* * *
There was nothing in his medical training that had prepared Hall adequately for the task of telling a vibrant, beautiful young woman that she was going to die.
He had ended up taking Ellen’s advice and phoned Karen’s fiancé, Jim Westgaard, to ask him to accompany her to the office appointment that afternoon.
Jim cut straight through to the heart of the matter. “That bad?” he asked, the quaver in his voice betraying his emotion.
“I think you should be there,” Hall said, knowing Jim would understand the subtext without being told.
So did Karen. He saw it the moment she and Jim stepped into his office. It was in her eyes as he outlined possible protocols to attack further spread of the disease. He recommended an oncologist in Camden, and suggested she might want to see a specialist down in Boston who was getting great results on other women dealing with metastasized ovarian cancer. He had learned a long time ago that nobody—no doctor, no medical professional, no well-meaning friend or relative—had the right to strip a human being of hope. Patients came to their own understanding of their disease in their own time. Or not. He had seen women meet the grim reality of their illnesses headfirst, no holds barred. He had watched other women of equal sensitivity and intelligence embark on a rigorous course of chemo and radiation and never once admit there was anything wrong with them right up until the end.
Karen and Jim sat there quietly, holding hands, while Hall finished explaining various options available to them. They looked like survivors of a war, shell-shocked and battle weary.
“Here’s my advice,” he said, sliding sheets of information into an envelope for them to absorb later on. “I want you to drive out to the Cineplex at the mall. Pick out the funniest, most mindless movie on the marquee and go see it. If it makes you laugh, sit through it twice. Then I want you to head for whatever restaurant you like best and have a good meal. You don’t have to talk about any of this today if you don’t want to. Give yourselves a little time to absorb the things I’ve told you before you start making decisions. There’s nothing you can do today that you can’t do tomorrow with equally effective results.”
They thanked him and left, still holding hands, looking much older than they had an hour earlier. Hall whispered a prayer that love would give them both the strength they would need to deal with what lay ahead.
He went back to his office and sat there, staring down at his appointment book. The prospect of death had never become commonplace to him. He had never acquired the proper distance. Not from pain. Not from life.
“Hall?”
He looked up at the sound of Ellen’s voice and saw her standing in the doorway. He motioned her inside.
“I saw Karen and Jim on the elevator,” she said as she sat down on the edge of his desk.
He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I took your advice.”
“I’m glad,” she said, hugging a thick patient folder to her chest. “It was the right thing to do.”
“They held hands through the whole visit,” He shook his head. “There I am, telling them that Karen is more than likely going to die before this year is over, and I end up envying them.”
“I know.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “What they have together is very special.”
“They have it all,” he said. “Youth, education, superior skills, ambition, commitment, a soul mate—” His voice broke and he had to clear his throat before he continued. “Every fucking thing you need to be happy.”
“Except time,” she said softly.
“That’s right,” he said. “Everything but time.”
“Life’s too short,” she said, “no matter how long it is.” Too short and too unbearably sweet to waste a second on anything less than the real thing.
Ellen’s eyes hadn’t left his since she entered the room. He could almost feel her absorbing some of his pain, quietly easing his burden the way she had every single day since she came to Shelter Rock Cove. She gave so much, to so many. She was there for her patients, ready to listen to their problems, ease their fears, and celebrate their joys. She gave willingly of her free time to run the teen health support group at the hospital and spearhead the breast cancer awareness coalition she had put together in concert with coalitions from five other counties. He wondered who she turned to when the world was too much for her, who lifted the burden from her shoulders if only for a while. She was so self-assured, so competent, but he knew those strengths concealed a dangerously soft heart.
“I owe you, Markowitz,” he said with mock gruffness.
“Damn right you do,” she said, mirroring his tone. “And I’m keeping score.”
Silver, Janna’s assistant, appeared in the doorway. “Your four o’clock is in two, Dr. Talbot, and yours is in five, Dr. Markowitz.”
They thanked her and she hurried back to the front desk. Ellen stood up, adjusted her lab coat, and then started for the door.
“Ellen.”
She turned and faced him.
“You’re doing okay?” he asked.
“Nothing new to report.” Her smile didn’t falter.
“I meant what I said the other night.”
“I never doubted that for a second.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. His emotions were too close to the surface to be trusted. The future was in that room. Was he the only one who could see it?
Her smile was gentle. “I’d better go. It’s Ginny Lukinowich in five and she doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
His world reassembled itself around him. “And I have Moira Cavanagh in two.”
Ellen rolled her eyes. “I’ll say a prayer.” With a wave of her clipboard, she disappeared down the hall.
If this wasn’t the real thing, Hall thought, it was closer than he’d ever come before.
* * *
The phone rang at two minutes before five and Deirdre pounced on it.
“Tell me it’s good news,” she said to Scott the Mechanic. “You’re either calling to say I won Star Search or my car is ready.”
“Listen, I’m sorry. I tried, but I struck out.”
