Count on Me (Bayview Heights Trilogy) (30 page)

 How can I read mine?
she thought as she distributed the envelopes. But she’d never cheat the kids by asking them to do something she wasn’t willing to do herself.

Hers was the last. With shaking hands she took it to the back of the room and opened it up slowly.

 Dear Kurt.

Just reading the salutation hurt. How could she possibly have lost him?
Read it, Zoe. Just read it and get it over with.

What would I tell you if I had twenty-four hours to live? I’d tell you that I love you, more than I’ve ever loved a man. I’d tell you that I’m sorry we lost so much time together. I’d tell you that I wish I had fought for you back when you reconciled with Elizabeth. I’d
like
to tell you that I forgive you. But I haven’t. To use the kids’ phrase, doesn’t that suck? That I have only twenty-four hours to live and I can’t forgive the man I love?

I need to get over this. I need to work at forgiveness and peace. How can I do that, though? By spending time with you? It hurts just to see you. By talking this out? Maybe we should have an honest conversation with each other. Maybe I need counseling...

Because her eyes filled with tears, Zoe stopped reading. Oh, God, she’d known back in October what she’d needed to do, and she hadn’t done it. Eventually she and Kurt had talked about the breakup, but she hadn’t gone for counseling until it was too late.

After Erica’s incident, Zoe
did
see Madelyn Foxborough, a therapist from the city that Louise had recommended. Zoe had talked through her guilt over Erica, but they’d also discussed Kurt. It had helped.

But it had been too late.

She looked up when the door opened, surprised to see the kids were in groups, discussing their letters.

Alex Ransom stood in the entrance, young and handsome as ever. Zoe had heard he’d started dating the new social studies teacher. “I’ve got a visitor for you,” he said, smiling.

Erica stepped into the classroom. No longer as thin as she’d been, or as sad, she looked young and innocent in jeans and a simple BVH sweatshirt. She smiled at the class. “Is it okay if I come in to say goodbye?”

Several kids got up and rushed to her. Not only Caufield’s Chicks, but others, like Madison and Dan Caruso. The thirteen kids left in this class had become tight.

“Hey, aren’t you coming tomorrow for the party?” Rachel asked.

The party tomorrow! Zoe rolled her eyes. She knew these kids so well.

And despite what had happened, she loved them— and teaching—every bit as much as she ever had. Perhaps more.

o0o

ERICA WATCHED as Ms. Caufield tried to pull herself together. The letter she’d been reading and stuffed in her pocket had made her cry. It was hard to witness, knowing that Erica herself had been responsible for mega tears on everybody’s part. But she was done with that. Completely done.

“Ms. C?”

The teacher smiled bravely and came toward her. They hugged, and the class visited until the bell rang.

“Can you stay a minute?” Ms. C asked.

“Sure I can stay. My dad’s picking me up at three-thirty.”

“It’s going well with him?” Ms. C sat down at a table.

Erica rolled her eyes. “Didn’t I tell you the latest?”

Ms. C shook her head.

“He’s running for the school board. He wants to keep in place some good programs we have here.”

“We can use an advocate.” Ms. C smiled. “So, you ready to come back next week?”

“Yeah, I can’t wait to be in class again. I got credit for most of my first semester courses because of the tutoring, even phys ed for the kick-boxing classes I took at the rehab.”

“I’m glad, honey.” Again the fake smile. “So everything’s back on track.”

“Well, I’m not going to be valedictorian.” She shrugged. “But I
will
graduate with my class.” Sighing, she gave Ms. C. a wise-in-the-ways-of-the-world smile. “And no Georgetown, of course.”

“I’m sorry you didn’t get in.”

“It wasn’t the place for me. My dad and Dr. Lansing wanted to pull some strings, but I wouldn’t let them.” She sat up straighter. “I’m going to take courses at Columbia until I decide what I really want to do. Shondra’s mega jealous.”

“Because Johnny’s there?”

“Uh-huh.”

She noticed Ms. C didn’t react to her comment about Dr. Lansing. As she’d learned in therapy, she was going to have to take the bull by the horns. “I hear from Dr. Lansing at least once or twice a week.”

Ms. C’s jaw dropped. This was something Erica had kept from her. “Really?

“Uh-huh. We’ve become e-mail buddies.” Erica cocked her head. “He’s a good writer.”

