Dorothy Garlock - [Tucker Family] (14 page)

“You
won’t
do it.” Christina shook her head. “It’s bad enough that you’re lying to your family about never leaving your room, but it’s worse that you insist on lying to
yourself
about the reasons why.”

“
This
,” Holden snapped, holding up his left arm, the one that had shaken with tremors when she’d been in his room, “is why I can’t!”

“You can get better!”

“No, I can’t!”

“It only takes time. Trust me, it can be done.”

“Not for me.”

“If that’s what you believe, then you’ve failed before you’ve even started.”

During her time at the Army hospital, Christina had met soldiers who made the same arguments as Holden. Unfortunately, some of them never managed to escape the crippling fears brought on by their injuries. Others were able to break through their depression on their own, while still others needed a push.

She hoped Holden was one of those who needed just a little help.

“I can’t go back to my old life. With my…with my…
tremors
…,” he said as if the word was a curse on his lips, “I don’t know when I’ll be overcome. It could happen anytime, anywhere. I…I don’t…I
can’t
let anyone see…”

“
I
saw them,” Christina said.

Holden nodded grimly. “You did,” he said, “but I wish you hadn’t.”

“I don’t think any less of you for having seen them. They’re not a sign of weakness.”

“That’s because you never knew me before,” Holden explained.

“Then move away from here,” Christina suggested. “Go someplace where no one would know you and start again.”

“I could never do that…”

“Tell me why.”

Holden gave no answer.

Christina refused to let her argument rest. “If you choose not to go somewhere you won’t be known, then your choice
has
to be to stay here and get over what has happened to you. You said it yourself: the alternative would drive you crazy.”

For a long while, Holden still didn’t reply, but Christina could see that he was thinking about what she’d said. When he finally spoke, his voice was as soft as a whisper. “How…how would…I even begin…?”

“You need to tell someone what happened,” she said. “You need to unburden yourself by talking about what happened to you during the war.”

“Who would listen?”

“You could tell your brother,” Christina suggested. “Tyler would listen to anything you had to say.”

At the mention of his brother’s name, Holden stiffened. He looked away, his face a mask of confusion. “I…I couldn’t…”

“You
could
,” she encouraged him, stepping closer, wanting to place her hand on his shoulder but not daring to, not yet. “Back when I worked at the Army hospital, many of the servicemen I cared for were encouraged to confide in someone. That way, by letting out what they held inside, they’d no longer carry their burdens alone. Tyler could be that person for you. From what he’s told me about your relationship as brothers, he’d be willing to do
whatever it took
to help you, I’m certain of it. You just have to give him a chance.”

The whole time she had been talking, Holden had looked away, but now, when he finally returned her gaze, the look in his eyes was pleading and intense.

“I would rather confide in you,” he said.

Christina gasped. Until that moment, Holden Sutter had largely been unfriendly, unquestionably rude, and spiteful enough to make her never want to see his face ever again. That he could say such a thing to her was a shock that she struggled to absorb. Replying seemed impossible.

“You would want…to tell
me
…,” she finally managed.

“If…
if
I decided I wanted to talk,” he answered, “I would…”

“Why me?”

“Because you’re used to dealing with this sort of thing,” Holden explained. “You’re also not a member of my family and you would never tiptoe around me like my mother does. Besides, I think that you’re—” But he immediately fell silent.

“I’m what?” Christina asked.

Holden turned away from her, looking even more uncomfortable. Suddenly, unexpectedly, he turned back and stepped close, taking her hands in his own and looking down into her eyes with so much intensity that it was now Christina’s turn to look away briefly, then back to the man looming over her.

Instantly, she thought of how Tyler had rushed forward and grabbed her the night he’d followed her in his car. She’d been bruised by how forcefully he’d held her; Holden’s tenderness was just the opposite. At that moment, beneath a streetlight, in the middle of the night, Christina noticed not for the first time that Holden was a handsome man in his own right; though undeniably different in appearance from his brother and more than a bit disheveled, he
was
attractive; with his longer hair, piercing dark eyes, and rugged features she knew that there had undoubtedly been a time when he’d turned women’s heads.

And that he could do so again.

“Promise me one thing,” he said softly.

“What?” she answered breathlessly.