Tears burned the inside of her eyelids as she tried not to cry. “You don’t understand,” she said. “If I don’t have the car, I don’t have the job, and if I don’t have the job I—” Oh, hell. Why should she spell it out for him? If he gave a damn, he would have found a way to fix her car.
“An auto graveyard down near Lincolnville Beach said they might have what we need, but they’re not willing to do the heavy lifting.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’d have to go there and take it out of the car myself.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“The price they quoted was pretty damn good.”
They breathed at each other for a few awkward moments.
“Or I could have it sent up from Portsmouth for three times the price, but that’s not going to help you get to Bar Harbor tomorrow.”
Some more breathing.
“You might as well order the stupid part,” she said after her sniffling had subsided. “I’ll need it if I’m ever going to get out of here.”
“Uh, listen, how about I drive you up to your job tomorrow afternoon.”
She ran through her list of Mechanics I Have Known and Loved, some of whom she was related to, and couldn’t come up with a single one who would have offered to do such a thing.
“That’s a joke, right?” She must have been looking the other way when the punch line flew past.
“No joke. I said I’d drive you and I’ll drive you.”
“You said it, but that doesn’t mean I believed you.”
“What time do you have to be there?”
“Around four.”
“I’ll pick you up at your sister’s around one. That’ll give us plenty of time.”
“What’s this going to cost me?” she asked, thinking about her empty wallet and nonexistent b
ank account. “I won’t have any money until after I start work.”
“Just be ready at one.”
“But I need to know how much this is going to set me back. If I—”
“One o’clock,” he said again, and then hung up.
She barely had a chance to put down the cordless when it rang again.
“That was incredibly rude,” she said before he had the chance to say hello. “You don’t hang up on someone because you don’t feel like answering a question. And, by the way, that was a very important question because if you think you’re going to rip me off, I’ll—”
“Deirdre?” A very female, very familiar voice. “This is Mary Pat returning your call.”
“Oops,” said Deirdre. “Sorry. I thought you were Scott the Mechanic.”
“What are you doing at the Doctor’s house? I thought you had a job in Bar Harbor.” A normal sister would have said, So who is Scott the Mechanic? Not Mary Pat, the human GPS.
Mary Pat should have gone to law school like their mother wanted her to. She had a natural gift for grilling the truth out of a witness like the poor fool was a red snapper.
“It starts tomorrow.”
“I would think you’d want to be there a day early so you can prepare.”
Deirdre considered beating her head against the wall but she didn’t want to ruin Ellen’s paint job. “My car dropped dead. I told you that in my message.”
“You haven’t told me what you’re doing at the Doctor’s. I didn’t know you two were that close.”
“We’re very close,” she lied with the moral authority of your average two-year-old. “In fact, she’s going to care for Stanley while I’m working.”
The silence went on a beat too long for Deirdre’s comfort. It meant Mary Pal was sifting through the evidence and was about to jump to a conclusion.
“Has she seen Stanley yet?”
“Of course she’s seen Stanley. She loves Stanley and Stanley loves her. He follows her around like a lovestruck suitor.”
“He loves me, too. I have the bruises to prove it.”
If she wasn’t such a masochist, she would have hung up the phone three sentences ago.
“Did the Doctor get the flowers I sent her? I haven’t heard from her—”
“Lighten up, will you, Mary Pat? She just moved in. She’ll send you a thank-you note as soon as she finishes delivering babies.”
“The sarcasm isn’t necessary.”
“Listen, Mary Pat, about my car—”
“You’re not still driving that relic.”
“Actually I am,” she said, “and it’s not a relic. It’s a classic.” The fact that God didn’t strike her dead on the spot for that statement struck her as a miracle of biblical proportion. “Anyway, I won’t bore you with the details, but the parts haven’t arrived yet and I need to rent a car.”
“Why don’t you borrow one from the Doctor?”
“She only has one.”
“Why don’t you borrow the money from the Doctor?”
“She said yes to Stanley. I don’t want her to think I’m greedy.”
“But you don’t mind if I think you’re greedy.”
“Mare, you formed your opinion of me the day I was born. I could win the Nobel Peace Prize and you’d think I’d slept my way to Stockholm.”
“Oslo,” Mary Pat said. “Not Stockholm.”
“You’re missing the point.” Not to mention mangling a perfectly good punch line.
Mary Pat had perfected the maternal sigh over the years. The one she emitted into the phone carried exactly the right blend of weary love and guilt for maximum destructive effect on the intended victim. Fortunately Deirdre had been inoculated against that particular bit of manipulation years ago by their mother.
“You’re almost thirty-five years old. When I was your age, I’d been married sixteen years and had five children.”
“You also had hemorrhoids,” Deirdre said. “What’s your point?”
“The Doctor is your age. Look at all she’s accomplished.”
“Okay. I see where this is going. The semiannual Why Don’t You Get a Real Job campaign is underway. You grew up with Billy. Don’t you know what a musician’s life is like?”
