Читать книгу Endings - Barbara Bergin - Страница 11

Leslie thought about calling Brenda Hawley and making up some excuse to get out of going to dinner. She avoided personal engagements, period. Personal engagements meant personal questions without exception. No one ever talked about the weather or the job. They wanted something. They wanted a history. She remembered some song from the sixties. “What’s your name…Who’s your daddy?” One question always led to another and eventually she had to lie. The truth was too painful to tell. But more than that, it was too painful to hear. People couldn’t bare the truth. All conversation stopped as people pondered her situation, and then the significance of their own lives. She learned that it was easier for everyone if she just lied. Vic and Vivi ceased to exist and she was just a widow. There were a lot of widows and widowers out there. They can relate. It was too bad, but she was still young. Life goes on. But then they start to try to match her up with someone. Soon, the lie extended to time. The date of the accident ceased to exist. If it’s only been a year, no one tries to play matchmaker. They don’t even think about it. She was still in mourning. Not proper. She hated to lie, but it was easy and it worked.

Of course she was going to have to go to dinner. Doc Hawley and his wife/office manager wanted to check her out and give her the lay of the land. To them, this was more than just covering random emergency room patients and rounding on patients in the hospital. It was taking over their practice for a while. She was also certain they wanted to see what a female locum looked like. There was no doubt in her mind that ol’ Doc Hawley never came within spitting distance of a female orthopedic surgeon in his training and maybe in his entire career. When dealing with the locum agencies a physician usually had to take what was available. Clients were always happy with the job Leslie did and so the agency didn’t have any problems convincing subsequent clients to use the female orthopod.

Terryl called with directions. He had been held up with some hospital business and would have to give her the tour tomorrow. Hospital business. She remembered the time she had gotten caught in her hospital restroom without toilet paper. She had to walk out into the sink area with her pants down around her knees to grab some paper towels out of the canister on the wall. Fortunately no one was in there at the time. She finished her business with as much dignity as she could muster. She washed her hands and went straight to the administrator’s office where she chewed him out and was assured that it would never happen again. And it didn’t. Hospital business.

Terryl apologized. Leslie really didn’t mind missing the tour today. She didn’t change her clothes. Watched a little TV before it was time to go.

Raghu was back tonight. “Goodnight, Dr. Cohen. See you later.”

She gave a short wave as she walked past his desk. Outside it was windy and cold. The two sets of automatic doors created some turbulence between them, and it whipped her coat and hair in different directions. Under the portico the wind came sideways, hard. She pulled her coat around herself. Dirt, accompanied by pieces of paper and Styrofoam raced across the asphalt. She could see a fence to her left at the end of the parking lot where the debris was entangled, cut off indefinitely from some journey. Could a paper cup go all the way from Abilene to Waco? Could it go to the Atlantic? Her car was parked in front of the fence. Pieces of paper and a plastic grocery bag were stuck on the fence. Little criss-cross lines etched into their surfaces. The wind thrashed them against the wires. They buzzed, screaming to get free. She walked over and picked one off the fence. Then let it loose. It shot across a ditch, got caught in a whirlwind and then stuck again in a dead bush. Others were stuck there too. Never meant to make it anywhere. Staying in Abilene.

She opened her car door. The wind yanked the door out of her hand. She reached to keep it from hitting the car parked next to hers.

As Leslie drove across Abilene she could feel the wind lash against her car in the intervals between buildings, on overpasses, and as she passed other vehicles. Dirt darted across the highways, bringing ancient debris with it. She passed strip shopping centers, old and new, then hotels, small neighborhoods and gas stations. Texas was for the most part, unzoned, and there might be a gas station or a strip shopping center or a Wal-Mart right next to a neighborhood. It was sometimes unsightly, but there was beauty in opportunity. In Kansas, she could drive for miles and see only factories, or see only homes. There was beauty in that too.

She turned into an upper end neighborhood, and following Terryl’s directions, arrived at the ranch-style home of Dr. and Mrs. Hawley. It was smaller than she had expected. Creamy light glowed from inside. Inviting. Open. Paintings, upholstered chairs and lamps were visible from the street. She guessed this was a forty-year-old neighborhood. There were larger trees here than she had seen in the rest of Abilene. Most likely planted when the area was developed. Somebody was thinking back then. The neighborhood was quiet, dark and the streets were wide. The trees blocked the wind where she was but up in the tree tops she could see its frantic struggle.

