Lacy's End (5 page)

He nodded as they came to a stop before Brenda’s room. “Wish me luck,” he said and pushed open the door.

Brenda was sleeping when he stepped into the room. He stood watching her for a moment. She really was a beautiful woman. Her chestnut brown hair was long in a no-nonsense, wash-and-wear manner. She had pulled it back into a ponytail that was now coming free of its restraint. It was shiny and undamaged by the usual heat and styling products most women used. It was obvious she had started the morning out with carefully applied makeup, but now long streaks of foundation trailed down each cheek. He resisted the urge to clean them for her. She probably wasn’t even aware of the problem; why bring it to her attention. Her olive-toned skin was pure and even. This woman obviously took care of herself.

He walked to the edge of the bed and called her name, “Mrs. Waldrip.” She moaned but did not open her eyes. He shook her shoulder, gently calling her name again, “Mrs. Waldrip.”

Instinctively, her shoulder moved from beneath his fingertips. “What?” she asked, her voice barely an audible whisper. As the cobwebs eased away, she became alert. She bolted upright, flinging back the covers as her legs struggled to free themselves. A wave of nausea struck her, and she wavered.

Dr. Petoro reached out and steadied her. “Whoa. I don’t think you’re ready to get up just yet.” He examined her laceration, cupping her chin in his hand. “Dr. Davis did a good job on that.”

When he touched her, warmth flooded through her body, starting at the back of her neck and traveling down to her toes. She couldn’t recall anyone ever touching her so gently. Instinctively she pulled her chin back.

He smiled, trying to put her at ease. “Do you remember me?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“I treated you and your daughter the other day. You left without saying goodbye. I was hurt.” He laughed softly at his joke.

“I didn’t have a choice.” She attempted to make her voice sound casual, but she didn’t fool him. He was a trained professional. He didn’t miss the nervous agitation, the steady pulse that jumped at her throat, or the nervous twitch of the left eye. “Did you know your eye twitches when you’re nervous?”

Reflexively, her hand flew to her left eye. That’s when she discovered the long string of sutures. She gasped.

“He did a number this time. Dr. Davis stitched it up while you were napping.”

“I told the other doctor he didn’t do this.”

“It’s pretty hard to believe a falling mirror could do this much damage.”

She sighed. “It didn’t fall. I threw a statue at it, soap dish actually, but it looks like a statue. It shattered, and my face got in the way.”

“Why didn’t you want to tell Dr. Davis that?”

“I was embarrassed.” He cocked his head, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don’t like to lose control,” she said.

For some reason, he found this amusing and smiled.

“What?” she asked, the faintest image of a smile reflecting back.

His heart melted at the sight of it. He gestured at it. “You should do that more often. It suits you.”

A knock sounded on the door. Whoever was on the other side, did not wait for an answer, but immediately opened it and entered. A young woman stepped in, closing the door behind her. She came forward, extending her hand to Dr. Petoro, acknowledging Brenda. “I’m Dr. Greenwich.” They both stared at her. “From Psychiatry. You called for a psych eval.”

“Oh, that,” Dr. Petoro said. “That was Dr. Davis.” He looked at Brenda.

She shook her head. “You’ll only make it worse. Trust me.”

He looked at Dr. Greenwich and shook his head. “Perhaps Dr. Davis spoke too soon.”

One couldn’t miss the flash of irritation on her face as she shook her head and walked to the door. “We’re short-handed,” she said. “The next time you need to cancel a psych eval, please call.” She strode out the door.

Brenda laughed. “I think you guys are in trouble.”

He shrugged. “They already hate us guys in the ER.”

“Why? You seem nice enough.”

“We get a bunch of loonies down here. Most of the time they’re just strung out on drugs, but protocol calls for a psychiatric evaluation, so we have to call them.”

She nodded. “I see. Look, I have to get going now. Can you just see what you can do to get me out of here?”

“I’d like to talk to you some more.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I need to get home before Peter does.” She stood, used the exam table to balance herself, and then stood upright, throwing her shoulders back in an attempt to regain some pride.

He reached out and touched her arm. The electricity shot through them. They stared into each other’s eyes. Her eyes filled with longing and fear, his filled with tender compassion. “I wish you’d stay.”

“I have to go.”

She left, walking out the door without signing any papers, and he didn’t even attempt to stop her.

When the door closed, he stood there staring at it, wondering what had just happened. The shock that had run through his body had been so unfamiliar, so unexpected, and so…right.

They warned about this kind of thing in medical school. He had laughed at the time, which had brought a scolding from his professor. Who had time to think about personal involvements? Certainly, not he. Between a full-time class schedule, part-time work at the bookstore, and volunteer work at the 5th street clinic, Allen Petoro did not have time for personal involvements. That, of course, had been ten years ago. Now he was a struggling, overworked doctor with a far more realistic view of the world.

