Indulgence (212 page)

“The symptoms I
think
I’ve been having?” Tears welled
up in my eyes and then spilled over. “Listen,
Doctor
,” I hissed, “I am
not making this up. My symptoms are real. Just because
you
can’t figure
out what’s causing them doesn’t make them less real, and I’m not going to go
see some quack that will want to psychoanalyze every aspect of my life. Thanks
for nothing!”

I grabbed my purse and stomped out of the office and down
the hallway. As I used my sweatshirt sleeve to dry my tears, I nearly ran
headfirst into a nurse.

“Whoa, are you okay?” the nurse asked. She grabbed me by the
shoulders to prevent the collision and a warm vibe flowed over my body. Her
skin was pale and creamy, her hair was thick waves of shiny red curls and her
eyes were dark lavender with peculiar yellow flecks.

“Oh, excuse me,” I muttered. I searched for her name badge
but it was hidden under her shoulder-length hair. “I’m, um, sorry.”

“It’s not a problem.” She released me and the sensation left
my body. I watched her as she walked away. Her gait was graceful and smooth,
quite mesmerizing, and before I knew it, she was out of sight like she was
never there at all.

I slammed the door to my Jeep and banged the palms of my
hands against the steering wheel. Tears streamed down my face. “Why, God? Why
are you doing this to me?” I moaned. I dropped my head to the steering wheel
and sobbed.

“Why do I have these symptoms?” I yelled. “And why can’t the
doctors figure this all out?”

A pang of heat gurgled in my stomach. I moved my hands from
the steering wheel and clutched my midsection. This was yet another undiagnosed
symptom that had haunted me. The burning wasn’t always there; it seemed to come
and go whenever it liked. There was only one thing that made it go away – my
dream.

My dream had been my only source of comfort over the past
months. I treasured it, looked forward to it. The garden felt like home to me,
so familiar even though I had never physically been there. I didn’t even know
where such a paradise would exist. I’d been to many tropical locales, but this
jungle, this garden, this paradise far exceeded the beauty of those places. I
found myself wishing – hoping – I would dream every night. I looked forward to
what the next dream would reveal, how my paradise could become more perfect.
Mostly, I anticipated the feeling the dream bestowed on me after I woke. Upon
waking I always felt a sense of peace and tranquility and, oddly enough, a
sense of belonging. I was a new, content woman with a fresh attitude, my foul
outlook gone. I yearned for that serenity for as long as I could hold onto it.
Unfortunately, the peacefulness wore off throughout the day, much like a
perfume. I had often thought that if I were able to dream of this magical place
every night, I would snap out of the unpleasant state of mind I had been in for
the past six months. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t force it. The
dream visited on its own terms.

A knock on the driver’s side window startled me. I lifted my
head from the steering wheel to find a stranger staring at me. He was a young
man, maybe in his mid-twenties, with slicked dirty blond hair, a pointy nose
and beady eyes that were as blue as the ocean was deep. He had rudely propped
his elbow against the window and was intently peering in at me. His white
t-shirt was crisp and he wore a black leather jacket.

“Allison Carmichael?” the voice hissed. I wasn’t sure if he
was asking a question or making an accusation.

I dabbed my face with a tissue and turned on the car so I
could roll down the window just a touch – no need to give this stranger any
more room than that. “Who’s asking?” I instinctively ensured all the doors were
locked.

The stranger stuck his nose in the air and took a deep
breath. He rolled his head over his shoulders as if enjoying whatever it was he
smelled. I glanced around to see where his car was, or if anyone was with him,
but I couldn’t spot either. There were several cars in the parking lot and any
one of them could have been his. I inhaled, trying to determine what scent he
relished so much, but I couldn’t detect anything.

“The name is Caz,” he said with a southern twang. He settled
his eyes on mine. “Caz Devoe.”

“Well Caz, what do you want?” I asked.

“I think ya dropped something.” Caz pulled his hand from his
side and waved what appeared to be my cell phone. He slid his thumb over the
back of the device, as if separating a deck of cards. “Says right here on the
medical insurance card, ‘Allison Carmichael.’ Both were layin’ right outside
your vehicle. I’m assumin’ they’re yours.”