The doorbell was answered by barking dogs. Through the leaded glass windows inside the door she could see labs. Eager yellow dogs with thick pipe-like tails wagging their hindquarters from side to side. It looked like they couldn’t wait to jump up on her so she was prepared for it when the door was opened.

“Jake, Booker, sit,” a soft but stern voice called to them. Instantly the two sat down while keeping their anxious brown eyes fixed on Leslie. Pipe tails still twitching back and forth, storing energy. She reached down with one hand to pet them and the other to shake her hostess’s hand.

“Hi, Leslie Cohen. Beautiful dogs. I had labs when I was a kid.”

“These are our kids now that Hal junior is grown. And they’re a little easier to take care of than he was. I’m Brenda. It’s so nice to meet you. We’re so glad you were able to come here and take over big Hal’s practice for a while.”

“Well, the agency just pointed me in the right direction and here I am.” It wasn’t that clever but Brenda chuckled diplomatically anyway.

“The boys like you but just let me know if they’re bothering you.” Then to the dogs, “Jake, Booker, settle down.” Leslie didn’t know if dogs understood “settle down” but they could understand a firm voice. They quieted and trotted alongside of her, watching her every move. Waiting for an opportunity to get a paw up, lick, sniff or better yet, get a petting out of her. She obliged them.

“Come on in the kitchen. You can help me get things finished in here while we wait for Hal. He’s running late in surgery. I’m sure you know what that’s all about.”

“Sounds like things have been really busy. Terryl kind of filled me in this morning.” Leslie paused and reached down to pet the dogs again. She continued looking down. “I understand Doctor Hawley is to have surgery in Lubbock on Monday.”

“That’s right. Everything’s going to be just fine. He’s just going to need some help until he gets his energy back. Sweetie, everyone calls him Doc. You know, it’s just always been that way. If you said Doctor Hawley, well, some people might not even know who you were talking about. Just Doc.” Brenda got busy with the food. Leslie was going to have to get used to saying Doc.

There was nothing pretentious about her home, or the lady, for that matter. Brenda was trim. Leslie guessed she was in her early fifties. Short grey hair, pretty grey, no yellow. She looked like she might have been athletic. Maybe still is. Her skin was tanned, a little leathery. Tennis player or something. Might be hard to find the time if she’s really managing his practice full time. Some wives just hang out at the office a lot, but don’t really manage it. Maybe get in the way a little. One of her former partner’s wives did that. Very annoying. Chased off two or three receptionists before she wore out her welcome.

“So Mr. Wells tells me you run the office.” She decided to jump right in and get to the meat. A few questions about coding or medical records and she’d be able to tell just how involved Brenda was.

Brenda proceeded to tell Leslie all about the office, how it ran, employees, pension plan, Privacy Act stuff, and before long it was apparent that she was in fact the office manager. Not just sniffing around.

Leslie decided to jump in a little further. “So you’ve been working for Doc since the start?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking, yes. See, Doc hired me as a nurse when he first started. I did everything basically. Schedule patients, bring them back to the exam rooms, put casts on, etcetera. I learned all the insurance and coding stuff as it developed and pretty soon I was just running the office. On the job training. I think I got too expensive so Hal had to marry me instead of paying me the big salary I was worth. Sometimes I think I should have stuck with a pay raise!”

Leslie thought about that romance. Working with someone closely, respecting their knowledge and devotion. The respect turning into admiration and love. One thing leads to another and pretty soon you’re doing it on an exam table after hours. She remembered meeting Chris at the hospital. Corporate Vice President for the hospital chain. In and out of town on a scheduled basis, but soon in more than out and one thing leading to another.

“Dr. Cohen, dear, you okay?”

She nodded.

“It just looked like you were off somewhere else for a minute there. I hope it wasn’t something I said?”

“Brenda, this is a little difficult, so I’m just going to say something right now, to you, because it’s easier that way rather than in front of everyone at the dinner table.”

“What is it sweetheart? This sounds serious.” Her voice was so kind and concerned. Leslie almost wanted to be held by her. She could be her mom. The southern accent was soothing.

“Well, see, my husband passed away last year. It’s why I’m here. It’s why I’m not married.” Leslie pressed on, not pausing to give Brenda the opportunity to give the usual condolences. “Casual conversation always comes around to ‘Why’s a nice girl like you not married?’ or people try to set me up with someone they know. It’s just easier for me to try to control those conversations by bringing it up on my terms.”