He shrugged himself out of his musing, opened the door, and walked out. As he passed the nurses’ station, he heard one of them say, “Was that Dr. Petoro whistling?” It was. He hadn’t even noticed it, but he was whistling a tune.

Brenda left the hospital and went straight home. She had to get the glass cleaned up before Peter got home. Peter didn’t like it when she left messes. Once, when Lacy was a baby, she had gotten into the cereal cupboard and spilled the corn flakes all over the floor. Then she somehow managed to get the lid off her sippy cup and made a cornflake mush all over the kitchen floor. Brenda had only gone outside to throw out the trash, and had laughed when she came back inside and saw just how much of a mess a toddler could make in ten seconds. Peter, however, hadn’t thought it was funny at all.

She had tried to explain to him that she only went outside for ten seconds to empty the trash. His eyes filled with rage, flashing like lightning. He backed her against the wall, took the screaming toddler from her, and stormed out the door, claiming she was an unfit mother. He kept Lacy from her for two days. She never left Lacy unattended again.

She inserted her key in the door, expecting silence to greet her. Instead, she heard the sound of tinkling glass. Her heart began to beat wildly, so wild in fact, that she could hear her heartbeat in her eardrums. She hadn’t seen Peter’s car out front. Had he gotten a ride from one of his deputies? Perhaps he had come home early to spy on her. Had he found out she missed the PTA meeting? He hated it when she missed the meetings. “It makes you look bad,” he had said, “as if you’re a bad mother.”

She walked down the long hallway, past Lacy’s room, bathroom, and into her room. At the same time, Lacy came around the corner carrying a trash bag filled with the broken glass in one hand, and the broom and dustpan in the other. Both women shrieked, ducked, and fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. They sat there laughing, until finally, Lacy took a deep breath and ceased laughing. She reached out her hand, touching the sutures. “That one’s going to scar. He’s usually more careful than that.”

To Lacy’s surprise, her mother smiled and threw back her head in a defiant manner. She thrust out her chest. Was that a gleam in her eye? “It’s ironic, don’t you think, that the only wound to leave scars was self-inflicted.”

Lacy’s eyes grew wide, and she broke out into a grin. “Seriously! Why would you do that? You know it’s going to throw him into a rage.”

“I don’t know. I just flipped out. I looked in that mirror and realized I didn’t recognize the woman looking back at me. I panicked.” She heaved a sigh. “Thanks for cleaning it up.”

Lacy shrugged. “Don’t sweat it.”

“I guess I had better get started on dinner before your father gets home.”

Lacy shook her head. “He called. He’ll be late. He said not to worry about him for dinner.” She held two fingers on each hand and made air quotes. “He said, ‘Don’t worry, I have lots of paperwork to do.’ I heard honky-tonk in the background.”

Brenda shook her head. There were only two places in town where honky-tonk played in the background: The Stallion Inn and the Starlight Lounge directly across the street from it. He was either drinking or carrying on with his girl of the week.

Brenda and Lacy looked at each other, grinned and simultaneously said, “Pancake night.” Then they burst into another round of laughter.

It wasn’t that either one of them especially loved pancakes. Once, Brenda had been short of time because she got home late from a meeting. She didn’t have time to go to the grocery store, so she fixed pancakes for dinner. This angered Peter, and he screamed about having breakfast for dinner, demanding to know where his damned steak was. That night, the wall wore the pancakes and Brenda’s smile wore a split lip. Now, out of spite, whenever Peter was gone, they ate pancakes for dinner. They had tried to mix-it-up once and had waffles instead, but it wasn’t the same, so they started experimenting with different flavors and add-ins.

“How about banana-blueberry tonight?” Lacy asked.

Brenda grimaced.

Lacy cocked her eyebrows. “It’s my turn to choose.”

Brenda started to argue, but at the look on Lacy’s face, she changed her mind. “You win.” Brenda hugged her daughter. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“I’ll get started on the pancakes.”

Brenda walked into the bathroom and looked at the wall where the mirror had stood only hours before. She dreaded what was likely to happen once Peter saw it. She shuddered and stepped into the warm shower, savoring its cleansing warmth. Her mind wandered to Dr. Petoro and she caught herself smiling. Quickly, she forced the smile away. Although, she couldn’t stop her mind from wondering what it would be like to be kissed by him. She didn’t even try to stop the thought, nor fight the feeling of arousal that came over her as the sponge glided over her body. It had been a long time since she had experienced the joy of lovemaking. For her and Peter, it had become a ritualistic, marital-coupling, forced upon her, even when she didn’t want it. Some would call it submissive rape. Peter called it his right.

In the kitchen, Lacy thawed frozen blueberries under cool water. While they drained, she bent down to get a bowl for the batter.

