“You got mud on yo face! You big disgrace!”
Close to an hour later, Jack began closing the tissue. He replaced the skull and secured it with titanium screws, then set about stitching the scalp. He was sweating. His scrub shirt was drenched like he’d taken a swim in the English Channel. He felt his legs wobble.
“Good job, everyone,” he said, locking his knees.
The surgical team began to exit the room.
“Why does he need music?” a young resident physician asked.
“It helps him concentrate,” Sandy threw out.
“Go figure,” the young doctor returned. “I couldn’t focus. I got worried there for a moment.”
“You should never worry about Dr. Gabrielle,” Sandy assured.
Jack went immediately to the private waiting room, where he met Mrs. Rosen, the patient’s wife, who was by then joined by five of her eight children. The others were en route.
“I’m Dr. Gabrielle,” he said, extending his hand to shake hers.
The Rosen family stood up. Gerrie Rosen threw her arms around him, but said nothing. He had expected and prepared for tears. There were none.
Bertie Rosen’s oldest son, Bert Jr., peppered questions. Jack sat down in a waiting room chair and began to answer. He was surrounded by Rosen children.
“We don’t understand medical mumbo jumbo,” Sarah, the middle girl, said. “We need it straight. Daddy taught us to shoot straight.”
“Your father got here just in time,” Jack said. “We were able to prevent rupture. He’ll need several weeks of therapy.”
“And then what?” Sarah begged to know.
“And then he’ll need to take it easy. He doesn’t smoke, does he?”
“Not since last summer,” Mrs. Rosen chimed in.
“Don’t let him start again,” Jack advised. “No heavy exercise. I will assign him to an ICU bed for a few days, then move him to a standard room.”
“I’ve had him for forty years and I’ll have forty more, God willing.” Gerrie sighed. “I don’t know what life is without him and I don’t want to know.”
Gerrie Rosen had never driven a clutch in her life. Bertie had always done the driving. They married two days before he shipped out for Marine Corps boot camp, vowing never to spend another day apart. After twenty years in the service, he retired and took a job cutting timber for Georgia-Pacific. Every day for forty years and counting, her husband had seen to her every need, even in the early years when love was all they had for dinner.
Together they had raised eight children, sent them all to college, watched them get married, and delighted in their grandbabies. If they were lucky, Gerrie thought, they would be around to see the great-grands. Albert had gotten a retirement package from Georgia-Pacific when the company was sold to a global conglomerate. The two of them spent their days tending to their treasured vegetable gardens and traveled when they could. Destin, Florida, was Gerrie’s favorite place on earth.
Just the day before the stroke, she’d finally gotten her husband to say yes to a time-share on the beach. He didn’t like all that mess he’d heard about hurricanes, but he’d do anything for his Gerrie. That night, she’d made him a nice dinner of his favorite pot roast and roasted potatoes, watched Wheel of Fortune and Let’s Make a Deal reruns and gone off to bed unaware of the time bomb ticking in his head. She was too tired to stay up to watch American Idol with him.
She’d heard him call her name just after midnight. It sounded like a whisper at first and she thought she was dreaming. When he called again, this time painfully stronger, she’d leaped up from their bed and went out to the living room, where she found him slumped over the coffee table clutching his head.
Gerrie had loaded him into the Ford F-150. Bertie shuddered in the passenger seat and began to convulse and vomit. Gerrie was frightened. The truck jerked and stalled a few times before she got a handle on the gears. She fumbled her way straight to Northside Hospital.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Jack joined the Rosen family for the second time in the same waiting room. The stent had given way, causing blood to pour into the brain. Bert Rosen died before the team could get him back into surgery.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Rosen,” Jack offered.
“No, Dr. Gabrielle. We’re celebrating his life. What a blessing it was to have him with us.”
The family formed a circle and prayed. Jack joined them.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love.’ ”
Thandy was stunned to find Jack standing on her doorstep, bundled up to his earlobes in a shepherd’s coat, shivering like a washing machine on final spin, and quoting Shakespeare. The snow fell from the gray sky in buckets as Thandy stood gaping at Jack in disbelief.
“Is that any way to treat a man who trekked through a blizzard to get here?”
“You’re pathetic. You know that, don’t you?”
“That I am,” he conceded.
The windchill made it feel like a hundred below; the cars on the street were covered in blankets of white. Thandy hadn’t been outside in a few days. The entire city was paralyzed. Mayor Daley had issued a curfew until city workers could clear and salt the pavement. Montana was stuck at a girlfriend’s house, unable to drive home in the snow.
Thandy wondered how Jack had made it to Chicago. He wriggled his fingers in the duty-free gloves he’d picked up to make sure he could still move them.
“Uh, come in. It’s cold out there.”