“Don’t tell anyone in my family about having seen me tonight. If I’m going to do this…if
we’re
going to do this, it should remain between us.”

“I’ll agree if you answer one question.”

“Just ask.”

“Why were you outside my apartment in the middle of the night?”

Holden suddenly released her hands.

She saw the tremor start to shake up the length of Holden’s arm; it started at his wrist, running to his elbow and then to his shoulder. A look of panic immediately filled his eyes. Before she could say a word, could offer whatever help she could give, Holden turned and ran, his feet pounding on the sidewalk, and soon he disappeared into the night.

This time, she didn’t follow.

“M
ORNING,” DR. BARLOW GROWLED
when he finally arrived at the clinic, almost half an hour later than expected. Most of the seats in the waiting room were already filled with patients, many of whom looked up when he came in the door; Christina saw several frown at the sight of him.

Samuel Barlow was a mess. While his clothing wasn’t as untidy as it had been the previous morning, it wasn’t particularly presentable, either; a dark stain dribbled down one leg of his wrinkled pants, and he’d missed a button on his shirt when dressing. In one hand he held a mug of coffee, while the other shielded his eyes from the morning sunlight.

But it was his face that truly spoke of his poor condition. Dark circles underlined his bloodshot eyes. His skin was ashen in color, a particularly sickly pall. Tufts of his hair stood up at odd angles, as if he’d had a rough night of sleep, or had tried to pull it out in fistfuls. Christina knew that
she
didn’t look her best that morning, after chasing Holden around town in the middle of the night, but she looked like a peach in comparison; only a blind man wouldn’t have noticed that the doctor was hungover.

“Are you feelin’ all right, Dr. Barlow?” Callie asked; Christina couldn’t tell if Callie was asking because she had
no idea
of the cause of his suffering or because she knew
exactly
what was wrong.

“I’ll be fine,” he muttered as he went through the waiting room and down the hallway to his private office.

“Give us a moment before we get started with the patients,” Christina told Callie as she hurried after him.

Reaching the doorway to his office, Christina saw evidence that Dr. Barlow must not be entirely steady on his feet; just inside the door, several stacks of his books had been tipped over, cascading all over the floor. Somehow, he had managed to make it behind his desk and into his chair. The light had been left off, so Christina purposefully flipped it on.

“Please turn that off.” The doctor winced, still shielding his eyes.

“If you’re not in any shape to see patients, then you shouldn’t be here,” she snapped, angry that he would show up to work in such a sorry state. “I may not be capable of treating everyone, but I could—”

“I said that I’ll be fine and I meant it,” Dr. Barlow cut her off. “Let me finish my coffee and then we can begin.”

Christina took a deep breath. “I know that I’m new here and that it’s not my place to say anything, but I
cannot believe
that you would inject yourself again
after
I’d left. Hadn’t you had enough?”

“I swear to you, Christina, I did no such thing,” he protested, weakly raising his eyes to look at her; dark circles underlined his bloodshot eyes, making it obvious that he wasn’t feeling well. “But sometimes I go too damn far…take too much…I was up half the night, woke up a mess.”

Though she was still skeptical, Christina had to grudgingly admit that she didn’t know what the aftermath of a morphine binge really was. Her memories of the soldiers she’d cared for who had gone into withdrawal were few, made up mostly of ashen faces and sweaty brows. But for someone who’d taken the drug for as long as Dr. Barlow seemed to have done, imagining the consequences of stopping was much more difficult. As for herself, she’d never had the urge to so much as drink, having only the occasional sip with friends. Understanding what he was going through was difficult.

“If you’re not feeling well, then you shouldn’t be here,” she repeated in a tone that wasn’t as confrontational.

“Poppycock,” Dr. Barlow groused. “There are people that need me.”

“But they need you with your wits about you.”

“I have them, don’t you worry. Besides,” he smiled weakly, “if I’m here, then I won’t have the chance to do anything as stupid as I did yesterday, will I?”

Christina had no answer.

“Give me a minute to get myself together and then have Callie send Mrs. Hutchinson into the examination room.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t give up on me just yet.”

Against her better judgment, Christina did as she was told.