I paused before answering and looked over to the passenger
seat where I had flung my purse. It was unzipped. I rummaged through it and
sure enough, no phone, no insurance card. I thought back to how quickly I had
stormed out of the doctor’s office and supposed it was possible both could have
fallen out of my bag.

“Uh,” I stammered. Caz held my belongings out to me on the
other side of the window. “Um, thanks,” I choked out as I pressed the button to
lower the window a bit more. I grabbed the items and examined them. There it
was – my name on the medical card. I flipped open the phone and found the
wallpaper picture of Matt and me. I couldn’t believe I could have been so
careless. I pressed the button and started to roll up the window.

“What, no thank you handshake?” Caz asked just before the
window closed.

I lifted my finger from the button and looked at him. I
didn’t want to shake his hand. He was a stranger and I didn’t like the vibe he
gave me; he seemed to be up to something more than what he was letting on.

“Sort of rude after I just returned your belongings, don’t
ya think?” Caz asked.

I sighed and peered at him. After a few moments, I
reluctantly lowered the window, just wide enough to get my hand and wrist
through, hoping this would be the end of our meeting. Caz grabbed my hand and a
jolt ran through my body. I felt all tingly, like I had stuck a wet finger in
an electric socket. The sensation intensified the longer we touched. I tried to
pull my hand back but Caz cupped it with his other hand. He closed his eyes and
took several deep breaths. It wasn’t apparent if he was feeling what I felt. He
seemed to enjoy the moment. My attempts to free my hand were futile as his
strength held my arm perfectly straight.

“Mister,” I snarled. “What’s your problem? Let go of my
hand.”

Caz opened his eyes and I gasped. His sapphire eyes were
rimmed in red and his breathing thinned. He stared at me as if he were in a
trance.

“What’s wrong with you?” My voice quivered with fear.

He snapped out of his spell and released my hand. The
sensation left as quickly as it had come. He leaned his narrow face into my
half open window. “Don’t let anybody tell ya that you aren’t
special
.”

I squeezed my eyes closed, taken back by his word choice. I
didn’t like how the word “special” slithered off his tongue.

“What are you talking about?” I opened my eyes, but
apparently asked the question to myself. Caz was gone. I checked my side mirror
but didn’t see him. There was no trace of him as I glanced out of the
windshield. I twisted in my seat and looked out the rear window but there was
nothing. Nobody was walking through the parking lot, no cars were moving. He
was gone.

The highway sign announced Buzzard Hill was five miles away,
which gave me a few more minutes to think about how I was going to tell Matt
about my revelation. It wasn’t like I hadn’t thought about it for the other
twenty miles since leaving the doctor’s office. I really didn’t know how I was
going to say it. The thought alone sounded ridiculous. But a midlife crisis had
to be the source of my angst. There was no other reasonable explanation. Part
of me wished I could say nothing and that the past six months would just
disappear from our memories. But I knew that wouldn’t happen; there had been
too many mood swings, too much depression, too much anger and despair to chalk
it all up to nothing. I had to tell Matt.

I rounded the corner onto my street and admired our home as
I pulled into the driveway. It was a Tudor style on a five-acre lot. It wasn’t
the largest or smallest in the development, but with 3,000 square feet and four
bedrooms, it was bigger than we needed. The front of the house was covered in
cream stucco outlined in chocolate brown wood, and the lot was decorated with
several islands filled with large oak and maple trees.

My eyes slid to the back of our property as I parked the
Jeep. Nature surrounded the entire property, including some deep woods behind
the house, which often made me feel uneasy. Tall pines and aged oaks stretched
for miles, the foliage so thick you could hide an army in there and no one
would notice. I sometimes thought someone was tucked in there watching me, but
that was just my silly imagination running wild, the result of a sheltered
childhood and an overprotective husband always telling me to look over my
shoulder. Even now as I stood next to my car, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the
trees. The foliage swayed as if someone had just run into the woods. But that
was impossible; no one was here and even if someone were, I would have seen
him. Still, it was unsettling, as the air was dead calm, so a breeze couldn’t
be blamed.

