Bouquet: Sequel to 'In Full Bloom': The Trilogy of the Rose (Volume 3) (9 page)

EIGHT

“S
ami, you must understand.  The treatment plan I have in mind for you is unorthodox,” Mark stated.

“Why?”

“Many reasons, but the primary one is our opportunity here at this cabin,” he answered, walking over and pulling the snow shovel out of the bank.  “This place holds your memories.  You are the only one connected to it, not us.  Your request to come here has deep meaning for you.  You subconsciously granted me access into your world.  This is not normal for me.  I have never passed my patients to another person and focus all my energy on one.”

“What makes me special?”

“I wouldn’t say special.  It is more of the mystery involved.  I am intrigued by your case,” he offered, leaning on the hilt of the snow shovel.  “When I first interview a new patient, I am able to pinpoint their exact location on my scale of diagnoses, ranging from the clinical schizophrenics to the ultra-lonely who wish only to hear another’s human voice.  You, my dear, are different.  With you, I feel like a mathematician, needing to adjust my slide rule to solve a complicated problem. Your case requires me to draw on my own emotions and demands me to stay on my toes.”

“Why are you sharing this with me?”

“Good question,” he answered, shaking his head and heading to the tree he had indicated earlier.  As he walked, he dragged the snow shovel down his right side, forming a path.

Confused, she asked, “Where are you going?  Do you want me to follow you?”

“No.  Stay there; I will be right back,” he directed.

Sami watched his progress to the tree where he reversed directions and returned to her, keeping the shovel on his right side.  Stepping before her, he passed the shovel to her.  Taking the offered shovel in her right hand, she looked at it.  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

Mark turned and pointed to the deep snow between the two grooves made by dragging the shovel. “See those grooves?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied softly. 

“Take the shovel and clear the snow between them,” he directed.

“You want me to shovel the snow with my broken arm?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, turning to her.  “We need a path to the tree.  You said you still have one good arm.  Use it.”

Glaring at him, she asked, “What are you going to do?”

“Listen to you,” he answered, stepping out of her way and indicating with his right arm for her to start.

Sami tilted her head to one side.  “That doesn’t seem fair,” she remarked.

“I am not under treatment,” he replied.

“Loser!” she bellowed.

“Nope, you cannot use it here.  It is your ‘catch word’ to tell me you are not ready to share something, not for you to use because you don’t like my methods. Start,” he directed.

“That is not fair,” she repeated.

“That is the second time you used the word ‘fair’. What does fair have to do with it?  This is not a vacation or holiday.  This is a full-court press.  My presence here is to mend you.  I will push and pull you in many different directions to achieve your desired results,” he informed her.

“My desired results, Dr.  Stevens, or yours?” she asked.

“Let’s call it a common goal,” he suggested.

Sami eyed the distance and moaned.  “I don’t think I can do it,” she whispered. 

“Oh, you can,” he assured her.  “We are not in any hurry.  Use little scoops to begin with to test your tolerance.  I don’t want you to further injure yourself.”

Sami picked up the shovel and frowned as she looked at the task ahead of her.  “Talk it out, Sami,” he encouraged as he saw her eyes squint in concentration. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“I am trying to figure the best way to tackle it,” she answered, examining the shovel.

“Go on,” he urged.

“The shovel is too large to handle with one arm.  I could balance it on my cast to act as a fulcrum, but then it might flip due to the width of the scoop and the unbalanced weight of the snow.  I would only end up dumping whatever I do scoop.  My broken arm gives me a handicap.  I have the wrong tool to get the job done.  I need a smaller shovel — one that I could scoop and balance with one arm.  However, the smaller tool would mean more scoops to remove the snow,” she rambled. 

After a few moments, she looked at him, “My goal is to clear the path to the tree, right?” she asked.

“Correct,” he responded.

“No other limitations?” she asked.

“None,” he assured her.

“So, I can get a smaller scoop?” she asked.

“By all means,” he answered, smiling.

“I’ll be right back,” she stated, walking over to the porch and picking up his coffee mug.  “You done with this?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered, confused.

