Leave a Mark

by Stephanie Fournet

  Lee found that he had the urge to step inside the bedroom, but, instead, he made himself turn toward the utility room where he’d spotted the litterbox. It needed emptying, so he cleaned it and bagged up the garbage. An exterior door in the utility room led to a second set of stairs, and Lee took them down to dump the trash. When he came back inside, he heard Wren calling from the front room.

  “I’m scared to ask what you are doing.”

  “Agnes was good,” he assured her. “I’m just taking care of a few things.” He poured fresh litter into the box and crossed the hall to the bathroom to wash his hands. A pair of tortoise-shell glasses rested next to an empty contact case. Lee smiled. She was nearsighted, too.

  He walked back into the kitchen and began opening cabinets. When he found the glassware, he grabbed a tumbler, went to the fridge, loaded it with ice, and walked to the tap. As the glass filled, he tried to think of anything else he could do to make Wren’s next few days a little easier.

  Lee admitted to himself that he’d never done anything like this for a patient. He’d never even thought of doing anything of the sort. But he also knew that helping Wren in this moment was something he really wanted to do.

  He carried the water glass back to her living room. “What are you going to do for dinner?” he asked. As soon as the question was out, Lee froze.

  Sushi. Marcelle.

  Shit.

  “I… um… I was thinking of ordering Chinese.” She tilted her chin down and gave him a sidelong look. “Would… you… like to stay?”

  Her obvious discomfort made him laugh. What else could he do? He found a coaster and set down the glass of water on her coffee table, realizing as he did that it was a Queen Anne piece. Probably mahogany.

  “Actually, I need to go.” He stood and dried his hands on his slacks, ignoring the fact that eating Chinese with Wren Blanchard sounded better than anything he’d done in a long time. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, nodding. “But thank you — for everything.” This time she held out her hand, giving him a view of her black bird flock one more time.

  He took it and pressed his palm against hers. The hand was small and slender in his grip and, unlike the night before, it was warm and strong in his.

  “You’re very welcome.”

  “I mean it, Dr. Hawthorne,” she said. “I don’t know many doctors who would go so far out of their way to help a patient.”

  “It’s Lee,” he said, squeezing her hand once more before letting it go. “And it was my pleasure.”

  “Lee,” she repeated, nodding. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the apples of her cheeks blushed a little. He may have been wrong about that, but he wasn’t wrong about the feeling that ran down his chest when she said his name.

  It was time to leave.

  “Goodnight. Get well soon, Wren.”

  He opened her door, turned the lock on her knob, and stepped out into the night.

  Lee pulled out his phone to find three text messages, the first at 6:18 p.m.

  Marcelle: Okay, we’ve got a table at 7:30. Your dad and Barbara are joining us. I’m getting ready at your place.

  The next message was logged at 6:26 p.m.

  Marcelle: Are you on your way? If you get home soon, you can shower and shave before we leave.

  Then thirteen minutes later…

  Marcelle: Where the hell are you???

  CHAPTER SIX

  LEE DUMPED HIS keys on the kitchen table and started pulling off his tie.

  “Where have you been?” Marcelle called from across the house. “It’s almost seven!”

  “I… I was helping a patient.” He unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

  He walked into his bathroom to find Marcelle standing at his vanity in lace panties and a strapless bra, running a flat iron through her strawberry-blonde hair.

  “Well, hello,” he crooned, approaching her for a kiss.

  She scowled and pointed a finger in his face.

  “Don’t even think about it. We don’t have time.”

  “You’re no fun,” he said, swatting her on the bottom. He turned on the water in the shower stall and adjusted the temperature. “I bet you won’t even join me.”

  She whipped her head around and looked at him as if he were crazy.

  “I’m straightening my hair, Leland.”

  Lee dropped his shirt on the floor and unzipped his pants.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever.”

  When he stepped under the near-scalding shower stream, his muscles turned to soup. He grabbed his shampoo bottle and got to work. If he stayed in the hot shower too long, he’d be good for nothing but bed.

  “How was your day, Marce?” he called.

