Convenience and Compatibility (2 page)

The weekend goes by uneventful
.
Saturday I spend nursing a massive hangover and waxing my legs.
Tara is at Adam’s all weekend giving me plenty of time to dwell on
the night before. Greg was hot – more than hot. It’s all I can do
not to touch myself while thinking about him and the sex we’ve had
together. Greg licking me to the point that I lose all sense of
myself, his five-o-clock shadow tickling and scratching my inner
thigh, the look on his face as I unclasp my bra, his cock. Oh, his
cock. I could almost make myself come just thinking about the
things it’s done to me.

By Sunday I’ve gotten the Greg-ness out of my
system and my mind is working normal again. I do my laundry and
daydream about meeting Dean-with-the-soul-filled-eyes. My
imagination runs amuck with reasons he is in a wheelchair: a
firefighter that saved a family from a burning building and fell
when the stairs collapsed, a policeman who was shot in the line of
duty, a good–samaritan that pushed a deaf elderly woman out of the
way from oncoming traffic and was then hit by a car. My mind keeps
drifting back to our interaction – driving me crazy.

Chapter 3

Monday morning comes with my twelve hour
shift on the Medical-Surgical floor at Good Samaritan Hospital. My
respite of being a floor nurse ended with the Health and Wellness
Fair. Back to reality and the job I’m starting to resent. Being a
floor nurse can be shitty at times – literally. All thoughts of Mr.
Dreamy-Eyes are gone with the busyness of the day. I have four
patients, a heavy load given their diagnoses and
co-morbidities.

I’m getting pain medication for the
status-post hip patient in room 346 when my charge nurse comes up
to me. “Mallory, can you come to my office as soon as you have a
few minutes?”

“Sure,” I reply, a pang of nervousness
suddenly in my stomach. It’s usually never a good sign when your
boss calls you into the office.

I try to stay focused while giving my patient
his pain medication, nodding and smiling appropriately while he
tries to make conversation. I finish as fast as I can and walk to
the charge nurse’s office. I stand in the door smiling, my
attention drawn to a woman sitting just inside the door, hair
perfectly coifed, her back to me. Jasmine, the charge nurse, is
smiling and nodding her head as I knock lightly, interrupting their
conversation.

“Come in Mallory. Have a seat.” I sit in the
only other chair in the office and look over to the woman by the
door. “This is Jeanette Collins, she is on the hospital board.
Jeanette wants to speak with you.”

Um, what? Much, much worse than I could ever
imagine. I’m smiling nervously like an idiot to this lady. I knew
she was important even before Jasmine told me who she was. The
beige Louis Vuitton bag resting on her lap told me everything. I
manage to say, “Nice to meet you” and swallow hard. Let’s get this
over with. The mystery woman smiles and nods, looking me up and
down and I can tell she is sizing me up.

There’s an awkward silence until Jasmine
excuses herself. “Where did you leave off Mallory? Give me a quick
report and I’ll check on your patients.”

Oh, hell. She’s leaving? What the fuck is
this about? I barely make it through a quick report, all the while
wondering why this woman wants to speak with me and paranoid about
HIPPA laws. Jasmine leaves and I look over to the woman and smile.
Damn my nervous smile, I must look like an idiot. What was her name
again?

“Mallory, so very nice to meet you,” she
begins. “I bet you are wondering why I wanted to see you today and
interrupt your shift. You happened to treat my son last Friday at
the Health and Wellness Fair. He was in a wheelchair and you
bandaged up his knee. Do you remember him?”

Fuck ya I remember Dreamy-eyes. My mouth goes
dry, but I manage a brief response. “Yes I remember him.” I can’t
think of anything else to say. My mind is reeling; did I do
something wrong? “How is he doing?”

“Just fine, thank you. I don’t know where to
begin,” she pauses and looks down at my shoes. “My son was in an
accident three years ago and we were told he would forever
essentially be a vegetable.”

I subconsciously move forward on my seat.
Please tell me why! Solve the mystery my mind has been
hypothesizing about all weekend, I want to say. Instead I politely
smile and Jeanette Collins continues.

“He has not spoken or moved since the
accident. At first he was in a coma from the head injury, but then
about a year ago he woke up to be in the state you saw him in last
Friday. He is on a feeding tube, has to have round the clock care.”
At this she pulls out some tissues from her purse and dabs her eyes
as the tears start flowing. I feel tears start to form in my eyes
as well, a natural reaction to seeing someone in pain. She looks
down at her hands and continues on with her story in a shaky voice,
“He has always stared off into space and never focused on anything
or anyone until Friday at your booth.” Jeanette then looks into my
eyes; almost it seems, searching for an answer as to why. Lady, I
haven’t a clue.

