Sex Happens
Page 6
“Path … pathology.” Gabe laughed. “That’s where doctors study people who’ve died to determine what went wrong.”
“So, there aren’t any bathtubs here?” Jon touched the bandages, giving in to more tears.
Gabe took out a starched white handkerchief and wiped Jon’s eyes.
“Mommy loves you,” she said to Jon, her heart constricting.
“Alex, go to work.” Gabe shooed her. “I’ve got everything under control. If Jon’s better, I’ll drop him off at nursery school. Right now, he needs to stay with me.”
She leaned over and kissed Jon. He turned away.
She thought about the special story she’d read to him tonight. Then they’d recapture their giggly times. Blowing a kiss to Jon and Eric, she turned and left with Daniel.
As Alex drove Daniel home to pick up his sign, he practiced his speech.
“I’ve got my game this afternoon,” Daniel reminded her as they pulled up to his school.
“Of course I remember. I’ll be home early enough to take you to the game.”
“Love you.” He got out of the car, opened the back door, and reached in for his sign.
“Love you.” Alex touched her wrist and thought about her own return from school. Fraught with fear and anxiety, she never knew what horrific torture her mother would impart on her when she returned from school or whether it would be one of the rare afternoons when her mother would be kind and loving.
CHAPTER 7
Alex rubbed the scar on her wrist, a reminder of how horrific and unpredictable her mother had always been. She recalled the time she came home from fifth grade with her little sister, Sara.
“Hi,” they called to their mother who was seated in the green webbed chair that memorized the contours of her huge body and strained to support it.
Jowls jangling, her mother took a puff of her Viceroy cigarette and asked, “How was school?”
“Um,” Alex said, too terrified to tell her mother that school was horrible, and it was because of her. Alex stared down at her mother’s swollen feet. She knew her mother never listened to her anyway. Alex had always wanted to test her mother and say something like, “I ran with scissors at school today.” But she was sure her mother would just say, “That’s nice.”
Sara went to her room to get her doll.
Alex’s mother inhaled from her cigarette, then slowly released the smoke through her nostrils. “I asked, ‘How was school?’”
“Today, there was a Mother’s Day party, and you knew it,” Alex said, angry at her mother for never leaving the house to do things with her like Girl Scouts, shopping, or even parent–teacher conferences.
“So?” Her mother grabbed the remote and changed the channel.
“Why didn’t you come to my class today for the Mother’s Day party?” Alex asked.
Her mother clicked the remote, changing the channel.
Alex approached her mother’s chair. “Everyone else’s mother was there.”
“Um.” Her mother shrugged her shoulders.
“I was the only kid in the class without a mother.”
“Young lady, you have a mother, but I don’t drive.”
“’Cause you’re too fat to fit behind the wheel,” Alex said and then panicked. She knew she’d made a terrible mistake.
Her mother’s face contorted with rage. She leaned over, grabbed Alex’s right hand, and pulled her close.
Alex’s heart pounded, and she tried to pull her arm away.
Tightening her hold on Alex’s tiny wrist, her mother reached over to the ashtray with her free hand and took her lit cigarette.
There was a smell like when the English muffin was left in the toaster too long, only worse. Alex felt pain and screamed.
Sara ran into the room. “What’s wrong?”
Afraid to look down at her wrist, Alex held perfectly still.
“Oh, my cigarette fell, and poor Alex was in the way.” Her mother gave Alex a cautionary look and turned to Sara. “Sara, don’t just stand there. Your sister hurt herself. Get her a wet towel.”
Sara dashed out of the room.
Cradling her wrist, Alex said, “I’m going to tell Daddy.”
“You do that, and, trust me, this won’t be the last time you get hurt.”
“My daddy wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
Her mother laughed. “He’s only home at night, but I’m here all day. Remember that, Missy.”
Sara returned and put the wet cloth around Alex’s wrist. “Shouldn’t we take her to the pediatrician?” she asked, apparently pleased with herself for using such a grown-up word.
“No,” her mother said. “Sara, you can go, and I’ll take care of her.”
Sara didn’t move.
“Come to Mommy.” Her mother held out her arms to Alex.
Alex moved just a little closer to her mother’s chair.
Her mother looked up at Sara standing at the door. “Sara, it was such a bad accident. Could’ve been you.”
Sara ran out of the room.
Her mother laughed menacingly. “I’d never hurt my little girl,” she said and cackled. Then she pulled Alex to her and stroked her daughter’s long hair gently, lovingly.
Confused, Alex felt loved, and she wanted to believe she was.
And her mother definitely loved her—that is, if the burn on her right wrist had happened the way her mother had explained it to her father that night:
Since it had been such a bad day, her mother had to double the medication prescribed for the pain she’d had following her failed back surgery. She’d usually take enough pills to get through the day until the night, when she would take another pill and escape into sleep. But today, the pain had been intolerable, so she’d taken an extra Vicodin.
