Stowe Away

by Blythe Rippon

  “I imagine. My extended family is Catholic, and somehow whenever we get together, we wind up in heated arguments about when life begins.”

  “There’s a big push in the medical community to locate viable stem cell options outside of unwanted embryos.”

  “So what would you be doing right now if you were still there?”

  It was funny—for the first couple of months she was in Vermont, Sam had devoted hours of mental and emotional energy thinking about what she’d be doing at that exact moment if she were in California. It had been weeks since those thoughts had preoccupied her. “Actually, fall quarter starts late at Stanford, so I don’t think I’d be in classes yet. I had planned on spending the summer in the lab there researching, but I’d probably be here on break now.” Her eyes drifted out the side window, and she stared absently at the cows grazing in the pasture they drove past. What would she and Eva be doing together if things were different and this was a normal, end-of-summer visit?

  The car brought them inexorably closer to Burlington, and the uncertainty was wearing on Sam. “Seriously, Maria, what are we doing today?”

  Maria’s enigmatic smile left her dissatisfied. “So have you thought about what’s next for you, Sam?”

  “Next for me? I take care of my mom. That’s what’s next.”

  “I don’t imagine that will be what you do with the rest of your life.”

  “Well, without a doubt, it’s what I’m doing for the foreseeable future.”

  “Seems like you need to work on your foresight, then.” Maria turned off Interstate 89 and onto Route 2.

  George Harrison’s voice, singing “If I Needed Someone” filled the silence, and Sam fidgeted with her fingers.

  She was gazing out the window, not really seeing anything when Maria turned right, and suddenly they were on the Burlington campus of the University of Vermont. It all felt eerily familiar as they continued to the hospital where Eva had spent six days in a coma and then long weeks in recovery. When Maria parked the car at the UVM Medical Center, Sam didn’t even try to mask her surprise. “What are we doing here? Are you going to the hospital?”

  “No, Samantha, you are. Dr. Owen Banks, chair of the University of Vermont medical school, is in the second-floor cafeteria waiting for you. He seems to think you ought to apply for UVM’s M.D./Ph.D. program for admission next fall. I have no idea where he got such a notion,” Maria might have been smiling, but her eyes were dead serious.

  Caught between irritation at Maria’s meddling and excitement at the prospect of returning to med school, Sam stared, paralyzed.

  “Because of the extenuating circumstances and Stanford’s unusual quarter system schedule, he’d like to speak with you about how best to transfer credits for the coursework you’ve already completed and invite you to start researching in the summer before classes begin. Sam. Samantha? You have to get out of the car now.” Maria gently urged her, two hands pushing on her shoulder.

  Sam hurriedly scooped up her bag and, throwing open the door, tripped out of the car.

  The entire drive back to Stowe, Sam couldn’t stop talking.

  “This is perfect, really: Burlington’s only forty minutes away, and I made that commute in California whenever I stayed in the city. I’m not sure if Mom will be well enough to be alone for eight or ten hours straight, but I’ll be there at night, and I’ll figure something out for during the day. Maybe I can hire that nurse on a more permanent basis, or some other caretaker. God, it felt so good to talk medicine again. I mean, this isn’t what I pictured for myself, but this could be really good.”

  “Optimism looks good on you,” Maria said, touching her hand briefly. Sometimes Sam swore the woman set out to make her blush.

  “Obviously, it’s not as prestigious as Stanford, and I might not have access to the facilities and advisors Stanford offered me, but I’m pretty good at this, and I can be good anywhere.”

  Maria snorted softly. “I said optimism, not overconfidence.”

  “Maybe if I play my cards right, and start making connections at Dartmouth now, I’ll match there for residency. It’s farther away from Stowe than Burlington, but who knows where Mom will be at that point. I’ll figure it out.”

  “Is the end game to work in a big hospital? Or a lab?”

  “Well, I could do both at the same time. But I’d rather be at a university, researching, teaching, and practicing.”

