In Medias Res (15 page)

She headed off to re-join her friends. I left to find Jack. A glass of white wine in his hand, he was grazing at the buffet table.

The menu was informal. Heavy on finger foods and hors d’oeuvres, the strategically placed food stations allowed guests to munch and mingle at the same time. Regaling all who would listen with stories of her wild adventures, Jennifer wouldn’t have time to eat. No problem. I had planned for that, too. When the gathering ended, I would take her back to my apartment and fire up the indoor grill. She could eat—and we could talk—in peace. Provided, of course, I found a way to get rid of Jack. I didn’t want him and Jennifer to spend the rest of the evening sniping at each other the way they usually did. I had to keep them apart somehow or all my planning would have been for naught.

Jack attacked the tray of bacon-wrapped dates, popping one after another into his mouth. “Where are the T-bones you promised me?”

“I think I promised you something other than steak,” I replied, rubbing his shoulders.

“You haven’t spoiled me like this in months.” He groaned when my fingers found an especially tight spot. “Jennifer should come home more often.”

The tension I had just released from his shoulders settled into mine. I was having an increasingly difficult time keeping my two lives separate: the one I had with Jack and the one I dreamed about having with Jennifer. I wanted to be with her, but had she moved on from me as she had with Natalie? There was only one way to find out, but I was too chicken to take the first step. Not to sound conceited, but I could have any man I wanted. What would I do, though, if the woman I wanted didn’t want me?

“You know how much Jen loves red meat. The beef is for her, not you. She probably hasn’t had any since she left.”

Jack arched his eyebrows mischievously. “Knowing Jennifer, I doubt that.”

“Don’t start,” I said. I reached for an olive stuffed with feta cheese. I washed down the salty confection with a shot of ouzo. “Do I need to keep you two separated tonight?”

“Probably,” he said. Taking a sip of his wine, he watched Jennifer hold court on the other side of the room. Her former life as an ER doc had been exciting enough, but her new life made the old one seem tame. Jack looked envious.

Marcus and his boyfriend Trevor came over to say hello. “If you’re giving out free massages, I’ll take one,” Marcus said.

“Sorry. First come, first served. Jack got the last one.” I greeted Trevor, then turned back to Marcus. “Are you going to be able to adjust to having a roommate again?”

With Jennifer gone, he and Trevor had had the apartment to themselves.

“I don’t think she’s going to be around much,” Marcus said. “She’s got some catching up to do.”

I thought he had meant work until I saw a gorgeous brunette slip Jennifer her phone number.

“Looks like you missed your chance,” Marcus whispered in my ear. “Again.”

Marcus and Trevor left to mingle with the other guests and I turned around to find Jack hoarding the
dolmathes
—grape leaves stuffed with ground beef, rice, and mint.

“Since you and Jennifer are going to be up half the night talking and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow, why don’t I crash at the hospital?” he asked, licking his fingers. “That way, I can get some sleep and you can play catch-up all you want.”

The idea thrilled me in a primal way, but I tried to temper my excitement. Jack was so sensitive where Jennifer was concerned that I didn’t want him to think that I was trying to get rid of him. Even though I was. “Are you sure?”

He picked up a potato dumpling. “If I hear one more story about Africa, I’ll go postal. You can give me the CliffsNotes version of events tomorrow night.”

The party began to break up around eight fifteen, just in time for the evening rush.

Jennifer said a few words before everyone headed out the door. “In case I didn’t thank each of you individually, let me thank you collectively for coming tonight. You didn’t have to and I appreciate it. An even bigger thank you to Sydney for doing this for me in the first place. It means a lot to me. Even more than you know. Thanks, Syd.”

Her voice broke a little at the end and we all went “Awww,” but one of her teammates put the kibosh on the unexpected show of emotion. “You’re welcome, now let’s go get laid!” she catcalled.

“I’ll drink to that,” Jennifer said. She polished off her beer and swept out the door. Everyone else soon followed.

Jack walked me to my car. He stood guard as I placed the floral centerpiece from the dessert table in my passenger’s seat and secured it with the seat belt. When I climbed into the driver’s seat and switched on the ignition, the powerful engine roared to life. Jack rapped his knuckles on the windshield. I decreased the volume on the Rolling Stones’
Greatest Hits
CD blaring out of the speakers and lowered the driver’s side window.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He searched his pockets for his keys. “I don’t want you to hold it against me for skipping out on your hen party.” He tossed the lint and deli receipt he unearthed and resumed his search.

I leaned out the window, reached into the inside pocket of his jacket—his usual hiding place—and retrieved his keys. “It’s okay,” I said, dangling the key ring in front of him. “No cocks allowed.”

“Just the way Jennifer likes it.” He kissed the back of my hand like a courtly lover. “I’m glad I know you feel differently. Otherwise, I might be a little nervous about you spending the night with her.”

“It was your idea, remember?”

“I hope I don’t live to regret it.”

“So do I.”

Cranking up the volume on “Gimme Shelter,” I sped toward home. I stowed my car in the parking garage and walked the two blocks to my apartment building. I took the stairs instead of the elevator so I could burn off some energy. I needed to pull myself back from the ledge I found myself peeking over. I felt on the verge of something. Something major. Something foolish. Something that could change my life forever.

I was out of breath when I reached my floor but no closer to being in control. I unlocked the door and went inside. “It’s okay,” I told myself as I stood in the dark. “You’re not going to do this and she’s not going to let you. It’s okay.”

