by Elena Graf
When Maggie had asked Liz how the fracture was healing, she’d gotten far more than the simple explanation she’d expected. Liz had shown Maggie her x-ray and a little video animation of the bone healing process. Maggie was fascinated. She’d never had any doctor explain any medical condition in such detail. During all the years of enduring fertility treatments, she’d simply nodded and gone along with the doctors’ recommendations. Barry was the one who’d asked all the questions on the rare occasions he came along for the appointments.
When the clock in the hall chimed nine-thirty, Maggie decided she really must get up. It was a warm morning, so she didn’t bother with a robe, and after all, she was alone in the house.
When she came into the kitchen, she nearly screamed. A young, red-haired woman was busily wiping the stove top. “Oh hello,” said Maggie, trying to recover some poise. She was glad that her nightgown was fairly modest. “And who are you?”
The young woman pulled out her ear buds and smiled. “I’m Ellie, Liz’s housekeeper. She called to tell me she had a guest in the downstairs guest room, so I was trying to do quiet things until you got up.”
“Evidently, she forgot to tell me.”
The young woman looked apologetic “Did I wake you?”
“No, I was awake. I just came out for some coffee.”
“I see she left two filled coffee pods for you.” Ellie wagged her head toward the counter where the coffee maker stood. “You go ahead. Don’t mind me. I’m almost finished in the kitchen.”
Maggie made herself coffee and brought it out to the porch while she read The New York Times Book Review left over from Sunday’s paper. A short while later, Ellie poked her head through the door. “Will it bother you if I vacuum?”
“No, of course not.”
“Liz said I need to be quiet because you’re writing a book.”
“I am, but you need to do your job.”
“You’re not in my way.” She smiled. The sweet-faced young woman had profuse freckles on her pale face. Ethnic Irish, Maggie decided. She’d heard there were many of them in Maine, and if the number of Irish Pubs on Route 1 was any indication, the rumor was true. “I saw you in Mama Mia at the Playhouse,” Ellie proudly confided. “You were fantastic!”
“Thank you.” It pleased Maggie to know that so many of the locals supported the theater.
“I volunteer as an usher on my days off,” explained Ellie. “That’s how I got to see the show. I was sorry to hear about your leg. I guess that means you’re out of the show.”
Maggie nodded. “The audience doesn’t pay to see an actress with a broken leg.”
“Liz said you’ll be staying with her until your leg heals.”
“Oh, did she, now?” That’s not what they had agreed, and the fact that Liz was spreading a deliberate exaggeration was interesting. However, that wasn’t any of the young woman’s business, so Maggie wasn’t about to set her straight.
“I’d better get back to work. I have another house to clean this afternoon. Nice chatting with you, Ms. Fitzgerald.”
“Fitzgerald is my maiden name. I still use it on the stage. Now, it’s Ms. or Dr. Krusick.”
“Oh, you’re a doctor too?”
“I’m a professor, or I was…before I retired. Not a medical doctor.”
“Liz has a lot of doctor friends. Dr. Carson visits every year. Sometimes she brings her nieces and nephews, and their children, a real houseful! And Liz’s niece brings her kids. Good thing, there’s so much room in this house. It’s like a B&B here in the summer.”
“That must make a lot of work for you.”
“It does, but Liz pays me extra. She’s very generous.” Ellie glanced at the clock. “I really must get back to work.”
Ellie left and Maggie wondered if the “Dr. Carson” who visited was Liz’s ex. She knew from lesbian friends on the NYU faculty and in the theater that lesbian relationships often continued long after the sexual relationship was over.
After Ellie vacuumed all the common areas, she asked if she could clean Maggie’s room.
“Just do whatever you’d normally do,” replied Maggie indifferently, crossing out the paragraph she’d just finished writing. This was her fifth attempt to open the new chapter. No matter how she tried she couldn’t get into it today, and it had nothing to do with the noise from the vacuum.
“Do you have any laundry for me to do?” asked Ellie. “I’ll throw it in with Liz’s.”