When the girls had come home from school, she’d asked Alex how school was. She always wanted to know what the girls did in school, but Alex hadn’t answered. Alex had just mumbled something. In order to hear what Alex was saying, her mother had reached for the remote. But instead of pushing mute, in her Vicodin-and-Valium-induced haze, she’d pushed the channel button. Alex had gotten angry and tried to grab the remote. As Alex reached for the remote, her hand had almost knocked over the ashtray. When her mother had lunged for the cigarette, trying to prevent it from falling, it had accidentally fallen onto Alex’s wrist.
If it had happened that way, then Alex’s mother couldn’t have burned her intentionally. It would have been Alex’s fault. Even then, Alex knew that, when tested, a mother’s reality was more credible than that of a child. And Alex was too afraid to say anything different; her mother could hurt her again and again.
Wondering how those childhood memories could stretch their tentacles so effortlessly into the present and make her feel like a child, Alex pulled into her underground parking spot, got out of the car, and took the elevator to her office.
CHAPTER 8
As Alex walked through the waiting room, she started to feel calmer and knew work would soon take her away from her traumatic morning. Just looking at the way the picture window captured the second-story tree line and the sun reflected off of the cobalt blue and red in the Joan Miró print on the wall, made her relax.
Passing a handsome fireman in uniform who was sitting in the waiting room filling out the patient intake form, she started toward her private office.
“Dr. Rose, this just came in for you.” Rebecca, the receptionist, handed her a fax.
Alex looked at the fax and whispered, “I need two minutes.”
Rebecca nodded, her auburn hair shimmering.
Alex went to her office, shut the door, and sat down behind the desk. She looked at the fax from Robert Dorset, the attorney she’d hired at Meredith’s recommendation. Gabriel Rose vs. Alexandra Rose. The finality of their names on a legal document nauseated her. All
she wanted to do was lunge across the desk, collapse in the seat designated for patients, and have someone ask, “What’s wrong? How can I help you?”
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that, in this office, she was not the superfluous wife whose name appeared on the divorce decree. Here, she was the doctor of chiropractic, National Board Examiner, board member of the Academy of Forensic and Industrial Chiropractic Consultants, and Qualified Medical Examiner. Although Gabe had never considered her board positions or advanced certifications of any importance, keeping up with the newest diagnostic and treatment protocols was paramount to her success.
Engrossed in the faxed divorce agreement, she was jolted by the intercom. Rebecca announced that the new patient had completed his paperwork and was ready to see her.
“Rebecca, give me five more minutes,” Alex requested. She needed to clear her mind, focus on her patients, and stop worrying about Jon’s burn; but she couldn’t.
She punched her attorney’s number into the phone. “This is Dr. Rose. I need to speak to Mr. Dorset.”
“He’s in court today,” the receptionist said.
“He was supposed to have reviewed this agreement, but there are no corrections.”
“Mrs. Rose, maybe everything’s perfect.”
“Perfect?” Alex wondered how anything could ever be perfect again. She’d been dealing with Dorset’s receptionist who’d been blocking her access to him ever since she’d signed the papers engaging him as her attorney. At their first meeting, Mr. Dorset had assured her he’d be accessible to her at any time. But since their initial meeting, she’d only had one face-to-face meeting and two brief telephone conversations with him.
She was sorry she’d taken Meredith’s advice and hired Mr. Dorset, but now, it was too late to find another attorney. And if she lost patience with his receptionist, she’d never get to speak to him. “Could you please have him call me when he breaks for lunch?”
“Mrs. Rose, he doesn’t make calls at lunch. That’s when he preps his clients.”
“I am his client. He’s had the draft from my husband’s attorney for two weeks, and he hasn’t done anything with it,” Alex said, fighting to stay calm.
“Mrs. Rose, two weeks is customary for such a draft.”
“He was supposed to have returned the document with his corrections,” Alex repeated, her stomach churning. “It has to be ready to sign by tomorrow night.”
“I’ll have Mr. Dorset return your call at his earliest convenience.” His gatekeeper hung up.
Alex slammed down the phone. Fearful the document wouldn’t be revised by tomorrow night, she knew Gabe would be angry with her.
Just as she started to put the document in her briefcase, her partner, Dr. Seth Stone, knocked on her office door. A handsome man, his patrician features, thin lips, and aquiline nose were softened by the warmth of his blue eyes. His perfectly trimmed beard made him look professorial.
“May I?” he asked and entered her office.
She waved the papers at Seth and asked, “How could I have missed this?”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We all think we evaluate events realistically, but the way we process is distorted by our history.” He walked around the desk and put his hands on her shoulders.
“I have five patients waiting and don’t have much time to talk about history,” she snapped. Then she caught herself. Seth was just being kind, she realized. There was no reason to take out her frustration with her attorney’s secretary on him. But sometimes, he was too pedantic.
“Alex, I have faith in you.” He winked and went on to his next patient.
Alex looked up and saw Rebecca standing in the doorway with the fireman who’d been filling out the paperwork in the waiting room.
Rebecca introduced Kevin and motioned for him to sit in the chair opposite Alex. Then Rebecca placed his chart on Alex’s desk.
As Kevin eased into the chair, Alex stood up and followed Rebecca out of the room, instructing her to interrupt if Mr. Dorset called.