“What are you doing?”

She whirled around, scattering pots, pans, and mixing bowls onto the floor.

“Jake!” she exclaimed, breath panting, heart racing. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m watching you fumble around the kitchen. You don’t do it often, do you?”

She shook her head. “Dad’s really picky about his food.”

“So, what, you can’t cook?”

“Sure I can, Mom’s been teaching me since I was twelve.” She lowered her head, “I just don’t get that much practice.” She raised her head sharply and stared at Jake. “How did you get in here, anyway?”

He reached over and grabbed a blueberry. “Did you make these?”

She eyed him quizzically. “Of course not, blueberries grow on shrubs.”

“Technically,” he said, “they grow on bushes.”

“Aha!” she said. “You do know about blueberries.”

Jake grinned and popped another into his mouth. “They really are delicious.”

“Do you want to stay and eat with us? I’d love for you to meet my mom.”

“Can’t, I have to run. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“But you just got here. I want to introduce you to my mom.”

“Another time,” he said. He walked out the door, leaving her staring at his departing back.

“He is one odd duck,” she said aloud.

“Who is?” Brenda asked as she walked into the kitchen.

“Just a friend. He showed up practically out of nowhere, and then when I asked him to stay, he just left.”

“Where’d you meet this friend?”

“Outside. He was there the day we went to the hospital.” She frowned. “If I remember correctly, he didn’t say anything. He just stood across the pond looking at me.”

Brenda picked up one of the mixing bowls and began to break an egg into it.

Lacy turned toward Brenda. “Oh, wash that out. It fell on the floor.”

Brenda started to clean it. “He didn’t say anything?”

Lacy shook her head. “He was also there when we were at the hospital.”

Brenda dried the bowl and broke an egg into it. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. “Really?”

Lacy nodded. “And at school, too.”

Brenda poured milk and vanilla into the bowl and beat the ingredients with a hand mixer. “Oh come on, Lacy, do you expect me to believe this friend just shows up out of nowhere?” She added flour, baking powder, and salt and mixed them all together.

Lacy got out the pancake griddle and began to preheat it. She looked squarely at her mother. “Are you forgetting something?”

“What?” Brenda asked, innocently.

“Ah-hum...” Lacy said, and tapped her foot.

“Oh, all right,” Brenda said, smirking. “Jeez, can’t put anything over on you, can I?” She reached up and took a banana out of the fruit bin, then added a little more milk to thin the batter. Lacy eyed her sternly and handed her the blueberries.

Reluctantly, Brenda took the berries. “I don’t even like blueberries,” she protested, as she put them in the batter and folded the mixture.

“They’re good for you,” Lacy said as if she were the parent, instead of Brenda. “They have all those antitoxins in them.”

Brenda made a mocking face at her and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mother, and they’re antioxidants, not antitoxins.” They laughed.

Brenda watched as her daughter poured some batter onto the hot griddle. She heard the sizzle as the batter hit. Within seconds, she smelled the blueberries, their sweet scent wafting through the air. Her stomach growled. “Wow, they actually smell pretty good.”

“See.”

“I said smell, not taste.”

“That will come.”

Lacy took the last of the pancakes off the griddle and carried the platter to the table. Brenda got plates and silverware out and followed her. She returned to the kitchen and grabbed the margarine and juice from the refrigerator.

Brenda looked mournfully at the clock. Their together-time was almost over. “You left school early today?”

“I couldn’t handle the stares anymore.”

Brenda reached out and touched Lacy’s face. Lacy flinched but didn’t pull back. Brenda always surveyed the damage. This time, however, Lacy grabbed her mother’s arm and looked her in the eye. “Why do we stay, Mom?”

Brenda looked away.

Lacy grabbed her chin and pulled her eyes back to her own. “Answer me, Mother.”

Brenda sighed as the first tears slipped out of her eyes and traveled down to the hollow of her neck. “Because he would never let us leave.”

“Why is it his choice?”

Brenda sighed and looked at Lacy, so young, so naïve. Her eyes softened. “Where would we go, baby? I have no job skills. How could I make a living for us?”

Lacy pursed her lips together and grabbed both of her mother’s arms. “We could try. Together we could do it. I have my job at the diner. Maybe you could get a job there, too.”

Brenda laughed sarcastically. “Really, Lacy? Do you think I could support us on diner tips? The world out there is harsh.” She looked away. “Besides, if you think the beatings are bad now, imagine what they would be like if we left him.” She shook her head emphatically. “He’d just drag us back, and I fear what he’d do then.”

Lacy stood so abruptly her chair toppled over. She threw down her napkin on the table. “I didn’t know you were such a coward.”

Brenda closed her eyes against the pain of Lacy’s words. She heard Lacy’s bedroom door slam shut. Then she let the tears flow.