  “What other options would be available to you with an M.D./Ph.D.?”

  “There’s always private industry. Pharma companies pay a lot more than academia, for example. But I’m not convinced I could do my best work in that kind of environment.”

  “What about opening your own office? Like your father?”

  Sam paused, taken aback. “Um, it wasn’t something I ever wanted. You can’t do cutting-edge research without a lab, and I never wanted to be the town doctor. I never really wanted to stay in Stowe. But that was all before. I mean, obviously, a private practice of my own would enable me to stay here with my mom.”

  “Well, it’s all a long way off, right? You actually have to get the degree before you can do something with it.”

  Sam laughed. “True. I don’t need to decide today. But I have a lot to think about, that’s for sure.”

  “Good. We all know how impossible you get when you’re bored.”

  “Seriously, Maria, I don’t know how to thank you. You’ve given me something I haven’t had in a long time—direction.”

  The tender glance Maria gave her before focusing back on the road made Sam’s stomach flutter. “I’m glad I could help.”

  When they drove back into town, Maria blew right past the turnoff to Sam’s house. “Um, Maria, I live down there.” Sam said.

  “I know. But Stowe Away is this way, and I’ve got a bottle of champagne with your name on it.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a bit premature? I have to apply and be accepted first.”

  “One of these days, Samantha Latham, you’ll learn to celebrate the little things—a fun road trip, for example.”

  “Or good friends.”

  “Good friends. Absolutely,” Maria said, but Sam thought she caught an air of disappointment that lingered after she spoke.

  The grin that graced Eva’s face couldn’t have been wider. Resting easily on a loveseat in Maria’s basement, she was surrounded by admirers, all raving about her progress, remarking on how good she looked, and praising her much-anticipated return to the artist salon. Sitting proudly at Eva’s right hand, Pauly flashed Sam a high-wattage grin that competed with her mother’s in its sincerity and brilliance. Much to Sam’s delight, Maria made tamales for the occasion. The room teemed with artwork and instrument cases, and the soft strains of Bach’s Italian Concerto made the whole thing feel very Upper East Side. Sam could almost imagine they weren’t in Vermont at all.

  Maria would have told her that such a thought demonstrated her limited thinking about her home state. And she would probably be right.

  Sam swigged on a Magic Hat as Pauly passed around sheaves of paper filled with his most recent sketches. While the group studied his work, Maria melted away from the action and joined Sam in the corner.

  “Quite a night.” She sipped her own bottle of ale.

  “Indeed. Thank you, Maria. You’ve given art back to my mom.”

  “Mmm. I don’t deserve all the credit. You brought her over here to draw with my brother.”

  Clinking her bottle to Maria’s, Sam said, “Let’s agree it was a group effort.”

  Maria studied her. “How are you holding up?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you haven’t been at Stowe Away for over a week. I assume that means Eva hasn’t been having an easy time of it.”

  Sam sighed. “You’re observant. Mom contracted the flu last week. It would appear that h
er immune system will be indefinitely compromised, and she’ll come down with colds and the flu with some frequency. I’m just hoping she can avoid pneumonia. But she’s shaking off the worst of the symptoms now, and certainly being able to attend the salon will go a long way toward improving her spirits.”

  “And how’s Zeus getting along these days?”

  “He now knows how to shake hands. I would say that at any given time, either Zeus or Aphrodite is touching some part of my mom. Yesterday, while she napped on the couch, the cat was curled against her stomach and Zeus was sprawled out on her feet. It’s ridiculously sweet.”

  “Well that covers the cat, the dog, and your mom. How are you?”

  How many times had someone asked her that in the past six months, and it had never before felt like this—like the answer mattered so much.