“It will do,” she muttered, dumping the remaining coffee on the mound of snow at her feet.  “Hmm,” she said, seeing the snow melt where she had poured the coffee.  “Got an idea,” she called, moving around to the side of the house. 

“This didn’t work,” Mark stated, knowing exactly what she had in mind.  His wish for her to grasp the analogy of the appointed task to her own personal recovery was now gone.  The dumb luck of the remaining coffee in his mug had given her a shortcut to reach her goal.  The ‘no limitations’ clause he agreed to had tied his hands from forbidding her from her set course of action. 

Seeing her round the house, he saw the hose coiled over her shoulder and a large, blue bag of something in her hand.  “What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Rock salt,” she responded, dropping the hose near the water spigot and attaching the hose to it.

“STOP!” Mark ordered.  “You are going to make a mess.  Don’t waste the water or salt.  I will do it.”

“No,” Sami called.  “You gave me this assignment and I will complete it.”

“You have completed it,” he replied, picking up the snow shovel and attacking the snow.  He heard Sami’s evil-sounding laughter behind him.  He had been caught in his own web, and she knew it.  Groaning loudly, he asked, “How about a refill on the coffee?”

“Okey-dokey,” she responded airily.

“While you are at it, sprinkle some of that rock salt on the back steps,” he requested, knowing that he would need to use them to gather more firewood.

“Anything else you require, sire?” she asked sarcastically.

He only shook his head in response.  “Oh, Mark. She is clever.  Stay on your toes,” he said softly to himself, shaking his head as the snow flew. 

***

NINE

H
earing the cabin’s door open, Mark found himself tense at the sound, refusing to look up from his shoveling.  “Just leave it on the railing, Sami,” he directed.

“It is me,” Grandma Jo called as she carefully made her way to him.

“Sorry,” he replied, looking back at her and seeing her carrying not only the mug, but the red ribbon.  “Oh, I forgot.”

“Figured as much,” she said, handing him the ribbon and mug.

Taking only the offered ribbon, he asked, “Did David call?”

“No, not yet,” she answered, looking at her watch; the dial indicated it was 10:37 A.M.  “He should have left by now if he wants to arrive around noon.”

“He must have forgotten to call,” Mark said, turning to the path to the road.  “I’ll walk down to the main road and secure this somewhere.”

“Mark, before you go, what happened with her?” Grandma Jo asked, indicating with her head to the cabin.

“Why?” he questioned, stopping.

“She is different,” she responded.

“No.  Not ‘Mrs.  Carter’?” he asked, moaning.

“No, dear.  Quite the opposite.  She is singing,” she informed him.

Mark glanced at the door and concentrated on trying to pick up any sound from within the cabin. Unable to hear anything, he laughed, “She won this round,” he explained. 

“Won?”

“Yes.  We were engaged in a little mental swordplay.  She skillfully parried my attempt to get her to admit her need for treatment.  In other words, I lost,” he replied.  “She is celebrating her victory.”

Grandma Jo laughed at Mark’s analogy of their battling.  “Did you get cut?”

“Nicked, but no blood,” he admitted, looking back at Grandma Jo.

“So, when is the next round?” she asked, intrigued.

“I am playing it by ear at this point,” he offered. “David’s arrival will speed things along.”

“How?”

“He is bringing her paints and journals with him,” he shared.

“I don’t understand,” she admitted.

“I am working on a few ideas.  I will share when they solidify,” he stated.

“What do you want me to do in the meantime?”

“It is Monday, correct?” he asked, smiling.

“Yes,” she answered, puzzled.

“To the kitchen, little lady,” he demanded.

“Cookies?  Bread?  My baking day?”

“Sounds wonderful,” he replied, turning back to the path and hearing her soft laughter. 

Trudging through the snow, Mark’s mind turned to David. 
Why hadn’t he called?
he wondered.  David seemed reliable.  He hoped it was something simple and not any problems.  Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he withdrew his cell phone. 
Only one way to find out
, he thought, dialing Grandma Jo’s number.  Listening to the unanswered ringing, he disconnected the line. 
He might still be at Sami’s house
, he concluded.  Not having Sami’s number memorized, he dialed the clinic; they had the number.