“I’ve been using the hamper in the bathroom.” Maggie was forced by the direct question to pay attention. “But don’t worry. I can take care of it.”
Ellie glanced at the walking boot. “Really? I don’t think you’ll make it down to the basement with that boot on. Why don’t you let me see what’s in the hamper?”
Around noon, Ellie came in to say she was leaving. “It was nice meeting you, Dr. Krusick. A real honor. I’ll see you next time.” She offered her hand.
Maggie decided after Ellie left that it was high time to shower and get dressed. She went into her room to find that Ellie had picked up all the clothes heaped on the furniture and hung them neatly in the closet. The bed linens had been changed, and her clean laundry lay carefully folded on the bureau. She was embarrassed that Ellie had seen the state of her room. But Lorna at the Windward Inn had also seen her mess. What must these people, who knew Liz well enough to call her by her first name, think of her friend from New York?
***
Maggie made herself lunch, and while she was looking in the refrigerator, she hunted for something to make for dinner. She found the extra striper filets in the freezer along with some containers of what appeared to be homemade tomato sauce. With rice and a salad, it could make a tasty meal. Maggie looked up recipes for fish prepared with a light tomato sauce while the filets defrosted in the refrigerator.
When Liz came home, Maggie instantly perceived that something was wrong. Liz offered a cursory greeting, then took a bottle of whiskey out of a cabinet and poured herself a generous portion. Frowning, she stood in the kitchen, while she gulped down the whiskey. She poured herself another glass and headed out to the porch.
“What’s the matter?” asked Maggie, following her out, annoyed to be slowed in her pursuit by the boot.
“The mother of the boy who burnt up the accident came to see me looking for tranquilizers. He died on the way to the burn unit in Boston.”
Maggie rubbed Liz’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she said in a soothing voice.
“He was such a nice kid. I really liked him. I don’t usually go to the funerals of my patients, but I think I’ll go to this one.” Liz cleared her throat, and Maggie knew it was to mask strong emotion. “I’ve been at this a long time, but it’s still hard sometimes. It’s especially hard with the young ones.”
“I can imagine.”
“No offense, but I don’t think you can.”
“Do you need time alone?”
“No, it’s fine.” Liz forced a smile. “It’s nice to have company.” She reached out for Maggie’s hand. “Sit down.”
“I can sit only for a moment. I’m getting dinner ready.”
“What a nice surprise to come home to someone cooking dinner for me.”
“Didn’t Jenny cook for you?”
Liz made a little face. “Jenny wasn’t much of a cook, and her schedule was stranger than mine. Unless I cooked, we ate out.”
Maggie sat down next to Liz for a while, but Liz had very little to say. She sipped the whiskey and stared out the window. Maggie reached out and gently stroked her arm. Liz turned and gave her a sad look. “Thank you,” she said.
***
The poached striper recipe was such a success that Maggie decided to bookmark it to her favorites. She enjoyed watching Liz eat the food she cooked because she truly savored it. Her eyes closed and she made little sounds of appreci
ation as she tasted each part of the meal. “My God, this is amazing,” she exclaimed. It was especially satisfying to hear Liz’s compliments because she certainly had the means to eat in some of the very best restaurants.
They had just finished eating when Maggie’s phone rang in the kitchen. Maggie could hear it vibrating on the granite counter top. “Let it ring,” she said. She disapproved of devices ruling everyone’s life and deliberately refused to affirm their dominance by jumping every time her phone rang. Eventually, the ringing stopped but then instantly began again.
“If they’re calling twice, it might be important,” said Liz, glancing in the direction of the kitchen.
“It’s my daughter. She usually calls around this time of night on a Tuesday.”
“Your daughter?” Liz asked with a puzzled frown.
“Yes, I have two of them.” Maggie anxiously scanned Liz’s face to judge her reaction. She hadn’t meant to withhold this important fact. She simply hadn’t felt the need to make an announcement.
“I thought you couldn’t have children,” said Liz, narrowing her eyes.
“I couldn’t, so we gave up trying and adopted two older girls from Romania. They were sisters. The adoption agency wouldn’t separate them, so we took them both.”