Letting work transport her to a safe place, Alex returned to her office, sat down behind her desk, and asked Kevin about his back pain. He explained how he’d climbed up an embankment wearing a Scott Air-Pack on his back and carrying a fire hose. Alex questioned him about prior episodes of back pain, which he denied. She then escorted him to an exam room, handed him a gown, and went to adjust the next patient.
Ten minutes later, she returned to the exam room. Clad only in boxer shorts, Kevin sat on the exam table. “Didn’t need the gown.” He held out the folded gown for her.
She looked at him—broad-shouldered, muscular, and tanned. Suddenly, she was short of breath. She imagined him on the December page of the firemen’s calendar: bare-chested with red suspenders and black rubber boots, standing on a snowdrift, holding his yellow fire hat in front of his privates. Shocked by her fantasy, she wondered if he noticed her face had reddened. She thought about how long it had been since she’d had sex. She recalled when Gabe had told her about Linda, he’d also told her to find out for herself what sex was like with another person. Although she’d said she was going to find out for herself, she hadn’t even considered it.
Pulling herself back to the moment, she checked Kevin’s ranges of motion and reflexes. Then she ran the pinwheel down his legs, and he reported feeling it equally. She touched his back and asked whether his pain was at that point.
“How’d you know?” he asked.
“Your back muscles are extremely tight. I can feel the spasm.” Then she assured him that, after a few adjustments and therapy, he’d experience relief. For years, she’d told patients, “You’ll be fine. Your pain will be gone.” Today, she needed to hear those words herself.
Keeping a reassuring hand on Kevin’s back, she said, “My assistant, Rebecca, will put you on the muscle stimulation machine to relax your muscles, then I’ll adjust your back.”
She explained how mobilizing his spine would help and hurried to Rebecca’s desk and gave her instructions for Kevin. Then she proceeded to her next patient.
When she and Seth passed each other in the hallway, he paused, put his hands into the pockets of his gray woolen slacks, and studied her. “You still look terribly upset. Is it that agreement?”
“Yes,” she said, not ready to talk about Jon, even with Seth.
“There’s something else,” he said. “I know you too well.” He looked at her with concern and softly assured her, “You can tell me anything.”
“I burned Jon’s legs today, and he hates me,” Alex said and recounted the morning’s debacle.
“Jon loves you. I’ve seen him with you,” Seth said. “All your boys adore you.”
“Not today.” She shook her head.
“But was he badly burned?” Seth asked with apparent concern.
“I’m sure he won’t have any scars.”
Seth took a breath, appearing relieved. He put his hand on her elbow and gently turned her toward him. “Alex, remember white tennis balls?”
“Yes, but …”
“When I was a kid learning to play tennis, I was afraid of getting hit by the white tennis balls when the other kids would slam the shit out of the ball.”
“Seth, where are you going with this nostalgia for tennis balls that are no longer used?”
“The tennis balls scared me until I learned to take them as they came, react, and respond as best I could. Now, when I play and my opponent is really good, I imagine the tennis balls are white. You can’t be afraid of something that doesn’t exist.”
“True, sometimes fear overwhelms me, but this was real.” She smiled at him, appreciative of how he always tried to make her feel better. “Remember, I’m leaving early for Daniel’s game,” she said and proceeded to the next exam room.
At 1:45 p.m., right before her last patient of the day, she reminded herself she
had to leave by 2:15 p.m. in order to pick Daniel up and take him to his football game. She couldn’t be late.
She studied the chart in the holder outside the exam room door: Helen Oster. Alex hadn’t seen her in a year. On the intake form, Helen had indicated she had a swollen right ankle and had been under the care of a podiatrist for more than two months without improvement.
Alex opened the door. Shit! Not today. She moved the stool close to the exam table and probed Helen’s ankle, knowing exactly what she’d feel: a fluid-filled ankle—pitting edema—a sign of congestive heart failure.
She grabbed the stethoscope and cuff from the metal cart beside the exam table and proceeded to take Ms. Oster’s blood pressure.
“But it’s my ankle.”
“Just let me do a little extra checking.” Alex wrapped the nylon cuff around Helen’s left arm. The reading alarmed her: 180/105.
“I need to refer you to an internist.”
“Dr. Rose, you helped me with my neck last time. The podiatrist wasn’t helping much, so I thought you could adjust my ankle.”
“The swelling isn’t getting better because it’s not caused by your ankle. It could be a sign of an internal problem. Rebecca will make an appointment for you with Dr. Feinberg.”
Helen asked one question after another. Alex glanced at her watch. Damn! She wouldn’t make it home in time to take Daniel to his game.
Seth knocked on the door. “Dr. Rose, when you’ve concluded the examination, could you please step into my office?”
“We’ve just finished.” Alex resisted the urge to glance at her watch again. After assuring Helen that Dr. Feinberg was an excellent diagnostician, she excused herself and joined Seth in the hallway.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“I’ve gotta go.”
He nodded. “All of your boys love you, and I know nothing could have happened today to diminish that.” Then sounding like the professor he’d once been, he whispered, “White tennis balls. Remember, you can’t be afraid of something that isn’t real.”