  Maybe it was just because no one had really asked her in a long time. And any answer she might have given a couple of months ago—a sarcastic response about living the American dream, or a self-pitying one about how much she wished she were at med school—would have missed the mark.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Okay, I guess. My mom continues to improve. I’m kind of crazy about my dog. I get to read in a charming café more days than not.” She paused, hoping she didn’t sound pathetic. “And I’ve made some new friends here.”

  Pauly’s laughter carried over the din, and the moment they were sharing suddenly felt too heavy. Maria swatted at her. “Of course you have. Did you think everyone in Stowe was a socially inept wacko?”

  “No, I thought I was.”

  “Oh please. You’re a person just like the rest of us. As my abuela always said, ‘Eat beans, you’ll fart too.’”

  Laughing so hard she almost choked on her beer, Sam’s eyes watered. “Your abuela sounds hilarious. My mom’s mom was always telling me, ‘be still, like broccoli.’ I was kind of a rambunctious kid.”

  Maria looked profoundly unsurprised at the news. Sam was about to ask what she was like as a child when Hunter, the high school poet, approached them a little tentatively. Wearing all black must be her thing, Sam thought.

  “Sam? I was wondering if you’d…um, Maria said…would you be interested in…”

  “Samantha, Hunter’s trying to say that it’s time you graced us with some poetry.” Maria placed her hand on Sam’s back and gently guided her toward the center of the room. The various conversations died down as everyone’s focus shifted to the newest member of their salon. Clearing her throat, Sam drew out the folded paper she’d stowed in the pocket of her blazer and read.

  Considering how hastily she’d crafted it, the sonnet wasn’t her best work in terms of style or symbolism, but it was clear to her audience that the poem about accepting a slower-paced life came from her heart, not her over-analytic mind. When she finished, a prolonged silence ignited her fears that the poem was god-awful. But once the various artists of the salon had had a moment to process the nuanced language, they broke into enthusiastic applause. Hunter suggested making a slight change to her opening and concluding line, and Father Mark asked for clarification about one of her allusions. When the critique session died down, Eva extended her hands, and Sam approached her, clasping them in her own.

  “Love you,” was all Eva’s mouth said, but her eyes spoke volumes, and it was more than enough for Sam.

  Eva didn’t have much to say about the work shown at the salon, but her cheeks glowed with excitement, and she maintained focus for the entire two hours she spent in Maria’s basement. After Earl played a Ravel piano solo that he’d arranged for viola, Sam packed up their belongings and nudged Eva to say her good-byes, explaining that even though not everyone had presented, she wanted to depart while her mother still had the strength to climb the stairs.

  It was Eva’s first social outing, and despite the fatigue it generated, her face bore a contented smile the entire drive home.

  NPR was interviewing pundits about the upcoming election as Sam, behind the wheel of Eva’s Chevy, approached a little sign by the side of the road indicating that Stowe was ten miles ahead. Having determined that Eva was self-sufficient enough to nap on her own, Sam had decided to go for a drive. It had been an unseasonably cold autumn, and two inches of snow already blanketed the Vermont countryside. The sunset glinted on the snow crystals shrouding everything in sight, and despite the Chevy’s well-functioning heater, she shivered.

  The drive had cleared her head a bit after working on her UVM med school application. She’d reached out to Dr. West and two of her Stanford professors for letters of recommendation, and she’d ordered her MCAT scores to be sent directly to UVM. The supplemental application was pretty straightforward, but that didn’t mean the weight of all the steps required to apply to med school—again—wasn’t wearing on her.

  Peering through the windshield, she noticed something by the side of the road, and when the shadow became a dark figure rocking back and forth on the ground, she realized as she blew past that it was a person. Checking her review mirror, Sam determined that no one was behind her and hit the brakes forcefully, coming to a stop about sixty yards past the woman, who was struggling to stand. Sam snatched up her cell before exiting the vehicle and cautiously approaching the stranded stranger. As she closed the distance, the shape of the woman grew familiar, and soon she was sprinting toward Maria.

  “What the hell happened?” she shouted.

