Pickin Clover (26 page)

He took a deep breath and picked up the phone. So much depended on this call.

“Dr. Forsythe here.” “I have the slides in front of me for the ultrasound you ordered for Duncan Hendricks. They indicate a definite mass in the left testicle. The right testicle is clear.” The radiologist’s voice was professional and impersonal.

Michael thanked her and hung up, his mind in turmoil.

What was going on here? His heart hammered and sweat broke out on his forehead. An astrocytoma never metasticized. It was localized to the head. If the lump in the testicle was malignant, had Duncan developed a different kind of cancer, or had he been misdiagnosed?

Either way, there was no question about what needed to be done. Michael picked up the phone and called St. Joe’s, arranging for a surgeon to perform an incision biopsy immediately. Then he called Sophie and explained what the ultrasound had revealed and what was necessary.

Sophie was obviously agitated, but there were no hysterics. “I’ll take Duncan straight to St. Joe’s,” she promised. “I’ll just call Dad first and tell him what’s happening. I’d like him and Morgan to be there.”

“Of course. I’ll meet you at the hospital within an hour,” Michael assured her.

The day had become a pivotal one in the lives of everyone who knew and loved little Duncan Hendricks.

That same day, Polly began to use Clover as a model for her drawing. She’d been struggling to capture images of Susannah, but the results were consistently stiff and artificial. Polly had torn up all the sketches in disgust. They didn’t do Susannah justice.

Clover loved Polly’s cosmetics, and as the little girl preened in front of the mirror that meaning, experimenting with blush and a pot of lip gloss, Polly found a charcoal and a sheet of paper and sketched rapidly, not giving herself time to be critical.

She needed practice, and Clover was available, preoccupied enough to sit still for a moment. The result was surprising and exciting; Polly had captured in the child the quintessential, self-absorbed look any female has adorning herself.

By lunchtime Polly had two more quick, rough sketches. In one Clover had her fists under her chin, as she stared with a wistful expression out the window at the pelting rain. In the second she was sitting on the floor with her face screwed into an exaggerated scowl of concentration and her tongue between her teeth while she tried to tie her shoelaces.

That afternoon, Polly ignored the jobs that needed doing and instead worked furiously on developing the sketches while Clover slept. She couldn’t tell whether they were good. She knew only that they were very different from any of her other work, much less structured, less precise. And more alive, in some undeniable sense. They had a presence all their own, just as Clover did.

They were raw, full of energy, and when Polly looked at them a satisfaction filled her. She thought of the artist from Saskatchewan and her flower paintings.

Michael was very late getting home. He explained that he’d been at St. Joe’s because of some emergency, then had had to deal with an office overflowing with patients waiting to see him. He was in a strange mood, laughing at Clover one moment and lapsing into reflection the next.

It was almost midnight before Polly finally found the courage to lead him into the studio to show him the drawings. It had taken her all evening to work up to it because she still couldn’t decide if they were good or just plain awful.

He studied them, looking at them so long that her stomach churned with nervousness, but when he turned to her, the glow of admiration and respect in his eyes told her what the verdict was before he said a word.

“These are marvelous, Pol. They’re the finest you’ve ever done. You’ve captured not just Clover here but the essence of every little girl.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

His pride in her was evident in his voice, in the way he kissed her. Polly’s love for him welled inside her. She adored this generous man.

“I kept trying to draw Susannah,” she admitted, “but I couldn’t do it anymore.” She added slowly, "I think I’ve figured out why, too. You know when you love somebody, how you assume you know what they look like?”

Michael thought it over and nodded.

“Well, you’re not really seeing them. You’re seeing a picture of them that you hold in your heart,” Polly explained. “With Clover, I’m free to draw exactly what’s there.”

Michael narrowed his eyes and stared at her. He didn’t reply, and Polly wondered if it was because she’d mentioned Susannah. He was suddenly distracted again, far away, and although it hurt her, she repeated Frannie’s words like a mantra.

Give him space. Love him with all your heart... change the subject. “Have you thought about where we’ll move to when the house sells, Michael?”

“It’s up to you, sweetheart.” With a visible effort, he shook off whatever it was that had absorbed him, as Polly turned out the light in the studio. “Do you want to move into your mother’s house, Pol?”

The absolute utter horror she felt was mirrored on her face, and it made him laugh. "Okay, I won’t suggest that one again.”

She collapsed against him, pretending to faint with relief, and he slid an arm around her. They made their way up the stairs and into their bedroom, shoulder to shoulder.

"I’ve talked to the real estate agent. We can buy a home in New Westminster that would be comparable to this but much less expensive,” Michael said. “Real estate is lower there. The area is beautiful, with lots of heritage homes. And the drive isn’t bad, I could be at my office in twenty-five minutes. Would you like that?” He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt.

She was stripping off her shirt and jeans. “I don’t know. I’ve been too busy to think about it much.”

"We could take a drive out there Sunday, maybe pack a picnic and find a park Clover would like."

Polly lifted a fresh nightshirt from her drawer. “I’d love that, but I can’t. Norah and I agreed to start going through Mom’s house Sunday.” She pulled the shirt on over her head and then flashed him an appreciative glance.

He’d taken off his trousers. All he had on were white briefs, and his tall body was dark and powerful, familiar and alluring.

“Why not come and help, Doc? Sorting through all that valuable stuff is gonna be loads of fun. We can probably have a yard sale, or even five or six.”

He gave her a pleading look. “How about if I take care of Clover, instead? I’ll bring you and Norah lunch, then I’ll take all of you out to dinner when you’re done.”

Polly put her arms around him. “Coward.”