Thandy opened the door a little wider and waved him inside. The house was warm with fireplace-cooked air. The aroma of freshly baked bread emanated from the kitchen. Music streamed from the surround-sound system and filled every room. Jack followed her through the comfortably furnished living room and into the kitchen. She went about the business of brewing another pot of coffee while he sat on a bar stool under a carousel of clay pots that hung from the ceiling, admiring the elegant home. A half-read novel lay facedown on the countertop. At first they said nothing. She caught, then tried to ignore, his stares.
“Your house is beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
After a few minutes of waiting for the earth to move, he asked, “Where’s Montana?”
She didn’t answer. She swallowed and filled the brewer with water. He admired her slimmed figure.
“So are you going to tell me how you got here in five feet of snow when every airport north of Memphis is closed?”
“Lucky, I guess. I got the last flight out yesterday, before it got jammed up. I got in after midnight and stayed at the O’Hare Marriott. We couldn’t get into Midway.”
“And how did you get here? I’m a long way from O’Hare.”
“Snowplow.”
She turned to him. “What do you mean a snowplow?”
“I paid a guy and he went for his cousin. The guy works for the city.”
“And what if I wasn’t at home?”
“It’s a snowstorm. Everybody’s at home.”
She smiled at the stove.
“I’m sorry,” he said to her back. He took off his coat and gloves.
“You’ve already said that,” she returned, leaning over the counter, studying the pot of coffee.
“I meant it,” he said, undoing the wool scarf to let his earlobes warm.
“Thanks. That really clears things up.”
Jack grew silent. He had never needed anyone before. And if he had, he’d never admitted it.
“Why did you come here?”
“I thought . . .” he started.
She finished it for him. “You thought you could just get on a plane, bribe your way to my house, and then waltz in here, quote some dead-ass poet, and I would just melt. Right?”
“No.”
“Of course you did.” She turned around and faced him. “Admit it. I’m just the fish that got away. You’ve never had to want for anything, Jack Gabriel
le,” she said, waving her newly sculpted arms around. “Not for food, not for the light bill. You haven’t gone a single day without everything you needed, everything you could have wanted. You need a ride in the snow. Money no object. That’s worth one to five, hard time. But if you get caught, you won’t go to jail. The poor schmuck who took your money will. You’ll just buy your way out. You’ve never had to struggle for anything.”
“And you have?” he dismissed. “I read the article. Hell, Thandy, you make as much money as I do—even more. Oh, I forgot. This is your kingdom. Nothing happens that you don’t control.”
“I earn it, every day.”
“Of course you do. If they knew what they were really getting, they’d double your salary.”
“You don’t know the half!” she exploded. “You spend so much time worrying about what you want that you can’t see anybody else.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Of course it is! You don’t know what I had to do to get here!” she yelled. “You never had anybody ask you to fuck him in exchange for fixing a hot water heater so your baby could have a warm bath. And look at this,” she cried, yanking her hair back from her temple. “Look at it! Damn it! Look at it!” Her scar stood out despite years of fade creams.
He wanted to touch her, but knew better. “Thandy, I’m sorry,” he said, pouring more liquid over his vowels.
“You keep saying that, but you don’t even know what to be sorry for. My father did this to me. He beat me until I bled. And then he kept on. My mama watched. I was pregnant with Montana then. At fucking fifteen, I moved to Atlanta and got married to the only man who never wanted anything from me. By the time I was nineteen, he was in jail doing life times three. I was broke and homeless, living at some stay-n-play motel, fighting to get my baby back!”
“I can’t change what happened to you.”
“I never thought you could.”
“I need you,” he said.
She swallowed hard. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me, Jack. For the first time in my life, it’s all about me. It’s about my life and my child—everything that belongs to me. This is about my house, the one I bought with my money. It’s about my everything. This scar is mine, too. It’s about everything nobody can take from me. It ain’t about what you can give me. It’s about what I can give myself. It’s about my dignity.”
“Running won’t save your dignity.”
“Fuck you!”
He searched her face. He’d never looked closely at the scar before, but it seemed larger. The smooth brown trail of tissue running across her right temple was slightly darker than the rest of her face.
Thandy shook her head and went for the coffee. She poured two cups and took the overly browned loaf of bread out of the oven. They sat across the kitchen island from each other, pulling away warm chunks. Alternately they stared into the empty mugs and at each other. There was silence for the next hour.
“Sloane told me what happened,” Jack said first.
“It’s over now and I’m fine.”
He got up and warmed more coffee.
She waved her hand. “I don’t want any more,” she said.
Jack sat down and let his cup go cold. He was thinking about Angel’s bag of tricks and how she had tried to finagle her way into the good life. He wondered how long Thandy had known she was pregnant, but couldn’t bring himself to ask.
“Sloane shouldn’t have said anything.”
“He’s your friend. He was just trying to help.”
“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” she said with a wry smile.
“I wish I could’ve been here. You know I love you.”
“I know no such thing! You love you, Jack Gabrielle.”
“C’mon, Thandy. You don’t mean that.”
“Just leave. Call your snowplow buddies and get out.”
“Is that what you want? You didn’t give me the choice to be here,” he said.