I glanced up at the sky and spotted buzzards floating amidst
the infamous Cleveland gray. The buzzards were no strangers to this town and
neither was the gray. Buzzard Hill was known worldwide as the place these
scavengers returned to every year. The gray was almost as infamous; any visitor
to Cleveland or 100 miles west, east or south of the Lake Erie shoreline was
familiar with this phenomenon, the ever-present haze of gloominess, compliments
of the weather that rolled in over the lake. I returned my eyes to the woods,
still captivated by whatever my imagination thought was there.

“Ali?” Matt called from the garage. “Ali, are you okay?”

I forced my eyes from the trees. Matt leaned out of the door
leading from the house into the garage. He wore a white tank, which nicely
showcased his biceps, and pajama pants. A wave of apprehension rolled over me,
as I knew what I was going to have to tell Matt. I might as well get it over
with.

“I’m fine,” I muttered as I shuffled into the garage and
past the row of motorcycles and ATVs, one for each of us. Since we couldn’t
have children, Matt and I bought toys. Matt’s passion was all things motor. I
only tried these things because he wanted me to join him in something he truly
enjoyed. I also hoped the activities would distract my mind and make the
burning in my belly disappear. That didn’t happen.

Matt pecked me on the cheek as he held the door open like a
perfect gentleman. I walked through the hallway to the kitchen, placed my hands
on the granite countertop and stared out the window at the fall foliage.

“Does that mean Doctor McNally found out what’s wrong with
you?” Matt asked, his voice hopeful. The poor guy had to have been praying for
an answer as much as I had been -- if for nothing else than for my mood to
improve so we could finally return to normal.

“No,” I replied flatly. A pang of heat shot from my stomach
to the back of my throat. I grabbed my stomach hoping for relief as my eyes
winced with pain. The heat quickly subsided. Matt noticed nothing since my back
was to him.

“No?”

“No.” I turned to face Matt, my eyes brimming with tears.
“She’s just like all of the others, Matt. She said there was absolutely nothing
wrong with me.” I broke down in tears. Matt rushed to me and threw his arms
around my shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he cooed as he rubbed my back. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay,” I sobbed. “She thought I was lying, she
even said as much. She said my temperature was normal, my blood count was fine,
my scans were clean, my weight was stable, blah, blah, blah. I just don’t
understand. You believe me, don’t you? You don’t think I’m crazy, do you?”

“Of course I believe you, Ali. I’m the one lying next to you
at night when you’re blazing hot. And I’ve seen your lack of appetite and felt
how cold you are during the day. You’re not imagining anything.”

I felt a little better. Someone believed me and who better
than the man who lived with me and who had witnessed all of this firsthand. I
gently shifted away from Matt and said, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

I stared into his hazel eyes. Looking into his eyes, even
after seven years of marriage, still gave me butterflies.

“Did she say anything else, Ali? Like where to go from
here?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “She asked if anything else was
bothering me.”

Matt stared back, waiting for me to continue.

“She asked if anything major happened that might be the
source of my…
issues
.”

“And?”

“So I told her about our fertility struggles.”

“Oh, Ali.” Matt sighed and grabbed my hands. “My little
Ali-gator, I thought you were good with all of that.”

“I am, Matt. I realized years ago that a baby isn’t in the
cards for us and have made peace with it.”

“Then I’m confused.” Matt stepped back. “Why would you tell
her that?”

“Because I think I figured out what’s bothering me, and I
thought you should be the first to know.”

“Really? You think you know what’s wrong with you?”

“Yeah, but if I tell you,” I hesitated, “do you promise not
to laugh?”

Matt’s facial expression relaxed a bit. I could only imagine
what he thought was coming.

“Of course,” he responded.

A long pause passed. Still searching for the words, I turned
to look out the kitchen window, not daring to look Matt in the eyes.

“Ali?”

“I think I’m going through a midlife crisis,” I blurted out,
blushing at the absurdity of such a statement. It sounded worse in the spoken
word than it had in my mind. After all this time mulling over what I was going
to say and how I was going to say it, I couldn’t believe that this was what
came out of my mouth.