He held her close and grinned down at her. “Damned straight. I admit I’d rather do anything than sort through Isabelle’s house. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.” She moved against him, blatantly sexual, and his hands caught the hem of her nightshirt and tugged it up and off. He stripped off his briefs.

“Let’s lock this door.” His voice was husky. He tumbled her down onto the bed and straddled her, holding her between his thighs. “Now, exactly what penalty did you have in mind, Mrs. Forsythe?”

She giggled and reached down a hand, cupping him, teasing. He was already hard, and he moved against her and made a guttural sound.

“I can tell this is going to be painful.” He took her head between his palms and held it, caressing her face with his eyes and his thumbs, as if he couldn’t get enough of looking.

“My beautiful, talented woman.” He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her slowly and deeply, as if they had all the time in the world. He went on and on kissing her, until she squirmed beneath him, every inch of her wanting more contact.

“I love you, Polly. I love you so much.”

The whispered words went straight to her heart, and she pulled him down until his body nested lightly on hers, warm skin to skin.

He knew her so well. He touched mercilessly until she writhed, begging him to fill her.

Only then did be slide into her. Nearly senseless with craving, she grasped his shoulders and curled her legs around him, holding him tight and moving frantically against him, and almost instantly her insides convulsed. She arched up, riding the spasms that consumed her, crying out with the force of her pleasure, and suddenly his careful control was gone.

With a single deep groan, he buried himself once and then again, and she felt his powerful frame shudder as a wild cry escaped his throat and ecstasy claimed him.

For long moments they lay panting, sweat soaked and glutted with the aftermath of joy. At last, he rolled carefully to the side, still joined and holding her close.

“Is that it for the punishment, or am I going to have to do this again and again?” His mock plaintiveness made her laugh, and he laughed, too. They were quiet for a time, and Polly began to doze.

“Pol?”

His teasing whisper right in her ear brought her out of the dream that was half beginning.

“Mmm?” She gave him a groggy smile.

“Why is it that women go straight to sleep after sex?”

“I suppose you want me to tell you how fantastic it was, and that I’ll respect you in the morning.” Her voice was lazy. Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and she felt cherished and safe and happy.

“It was fantastic, Pol. It was like old times.”

She smiled and nodded and waited. She knew there was something he very much needed to tell her; he’d never have awakened her otherwise.

“Something happened today.”

He had a kind of hesitant wonder in his voice, and suddenly she wasn’t sleepy anymore.

“There’s this patient of mine, a five-year-old named Duncan. He was diagnosed with astrocytoma, exactly what Susannah had.”

Apprehension and compassion filled her, for the child and his parents but most of all for Michael and his having to face this trauma a second time. He told her who the child was, and a new wave of sympathy washed through her. She’d met Luke and Morgan Gilbert. She’d liked Luke and adored his quirky wife.

“Sophie and Jason are so young, and Duncan’s this cheerful little kid, always smiling.”

Polly could tell by Michael’s voice that he loved the little boy, and her heart contracted. A doctor’s job was fulfilling, but it was also heartbreaking at times.

He was still talking about Duncan. “Having to listen to him tell me all the time that he was getting better, when I knew it was impossible, was agony.”

Michael explained about the radiation not showing any improvement. “What you said about your drawing, about not really seeing something because it’s too familiar, and you see what you expect? Well, I almost fell into that trap.”

He told her about the new tests he’d ordered, the lump he’d discovered and the biopsy that had shown the mass to be germ-cell carcinoma.

“It’s totally curable, Pol. The surgeon removed the testicle. Everything points to its being the primary source of the cancer. It’ll take a couple of weeks to tell for sure, but there’s a good chance the tumor in Duncan’s head will shrink and eventually disappear.” Michael was jubilant. “He’s going to get well, Polly, I know he is. Duncan’s always insisted he’d get better, and now I believe it, too.”

Polly hugged him hard, thinking about the little boy. “But what about his losing the testicle? Will he still be able to have a normal sex life? What about kids?"

“He’ll be perfectly normal. Fortunately, nature gave us a backup system, a second testicle. He’ll be able to have a dozen kids if he wants. The thing is, if all goes well, he’s going to live to grow up.”

Polly sighed. “It’s a miracle, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He was silent a long time. “I didn’t know whether to tell you about him. There wasn’t any miracle for Susannah.” His voice was infinitely sad.

“The miracle was having her with us for the time we did.” Polly spoke slowly, trying to verbalize what was in her heart She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek. “I’m glad you told me about Duncan. I’m so happy for him and his family. I don’t compare one child with another anymore. Frannie helped me figure out why I was doing it.”

She explained about her feelings for Clover. “I guess I was afraid that if I let myself love her, I’d somehow forget Susannah. That’s partly why I’ve needed to talk to you about her, so I could keep those memories alive.”

“I let you down in that way, sweetheart, and I’m sorry.” He was contrite. “It’s hard to explain, but I felt a complete failure when we lost Susannah. I’m a doctor. I was her father. Somehow I should have been able to save her. I felt you blamed me for not being able to.”

“Oh, Michael.” Polly was astounded. “How could you think that even for a moment? You were a wonderful father. You’re a fantastic doctor. I would never, never think that. I love you totally.”

There was a catch in her voice. “My only fear is that you’ll stop loving me.”

He hugged her so hard she could barely breathe, and it felt like heaven. “I’m yours forever, Pol.” There was telltale huskiness in his voice. “Remember ‘till death do us part’? Well, add et ceteras.” He sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “The pain of losing our daughter was so bad, I felt so ashamed I couldn’t bear to even mention her name. Then Clover forced me to.” He explained about the goldfish and the stories. “And now, because of Duncan, it’s finally dawned on me that lives aren’t mine to save or lose. There’s a difference between medicine and miracles, Pol. I forgot that, but I’ll try from now on to remember.”