  “It was good. I got the job on Beverly. We’ll start tearing out the parquet floors next week,” she said, hardly pausing to breathe. “I can’t wait to tackle the bathroom. Of course, I need to find a new plumbing sub.”

  “Congratulations. You sound excited,” Lee said, rinsing his hair and grabbing the soap. At twenty-seven, she’d already made a name for herself in interior design. They’d met more than eighteen months ago when she headed up the kitchen renovation at his dad and Barbara’s house.

  “I am. I’d love to snap up a few more clients in Bendel Gardens,” she said. “If fix-up fever takes hold there, I might need to get an assistant.”

  Lee did a final rinse and turned off the taps.

  “So, why are Tom and Barbara coming with us? Did they call to see what we were doing tonight?” he asked.

  When she didn’t answer, Lee raked open the shower curtain to find that he was talking to an empty bathroom.

  “Marcelle?”

  “I’m in here. It gets too steamy in there when you come out of the shower.”

  He couldn’t help himself. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  Lee heard her tsk. “I mean, it’s too humid. It’ll frizz my hair.”

  “Why don’t we call my dad and Barbara for a raincheck, and I can find another way to frizz your hair.”

  “Leland!”

  He chuckled and scrubbed the towel over his head. Then he wrapped it around his waist and turned on the hot water at his sink.

  “You have exactly twelve minutes to shave and two minutes to get dressed,” she scolded.

  “SO, WHY ARE they joining us?” he tried again. Lee had found an empty seat at the bar for Marcelle, and he’d squeezed in to stand next to her.

  She sipped her cosmo before answering. “They missed seeing you on Sunday, and your dad wanted to know how it went at the Health Clinic Auction.” Marcelle looked over his shoulder and beamed. “They’re here!”

  Lee turned to see his father and stepmother enter the crowded restaurant foyer and wave to them. Barbara pressed a kiss to his cheek before folding Marcelle into her light embrace.

  “Hello, my darlings!”

  He felt a slap on his back, and he turned to shake his father’s hand. “Hey, Dad.”

  “I think our table’s ready,” Tom Hawthorne said by way of greeting, and the four of them followed the hostess to one of the half-booths that lined the wall opposite the sushi bar.

  Lee ushered his parents in to take the cushioned settee, and he and Marcelle sat on the outside. He knew this was his girlfriend’s preference. It gave her more mobility to get up and hug friends who happened by.

  “It was so lovely of Marcelle to call and invite us,” Barbara said as soon as they’d ordered appetizers.

  Marcelle had invited them?

  Lee took a sip of his gin and tonic before looking back at his girlfriend. She wouldn’t meet his eye. Instead, she unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap.

  “Well, we had lunch together today, and—” Marcelle started.

  “You two had lunch?” Lee blurted, surprised. He glanced across the table. His stepmother wore a tight smile, but instead of looking at him, she gave Marcelle
an almost imperceptible nod.

  “We did,” Marcelle confirmed, glancing up at him before arranging the silverware in front of her. “And we got to talking about Dr. Maraist’s offer.”

  “Oh, really?” Lee felt the skin beneath his collar prickle with heat. He looked around the table at everyone watching him, and he only then understood he’d been set up. “I see.”

  His father gave him a consoling smile. “Leland, we all know how hard you’ve been working, and we just want to make sure that you give Philip’s offer the right amount of consideration.”

  Philip Maraist had a well-established OB/GYN practice with four other partners, and he was one of Dr. Thomas Hawthorne’s golfing buddies. When the doctor had invited Lee and Marcelle to sit at their table at the auction, Lee should have seen what was coming.

  “I know it’s a good offer, Tom,” Lee said, meeting his father’s eye. “I told Dr. Maraist I needed to think it over. I’m not sure that a traditional practice is where I want to be right now. I’m really enjoying my time at UMC. I feel like I’m making a difference.”

  “But The Pavilion at LGMC is so nice,” Barbara said, bright eyed. “The facilities are state of the art, and they don’t have the same kind of staffing shortages…”

  “Yeah, B, I know. I do a week’s rotation there every month.” Lee clamped his mouth shut and breathed for a five-count. It wouldn’t do to get angry. Barbara had been married to his father for thirteen years; he knew she meant well, but sometimes she tried too hard to fill the space his mother left empty. Lee took another sip and was relieved when their server approached with the eggplant miso and gyoza. “This looks delicious.”