“All too well,” Mary Pat said. “No money. No security. No home of your own. You can keep it.”
“Thanks,” Deirdre said. “I intend to.”
Another silence. Conversation between them broke down more often than her Hyundai.
“If that’s it, Mary Pat, I’d better get back to work.”
“The money,” Mary Pat said. “I’ve decided to give you the loan you asked for. It’s not like you aren’t trying. You have a job waiting for you and I understand it might take awhile to get that first check. How does three hundred sound?”
Like the answer to my prayers. A few hours ago she would have jumped all over the offer, but apparently even she had her limits.
“Don’t need it,” she said, waving a sad goodbye to the easy way out. “I’ve made other plans.”
“What other plans?”
“I’m not one of your kids, Mary Pat. I don’t have to answer.”
“Speaking of kids, did I tell you that Shawna was named valedictorian of her graduating class?”
“Cool. When does she graduate?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me when I dropped by with Stanley?”
“Why didn’t you ask?”
Deirdre knew from experience that they were about to enter an endless loop.
“Mary Pat, I’m sorry to cut this short but Stanley’s scratching at the door and it looks like an emergency.”
“Go ahead,” Mary Pat said. “I’ll hold on.”
“It might take awhile. I don’t want to run up your phone bill.”
“No problem. I’m on the cell and we have unlimited minutes.”
God, her sister could be a real bitch at times. Hadn’t she made it crystal clear she wanted to hang up?
Maybe not.
“Is the Doctor there?”
“She’s at the hospital.”
“When do you expect her?”
“I don’t. Mary Pat, I have to go. I’ll call you soon.”
“Billy’s back.”
“What was that?” The receiver had been halfway to its base. So close and yet so far.
“I said, Billy’s back. He flew in two nights ago.”
“I thought he had decided to live in Ireland.” Hadn’t that been the point of that big farewell party last year, the one where she had played harp behind Billy and his singing had made her cry? Not one of her favorite memories. That kind of vulnerability was dangerous. She had stopped needing her father’s approval years ago, right around the time she realized she was never going to get it. “So what are his plans?”
Was that another one of Mary Pat’s studied pauses or had her sister’s mind wandered?
“Mare, I asked you a question.”
“He’ll be staying here with us,” Mary Pat said. “Perhaps you and the Doctor might like to drive down and see him.”
Deirdre burst into laughter. “I’ll phone the rest of the Waltons and see if they’ll join us for the family reunion.”
“It was just a suggestion,” Mary Pat said. “You’ll make your own decisions. You always do.”
Deirdre’s eyes unexpectedly filled with tears. “You never could resist the cheap shot, could you?”
“Your paranoia is showing, Deirdre. I made a suggestion, followed by an observation. You’re reading way too much into both.”
“Listen, I really have to go.” There must be something important she had to do, like fill Ellen’s ice-cube trays or French-braid Stanley’s tail.
“Call Billy,” Mary Pat said. “Not for me, but for yourself.”
“Whatever that means.”
“Just do it,” Mary Pat said. “You won’t be sorry.”
“Funny thing,” she said, “but I already am.”
Sorry I answered the phone.
Chapter Fifteen
Scott waited until they were locking up to ask Jack for the afternoon off.
“You’re driving her to Bar Harbor?” Jack’s tone told him exactly what he thought of the idea.
“I figure I’ll stop at Lincolnville on the way back and pick up the part.”
“You’re frigging nuts.” Jack wasn’t shy about sharing his reasons. Some of them Scott even agreed with.
“I did the run for Barney on Memorial Day. You said I could take comp time when I needed it,” He waited while Jack pressed in the alarm code. “I need it tomorrow.”
“Don’t go telling anyone,” Jack said as they started toward the parking lot behind the building. “They’ll turn us into a goddamn taxi service. We’ll end up doing airport runs and prom nights.”
“So you want me to cancel the full-page ad in The Gazette?”
“Wiseass.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Jack shot him a curious look. “I wouldn’t have figured the harp player was your type.”
“She isn’t.”
“I figured you liked them tall and willowy. More like Ellen, come to think of it.”
“I do,” he said. “That’s exactly what I like.” His wife had been almost his height, slender as a willow. Beautiful and ambitious and too fucking good for him.
“So why are you doing it?”
“Because she needs a lift.”
“Why doesn’t she rent a car?”
“Ask her,” Scott said. “Why the third degree?”
Jack’s grin was part amusement, part relief. “First time I’ve seen you look at a woman. I was starting to wonder if maybe you played on the other team.”
Scott was still laughing when he pulled into Cappy’s parking lot and strolled up to the take-out window. Franny didn’t bother to ask what he wanted. She had the lobster roll, slaw, and two cans of Coke waiting for him. She also knew he wasn’t a talker. He thanked her, added a healthy tip to the bill, then headed back to his truck.
Girls of Summer (Shelter Rock Cove - Book #2) Page 18