Brenda stopped what she was doing and came around the island in the middle of the kitchen. The dogs got up and followed her, wagging their tails, oblivious to the moment. She took Leslie’s hands in hers and squeezed them, held them there for a moment.

“Sweetheart, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry. This is so unexpected. I don’t even know you and yet my heart is just plain broken for you.” Her eyes glistened. They understood each other, because Brenda was going there too someday. Only thing was, Leslie knew she had just told the first lie and kept the first secret. The one no one could understand.

“Now Leslie, where’s your momma and daddy? A girl needs her momma after this kind of thing.” It was a simple question, but Leslie had never been asked that one before. She did need her mom after that kind of thing.

“My parents were older when they had me. They died a while ago. Chris was my only family.” There, done, seal off any ideas about the possibility of children.

Just then the doorbell rang. Brenda reluctantly headed for the front door. The dogs stayed with Leslie. There was opportunity here and they knew it. She let them jump up on her thighs, one at a time. Jake jumped while Booker glanced out the door toward the foyer. Assigned to be a lookout. He came back for a leg up and a chin scratch. Leslie grabbed a couple of scraps of meat off the counter top and popped one in each gaping mouth. She could hear Brenda talking to Terryl and Selma. Then, “Jake, Booker, you’re not bothering Leslie, are you?” They glanced at Leslie, turned and trotted out the kitchen door, barking at the newcomers. “Jake, Booker, sit.”

“Selma, this is Doctor Leslie Cohen. Doctor Cohen, my wife, Selma.” Selma was a handsome, Hispanic woman in her forties. She had a very slight accent.

Leslie shook her hand and asked her to call her “Leslie.”

“Pleased to meet you, Leslie.”

“Same here.”

Leslie and Terryl sat down in the living room at Brenda’s request while she and Selma went into the kitchen. They came out with some hors d’oeuvres. Iced tea, Coke or water was offered. No alcohol. Was Abilene in a dry county? No alcohol except on the outskirts of town, sold in seedy little strip shopping centers. In New York, one rarely went to a party where there was no hard liquor offered. Gin and tonic, 7&7, scotch on the rocks. In the south it was usually beer and wine. But sometimes no alcohol was served. She was driving. She didn’t care one way or another. Leslie never went out and drinking alone wouldn’t have occurred to her.

They made small talk for a while. The sound of a diesel engine coming down the street put the dogs into a frenzy, barking and running back and forth into the kitchen, where there was a back door leading to the garage. The engine idled in the driveway and Leslie remembered that, of course, it wasn’t using any extra fuel. The dogs were literally howling when the door opened and Doc Hawley greeted them like they were his kids. “Booker, Jake, howyuboys doin’?” Silence from the dogs, but she could hear their collars being jangled around by their tail-wagging bodies. Brenda got up and headed toward the kitchen.

“Hal, long day huh? Honey, you’d better go get changed. I’ll take care of your things.” And then “Jake, Booker, you leave dad alone.” Husbands and wives start to call each other mom and dad sometime after their children start talking and understanding. Chris used to call her “mommy.” The title sticks.

“Lemme just say ‘hi’ real quick.” Leslie heard them kiss each other. Terryl stood up and took a few steps toward the kitchen. Selma stayed seated. Leslie decided to stand. Better to meet people at their level. Not seated. It puts you in a submissive position. She heard steps across the kitchen. Where Leslie was expecting the elegantly graying, seersucker-suit-wearing doctor, there came a short burly man who looked more like the guy on TV who builds motorcycles with his sons. Greying, yes, but not elegantly. Wearing scrubs. Smiling. Clearly happy to see everyone.

“Terryl, what a day! They had me working out of two rooms over there, and still, what?” He looked at his watch. “Still didn’t finish up until six. You need to give those folks a raise. They worked their asses off!”

He looked over Terryl’s shoulder, “Selma.” He greeted her with a nod.

“Hi, Doc.”

Then he turned directly to Leslie and walked over to her. “And you must be my replacement!” He extended his big hand and gave hers a big squeeze. “Hey, do they charge extra for pretty ones, Brenda?” He laughed at his own joke. Brenda just rolled her eyes.

