It wasn’t that they had disagreed so much; they differed in their style of thinking. He liked to think things through, mull them over, analyze the problem from every angle. He knew this was just the opposite of Laura’s approach. She was usually able to make snap decisions or determine if something was right or wrong in a flash, and then stuck to her guns with the tenacity of a pit bull. He sometimes resented not having enough time to arrive at his own conclusions.
He took another sip of coffee and glanced at Mike’s desk. He shook his head, got out a piece of paper, and started writing. “Dear Dr. Nichols—”
Didn’t she mind being right all the time?
But he would wait a little to mail the letter. In fact, he would hand deliver it to Dr. Nichols next Friday at the Executive Committee meeting. He would have to tell Mike, and this was a conversation he dreaded.
After he finished the letter, he folded it up neatly and tucked it in the envelope. He stared at the envelope for a while. Strange, he thought, how this little envelope had the power to destroy a man’s career and ruin a friendship. He shook his head to dispel these thoughts and put the envelope in his briefcase.
Now, Doug’s thoughts roamed to where they went every chance they got over the last three days—Jenny Stuart. He knew she was here somewhere. She said she’d be working today. Just knowing she was in the same building made it hard to concentrate. How could he just sit here and read or do paperwork when she was so close?
He resisted an almost overwhelming urge to run over there. He knew it would be a mistake. He had vowed to himself that he would never cheat on Laura. Getting to know Jenny better could only unleash powerful temptations that could wreak havoc in his life.
He didn’t want to see Jenny today. The hospital was a big building; surely, he could avoid her. He was even mad at Jenny because he blamed her in part for last night’s fight.
Isn’t that what really happened Doug? Is it a coincidence you fought last night? I suppose it had nothing to do with the fact that you knew she’d be here today, that you knew she wanted to talk to you.
He honestly didn’t understand his motivations; they were buried somewhere beyond reach. But it didn’t take Sigmund Freud to figure out that Jenny’s interest in him was undoubtedly a contributing factor.
So his plan was simple, do nothing and thwart his subconscious desires. He reasoned they might make him fight, but fights can be smoothed over, forgiven. He didn’t have to be unfaithful. Who was in control anyway? He would make rational decisions. No emotions here—No la petite tete sur la grande tete at work here. Besides his plan called for no action; it was easy.
He laid down on the sofa, closed his eyes and tried to rest.
Laura maneuvered her Plymouth Voyager minivan skillfully through the light Saturday morning traffic as she sped home. She had just finished dropping the kids off at her sister’s, who lived in Lebanon. Laura’s sister was single, and every other month or so she took the boys, usually when Doug was on call. Laura had a busy day planned, helping out at the church’s Christmas giveaway to the poor. She pulled into the local Texaco to fill up. She thought about last night, and tears immediately welled up. She hadn’t meant for them to fight. She knew she was right about Mike, but was just realizing how tough it must be on Doug. She knew she probably could’ve handled the discussion better. What really scared her and had fueled her reaction last night, was her fear that Doug would fall victim to a similar problem. She knew work was getting more and more stressful with all the changes brought about by managed care. Health care delivery was now in the hands of big business and government, and stability was a thing of the past.
She pulled out her wallet to get her credit card. As she opened it, she was struck by the wedding picture she kept there. She looked at the picture and saw the two of them with looks of such unadulterated joy radiating from their youthful faces that she couldn’t help but smile. Nonetheless, it was a sad smile as she recalled earlier times.
She had been swept away ever since she had looked into Doug’s steel-blue eyes and fallen under the spell of his charm. He was different from anyone she had ever known. Within days, she understood the definition of “soul mate.” She didn’t believe in love at first sight, but figured this was about as close as it got. He was carefree, had an amazing sense of humor, and was great fun to be around. But he was also a dreamer and had a sensitive streak a mile wide. He made her feel so special and loved.