“Is he?” Ms. C cleared her throat.

“Yep. His letters have really helped me come to terms with everything that happened. We talk a lot about forgiving. You know, like forgiving yourself and each other.”

“Oh, Erica, I hope he’s forgiven himself for what happened.” Ms. C’s voice was passionate.

“Have you?” Erica asked the woman she loved like a mother.

Ms. C reached out and squeezed Erica’s hand. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good. Because it wasn’t your fault. I did everything I could to hide my habit from you. And I got myself into the drugs and let myself get messed up.”

“The pressure was too much.”

“Uh-huh. It was.” She raised her chin and grinned. “But I got myself out of it, too.”

“I know you did, honey.”

Erica checked the clock. “Well, Dad’s meeting me out front. I’d better go.” She stood. “We still on for the movies Friday?”

“You bet.”

Erica hugged Ms. C. Damn. This just wasn’t right. But she turned to leave, anyway. You could only help people so much, and she’d been giving the pair of them her best shot.

When she got to the door, she heard Ms. C call out, “Erica?”

She pivoted.

“You didn’t answer me. Has Dr. Lansing forgiven himself?”

Hmm, maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. And maybe they needed a little nudge. Dr. Sheffield said nudges and interfering were different things. “I think he’s almost there. But he could probably use a push.”

“Your e-mails help, I’m sure.” Ms. C had stuck her hands in her pockets.

“My e-mails aren’t enough.” She smiled. “See ya Friday.”

o0o

FEBRUARY BLEW into New York with typical midwinter vengeance. Having dealt with the heat and humidity of Puerto Rico for two months, Kurt pulled his wool coat closer around him as he made his way from his car into his office. The whipping wind stung his cheeks, and a few flakes of snow landed on his face. Hesitating only briefly at the door, he unlocked it and stepped into the memories. For a minute all he saw was Erica, holding the gun. Then he felt the impact of the bullet. He smelled the sickening scent of the blood seeping through his fingers to stain the floor. He looked down. New carpet. Louise had told him she’d had it installed. He was thankful for that.

Louise had told him a lot of things in the frequent phone calls they’d exchanged during the six weeks she’d been running the newly opened clinic.
We’re fine but we need you...You can’t stay in Puerto Rico forever...I never knew you to run away, Kurt.

Coming inside, he peeled off his overcoat and shrugged into the white lab coat hanging on a hook near the door. His brother had been a lot less kind than Louise when he’d come down to visit at Christmas...

“What is this, some form of self-flagellation?” They’d been in the modest—well, actually, stark—little apartment one of the doctors had found for Kurt. In truth, Kurt hadn’t cared a whit about his surroundings. He spent most of his time at the clinic.

“It’s fine for me.”

Mitch was persistent. “How long are you going to be in exile?”

“I’m not in exile.” Kurt had stood and gone to the tiny fridge for a beer. “I need time to think.”

“You’ve had time to think”

His nerves taut, his temper frayed, he whirled around. “Back off, Mitch.”

“Not on your life. People need you in Bayview.”

“You have your family.”

Mitch had sworn then, vilely, and Kurt had tried to mollify him with a beer.

“I’ll be back soon. I promise. I need more time.”

His brother had played his trump card. “Zoe’s sad. All the time. Just like when you went back to Elizabeth.”

“I can’t see her, Mitch. Not now. I just can’t...”

Ironically it had been Erica who’d worn him down. As Kurt sat at his desk and found his calendar, he thought about the girl’s tactics. At first her e-mails had been newsy—what was happening in rehab and with her father and at school; he’d responded with stories about the new clinic. Then her posts had gotten philosophical about life. She’d started ending each of her letters with one of the “quotes for the day” her therapist used in rehab. But that wasn’t as bad as when she started to fill him in on Zoe—what she was doing, how she was faring. He’d asked her gently not to write about her teacher, but Erica ignored him.

As Kurt pulled out monthly report folders, he recalled some of Erica’s specific e-mails. Subtlety wasn’t her strong suit...

“I saw Ms. C tonight,” she’d written. “We went to the movies. She’s lost a little weight. I don’t think she needed to, do you?” Erica had ended that post with “The three essentials of happiness are: Something to do. Something to love. Something to hope for. I’m gonna get all three, Dr. L. What about you?”

