Under Alaskan Skies (21 page)

“All that and a medical degree, too,” Maggie said softly but not too softly for Carrie to hear. Carrie didn’t blame her for staring at Matt’s muscular legs.
After all, he was without doubt the most attractive man who’d come to Mystic in years, maybe ever. She also had to admit Maggie looked great as usual. She was wearing very short shorts that showed off her long shapely legs, and a tight T-shirt with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked almost as young as the high school girls and twice as pretty.

Carrie herself tried to look everywhere but at Matt. But if she’d avoided looking at him, she would have been the only one in the whole place. Her eyes followed him up and down the polished boards along with everyone else. After all, he was a novelty. The buzz in the gym among the students was that he was the faculty’s secret weapon, which made him a natural object of everyone’s interest. Not only that, but she was sure the rumor mill had them practically engaged. She and Maggie went out on the floor to warm up and the students let loose with good-natured boos and hisses.

Carrie knew it was because he was new in town that everyone watched him. It was also that he’d already established himself as a generous and all-round nice guy. But that wasn’t why Carrie’s eyes followed him wherever he went. Or why she dropped the ball when it was passed to her. She could no more look elsewhere than she could fly to the moon. In a few short days she’d fallen for him so hard she knew deep down that she was not going to get over him as fast as she’d told herself she would.

But she would get over him. She had to. She could not spend the rest of her life thinking about him, wondering how he was, who he was with. If he’d married or become as successful as his father. One of the
teachers slapped her on the back for encouragement and she was jarred back into the present. She finally stopped staring at Matt and focused on catching the ball instead.

When the game started, she knew the adults would lose. They always did. Their experience was no match for the youthful skill and energy. But no one cared who won except for the students. It was all about school spirit. Town spirit. Alaska spirit. The kids in the bleachers waved pom-poms, they screamed and they sang their school song. They cheered when the school principal stumbled and fell on the floor. He picked himself up and acknowledged their cheers with a good-natured wave and the kids went crazy again. They yelled themselves hoarse when the sixth-grade teacher bumped into the wall.

When the principal, who served also as the coach, beckoned Carrie to go into the game in place of the kindergarten teacher, she dribbled the ball slowly down the floor. She’d always loved basketball. It was the perfect sport for kids who lived in Alaska. Even the poorest village had a school and a gym. The gyms were open year-round after school and evenings for the kids to practice their shots and pickup games. It was a way of getting exercise during the worst winter weather. The regional championships were the highlight of the winter season. As for the state tournaments, it was every Alaska kid’s dream, both girls’ and boys’, to go to the Big Four in Anchorage. In college, Carrie played intermural basketball. But it was nothing like basketball in her hometown or her home state.

Carrie passed the ball to Matt. He passed it back.
She ran down the court to the basket and threw the ball. To her amazement, it went in. The kids booed again. Matt grinned at her and slapped her on the back. She grinned. The other teachers yelled at her, “Nice shot.”

The faculty was ahead. She knew it wouldn’t last. The students were younger, taller, faster and practiced more, but she was ridiculously proud of her shot. Did it have anything to do with Matt being there, sharing the moment, contributing to her success? She had to admit it did.

The next time it was Matt’s turn for a free throw. She shut her eyes as she stood on the court. It meant nothing. It was a silly, just-for-fun game, not important in the grand scheme of things, and yet it was. She wanted him to make the shot. She wanted him to succeed. She wanted the former nerd and dork to show the town of Mystic he was more than a doctor. Most of all, she wanted him to show himself he could do it. She heard, rather than saw, the ball swish through the basket. She opened her eyes and clapped so loud her hands hurt.

It was the best faculty-student game ever. That’s what everyone said. Yes, the students won, as usual. Allison herself made fifteen points on the coed student team. But it was close. For the first time, the adults gave the kids a run for their money. When the game was over and the committee was setting up for the potluck supper, Zach Stuart, the principal, told Matt how glad he was he’d come to help them out.

“The kids are complaining we’ve brought in a ringer,” he said with a grin. “But as long as they won, they’re happy.”