“The hell I didn’t! Nobody forced you to get on a plane to Barbados! What was I supposed to do? Suck it up? Forget about it? You made your choice when you got on that plane.”
Thandy looked up and into his eyes. She didn’t know the Jack she saw.
“I don’t want to fight,” he said.
Her tears were rising when she got up from the island. “I don’t blame you.”
“You have every right to.”
“But I don’t. I don’t have that kind of energy. I don’t have any fight left. I put it all out there on that running trail.”
“Maybe you should let yourself get mad at something.”
“How would you know what I need?” she said, looking him square in the eyes. “Just how long are you going to be in Chicago?”
“Until you can honestly tell me that you don’t love me,” he answered.
Her eyes flooded. She smeared away the snot and tears with her hands. “I don’t. Now go.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Please go.”
Jack didn’t move.
“Listen, I don’t know when Montana will make it home,” she whispered. “The ice is pretty bad out there. You shouldn’t be here when she gets home and I need to pull myself together.”
“After all this time, you still haven’t told her about us?”
“What was I supposed to say? Was I supposed to tell her that I didn’t think enough of myself to find a man who loved me? One that didn’t have a wife at home?”
“You’re going to throw me out in the snow?” He grinned. “It’s a cold, cruel world out there.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Look at me and tell me you don’t love me.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
The next several hours were endless. Against her better judgment, she allowed Jack to stay. But there was no way to explain it to Philly, no way to explain it even to herself. But there they lay on the sectional sofa, entangled in each other, when Montana came home. She took one look at her mother and the stranger and went upstairs to her room. She knew immediately that the man downstairs was the mysterious Jack.
Jack slowly untangled himself, got up, and followed Montana to her room.
“Hi, Montana,” he said. “I’m Jack Gabrielle.”
“I know who you are,” she said dryly.
“You do, do you?” He eased in her doorway.
“I’m seventeen, not stupid.”
“Can I come in?”
“I don’t care what you do.”
She was just as tough as her mother. Jack took a seat on the edge of the bed. Montana plopped down on a pile of stuffed bears.
“I remember you, you know. You drove us to North Carolina when my grandpa died. I was twelve.”
“Yes, I did. You have a good memory.”
“I remember what you told her,” she said, folding her arms around a stuffed kitten. “You told her you would take care of us. That you wouldn’t let any harm come her way. You were talking about getting married and having babies.”
“I remember.”
“Coming here will only make it worse when you leave. She doesn’t need this.”
“I’m trying to get it right.”
“She lost the baby, you know?”
“I know.”
“I don’t even think she knew she was pregnant. She started running when we got here. Every night after dinner.”
“Promise me something?”
“Like what?”
“Never give her a reason to worry about you.”
Jack left the room, tiptoed back down the stairs, and returned to the sofa. Thandy was fast asleep. He pushed back her hair and kissed her forehead.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
When he kissed the scar, she jerked and woke up.
“Go home, Jack,” she muttered, still half asleep. “Go home.”
“Shhhh,” he said, kissing her face again.
Thandy settled in and fell back to sleep. Jack remained awake, watching her as she slept. He ran his fi
nger along the scar. For the first time, he realized that perfection lies in the imperfections. After a few hours, he lifted her and took her upstairs. He undressed her and laid her in the bed. He crawled in beside her. They slept until dawn. They made love when the sun came up.
“Good morning.” He smiled.
She snuggled under his shoulder, taking in his scent. The snowblowers were going outside the window. Neighborhood children were giggling and tossing snowballs. She had no compulsion to go outside. No urge to get out of bed. It was Sunday morning, a week before Christmas, and there was nothing on the day’s agenda. Jack pulled the covers over their naked bodies and tugged her in closer, gripping his fingers around hers. With her head under his, she stared at their clenched hands. Montana could be heard padding about down the hall.
“I don’t know what to tell her,” Thandy whispered.
“I don’t think you have to say anything.”
“Yeah, I do. I have to tell her who you are.”
“She already knows. I talked to her last night.”
She jolted with panic.
“It’s okay, I promise,” he assured. “She already knew who I was. You’d be surprised. I guess I’ve got some work to do.”
They stayed under the covers well beyond noon. Thandy squirmed around, half wanting to stay in bed, half wanting to get up and run. She let out a soft moan.
“Tell me what hurts, baby,” he said.
She looked up at him. His eyes were closed. He was waiting for an answer, something not already said. The truth was everything hurt, but the worst was over, she assured herself. Thandy climbed out of bed and went into the bathroom.
He followed.
She wasn’t willing to admit that she was tired. She was tired of a career, tired of hundred-hour weeks, tired of trying to prove to the world that she could take anything. She didn’t want to admit that she simply wanted a husband, that she wanted Montana to have a father who would be there all of the time. She couldn’t admit that she still loved Jack, more than she wanted to, more than she loved even herself sometimes. Still there remained a residue of disappointment that never completely drained away.
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