She squeezed hard and returned the shake. Leslie hated weak handshakes. Women usually gave weak handshakes. The problem with weak handshakes is that if you’re shaking someone’s hand who gives a strong one, it rolls the metacarpal bones of the fourth and fifth fingers together and squishes the muscles and nerves in between. It hurts like hell, but if you give it right back it sort of protects you. She had learned to sense the intensity of the grip quickly and squeeze in a commensurate fashion. You lower your shoulder and bring the forearm directly forward, keeping the wrist in line with the arm. None of this dropping the wrist like the hand is to be held or turning it sideways and handing it to the gripper like a dead carp. She knew Doc could hand it to her better than she could so she prepared for the metacarpal roll. She could have expected what came next.

“Man, I like a gal with a strong handshake. I can tell you’re gonna fit right in. Don’t you think so, Brenda?”

“Of course she is.” Brenda gave her a wink.

“Leslie Cohen, Doc. Pleased to meet you too.”

“Same here.”

Brenda reminded him to go get out of his scrubs, but he was having none of it. “If y’all don’t care then neither do I.” He didn’t wait for a confirmation. “Brenda, how ‘bout some tea.” Brenda disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray of big glasses and what looked like some little bird breasts, stuffed with jalapeño peppers and wrapped up with a piece of bacon.

Now everyone was smiling, Leslie included. They were all looking at Doc Hawley, Leslie included. There was something about him. He swallowed the glass of tea in about two big gulps, made a big exhale through pursed lips and sat back in his chair. Then he reached over and gave her a gentle swat on the arm.

“Terryl here tells me you had a big wreck last night with ol’ Regan Wakeman. I’m gonna have to wring that boy’s neck. So tell us about it.” He yelled to Brenda, who had gone out to the kitchen to continue getting things ready for dinner. “Honey, leave that stuff alone and come hear this. Doc here had a wreck last night with Regan Wakeman. She’s lucky to be alive from what I hear.”

Leslie thought about being lucky to be alive and the meaning of lucky. But only for an instant. Brenda came into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Doc. Now they were all looking at Leslie, waiting for the story. She told all the details as best she could remember. They were horrified.

“My goodness, Leslie, you are lucky to be sitting here,” Brenda said, “and you’re doubly lucky, because you didn’t have to get added on to the end of Doc’s schedule today!”

Everyone laughed, like they just wanted to laugh. Leslie did too. And the idea of it was funny because patients are always worried about being on the end of the surgery schedule on a busy day. It’s natural to feel that way because most people are tired at the end of a long day of work. Not doctors. They can’t be. It would be crazy if patients who got done early in the day statistically did better than patients at the end of the day. Like a crack surgeon at seven AM but at six PM, watch out. Doctor from hell.

Some patients are also worried about being the first case in the morning. Right. Doctors suck until they’ve had two cups of coffee and a warm up case. Do the important cases at 9:30. Do homeless people and suckers at 7:00 and attorneys the last case of the day. No way. Doctors are on twenty-four-seven if that’s what it takes. They have to be one hundred percent or as close to it as is humanly possible. Coffee or no. She used to tease her patients who had the guts to question her wakefulness at seven in the morning. “I might just fall out in the middle of your case…” Leslie and Doc looked at each other and shared a fraternal moment, the knowledge of working with full intensity until the job was done. He winked at her. She smiled back.

“Leslie, I think if I had to nail your femur tonight at the end of my schedule, I would’ve just fallen asleep in the middle of the damn case.” He laughed and Brenda scolded him.

“Hal, quit that, you would not.” Hal reached over and put his thick hand on Brenda’s knee.

“Leslie, you ever had any of these?” He reached over and picked up one of the little bird breast things.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well, you gotta try one. They’re good enough to make a bull dog hug a hound.” Then he cracked up. “Brenda takes the seeds out of the peppers so they don’t kill ya. Here try one.” He picked one up with his hand and gave it to her. “Go on, you’re gonna love ‘em. By the time you leave Texas, you’re going to be addicted to hot sauce and jalapeños. Man, I’m starving. What’s for dinner, mom?”

“Your favorite. Santa Maria barbecued sirloin. Pintos. Slaw. Y’all excuse me while I go get things ready.” She got up to go to the kitchen and Leslie decided to follow her.

“Leslie, you stay put. I’ve got it.”

“I want to check out this Santa Maria sirloin.” She disobeyed and wandered into the kitchen with Brenda. Selma came too. Brenda shared her recipes for the meat, beans and slaw, just for conversation. The food smelled delicious. It appeared they were going to eat buffet style. Dishes were set out on the counter top. Everyone would just help themselves.