  He unwrapped his chopsticks and hoped that they could drop the subject of where he’d go after his residency. For months, he’d been thinking about staying on at the charity hospital instead of joining a private practice. He’d only mentioned it to Marcelle recently, but she’d obviously shared the unpopular idea with his parents.

  Lee scooped up a bite of the fried eggplant and shrimp soaked in sweet miso sauce. He almost moaned aloud when it touched his tongue. The combination of flavors was mind-blowing. He grabbed another shrimp, realizing that he was ravenous.

  Because you gave your snack to Wren Blanchard.

  The thought made him smile. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was just after eight. He hoped she’d eaten her Chinese takeout by now. Lee felt his shoulders relax a little.

  “Well, I’ve known Philip Maraist for a long time,” his father started up again. “I’m sure you’d have plenty of opportunities to do things like Doctors Without Borders if you wanted to keep giving back.”

  Lee gave a tight nod. “He mentioned that.”

  “Yes! We sat with him and his wife at the fundraiser Wednesday night,” Marcelle rushed in. “She was absolutely lovely.”

  “If you joined his group, you’d have all sorts of opportunities,” Barbara added, her light brown eyes going wide with the possibilities.

  “It’s important at this point in your career to think of the future,” his father said. “Your earning potential with a group like Philip’s will be more than double what you’ll make if you join the staff at UMC. And that’s just in the first five years.”

  “Yeah, thanks, Dad. I’m aware.” He pulled the menu closer to him. “I think I’m going to get a Grand Isle Roll, a Michael Doumit, and a Tiger Tail. What about you, Marcelle?”

  Lee heard the clipped tone in his voice, and by the alarmed look in Marcelle’s eyes, so had she.

  “Um… I’m thinking about the Thai Beef Salad… and maybe another cosmo.”

  Lee nodded. “Yeah, I could use another drink, too.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LAURIE WAS MAKING her hair fluffy with the blow dryer. Wren sat at the foot of their bed and watched. Every few minutes, Laurie would turn and tickle her face with a blast of hot air, and Wren would laugh.

  Laurie put away the blow dryer and ran a brush through her hair. It was the color of shiny pralines, like the ones Mamaw Gigi made at Christmas. Wren was thinking about the way Mamaw’s sugary treat dissolved in her mouth when Laurie put down her hairbrush and turned to face her.

  “Wrennie, do you ever wish you had a daddy?”

  Wren shook her head. Most of the other boys and girls in Mrs. Gibson’s class had a mommy and a daddy, and none of them lived with their mamaws and papaws, but that was okay with her. She didn’t want a daddy. Daddies kissed mommies, and Wren never liked the grownup boys who kissed Laurie. Especially Darryl.

  He gave her bad dreams.

  “If you had a daddy, we could move into a real house, and you could have your own room,” Laurie said, her eyes big.

  “This is a real house,” Wren said, looking around at the ceiling and windows. “It’s Mamaw and Papaw’s house.”

  “This is an apartment. We live above Mamaw and Papaw’s house. It’s not the same as having your own house,” Laurie told her. “Darryl has his own house.”

  Wren looked up at her mother. “I don’t want to live with Darryl.”

  Laurie frowned. “Why not?”

  Wren’s face grew hot. She swallowed. “He came into the bathroom when I was in the tub.”

  Laurie laughed and leaned back against her makeup table. “The other day? He told me. That was an accident, Wren. He said he was sorry.”

  Wren thought he hadn’t looked sorry. “I don’t like Darryl.”

  Laurie made a face. “Well, you’re just spoiled. Mamaw and Papaw spoil you. Darryl’s good to me,” Laurie said, looking away and smiling.

  “Because he gives you medicine?” Wren asked, pointing to Laurie’s arms. She’d seen Darryl giving Laurie a shot just like at the doctor’s. Wren hated shots, but lying down across their bed, Laurie seemed to like them.

  Laurie turned back to her makeup table, pushing down her sleeves. “Yes… medicine… I need to finish getting ready. Go out back and play now, Wrennie.”

