At the Scent of Water (11 page)

It was white, and the front porch was covered with the newly awakened wisteria vine. Hysteria vine, Kirby called it, and Annie smiled. A tricycle and a few pathetic-looking toys were scattered across Kirby’s lawn where they had probably lain since last summer. The mailbox attached to the faded picket fence was an orca whale.
Johansen
was painted on crookedly.

It took two trips to bring in all the food. She had arrived a little early, as requested. The house was a disaster with toys and messy children everywhere, and Annie loved it. She sat down and let Andrew, Kirby’s six-year-old, show her his video game. She took a turn, and her character died immediately. Joni, four, was dressing and undressing her long-suffering doll. The baby chewed happily on a moist stuffed lamb.

“Help me,” Suzanne asked simply, handing Annie the plump, drooling baby. Annie murmured a greeting, kissed the fat cheek, and went to work removing the remains of her last meal with a warm washcloth, diapering and dressing, her heart feeling as if it had been asleep and was coming painfully awake.

She decided to give her presents before the rest of the guests came, and the right time arrived after their work was done and the three of them stood in the kitchen, the children temporarily occupied.

“I hate to see you go,” Suzanne said, and Annie looked at her and felt a sudden pang of grief. Suzanne might have been a friend if she had cared to let her become one.

“I have something for you,” Annie said. The three of them went into the living room, and she found the bag that contained the presents.

“These are for the kids,” she said, handing Kirby the toys she had picked out for his children.

“This is for you, Suzanne.”

She watched with pleasure as Suzanne unwrapped the package and her eyes widened when she saw the handcrafted earrings Annie had bought for her. They were lapis and complemented her dark hair and eyes.

“And this is for you, Kirb.”

Kirby smiled and unwrapped the pipe and tobacco. Suzanne groaned.

“It’s for work,” Annie put in, “so you can command a little more respect.”

“Thanks,” he said simply. He didn’t make a smart remark or tease her. She wished he would.

“We got you something, too,” Suzanne said.

Annie took the envelope Suzanne handed her and opened it. It was a gift certificate to a yarn shop in Santa Monica. She blinked and wondered how they had known.

“You mentioned it one time,” Kirby said. “That you liked to knit. I did a search and bought it online. I thought you might want a project since you have some time to kill.”

Her throat felt tight. It was a thoughtful, kind gift. They had known what she would like. They had known her.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I like this very much.”

“We knew you would,” Suzanne said, smiling.

Nine

By the time Sam finished his last procedure, it was nearly nine o’clock in the evening. He was awfully tired for it to be only Monday, but actually, now that he thought about it, lately he felt this way every day. He showered and dressed, then sat in the doctors’ lounge and stared at the wall for a while. He became aware that he was hungry. He tried to remember what he had eaten today and couldn’t think of anything after breakfast. No. Wait. Izzy had brought him a cheeseburger and fries in between the truncus repair and the Norwood. He checked his watch. He sat awhile longer, even the effort of rising seeming to be too much.

Finally he rose to his feet and went back to his office. The waiting room was tidy and empty. Even Izzy had gone home. He walked past the quiet phone banks. He went past the empty nurses’ stations where the phones were finally silent. Barney was on call tonight, but that didn’t mean Sam wouldn’t be paged. He went past the darkened exam rooms toward his office.

“Sam!”

He startled and turned, his adrenaline surging. It was Barney, smiling and sauntering, and Sam breathed in and out. No emergency. Just Barney. He was an odd duck, and normally Sam would have smiled just looking at him. He was one of the most able pediatric heart surgeons in the country, if not the world, yet he had all the sophistication and style of Columbo. Today he wore green khakis, a blue striped shirt, and dark brown suspenders and shoes. His brown hair was thinning, yet he parted it far down on the side as he always had. In another year it would qualify as a comb-over. He had been kindly supportive, and though he drove himself to excellence in his practice, he seemed free from the dark side of ambition. He had mentored Sam until Sam’s skill and knowledge surpassed his own, then he had humbled himself and taken a place alongside. He and Sam had practiced together with three other doctors for six years now. Barney had been a good friend, Sam reminded himself, but for a flashing moment Sam envied and despised his relaxation, his calm.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked. “I thought you’d be home having roast beef and mashed potatoes with the kids.”

Barney smiled and let the barb deflect. Sam felt ashamed. It was envy that had made him throw it, pure and simple.

“Got a minute?” Barney asked, and Sam felt a rumble of foreboding.

“Sure.”