They had been married after Doug had completed his first year of medical school at the University of Pittsburgh. She had transferred to Carnegie-Mellon from Cornell to complete her pharmacology degree. The wedding was lovely, and the honeymoon in Aruba even nicer. Doug’s dad, weakened and ravaged by the chemotherapy, had not missed the wedding. He put on a good show of smiles and laughter despite the pain, and she knew it remained a special, bittersweet memory for Doug. They spent three blissful years at Pitt, marred only by his dad’s funeral, before Teddy came along toward the end of Doug’s fourth year.
What Laura remembered most about those early years were the long walks they took in the evening. She and Doug were deeply in love and shared everything; they talked of their hopes and dreams, and confided their fears to each other. She remembered those years clearly, but now they seemed to be someone else’s memories. She couldn’t quite connect them with the present. What had changed?
Clearly, the years in between had been hectic, a fast-paced blur of raising three children. She had focused on the children and their school and activities while Doug was at work. He was great with the kids while at home, but was basically clueless about the logistics of running a busy household. She couldn’t remember the last time they had had a long discussion about their future life together. She thought back to Doug’s difficult residency days.
He had stayed at Pittsburgh to do his residency at Allegheny General. As he dealt with the pressure of residency, Laura sensed that some of his beliefs underwent a subtle change. He began to feel that loving and caring for people led to vulnerability and pain. When Teddy got croup and had to be hospitalized, Doug was beside himself with fear and dread. She didn’t know if he could’ve coped, had anything happened to their precious son. Then there was the unfortunate incident with Stephanie in obstetrics. His dad’s death also resurfaced. Doug began to say strange things like, “You can care too much.” He became more withdrawn and less willing to talk to Laura. He said he didn’t feel right burdening her with his problems and fears. Laura knew he wasn’t the macho type; he was too sensitive for that. Nevertheless, she wondered if he was trying to be the strong guy, the protector, like his father.
“I said that will be twenty-five dollars, mam,” the gas station attendant said impatiently, shattering Laura’s thoughts.
“OK, sorry,” said Laura and hastily handed him her credit card.
When she got home, Laura decided to page Doug at the hospital and apologize. She knew exactly what would cheer him up; it had been a long time. They could make plans for tomorrow. She felt bad that he hadn’t sleep well last night and was probably having a rough time at work today. She dialed his beeper number and punched in their home phone number.
Doug’s beeper went off, and he opened his eyes. Now what, he thought. He pressed the button and saw his home phone number. What does she want? Before he could complete the thought, the hospital PA system crackled to life.
“Anesthesia STAT! Surgical Intensive Care Unit!”
“Anesthesia STAT! Surgical Intensive Care Unit!”
Shit, the damned SICU!
He rolled off the sofa right onto the floor, before getting to his feet. Still groggy and disoriented from his brief sleep, he grabbed his tackle box and hustled over to SICU, which was on the same floor.
“What do you need?” Doug shouted a bit too roughly as he cleared the automatic doors into the SICU. STAT pages always made him on edge because he never knew what disaster awaited him. The unit secretary looked up from her work and said cheerfully, “Mr. Jones, the post-op cr
aniotomy needs re-intubated. He’s in twenty-four.”
“Thanks.” Doug figured he had a good idea what had happened. He knew Mr. Jones had a highly malignant brain tumor and had undergone an extensive debulking procedure yesterday. It wasn’t unusual for these patients to wake up disoriented and combative. Wrist, ankle restraints, and round-the-clock sedation were the norm.
Doug trotted over to room twenty-four to see what prize awaited him. One good look at the situation was worth twenty minutes of poring over the chart. On his way, he glanced briefly about the SICU for any sign of Jenny, but didn’t see her. Doug entered the room and saw Mr. Jones thrashing about on the bed, his right arm free, clutching his endotracheal tube. His left arm was still held fast by a wrist restraint. He was struggling to breathe. Doug realized he’d have to put Mr. Jones to sleep just to get the tube back in him. Traces of a familiar scent taunted him, but he couldn’t identify it amidst the strong hospital smells.