“Those Romanian orphanages were supposed to be a horror.”
“You have no idea,” said Maggie, averting her eyes because she didn’t want Liz to see the emotion the memory invoked. “I’m so glad we could help those poor little girls. There were challenges at first, but they grew up to be good people. Sophia is a resident in oncology at Baylor Medical Center. Alina is the local news producer for the NBC affiliate in Florida.”
“Impressive.”
Maggie knew the remark was sincere, but she felt the need to underscore a point. “You might not believe it, but I am a real feminist. I insisted on the best education for my girls, and I encouraged them to be anything they wanted to be.”
“I’m sure you did.” Liz patted Maggie’s hand as she got up from the table. “You should call your daughter, or she’ll be worried about you. I’ll do the dishes.” She picked up the plates and headed to the kitchen. She returned with Maggie’s phone.
When Maggie’s daughter answered she sounded harried and tired. “Are you okay, Mom?” asked Sophia anxiously. “You just came up on my Google crawl. You broke your leg! Why didn’t you call me?”
“Don’t worry, Phi. I’m being looked after by a very good doctor. She’s an old friend from college.”
“Really? Someone I know?”
“You never met her. Her name is Liz Stolz.”
There was a dead spot in the transmission, or maybe it was deliberate silence. It was hard to tell. “Elizabeth Stolz, the surgeon?”
“Yes. Do you know her?”
“The Elizabeth Stolz?”
“Yes, I guess so,” Maggie confirmed anxiously. What did Sophia’s reaction mean?
“Mom, she’s a legend!”
“Really?” asked Maggie, listening to Liz rinse the dishes in the kitchen.
“She revolutionized breast cancer surgery. We read her book and her case studies in our training.”
“You do?”
“Wow,” said Sophia, drawing out the word. “She’s your friend?”
“Yes, from college.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“We lost touch…a long time ago. It was an accident that we met. Literally, an accident.” At least, that was the truth.
“Oh, my God, Mom. Elizabeth Stolz! How cool is that?”
“Would you like to say hello?”
“Can I? Can I really?” asked Sophia in an excited, childlike voice.
“Let me ask.” Maggie muted her phone and called into the kitchen. “Liz, will you say hello to my daughter? She’s one of your admirers.”
The water cut off in the kitchen. Liz came out to the porch. “Really? I have admirers? Who knew?” She laughed gently.
“Hold on, Sophia. Here’s Liz.”
“Hello, Sophia,” said Liz cheerfully into Maggie’s phone. “Yes, I’m holding your mother hostage until her leg heals. I hope you don’t mind.” Now Liz was spreading her propaganda to her daughter.
Whatever Sophia said in reply, Liz laughed heartily. “No, I’m used to the exploding suitcase. I lived with it in college.”
“Sophia is a neat freak,” Maggie whispered. “So is Alina, my youngest. Go figure.”
Liz nodded as she listened to what Sophia was saying on the other end. Maggie enjoyed the smiles and a wink, a little stunned by the instant bond between her daughter and her old friend. Liz muted the phone to address her. “Is it okay to tell your daughter about your injury and how I’m treating it? Privacy laws, you know.”
“Of course, you can tell her everything.”
Maggie understood very little of the conversation that followed, an abrupt shorthand filled with medical terms that sounded like a foreign language. Liz looked thoughtful as she patiently answered Sophia’s questions.
“Well, thank you,” said Liz, obviously winding down the conversation. “And I promise I’ll take good care of her…. Yes, she’s very special to me too.” She handed the phone back to Maggie.
“Oh, Mom. How cool that I got to talk to her!”
“So, you’re satisfied I’m in good hands?”
“Seriously? If I could fly up right now and pick her brain, I’d be there in a heartbeat.”
“Maybe some other time.” As much as Maggie loved her daughter, she didn’t want anyone upsetting the delicate balance of her renewed friendship with Liz. There was still so much ground to cover, and so much to say.