Most of the morning was spent treating patients. True to his word, Dr. Barlow saw every one of them; thankfully, nearly all of their ailments required routine assistance. The doctor lanced the boil of a housewife who was so frightened by the instruments he was using on her foot that she covered her eyes for fear of fainting. He changed the dressing on a burn that a mechanic for one of the orchards had received from an unruly truck engine. Dr. Barlow even listened patiently as an elderly man described the way his arthritis made it next to impossible for him to open his mail.

The only real trouble came when Margaret Madison brought her uncontrollable twin sons, Jimmy and John, to receive their immunization shots. The two boys, age five, were
far
from cooperative. From the moment they arrived, the office was filled with one hysterical crying fit after another. The very second that one of them finally calmed down, the other started up; the unfortunate result was utter chaos.

“Jimmy, stop hitting your brother,” Mrs. Madison ordered.

In response, Jimmy did as he was told, choosing to
pinch
John instead, starting his brother screaming so loud that it seemed to shake the rafters.

Christina could see the effect all of the commotion was having on Dr. Barlow; listening to the boys was like having an air-raid siren pressed against his ear. It was all he could do to get the needles in.

The instant he had depressed the final plunger, he turned to Christina and said, “I’ll let you finish up,” and was out the door, retreating to his office.

Left to fend for herself, Christina came to the quick conclusion that bribery was her best defense. “All right, boys,” she said, giving the Madison twins her biggest, brightest smile. “Let’s play a game, shall we? Whoever can stay quiet for the longest is going to get a lollipop when we’re finished. Now, who’s interested?” Immediately, all of the tears dried up and the whimpering came to an end, allowing her to apply their bandages in peace and quiet.

When lunchtime rolled around, Christina went to ask Dr. Barlow if he’d like to come with her to the diner, but she found him with the light to his office off and his head down on his desk, snoring loudly.

“Should I wake him?” she asked Callie back in the waiting room.

“With how he looked when he come through that door this mornin’,” she smiled, “I’d say that he needs as much sleep as he can get.”

Christina wasn’t sure how to reply. There was no telling if Callie suspected that Dr. Barlow was using morphine; Christina had already chosen not to say anything about yesterday when she’d arrived that morning. The last thing she wanted was to cause problems between the doctor and Callie, but Christina couldn’t stop thinking about the responsibilities they had to their patients. The more she thought about it, the less she felt there was a choice to make.

“Does he…does Dr. Barlow often come to work…sick…?” she asked tentatively.

“Are you askin’ me ’bout his takin’ morphine?” Callie answered.

Christina relaxed, but only a little; clearly, Callie knew
exactly
what was going on, which was, in itself, unsettling. “Is it something that happens often?”

“Usually it ain’t this big a deal,” she explained. “Days like today come few and far between. Most times it strikes me as bein’ harmless. He manages to pull himself together and ain’t quite as grouchy as he is today, but occasionally there’re times when he takes a bit too much. Yesterday must have been one of
those
, but I reckon you already know that…”

“I’m afraid so,” Christina said.

Because she no longer had to tiptoe around the issue of Dr. Barlow’s drug problem, Christina decided to tell Callie everything that’d happened when she’d gone to his home. Through it all, she was careful to keep her voice down in case the doctor revived enough to hear what was being said. Callie nodded often.

“That seems about right.” Callie shrugged.

“You don’t sound all that concerned,” Christina said, surprised.

“Don’t think that I ain’t worried about him,” Callie explained, “because I most certainly am; it’s just that he’s usually not this bad, and on those rare occasions when he is, there ain’t never been any real problem come of it.”

“But that doesn’t mean that one
won’t
.”

“I know, but—”

“What happens when someone walks through that door who really needs his help and he can’t provide it?” Christina argued, her passion rising. “If something terrible were to happen, could you live with that?”

“I don’t want any such thing,” Callie said, “but after all that the doctor has done for me and mine, it ain’t my business to get involved. Besides, he
is
a good man. He’s a regular at church, kind to most everyone who walks through that door, and ain’t never passed judgment on the folks of this town. Nothin’ more could be expected.”

“A doctor shouldn’t be taking morphine.”

“I agree, but whatever reason he has, well, that’s
his
burden to carry.”

“I don’t know if I can stay silent,” Christina admitted.

“Then that will be ’tween the two of you.”