Where was the nurse taking care of him? The respiratory therapist was at the head of the bed ineffectively mask-ventilating the patient. Still no Jenny in sight.
“What happened?” asked Doug accusingly, knowing full well that Mr. Jones had gotten loose from the restraint and pulled his own tube.
“I don’t know how that bugger worked his arm free,” the therapist replied defensively. “I just checked his restraints a few minutes ago, and they were snug.”
“Hmmm,” Doug said and gave her a doubting look. If you had to re-intubate him, you’d be more careful with those restraints, he thought. He opened his tackle box, drew up the appropriate drugs and readied a tube and laryngoscope. “Hold his arm still and I’ll give him something,” Doug ordered sternly.
The respiratory therapist held the patient’s arm semi-still while Doug injected the drugs into the bobbing IV port. Within seconds, Mr. Jones stopped thrashing and soon stopped breathing as well.
Doug took over ventilation and had more success with the immobile patient. As he bent down to do the laryngoscopy, he noticed the familiar scent again, only now much clearer.
“Can I help you with that, Dr. Landry?” Jenny asked. She had materialized in the room and was standing right next to him.
Doug practically jumped. “Uh, sure,” he said. A tug of war immediately began to rage inside him; he had strongly divided feelings about seeing her. She wriggled up tight to him, so close he could feel the warm swell of her breast pressed against his right arm as he exposed Mr. Jones’s vocal cords. He took his eyes off his patient to see she had picked up the endotracheal tube. He paused to marvel at the way she handled the tube, her long delicate fingers wrapped around it, bright fuchsia nail polish gleaming in the light. He took the tube from her, but had trouble refocusing on Mr. Jones.
“Do you need help putting it in?” Jenny whispered in his ear.
Doug still didn’t move; he was too absorbed feeling her push up against him, seeing her slender hands, and breathing in her perfume. The room seemed very hot, and he felt himself becoming aroused.
The alarm from Mr. Jones’ pulse oximeter went off when his oxygen saturation dipped below ninety percent. Doug regained his senses, pushed the tube home and started to ventilate Mr. Jones through it. He broke off bodily contact with Jenny and took several deep breaths. He turned to the respiratory therapist who was eyeing them curiously and said gruffly, “He’ll need a blood gas in thirty minutes. And please tie that arm down better. I don’t want to be called back here tonight!”
“Yes, Doctor. I’ll be leaving now.” She turned and exited the room smartly.
“Thanks for saving the day, Doctor Landry.” Jenny was standing several feet from him, all smiles, face aglow. “He’s my patient. I just don’t know how he got his arm free.”
From the way she said it and the way her eyes twinkled impishly, Doug knew what had happened to the wrist restraint. However, his anger seemed to melt away. She came over to him and touched him gently on his arm. She lowered her voice and said, “Thanks so much for coming to see me, Doug.”
Doug recoiled when he felt her hand on his bare skin; the electricity of her touch was a physical force. He took another step back, banging into the ventilator. He was afraid to get too close to her again; irrationally, he had visions of white-hot sparks arcing from her body and burning him. He could see from her face that she had felt the surge between them as well. Except she didn’t look the least bit concerned about it, rather that she’d expected it.
He had never felt anything as strong as this before; well, maybe he and Laura had experienced this kind of electric touch way back when, when they were engaged, but that was twenty years ago. His memory wasn’t that clear. Besides, he thought the circuits responsible for this phenomenon had burned out long ago.
While he pondered these things, another part of his brain managed to keep up his end of the exchange. He returned to the conversation already in progress just in time to hear himself say:
“Next weekend I’m going down to Baltimore to the Inner Harbor. I have a meeting there.”
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“The Hyatt—the one right on the water, that’s all glass.”