Matt was exhausted. His face was dripping, his shirt and shorts stuck to his body. He’d run steadily for most of the game. He’d made a few shots after that free throw and despite his fatigue, he felt euphoric. He knew if he had a child, he’d want her or him to enjoy a wide range of activities. Not just science fairs, but sports, too.

After he’d showered and changed, he looked around the gym for Carrie. Seeing her run up and down the floor in her shorts had been one of the pluses of the game. She looked so cute and so full of energy and enthusiasm, he couldn’t believe she was thirty years old. When she made a shot or a good pass, he wanted to hug her. But he didn’t.

He found her behind the buffet table stirring a pot of stew.

“You were great,” he said, wanting to hug her right now. Wanting to drag her away behind the gym and make out with her the way the high school kids did. The way other high school kids did. But not him. No wonder his hormones were raging now when he was in his thirties. He’d skipped that whole phase in high school. He had years to make up for. “You didn’t tell me you’d played on the school team. I had to hear it from someone else.”

“You didn’t ask me. And I didn’t know if I could still play. Once a year isn’t enough to keep in shape.”

He let his gaze slide over the sweater and slacks she’d changed into. “I’d say you’ve managed pretty well.”

“So have you,” she said. But she didn’t look at him, she looked down at the carrots and chunks of beef in the bubbling pot.

“It was fun,” he said.

Before she could say anything else, Maggie came up and shook Matt’s hand and told him what a great game he’d played. When she asked him to help her set up the folding tables and chairs, he couldn’t refuse. Even though he would rather have stood there and watched Carrie toss salad.

“I hear you’ll be leaving us tomorrow,” she said.

“If the weather clears,” he said calmly. But inside he was far from calm. A sinking feeling hit him just when he thought he’d come to terms with leaving tomorrow. He’d tried to ignore it, tried not to think about leaving, tried to accept his imminent departure with as much equanimity as possible, but every hour that passed, every shared moment with Carrie made it harder and harder. He didn’t want to talk about it, but what else could he do when someone else brought it up.

“We’ll miss you,” Maggie said, handing him a folding chair to set next to the table.

“I’ll miss you all,” he said.

“Especially Carrie, I suppose,” she said.

“Yes, of course,” he said.

“She’s an amazing person. So self-sufficient. Just like her father. Doesn’t need anyone. I don’t understand her. I never have. I’m the type who likes company. We have long, cold winter nights up here. It can get pretty lonely,” she said.

“I can imagine,” he said. But Carrie had said she was never lonely. Not in a friendly town like this one. But he could easily imagine spending those long, cold nights with Carrie. Nights like last night.

“Of course, there are plenty of men who’d like to spend them with her. You’ve met Stan, I suppose.”

“Yes.”

“He follows her around like a puppy dog, but she doesn’t even notice.”

“Right. Well, let me carry this table, Maggie.” He walked away from her, table in hand, to set it up by himself. He didn’t want to hear her talk about Carrie. He knew she was self-sufficient. He didn’t know if it made him feel better or worse about leaving. All in all, despite the general hilarity, the fun of playing basketball and lighthearted atmosphere in the gym, he was starting to feel pretty terrible.

Carrie was one of the servers, so he didn’t even get to sit next to her. He watched her from where he sat with the principal and his wife and found it hard to pay attention to the conversation around him. When everyone else had been served, he saw Carrie fill her plate and go to another table. It looked like she was sitting next to Stan. Stan’s face was all smiles. Matt didn’t blame him. He’d be smiling too if he had her at his side. Stan was obviously crazy about her. Would she someday realize that life with him was better than life alone up here? He looked down at the food on his plate and realized he couldn’t eat another bite. It suddenly tasted like sawdust.

He mumbled some excuse about getting some coffee, got up and went outside. He took a deep breath of cool air and felt a little better but not much. A glance at the sky showed clouds moving and patches of pale blue. The first star had come out. The first star he’d seen since he’d arrived there. Yes, the weather was changing. He ought to be glad. But he wasn’t.
When Carrie came out and joined him with the duffel bag in her hands, she looked worried.