Toward the middle of the afternoon, an older man entered the clinic in rough condition. Alone, he managed to stumble inside with the help of a cane and immediately plopped into a chair beside the door. Wet coughs rose from his chest as he hacked into a handkerchief, causing the loose jowls of his face to jiggle. Age spots darkened his hands, his thinning white hair was combed over his mostly bald head, and enormous wrinkles cragged the corners of his eyes. When he finished hacking, he looked around, his eyes filled with tears. Christina noticed that both his cheeks and nose were covered in a wide spider’s web of cracked blood vessels, staining his skin a red so bright that it was as if he had been outside in the freezing cold of winter.

“Betcha didn’t think I’d manage to live to make another doctor’s visit, did ya?” the man coughed as he laughed.

“Now, Mr. Felton,” Callie said with friendly affection, “we both know that you’re too stubborn to leave us that easily.”

“Too
ornery
,” he corrected her. “And call me Archie, sweetheart.”

“You weren’t so ornery that you walked the whole way here, now were you?”

“With the way my feet are all swelled up, I couldn’t walk all the way downtown if my appointment was scheduled for next year!”

Callie turned to Christina and said, “Gettin’ a straight answer out of him is harder than pullin’ teeth!”

“My son brought me,” Archie said with a shrug, pointing toward the front window and out to the street. “But he’s so goddamn mad at me for everything I’ve done he wouldn’t even help me to the door. Said he’d wait in the car till I was finished.”

“Then why don’t I help you on back to the examination room?” Christina offered. “That way he won’t have to wait for long.”

“Who could say no to a pretty woman like you?” Archie cackled.

After Callie went to get Dr. Barlow, Christina had a few moments alone with Archie Felton in the examination room. Glancing over the medical chart that Callie had handed her before she left, Christina was surprised to learn that Archie was only sixty-two years old; with his poor physical health and, in particular, the deep wrinkles that lined his face and hands, she would’ve thought him to be much older. Still, there was little doubt that his heart remained young.

“I suppose this is where you help me get undressed.” He winked at her with a mischievous smile.

“Why don’t we wait for the doctor to arrive?” Christina smiled right back; it was certainly not the first time that a patient had made an inappropriate advance toward her. Besides, she found Archie’s flirting to be harmless, even a little charming.

“Now where’s the fun in that?!”

“In the meantime, why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“The same thing that’s
always
bothering me, sweetie,” Archie replied. “I’m a worthless fool who doesn’t have the common sense to quit drinking himself into an early grave.”

Christina couldn’t hide her surprise. Once he’d told her, she knew that it should’ve been obvious; almost all of his physical problems were those of someone suffering from alcoholism. She was a little bit embarrassed that she hadn’t seen it sooner.

One of the things that she found so likeable about Archie Felton was that he reminded her of her uncle Otis; he, too, had been a gregarious man with his share of problems but whose personality made it easy to look past them. Otis had died an early death; if he’d lived longer, Christina supposed that he would have looked an awful lot like Archie. Just as she was thinking of asking him more about his drinking, Dr. Barlow knocked on the door and entered the room.

“How are you feeling, Archie?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the folder clutched in his hands. Christina could see that his nap had done him good; a bit of color had returned to his skin and he seemed more alert.

“Same as always, Sam,” Archie answered. “Still shitty as a rainy day.” Turning to Christina, he added, “Sorry for the language, darlin’.”

“It’s nothing that I haven’t heard before,” she answered.

“Now isn’t it a damn shame that someone as beautiful as you knows language as ugly as mine?!”

“I know we’ve had this talk a dozen times before, but I don’t suppose you’ve given up the drinking?” Dr. Barlow asked.

“Oh, I’ve
tried
,” Archie said, “but I never quite try hard enough, I reckon.”

“That liquor you’re so fond of is going to kill you.”

“It’s taken most everything else from my life, so I figure it might as well have my last breath, too.” Again looking over at Christina, he said to the doctor, “I assume this here’s the new nurse you were talking about on my last visit.”

Dr. Barlow nodded. “This is Miss Tucker. She’s just arrived.”

“You seem like a nice young woman,” Archie said with a smile just as warm as any she ever got from her uncle, “so I’m going to give you a bit of advice. Treat alcohol as if it were poison.”