Barney cocked his head down the hallway, and Sam followed his partner to his office. The coffee was on, and it smelled good. Barney poured him a cup without asking and gestured toward the table. There was a sandwich and an apple there. Cafeteria fare, but it looked good.

“I thought maybe you hadn’t had a chance to eat.”

“Thanks.” Well, if he hadn’t known it before, he knew it now. This was a meeting with an agenda. But he was hungry, so he sat down and unwrapped the sandwich, took a bite and washed it down with a drink of Barney’s strong coffee. A few more bites and one half was gone. Barney watched, sipping his own coffee.

“Okay,” Sam said when he was done with the other half. “What’s on your mind?”

“More coffee?”

“No thank you.”

Barney shrugged and smiled again. “How are you, Sam?”

Sam stared. “Surely you didn’t wait around to ask me that.”

“Actually, I did.”

His partner’s eyes were friendly, but there was a pointedness to his tone that let Sam know he wasn’t going to get away with fuzzy generalities.

“I’m all right.”

“Are you?”

“Sure.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

Barney sighed. “Sam, things could be different for you if you choose.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, we could bring in another partner,” Barney said, and Sam felt something in him relax now that the topic of conversation was clarified. “There’s Nathan Epstein over at Cleveland,” he continued. “I think we could woo him away, and then we could all do something other than just be surgeons. Think about it, Sam.”

“I have thought about it,” he answered quickly. “Things are already complicated enough in this partnership.” There were five of them, and their meetings were the bane of his life. He hated all the jockeying for preeminence, and he didn’t like to think about billing practices and pension funds. Bringing in someone else would further snarl what was already a tangled mess. A plaintive voice in his mind that sounded suspiciously like Annie’s asked him if that was the real reason. If perhaps he would drop down to second string were Nathan Epstein to join them.

Barney sighed. “We’re concerned about you, Sam. I’m coming to you with those concerns as I would want you to do for me were our positions reversed.”

Sam bristled and frowned. He didn’t like the idea of being the topic of concerned conversation. “I appreciate that, but you needn’t worry about me.”

“Think about it,” Barney said as Sam stood to leave. “That’s all I ask.”

“Sure,” he answered. “Thanks for the food.”

Barney nodded and Sam left. He went back to his own office, switched on the light, and went to his desk. At least two hours’ work awaited him, but the conversation with Barney had strung him tight. His eyes flickered down to the picture of the two of them still on his desk. He looked at her honest, sweet face, her beautiful eyes, the frank, engaging smile, and the tumble of shiny red hair. He stared for a moment, then forced his eyes away. He ran his hands through his hair, rubbed his eyes, and took a few good, deep breaths of air.

He swiveled his chair around and examined the room. His diplomas and certifications covered the walls, edges neatly aligned a uniform six inches apart. The plants were pruned and freshly watered, thanks to Izzy. His cardiology and surgery textbooks and journals were arranged on the shelves according to subcategory. Computer, credenza, filing cabinet—all were orderly and arranged. There was a small bulletin board behind the desk covered with pictures from grateful patients. Smiling babies with pink cheeks. Toddlers sitting on Santa’s lap. Elementary age children playing soccer, playing the violin, holding younger siblings. Healthy. Smiling. “Because of you, Dr. Truelove,” they all affirmed. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Izzy kept the board for him, discreetly removing the pictures of the ones who had died.

He picked up the telephone. There were twenty-two saved messages, and in front of him was a stack of pink message slips, a higher stack of files to be reviewed by tomorrow. That wicked, tense weariness returned, that anger laced with exhaustion. That hopeless sense that his abilities were not enough to stem the ever-surging tide of need. He realized with a jolt of shock that he did not want to add a partner. He wanted to quit. Just quit. Walk away.

He began to work, his effort eating through the stack of paper.
And what would you do?
a voice asked him. And that’s where it had always ended before now, for truth be told, he couldn’t imagine himself doing anything else. He had devoted so much of his life to reaching this point, he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But now, for the first time that rationale didn’t seem enough. Lack of imagination suddenly didn’t seem a powerful enough fuel to propel him through another year. Another month, week, day. Hour.

There was another reason that had kept him here, as well: The belief that he had an obligation to surrender his talents to the world. He wanted to laugh at that now, and his head somehow found its way into his hands. His talents seemed as if they’d been loaned and were being reclaimed a fraction at a time.