Conversation started to drift toward family issues and Leslie knew eventually she would be queried. She must have looked distracted because when she looked up, Brenda gave her a knowing look and then diverted the conversation back to the food.

“This beef is going to melt in your mouth. Leslie, I hope you brought an appetite with you. Hal! Terryl!” she yelled. “Come on. Everything’s ready.”

They lined up, grabbed plates, filled them up and sat down to eat in the kitchen.

“Brenda slow cooks this sirloin all day on the barbeque pit. What do you think, Leslie? Ever had a piece of meat this tender?” Leslie shook her head. No need for an answer, they were all scarfing down the food.

There are some women who can just cook and love to do it. Leslie wasn’t one of them. Chris didn’t care and the two of them either ate out, brought food home or made simple dishes, big salads and stuff like that. The kids didn’t really care either and never reached the age where they understood the consuming nature of her work and why she didn’t cook like their friends’ moms. Once Vivi announced that when she grew up she was going to be a “stay-at-home mom like Lynn.” Lynn was Vivi’s best friend’s mom and Vivi adored her. Leslie did too for that matter and often thought it would be wonderful to be married to Lynn. Vivi was a little envious of Casey’s time with her mom. As the kids got a little older they knew their mom did something important and would say, “My mommy works.” But she knew they wished she were home with them. Leslie didn’t think that her kids ever really knew what her work meant to her or to them, or to anyone for that matter. But Vivi never reached the age when all girls make the decision, even if temporary, to work outside the home.

She appreciated good cooks like Brenda and Lynn. She wondered what Lynn was doing. When Leslie left New Paltz she never looked back. She never called anyone. Not even Lynn, who took Vivi’s death as though it had been her own daughter’s. But it hadn’t been and in a strange way, Leslie resented her for it. Resented her for the life of her own daughter, for the years she had been able to stay home with her and for the future years she would be able to be with Casey. She could never bring herself around to calling Lynn and strangely Lynn never tried to reach her despite their close friendship. But then Leslie didn’t make that possible. She changed cell phone numbers, left no forwarding address. For Lynn to reach her would almost have required a private detective. During the first few months after the accident, people brought her food, tried to stay with her, and invited her out. They called her everyday. But Leslie had entered another world. It wasn’t their world. Their world was alive, progressive, optimistic, loved. Her world was not. They had nothing in common anymore. She was on the red planet and they were bound to Earth. They spoke different languages now. Pretty soon, she just stopped returning calls.

Lynn and Casey had come over to say goodbye. They had been crying and their noses were red. Mother and daughter twin red noses and swollen eyes. The similarities so apparent even through the tears. They said they would write, email, call, but Leslie knew she had already changed her cell phone number. They stood in her driveway and waved. Leslie watched them in her rear view mirror until she turned on to the main street out of her neighborhood.

“So, Doc, what d’ya think about going round with me tomorrow to see the folks in the house? Terryl here can give you that tour of the hospital and then we’ll go over to the office in the afternoon. I’ve got about twenty-five patients to see and Brenda can show you around the office too. You’re going to have to get a crash course before I leave for Lubbock Sunday night.”

“I’d like that. I was planning on it anyway.” She was. She had absolutely no other plans and was ready to get to work. Even having a meal, friendly conversation, social interaction, was causing her to think too much of the past. Seeing patients would occupy her mind. Twenty-five patients. It was a lot. That worked for her. The evening wound down and there was no talk about her past, not even about medical school or residency. They all probably knew. She was suspicious because everyone focused on the practice, the hospital and Doc. Maybe she was self-centered. Why should they talk about her? Doc Hawley was undergoing an important change in his life, in their life. Everything could change. Maybe he couldn’t even return to his practice. She could see he and his wife were devoted to each other. What would happen if he got really sick, which was a possibility? Why should they talk about her?

They treated Leslie like an old friend. Not like a guest. There were no moments of uncomfortable silence. They reached across her to get the salt or pepper. Doc didn’t hold back on being politically incorrect if he wanted and Brenda didn’t scold him if he did. They questioned her openly about being a female orthopedic surgeon and how they hadn’t ever known one personally, even though they had heard of them. By the time she got into her car to drive home, she was happy she had not begged out on the evening.

“Welcome home, doctor. Will you be needing a call to wake up in the morning?”

She thought about it for a second. Her internal clock was off this morning, and she had eaten a large meal, late. Better not take a chance.

“Yes, please. How about six.”

“Six o’clock, it is. Goodnight.”