Kurt remembered shrugging off her question and thinking about Zoe losing weight. Every inch of her was perfect. He hoped she didn’t get skinny That night he’d begun dreaming about her—the smell of her just after a shower, the feel of her skin when he touched her and how he always raised gooseflesh... what she sounded like when he made love to her.

Eventually he’d started heading right for his computer each day when he got to work to see what news Erica had about Zoe...

“I went back to school today. Ms. C had lunch with me. She asked about you. The only time her eyes light up is when she talks about you. Our quote today was ‘Life consists not in holding good cards, but in playing well those cards you do hold.’ What kind of gambler are you, Dr. L?” Erica had asked.

Kurt had spent that entire night wrestling with the bedcovers, remembering how Zoe’s eyes had clouded with desire when he was inside her.

The e-mails continued, getting more and more pushy. “Mr. Ransom has a new girlfriend, but we got this hunk of a substitute teacher who moons over Ms. C like Rad Ransom used to. You know, she’s really a catch. I saw her laughing in the hall with the new guy. He looks like Brad Pitt.” Erica’s quote for that day was also pointed. “Nothing is gained without risk. You can’t make the basket if you don’t take the shot.’” She’d ended with “I know you’re a pretty good b-ball player, Dr. L.”

Kurt had heard Zoe’s laugh for a full day after that, every time he turned a corner.

And so he’d come back. It was time to play his cards, take his shots--hell, the metaphors all said the same thing. He was ready to get on with his life.

He’d told Louise he was returning, of course. And Mitch. But no one else. And he’d purposely come back when Zoe was in Antigua for winter break, so he could get his bearings and work up the courage to face her. But the thought of her in a bikini and all those single guys on the make in the tropical playland bothered the hell out of him.

A knock on his door.

“Come in,” he’d said evenly.

Louise poked her head in the office. “Welcome back.”

“Thanks.”

“You look good with the tan, but tired.”

“How are things here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Frantic already. And it isn’t even noon.”

“I can help.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. I told Johnny to let you know what you can do.”

He smiled.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“Thanks. It’s good to be here. Leave the door open, would you?”

Kurt had just started making notes on the monthly reports when Johnny appeared in the doorway. Kurt stood and Johnny gave him a big hug. Kurt had missed a lot of people when he was away.

Johnny said, “I wish we had time to catch up, but there’s a patient you should see. Dr. Frank is busy with an emergency and I can’t do this one.” He held up a chart. “A woman with chest pains.”

Kurt grabbed his stethoscope and other instruments from his drawer. “Serious?”

“Don’t know. She’s been having them for a while.” He shrugged. “You know how people are. They don’t do what’s best for them, and they wait until things get so bad they can’t stand it.”

Kurt stared at Johnny’s back as he followed him out the door. Something about the flicker in his eyes reminded Kurt of when Johnny was a street kid...But the boy was heading down the hall, chart in hand. It wasn’t until they reached the examining room that Kurt said, “Johnny, I need to see the chart.”

“What? Oh, sorry. We’re swamped. And I was up late studying.” He nodded to the door. “Think you could do this on your own? Dr. Frank asked for my help.”

“Yeah sure, but send in a nurse.” Kurt shooed him away.

“Glad to have you back, Kurt,” Johnny called over his shoulder, again a strange note in his voice. Humorous, almost.

Shaking his head, Kurt studied the chart. Forty-one-year-old woman. Chest pains for weeks. He checked the name. Johnny’s scribble was worse than usual. He couldn’t decipher it. Jeez, it looked like nobody had even taken her vitals. Knocking briefly on the door, he was still staring at the chart when he stepped inside. “Good morning,” he said, taking out a pen. “It seems I can’t read your na—” Then he looked up.

Seated on the examining table, dressed in a faded hospital gown that skimmed her thighs, was Zoe. Behind her, the fickle February weather changed dramatically, and the sun made a rare appearance and streamed in the window, bathing her in its warm glow. In that moment he knew in his heart that she was the love of his life.

Shoulders back, she cocked her head. “Good morning, Doctor.” Her eyes devoured him, as his did her. She
did
look a little thin, but so good he was immobilized for a minute.

Finally he said, “Good morning. What can I do for you?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m, um, not feeling well,” she said softly. “I really need your attention.”