“Oh, I love that one. Does your wife like it too?”
Alarm klaxons ripped through his confused brain. My wife!? How does she know? “Uh—yeah—but, she’s not going. She can’t because the boys have Christmas pageants at school.” No need for secrets now.
“Oh, that’s too bad.”
Yeah, too bad. He grimaced slightly.
“How many boys do you have, Doug?” she asked sweetly.
Doug paused, feeling very self-conscious. He looked around to see where the other nurses or respiratory therapist were. No one in sight. He knew the last thing he wanted was to be seen having a long, personal discussion with Jenny. He was nervous that everyone would see through him and realize the extent of his desire. Camouflaging feelings of this magnitude was undoubtedly beyond him. And he knew that gossip spread like wildfire throughout the hospital.
“I—we have three—twelve, seven, and three.”
“Wow, I just love kids—boys especially.” She looked at his eyes, waiting for him to meet her gaze.
“Me, too.” He looked around again, this time possibly for help. Still no one around. He was drawn irresistibly to her eyes and reluctantly surrendered to their power.
Jenny reached out with her hand again and touched his arm. More electricity. She lowered her voice and said, “I could meet you down there for lunch, or something, Saturday. It might be easier to talk there than here.” She tossed her head about to indicate the surroundings and her blond hair danced playfully.
“Yeah, you’re right about that—hmmm lunch—let me think.”
Think about the ‘or something’.
Just say no!
Don’t you feel it?
Are you crazy?
The tug of war was going badly. The home team seemed to have been electrocuted by some unknown force and was being dragged pell-mell through the mud, past the centerline.
“I’d like that,” he heard himself say.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Bob Lehman rolled over in bed, luxuriating in the fact that on some deeper level, he knew he was sleeping late. Sunday mornings were glorious. He bobbed over the threshold of consciousness only to sink down again into the warm, peaceful womb of dreamland. He imagined himself frolicking in the surf off the southern shores of Bermuda. He was no longer a sixty-year-old widower inured to a hard life, but a young man of twenty-six on his honeymoon again with his pretty bride. Worries didn’t exist in this timeless domain. Mistakes had not been made. Their life together stretched out in front of them, not behind, with an intoxicating array of shiny new dreams and possibilities unspoiled by the harsh realities of life.
The fresh ocean breeze gently caressed his face. He lingered at the edge of the water, eyes closed, to take a deep breath, savoring the saltwater scent. Suddenly, the air was flooded with a pleasant coffee aroma carried on
the breeze. The young man did not find this strange, even though they were on a deserted beach; in fact, he thought this was the most natural of meteorological phenomena. Just as dark clouds presage rain, gentle ocean breezes often smell of coffee.
April walked into the bedroom and saw that her father was sleeping. She paused to look at him and smiled when she realized he was probably in the midst of a dream. He was a bear of a man, well over six feet tall with enormous shoulders and thick hairy arms. His face was angular with rough-hewn features, most notably a large flat nose and jutting chin, but his appearance was marred by the numerous lines that zigzagged across his face. They were cut ravine deep, a testament to the hard duty they had seen channeling all the pain and sorrow from his face. This morning a small smile softened his usual careworn features.
She hated to wake him, but couldn’t wait any longer. “Daddy, Daddy, Happy Birthday!” she squealed with delight. “Look what I’ve brought you!” She carefully set down her heavily laden tray on the nightstand by the bed. “It’s ten o’clock. Wake up sleepyhead. Here’s your favorite breakfast, and fresh brewed coffee.” The favorite breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, slightly gooey, laced with melted Monterey Jack cheese and mushrooms. Fresh sausage, pan-fried to a delicious golden-brown, rounded out the meal.
Bob Lehman opened his eyes, and his smile broadened as he saw April and the breakfast tray. “April, is it really ten o’clock? You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long.” He sat up in bed and stretched his massive arms. “I was having a really nice dream though.”
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