After she ended the call, Maggie listened to Liz whistling an air from Aida while she finished cleaning up the kitchen. Sophia had said she was a legend. What did that mean exactly? When Liz was out of the house, Maggie would certainly give the awards and news clippings in Liz’s office a closer look. She’d also try to find out about Liz’s book. Maybe Sophia could give her more information.
Chapter 9
Liz tried to be discreet about glancing at the clock while Mrs. Riordan went on about her autistic grandson, Most of Liz’s time as a family practitioner was spent listening, completely opposite of how she had managed her patients as a surgeon. Then, she’d been a firehose of information describing procedures, possible outcomes and rapidly answering patients’ questions. When she became a family practitioner, she had to teach herself to listen. It was excruciating at first. She always wanted to jump ahead and finish her patient’s sentences, but slowly, she’d learned that context was essential to treating a whole person. Sometimes, seemingly inconsequential bits of data were important, especially those minor complaints patients tended to gloss over.
But there wasn’t anything medically useful in Mrs. Riordan’s gushing over her grandson. It was Liz’s attention she wanted, so Liz continued to smile and nod despite the clock counting down the minutes. Today, she’d hoped to leave early or at least on time. She had made dinner reservations for 6 pm, so they could eat a leisurely meal before the concert. Reserving the best seats close to the stage depended on taking the tickets with the dinner package. Nathan’s was pricey, but Liz didn’t mind. The chef had justifiably earned the restaurant’s five-diamond rating by featuring locally sourced food, preparing it simply, and presenting it beautifully.
Mrs. Riordan flipped open her wallet and proudly showed a picture of her grandson. “See? He doesn’t even look autistic.”
“A very handsome boy,” replied Liz in a genuinely admiring voice.
“Yes.” Her patient sighed.
“I’m afraid I need to get home a little early tonight, Mrs. Riordan. I have tickets to hear Judy Collins sing at Nathan’s tonight.” Liz rarely confided anything about her personal life to her patients, but she needed to convey the urgency of l
eaving…soon.
Mrs. Riordan quickly put her wallet away. “So sorry to keep you, Dr. Liz. You go to your concert.”
Liz walked her patient to the front desk. “Six months for a blood draw and an office visit, Ginny.”
Ginny was giving her that look that said, “get out of here now.”
“Enjoy your holiday weekend, Mrs. Riordan,” said Liz.
“You too, Dr. Liz.” She reached up to give her a hug. “I really hope you enjoy the concert. Tell me all about it when I see you next time.”
Liz promised that she would. She made an effort to preserve her dignity by walking to her consulting room at a reasonable pace, but as soon as the hall was clear, she grabbed her bag and headed out the back door.
She decreased the pressure on the gas pedal as she approached the intersection. The Hobbs police liked to lurk behind the old TV repair shop and pounce on speeders in the completely unnecessary 35-mph zone. They had stopped Liz a few times, although none of the officers dared to give tickets to Hobbs’s most popular M.D. Even the newest members of the force knew to issue only warnings, which she stacked in her glove box like old grocery receipts. Liz carefully watched her speed past the old building. As soon as she was out of the danger zone, she leaned on the gas pedal and allowed her mind to wander.
What to wear to this event had been a worry since she’d reserved the tickets. Maggie, of course, would look stunning, as she did on every occasion. Liz had finally chosen an unconstructed black linen blouse with a low neckline that showed a bit of cleavage. With skinny pants and black heels, the outfit would be chic but casual enough for an evening of folk music.
Maggie’s door was closed when Liz came in. “I’m home,” Liz called out as she bounded up the stairs. “I’m going up to change.”
She began stripping on the way to the bathroom, where she wiped off all her makeup and started from scratch, aiming for a dramatic, evening look. She checked the time on the clock over her shoulder while leaning in to apply eyeliner. It smudged. “Fuck.” For emphasis and good measure, she repeated it, louder this time. Finally, she flicked a crisp line across the lid. She took time with the mascara because her hands were shaking. As a surgeon, she’d always taken pride in her steady hands. Tonight, for some inexplicable reason, they shook.