  “Oh, Sam, thank God it’s you.” The pain etched across Maria’s face dissolved into relief. “I tripped on something under the snow and I twisted my ankle. Hurts like a wicked fuckin’ pisser.”

  “What on God’s green earth are you doing out here?”

  “Having a bake sale. What do you think I’m doing out here? I was running.”

  “Running?” Sam repeated, as if she’d never heard of such a thing.

  “Yes, running. I run. With my legs. One of which currently doesn’t work.”

  “Right. Okay. I’ll go get the car.” Sam didn’t move. “You run?”

  Maria gestured to her athletic clothes and shoes, then the surrounding countryside, which bore no signs of civilization. “Evidently. Why are you so shocked? What do you do for exercise?”

  “Nothing,” Sam muttered. “Be right back.” She took off at a light trot toward the car and was embarrassed to be winded by the time she reached the driver’s door. Running. Running was for crazy people. She put the car in reverse but drove much slower than caution dictated, hoping to catch her breath by the time she reached Maria. Not wanting to risk sliding as the shoulder narrowed, she stopped just before reaching Maria, who stood on one foot awaiting assistance as Sam exited the car and hurried over to her. She wrapped her arm around her waist, and Maria leaned heavily against her shoulder.

  “Can you put any weight on it?”

  “Hurts like hell, but I can sure try.” Maria gritted her teeth and limped twice, her breath coming in sharp gasps.

  “Stop, this is stupid. I can carry you.”

  Maria gave her an appraising look. “I’m not sure you can carry a watermelon, Baby. You just admitted you don’t work out.”

  “I sure as hell can carry your short ass fifteen steps to the car. I’ve carried my mother when she’s needed it.” She bent and, sliding one arm underneath Maria’s knees and the other behind her shoulders, scooped her up. “See? No problem.”

  “Uh-huh. Let’s see you walk now.”

  Taking steps was far more challenging than simply standing still holding Maria, but Sam slowly and determinedly put one foot in front of the other. Maria rested her head against Sam’s chest, which probably meant she could hear Sam’s racing heartbeat. When they reached the car, Sam stood still and gazed down at Maria, not sure how to get her into the car. For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the heat from their bodies warding off the cold.

  Finally Maria looked away. “You can put me down now.
”

  When she gently lowered Maria by the passenger side and pulled open the door, Sam triumphantly announced, “Your chariot.”

  Maria poked Sam’s abdomen. “Nope, no muscles. Don’t know how you pulled that one off.” Her heart wasn’t in it, though, and they continued to stare at one another. Sam had never seen Maria look shy before. “Thank you for rescuing me. You’re stronger than you look.” She reached out and gently touched Sam’s cheek.

  Sam’s eyes closed for a prolonged blink before they flew open again, startled, and she cleared her throat. “Um, do you need any help getting in?”

  Maria unceremoniously dropped her hand, and Sam was suddenly conscious of how cold the wind was. “No, I’m quite all right. Thank you.”

  Sam circled around to the driver’s side, sunk into the seat, and threw the car into drive. She called Dolores to check in on Eva, and forty-five minutes later, Maria was seated on the horribly noisy tissue paper that covers all medical tables, while Sam paced around an all-too-familiar-looking hospital room in Burlington.

  The X-rays indicated nothing was broken, although the doctor suspected from the swelling and Maria’s inability to move her ankle in certain directions that she suffered a hairline fracture. Leaning against the wall of Maria’s hospital room, Sam felt horribly awkward and out of place.

  The doctor, an eccentric woman with wild hair who bore a stark resemblance to Doc Brown from Back to the Future, instructed Maria to use crutches and prescribed a boot for her to wear while the bone healed. “In two weeks, you can transition to a walking boot, but for the immediate future, don’t put any weight on it and try to keep it elevated. That should help with the swelling.” Her tone brokered no argument, and Maria nodded.

  “How soon can I run again?”