment list and sighed. “But I — ”

  “No buts. This practice ruled me, ran my life for over thirty years. I’m not going to let it do the same for you.”

  “Dr. Jenkins, what am I to do for five days? These people need me.”

  “They won’t die if they don’t see you this week.”

  “Work is the only therapy I know.”

  He nodded slowly and put his hand on her shoulder. “That’s your style, isn’t it, Claire? Work isn’t the best salve, you know.”

  “But what — ”

  “Figure it out. Get out of town for a few days. Plan your wedding. Stay out of sight.”

  Lisa walked up as Dr. Jenkins disappeared into the waiting room. “That was the detective. They found their patrol car over in Brighton in the University Hospital parking deck.”

  Claire felt sick.

  Lisa touched her arm. “Dr. McCall, what’s wrong?”

  “That’s two blocks from the Days Inn.”

  “I know where it is.”

  “But I stayed there last night . . . to get away from Tyler Crutchfield.”

  That evening found Claire sitting at her desk waiting to meet with Joanne Phillips. She sighed as she thought of the backlog of patient problems building up day after day with the office closed. That afternoon she’d read through the list of patients that had been on the appointment book for the day, making notations by the names of those she thought she could handle with a phone call.

  A knock at the back door interrupted her thoughts. She looked at her watch. Joanne was right on time. When her hand was on the doorknob, she paused, suddenly afraid. “Joanne?”

  “Claire? It’s me.”

  Relieved, she opened the door. Joanne received her with a hug. “Dear Claire,” she said, pushing her to arm’s length and looking in her eyes. “You look great.”

  Claire nodded. “You’re too polite.”

  They sat in Claire’s office in front of the desk. “How are you holding up? I heard the news this morning, and I knew we should talk.”

  “I – I’m okay. Really.” Claire took a deep breath, wondering just what she was supposed to be feeling. “I slept in Brighton last night. Knowing Tyler Crutchfield was free, I just couldn’t face sleeping at home.”

  Claire waited for a response, but Joanne just nodded without speaking, her eyes full of concern. Claire shifted in her seat, uncomfortable to be the object of such apparent apprehension. She shrugged it off. “Right now, I’m more concerned about all these patients,” she added, pointing at a pile of charts on her desk. “We’ve closed the office until Monday. I’ll be working through quite a logjam after that.”

  “Don’t be too afraid to take time for yourself.”

  “I’m not.” Claire looked away from Joanne, uneasy with her examination. “I’ve been through so much in my life. I don’t expect to fall apart over something like this.”

  “You’re shutting down, Claire.”

  She looked at Joanne, who sat leaning forward, squinting in Claire’s direction. “Shutting down?”

  Joanne nodded slowly, exuding the kind of pity you might show someone who just lost a loved one in a car accident. “Emotionally. You’ve wrapped yourself in a cocoon of protection so you won’t feel the pain.”

  “I’m really okay,” she said, trying not to show the irritation rising within her.

  More nodding from Joanne. “Hmmm.”

  What did Joanne expect from her? It just wasn’t a part of her nature to curl up and mourn. Sure she was afraid, but she’d been in threatening circumstances before, and this didn’t feel like uncharted waters. She looked at Joanne and raised her eyebrows. “I guess I’m getting used to this sort of thing.”

  “I just don’t want you to be out of touch with your feelings. Don’t just cover it up under a truckload of defense mechanisms. Don’t be afraid to be afraid.”

  Claire nodded and offered a plastic smile. This was sounding a bit too much like touchy-feely psychology for her comfort.

  “After a trauma, it’s common to unearth hidden feelings.” She paused. “Like the memorie
s that resurfaced after your attack.” She leaned back and crossed her long legs. “And now that your attacker is again free, you may have a resurgence of other memories, a reliving of emotions you experienced during the attempted rape.”

  “Well, so far, so good.”

  “Being ready, anticipating is the first step. If you anticipate something, it is less likely to trip you up when it occurs. Are you angry?”