Yeah, I didn’t believe it, either. I was far from okay. I wanted Jennifer so much it hurt, but I feared she wouldn’t be receptive to anything I might propose. If she spent six months at a time in a Sudanese desert to get away from me, why would she let me get close? Out of self-preservation, she would probably continue to keep me at a distance. I knew all about that. I was doing the same thing to Jack. Every time he tried to break through my defenses, I fortified them even more. It wasn’t fair to him and it wasn’t fair to me, but I didn’t have time to face it because I was too busy trying to salvage what was left of my career. The stress was overwhelming and I didn’t know how much more I could take.

I placed the floral arrangement on the dining room table. In the bedroom, I ditched my party clothes for a T-shirt and a pair of boxers. Off went the heels, on went the thick cotton socks and Bugs Bunny slippers. I had been wearing a mask at the party. The more things I removed, the more I felt like myself. Whoever that was.

In the kitchen, I pulled out the grill and primed it with a couple of shots of nonstick cooking spray. I grabbed the bag of T-bones out of the refrigerator and tossed it on the counter to give the steaks time to come to room temperature before I dropped them onto the grill.

I wrapped a couple of potatoes in aluminum foil and placed them on a cookie sheet. The oversized Russets would need at least an hour to bake, so I preheated the oven and shoved the potatoes inside when the temperature indicator went ding.

Prep work done, I had time to relax for the first time in hours. I pulled out my favorite movie,
The Usual Suspects
, and put my feet up.

I soon lost track of time. When Jennifer rang the buzzer downstairs, it was almost ten thirty.

“Cute outfit,” she said when I let her in.

“Didn’t you know? It’s what all the well-dressed women in Chicago are wearing these days.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She kissed me on the cheek as if she were greeting me for the first time that day. “Where’s Jack?” she asked, looking around.

“He decided to make himself scarce tonight. It’s just you and me.”

“I see.”

“Is that bad?” I wanted her to feel comfortable, not trapped.

“No, just unexpected.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

I turned on the burners to heat the grill. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yeah, the party was great. Thanks again.” I didn’t have to offer her anything to drink. Making herself at home, she grabbed a bottle of water out of the refrigerator.

“I meant after the party.” I lowered one of the two thick T-bone steaks onto the grill. “How many phone numbers did you end up with?”

The bottle of water paused on its way to her mouth. “A few.”

“I can tell.” I indicated the lipstick stain on the collar of her shirt. Cursing under her breath, she unbuttoned her shirt and headed to the bathroom to scrub the stain out. I waited for her to volunteer some information about who had put it there, but she held back. “The Resolve’s under the sink,” I called out.

“I remember.” She rummaged around until she located the cleaner and a scrub brush.

“So tell me about this woman you were seeing,” I said, giving the salad a quick toss before I carried the bowl to the dining room. “You didn’t mention her in any of your e-mails. Why not?”

Whenever she was away, Jennifer e-mailed me every couple of weeks or so. Just a brief note to say hello and let me know she was still out there somewhere. I, on the other hand, wrote every day to remind her that I was here.

From my vantage point, I could see her reflection in the bathroom mirror. My hungry eyes roamed over her body until they got their fill. I watched the rainbow flag tattooed on her left arm wave back and forth as she vigorously scrubbed MAC lipstick out of her shirt collar.

“I didn’t tell you about her because the relationship wasn’t anything I needed to write home about,” she said. “It was something she and I needed to do to maintain our sanity. I didn’t love her. She didn’t love me. At the time, it didn’t matter. We had seen so much brutality that we needed to remind ourselves what tenderness felt like.”

She hung her shirt on the back of the bathroom door and headed to the bedroom to borrow one of my T-shirts. She didn’t have to ask because she already knew what the answer would be. What was mine was hers and vice versa.

“Who was she?” I flipped my steak and added Jennifer’s to the grill. The meat sizzled as it came into contact with the hot cast iron.

“Her name was Viviane. Everyone called her Vivi. She was a trauma surgeon from Belgium. When patients came through triage, I stabilized them and she put them back together. I wouldn’t mind working with her again someday—we made a great team—but I don’t see that happening. Not unless I move to Antwerp. She went back there a few weeks after she arrived in camp. She underestimated how bad the conditions would be and the effect they would have on her psyche. Man’s inhumanity to man and all that.”

“If Vivi burned out after just a few weeks, how have you managed to stick it out for so long?”

“You know me. I like flying by the seat of my pants.” She came out of the bedroom wearing a University of Illinois T-shirt—the faded orange one I used to wear under my soccer jersey. Filled with a mixture of pride and possessiveness, I suddenly realized how guys felt when they saw their girlfriends parading around in their dress shirts after a night of deeply satisfying sex.

She’s mine
, I thought.
All mine.

“Besides, I knew what I was signing up for,” Jennifer said. “Vivi didn’t. She came in expecting to work in a sterile, controlled environment like the one she had at home. Most days, the most technologically advanced pieces of equipment available were our left hands, our right hands, and some needle and thread. Vivi didn’t like working without a net. I did. It helped me see what I was made of. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not all doom and gloom. Some days it’s like an episode of
M*A*S*H
—a heavy dose of reality, followed by bursts of low humor. There are some good things that happen every now and then. The unexpected miracles that make your day.”

Leaning against the counter, she launched into a story. One she hadn’t told at the party. One I hadn’t heard before.

“One day about four months ago, a little boy named Tshimanga was brought into camp. He was six years old, but he looked much younger. The relief workers called him Tiny Tim because he was so small. He had been hit with machine gun fire and his left leg was practically pulverized. I got his pressure stable, got him to surgery, and assisted in the operation. We didn’t think we’d be able to save his leg and he had lost so much blood that amputation seemed like the best way to go, but his father told the surgical team that all Tim wanted to be when he grew up was a soccer player. He begged us not to take the leg. We managed to save it somehow.