“I saw you leave. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he assured her. “Just needed some air.”

“Let’s go home,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “You look tired.”

“Whatever you want,” he said. Let’s go home, she’d said. But it wasn’t his home. It was hers. He didn’t have a home. There was his parents’ home, but he’d lived in rented apartments ever since he started medical school.

Back at her house, he called the airline and got a reservation for a flight from Juneau to San Francisco tomorrow afternoon. It was all happening so fast. He thought he’d have time to prepare himself mentally to leave, but he didn’t. Maybe he’d never be ready. Yet at the same time he didn’t know what to do with the time remaining. He knew what he wanted to do, but he also knew it was out of the question to spend another night in Carrie’s bed. One, she had made it clear she didn’t want to. And two, if it was anything like last night, he didn’t know if he’d be able to leave in the morning.

He needn’t have worried about how to spend the evening. Word had gotten around about his departure tomorrow, and the people with aches and pains, chills and fever, and everything in-between, came to Carrie’s house for some last-minute consultation. Carrie had them wait in the living room and he saw them in the kitchen. He gave out vitamins and analgesics, but mostly he gave out advice.

“When you have a cold you need to get plenty of rest. Drink lots of liquids. To keep from catching a
cold this winter, wash your hands as often as you can. Eat more fruits and vegetables. When you’re congested, inhale the steam from a pot of hot water.”

He refused payment, of course, so they came with little gifts for him. They brought small hand-carved animals in the shape of bear and moose or miniature hand-painted totem poles. It was after ten o’clock when the last grateful patient left.

“Thanks a lot, Doc,” Marco said as he waved goodbye from the front door. “I’ll remember what you said.”

“That was quite a turnout,” Carrie said as she closed the door behind him. “Did they wear you out?”

“Not at all. I wish I could do more. I hope you didn’t mind turning your house into a clinic.”

“Of course not.”

“I’m glad they felt comfortable enough to come. This kind of medicine is so different from what I’m going to be doing. It’s satisfying. You get to know the patients, that is if you live in their community. You know them when they’re well and you know them when they’re sick. Plastic surgery, as it’s practiced by my father, is a whole other thing. His patients come from all over the world because he’s a world-renowned specialist. He operates on them, does spectacular things with their faces or hands that can make a huge difference in their lives. When they’ve healed, they return to their homes and never see him again.”

“And that’s what you’ll be doing?”

“More or less.”

“The satisfactions are different, but just as real, I imagine.”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly, sitting on the edge of the couch.

“You look tired,” she said.

“For a quiet little village, you know how to keep a visitor busy.”

She nodded. “It’s not always like this.”

“I’ve had a good time,” he said simply.

“I know.” She paused. Her gaze collided with his, then she looked around the room, anywhere but at him. “I’ll get you a blanket and pillow.”

There it was. The words he knew were coming but didn’t really want to hear. Of course he knew it had been decided, a mutual decision, he told himself, that what happened last night between them would not be repeated. It was in both of their interests to let it rest, to forget it ever happened, and most of all, not to repeat it.

He didn’t look up, he was afraid to look in her eyes and see nothing but embarrassment. No memories, no longing, no desire. But, he hoped, no regrets either. In any case, she set the bedding on the couch, checked the sky once more, told him it looked clear and said goodnight.

He watched her walk up the stairs. Then the house was quiet. Too quiet. No wind outside. No sounds inside. She must have fallen asleep instantly. More power to her. He undressed and lay down but he was sure he wouldn’t sleep at all. His brain was wide awake. The images floated in front of his face though his eyes were closed.

Carrie with the sun shining on her dazzling copper-colored hair at the dock the first day he saw her.

Carrie with her face over a pot of soup, the steam curling her hair around her face.

Carrie in the hot springs, her whole luscious body pink and warm and so desirable he felt the ache of longing deep inside him. A longing he feared would be with him for a long, long time.

Carrie panting while she raced down the basketball court in shorts and a T-shirt.