  “Angry? I — ”

  “It’s okay to express it. This man, this Tyler Crutchfield, deserves your anger, Claire.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Anger that isn’t expressed can end up harming you more than those who deserve to be the object of our anger.” She leaned to Claire’s desk and lifted a pen from a purple mug. She clicked the pen top as she continued. “What about your father? Are you experiencing anger toward him?”

  “Some, but maybe something more like sadness. I’ve visited him a few times since we talked. I tried to use the visits as a stimulus to see if I could recover any more memories.” She shook her head. “But I don’t really remember anything else. Just the thought of my father abusing me in that way repulses me.”

  “It should.”

  “I guess I find myself pitying him more. Huntington’s disease has robbed him of so much. It has changed his personality. He goes from sullen to irritated to paranoid. On the one hand he wants to die. And at other times, he seems afraid that the nurses won’t get to him in time when he chokes. My mother programmed his phone to speed-dial 911 for him, just to calm him down, telling him all he had to do if the nurses didn’t come was to push a single button.” Claire blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Then, at the next visit, it’s like Daddy has forgotten all about being paranoid and he’s back to not even speaking.”

  “Have you given any more thought to confronting him?”

  “No. I tell you, he wouldn’t remember.” She shook her head. “I don’t even remember it all.”

  “You were drunk.”

  “I suspect he was too.”

  “You are quick to excuse his behavior.”

  Claire took a deep breath. “I’ve tried to come to a place of putting a lot of family hurt behind me. Digging this all up may not be such a great idea.”

  Joanne smiled. “Why did you call me, Claire? Remember why you called for help.”

  “I wanted the nightmares to go away.”

  “Look, I guarantee it won’t be fun. But unearthing and dealing with whatever is responsible for your misery is the only way to lasting closure over these issues.”

  “Are you sure? Some things may be better off left unseen and unsaid.”

  Joanne stood. “I understand how you feel. Once a person is into the process, the pain almost always makes them want to turn tail and run.” She touched Claire’s shoulder. “But that’s the weak way out. The Claire McCall way is straight through the pain.”

  And that was exactly what Claire was afraid of.

  That evening, as Claire and Della stood on the front stoop of their home, Claire sorted through the keys to open the door.

  Della looked worried. “Are you sure that creep has left town?”

  “The police are continuing to search Stoney Creek. There are only so many places to hide in a small town. Besides, John promised he’d spend the night. We’ll be farther away from Tyler Crutchfield if we stay here than if we’d stayed in Brighton.”

  Claire pushed open the door and hesitated. The house bulged with fresh memories from the last time Tyler was free. She looked at her mother. Della’s mind seemed elsewhere. A smile crossed Della’s face as she looked out over the lawn.

  “Someone’s watching out for us,” Della said.

  “What?”

  “Look, honey. Someone mowed the grass while we were away.”

  Claire took a deep breath. Freshly mown grass scented the air. She looked at the familiar pattern. “I’ll bet Jimmy Jenkins did this.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s been doing the maintenance at the office since Cyrus — er, Tyler left. Our office mower cuts a little shorter on the left side, leaving a pattern just like this.”

  Della’s smile widened. “This would be like him. Thoughtful. Caring for us when the chips are down.”

  Claire looked back toward the open door and the den beyond. She took a deep breath. I can do this. It’s stupid to be afraid of my own house. She shut and bolted the front door.

  She tiptoed from room to room while her mother began clinking around the kitchen. After looking in every closet, she chided herself for her anxiety and headed for the kitchen to help Della.

  Once supper was ready, Claire paged through a bridal magazine while she waited for John. Della watched Jeopardy and tried to yell the answers before the contestants.

  Claire looked up. “I spent some time with Joanne Phillips today.”

  “Who is James Madison!” Della called out, slapping her leg when she heard Alex report her correct response.

  “Mom.”

  “What is the Kentucky Derby!” Della shook her head. “He should have known that.”

  “Mom!”

  Della sighed. “I heard you. How was your session?”

  Claire put her finger in the magazine to hold her place. “She mainly just wanted to touch base because she heard about what happened. She wanted to make sure I was holding up since seeing my attacker again.”

  “Who is Martin Luther King!”

  Claire huffed. “Are you listening?”

  Della snapped off the TV with the remote and looked at her daughter. “When are you going to tell me what’s bugging you?”