  “SO, A DOCTOR, huh?” Cherise stretched out in the bed next to her, eating one of Mamaw Gigi’s fried peach pies before they binged on Netflix. Wren wasn’t allowed back at work until the end of the week, and it was only Monday. “This is so freakin’ good, by the way. How can you be tired of them?”

  “I’ve only been eating them since Saturday. That and Mamaw’s shrimp stew,” Wren said, making a face. “And please don’t get pie-crust crumbs in my bed. I’m not supposed to change my sheets or ‘strain the surgery site’ for three more days.”

  “Is that what your doctor said? The one who drove you home and cleaned out Agnes’s litterbox?” Cherise wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Shit, Wren, that’s pretty gross. I don’t think I’d even do that for you.”

  Wren dug her heel into her best friend’s hip. “Bitch, I’ve cleaned puke out of your hair. I’ve gone to the DMV with you. I’ve stopped you from going home with that dishwasher from Agave… the one with the acne scars and the eyebrow mole—”

  “Serge—” Cherise groaned, hiding her face with the hand that wasn’t gripping her fried peach pie.

  “Yes, Serge! That’s worth at least a little cat-poop cleanup, my friend.”

  “You’re right. Fine. You win. But that doesn’t explain why Dr. Dreamy did it.”

  “I never said he was dreamy,” Wren insisted, shaking her head. “Besides, if you’re making a Grey’s Anatomy reference, it’s McDreamy.”

  “I wasn’t making a Grey’s Anatomy reference, and you’re blushing, so I know he’s dreamy.”

  “Time for a Firefly marathon,” Wren said, hitting the remote.

  “Ooh, Captain Malcolm Reynolds.” Cherise sighed. “He could command my Serenity any day.”

  They rewatched the entire season of Firefly in one go, burning up Cherise’s day off and eating too many fried peach pies. On Tuesday, Cherise abandoned her in time to cover the lunch shift at Agave, and Wren had to face the fact that cabin fever had become a very real problem.

  She felt so much better — unless she coughed
or sneezed or tried to pick up Agnes. Then she remembered she essentially had two holes in her torso. The swelling had gone down almost completely. The only hints of her ordeal were the two scars.

  But every time she fed Agnes, she thought about Dr. Hawthorne. And if she were honest with herself, she didn’t need the cat to remind her. Cherise had done a great job of that, but even without her, he’d crossed her mind dozens of times since Friday night.

  And when she’d catch herself remembering his blue eyes, the blue of a midsummer night sky, she’d quietly scold herself for daydreaming. Dr. Hawthorne was not an approved subject for her imagination. He’d helped her out because he felt sorry for her, and she had to admit that she must have made a pretty pathetic picture: a 5’1” girl fresh from surgery, sitting alone on a hospital bench for hours. She grew embarrassed just thinking about it.

  The way she saw it, lying on her antique sofa picturing his dark-washed eyes or the swooping curl over his forehead would be like Curtis crushing on her from his park bench. Except in this scenario, she was the one whose life was a wreck and who needed a handout from a stranger.

  That’s not true. She consoled herself. I could’ve gotten a ride.

  Of course, she couldn’t quite imagine getting up the stairs without his help. Halfway up, she’d almost asked him to carry her. And then he’d gone and fed Agnes and cleaned out her litterbox. Her litterbox!

  Every time Wren thought about that, she couldn’t get over it. Dr. Leland Hawthorne was either incredibly weird, or he was the nicest guy on the planet. Whatever the case, it was better for her to avoid thinking of him.

  Except she couldn’t.

  And apart from being unable to figure him out and feeling embarrassed for needing his help, Wren wanted to thank him. So on Tuesday, she peeled herself off her mattress and found some cardstock.

  She sketched a few pictures and wrote a thank-you note that made her smile. Remembering his laugh, she hoped it would amuse him, too. Wren found an address for the hospital and sent it to his attention. She sealed and stamped her card and carried it down to her mailbox. It was the first time she’d traversed the stairs on her own, and even though she was still sore, she made it back up just a little more slowly than normal. But she made it.