After a few long minutes he turned and examined the wall behind him. There was his Bachelor of Science degree from Duke. His MD degree from Johns Hopkins. There in the file cabinet was the research he’d done on intramural coronary arteries in transposition of the great arteries defects. His certification as Director of Pediatric Cardiac Surgery at Good Samaritan’s Children’s Hospital of Knoxville. His Executive Committee membership on the Congress of Cardiac Surgeons and the American Society of Pediatric Cardiac Surgeons. A shelf full of journals containing papers he had written.

“I consider them rubbish,” he said aloud. The words echoed in the empty room, and he tried to remember the rest of that biblical quote. There it was, retrieved from the archives of memory, and when it came to him he gave a silent, humorless exhalation.

“That I may gain Christ,” he finished quietly, and although he knew at one time he had understood the phrase, tonight it made no sense to him at all.

After sitting for a while longer, he roused himself, made a last check of his office, gathered his briefcase and tomorrow’s files. He finally left, threading through the streets of Knoxville, and pulled into the parking garage of his apartment. He turned off the engine, then startled violently when someone knocked on the window of his car.

His heart raced. He had read just last week that a lawyer in the next apartment building had been gunned down for the two hundred dollars in his wallet and his Rolex. Sam wore a Timex, but for just a moment he wondered if his time had come, and he was surprised to realize that in spite of his clenched fists and racing heart, he didn’t really mind. In fact, as he turned his face he was a little disappointed to find a paunchy, middle-aged man, and if truth be told, he was the one who looked afraid. Sam pressed the button to lower the window.

“Can I help you?”

“Dr. Samuel Truelove?”

Sam nodded.

“This is for you.” He thrust a legal-sized envelope at Sam, then turned and almost ran away before Sam could speak.

Sam didn’t look inside. He walked heavily to the elevator, rode it up, then went inside his apartment. He poured himself a glass of water, then sat and looked at the envelope. The telephone rang. He ignored it.

He finally opened it up, then stared for a long while at the sheaf of papers. He picked up the handwritten note she had sent, probably in direct violation of her attorney’s directions, but then, his wife had been nothing if not headstrong.

Dear Sam,
she wrote,
I wish things hadn’t come to this, but I suppose it is time. I wish you all the best. Annie
.

His eyes filled. Dried. Then filled again. He read and reread the petition for divorce, filed in the Superior Court of King County, Washington, due to the fact that his marriage was irretrievably broken.

He didn’t know how long he sat there. Just that both his cell and wall phones rang several times. Finally he answered, wondering who had crashed, what emergency would propel him back to the hospital tonight. The number wasn’t familiar and neither was the voice he heard, out of context as it was.

“Sam, it’s Melvin. Melvin Wakefield.”

It took him a moment to place his attorney. Sam frowned, not understanding what would prompt a call this late.

“Have you seen the news?” Melvin demanded.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“Have you been watching the news?”

“No. I’ve been in surgery all day.”

“Turn on CNN. Quickly.”

Sam looked around for the remote and finally found it. His mouth went dry as he watched. There, behind the pretty blond anchorwoman, was a picture of Kelly Bright as a bright-eyed eleven-year-old, then another, more recent photo, taken in the nursing home as she wasted away in her bed.

“A judge has granted the father’s petition to have the feeding tube removed,” Melvin said grimly. “They’ve taken it out, but the mother’s fighting it. The governor and the legislature are involved. The president’s made a statement. This is big, Sam. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“All right,” he said, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything more to say, though Melvin continued to talk. The wall phone rang. He checked the caller ID. His brother’s number. He let it go to the machine. He flipped back through the previous calls and recognized familiar numbers: Barney, his mother, Carl Dalton, his sister, his brother, four or five he didn’t recognize. He sat down on the kitchen chair.

“Sam, are you there?” His lawyer’s voice buzzed at him from the phone he still held in his hand.

“I’m here,” he answered.

“You’re going to have to make some kind of statement. The press have already tracked me down. They’ll be camped on your doorstep soon, if they’re not already. Your name’s been mentioned on several of the newscasts. It’ll be all over the papers tomorrow.”

The wall phone rang again. The call-waiting feature clicked on the cell phone, interrupting his attorney’s voice. “Melvin, I have to go. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“You can’t ignore this, Sam,” Melvin warned. “You have to deal with it, or it will eat you alive.”

He murmured something back and hung up the cell, then turned it off, as well as the ringer of the wall phone. He muted the television, but the anchorwoman talked on, her mouth moving with no sound coming out, the picture of pretty little Kelly Bright centered behind her.