  “Bugging me?”

  Della nodded. “I overheard you talking to Margo. I know what you think about your father.” She held up her finger and pointed at Claire. “I think you’d better drop this mess before someone gets hurt.”

  “You mean someone else.” She glared back at Della. “Why didn’t you tell me you heard?”

  “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me, but I realized you wanted to protect me.” She shook her head. “You don’t need to protect me, Claire. I know your father. He wouldn’t have done such a thing.”

  “My counselor thinks I should confront Daddy.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  Claire sat up. “Joanne thinks it would be helpful to bring closure to some of my past.”

  Della stood up. “You listen to me! I’ve thought long and hard about this, this . . .” She waved her hand in the air. “This memory of yours. And I don’t know where it’s coming from, but I will not have you burdening your father with it.”

  “Burdening him? What about me?”

  “Your father’s life hasn’t been a bed of roses either. Perhaps I’m to blame for some of that. But he’s in no condition now to hear this type of accusation. Don’t you think he’s suffered enough?”

  “I think my father molested me and I’m supposed to think of his suffering?”

  “Your father did no such thing!”

  Mother and daughter glared at each other. Claire looked away. Her mother was in denial. Perhaps her sympathy for Wally prevented her from accepting such a harsh truth.

  Della began to pace. “This is all my fault. I talked you into calling a counselor. But it was because I wanted you to stop sleeping with a loaded gun on the nightstand, not because I wanted you to dig up some ancient misery.”

  “That’s the way it works, Mom. Sometimes present pain is just enough like something our defenses have covered up that it freshens an old pain to rise to the surface.”

  Della put her hands on her hips. “And you’re sure about this?” Her mother stood with wrinkled brow, suddenly older and life weary.

  Claire took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “It all seems so real.” It was hard to describe. Her memories were like islands within a broad sea of merging and surging waves. “I don’t know.”

  Her mother stepped closer, lowering the volume, but not able to hide the tension which etched her voice
. “Well, I know Wally McCall. He would never have touched his daughters.”

  “Or have you just gotten so comfortable explaining all his bad behavior away to HD that you can’t face the evidence?”

  “You have no evidence.”

  Claire didn’t know what to say. Obviously Della would never accept this. “I can’t expect you to believe this.”

  Della shook her index finger. “If you keep this up, you will tear this family apart.”

  As if we’re so close as it is.

  They looked up as a knock at the door interrupted them. Claire jumped to her feet and looked out the window. It was John. Perfect timing. She opened the door to his smiling face.

  “Am I too late for dinner?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Brighton University Hospital had shown interest in Stoney Creek Family Practice Clinic for years. Of course, their goal was to build a network of local clinics to secure referrals to their center. And for years, Dr. Jenkins held them off, determined to keep family medicine the community- based service he loved. To Jimmy, the university was the ivory tower and represented high-tech, high-expense, hands-off medicine. He saw himself as the front line, caring for patients cradle to grave, most of them for a fraction of the big-city cost.

  As retirement loomed, he sought for a replacement, someone with youthful energy and an old patient-first philosophy. But all the new doctors wanted more than he could deliver, and the convenience of city life where salaries were high. Eventually, he settled on moving the practice out of the office attached to his home and into this new building, hoping to attract a suitable long-term replacement.

  And then Claire McCall came home and agreed to fill in. He took the chance and stepped out of practice, free from the workload, but not from the burden of practice ownership. Claire was a breath of fresh air, and although she’d only just finished her internship, she seemed quick and competent. But she wasn’t in a position to buy him out. She needed more training. She’d only suspended her medical training to reconnect with her ailing father and agreed to work for Jimmy as she dealt with the realities of being at risk for Huntington’s disease.

  So this week, when Dr. Marsh from the University Hospital family practice residency called, Dr. Jenkins responded by extending an olive branch of his own. He would meet with him and talk about a possible sale of his practice to the university. Could they meet Thursday? The university was promoting a new image. Care for everyday or specialty care for all of Virginia. Jimmy agreed. Thursday would be perfect. The office was closed, so he could meet with the Brighton University officials without threatening Claire.