She continues, “Dean has not done that since.
We took him to the doctor on Friday and were assured that there has
been no change in his condition and his prognosis is the same. So I
am here to ask if you would be kind enough to come to our house for
dinner this evening. We are anxious to see if Dean would act the
same in your presence. Please Mallory?”

I don’t hesitate, “Of course, what time this
evening? I’m off work at 7:30.” The aching in her voice makes me
want to help her in any way I can. And of course I’m going to jump
at any chance to see him again.

Jeanette’s shoulders slump and the tightness
of her face relaxes. Her smile looks relaxed and genuine for once
in our encounter. “Eight o’clock alright? We live in Medina, if you
are late getting there that is fine.” She hands me a business-type
card that has her name and address printed on it. I look down at it
in awe – do people still do that? My thumb caresses the raised
scrolls outlining the card, and I notice that the weight of the
card is heavier than paper this size should be. Is everything this
woman owns couture?

I pull up to the
gate at eight
exactly. I stop at one of the stone pillars flanking the driveway
and notice a heavy wrought iron gate barring the driveway. I roll
down the window and crane my head around, looking for a way in,
when the gate opens. Weird. Slowly I guide my car up the narrow
driveway, the gravel under the wheels making an eerie sound. I
recognize the moment as surreal, feeling like I’m in a suspense
movie. Hopefully not a horror movie – I smile. The driveway is
windy and narrow, flanked by ferns and fir trees. Visibility is
limited as I slowly descend, it seems like forever, until the house
comes into view. It looks like something out of the English
countryside; two stories with gray brick, ivy growing up most of
the façade and trimmed around the windows and doors. The house is
not large enough to call it a mansion, but it’s not a cottage
either. Perpendicular to the house, on the left, is a three car
garage that looks like a miniature version of the house. I’m
instantly in love with the estate. The driveway opens up to a
rectangular motor court and I park in front of the house.

Deep breath in, I tell myself. I can do this.
Why am I so nervous?

Jeanette Collins answers the door right away.
“Welcome Mallory, please come inside.”

“Thank you Mrs. Collins.”

I step inside and notice a man in the foyer
and smile hello. “This is my husband Dr. George Collins,” she
politely smiles. Mr. Collins seems a little warmer and instigates a
handshake.

“Nice to meet you.”

He nods his head in agreement as our hands
touch. Mr. Collins looks nothing like a man with the name George
should. He is very attractive, appears to be in his late 50’s, and
seems fit – I would guess a runner. He is lean, yet strong; some
definition of muscle apparent under his tailored slacks and shirt.
I feel completely underdressed and dirty in my scrubs. Even his
wife is dressed nicely for dinner. She wears a pencil dress which
is both somewhat revealing, yet elegant. They fit each other well
as a couple.

Jeanette motions toward the room behind her
with a wave of her hand, “Let’s go into the dining room.”

“Yes, thank you.”

I walk into an immense room with the longest
wooden table I have ever seen. It has been buffed and polished to a
sheen, reflecting the light from the antique-looking crystal
chandelier hanging above. The table has been set on the closest end
of the room for four.

“Please have a seat.” George motions to the
chair on the end. I sit down and place my napkin in my lap. The
place setting is completely intimidating and I try to remember what
seventh grade home-economics taught me. Start on the outside...
work your way in.

Jeanette sits to my left and George to my
right. The butterflies in my stomach are stronger as I sit between
this power couple.

“Dean should be here momentarily, and then we
can begin.” Jeanette says as she smiles warmly. Maybe this evening
won’t be so bad.

As if on cue Dean enters the room through the
doorway on my right, one that I hadn’t previously noticed. He’s in
a geriatric chair reclined to about thirty degrees, John behind him
pushing. An opaque bottle hangs from the pole attached to his
chair, a tube from the bottom of the bottle ends in the blankets at
his waist - probably Dean’s dinner. I study Dean’s face as John
sets him up at the table and see… nothing. Maybe this was all
pointless.

I smile at John, “Nice to see you again John,
and you too Dean. How is your knee?”

I hear a gasp from behind me and turn to see
Mrs. Collins, hands to her mouth, tears forming in her eyes. I look
back to Dean and see his eyes locked onto mine. I maintain eye
contact as Mrs. Collins cries and Mr. Collins makes a phone
call.

“Hi, Mark? Could you pop over tonight? Yes,
it’s happening again. We would really appreciate it if you would
take a quick look at Dean. Great, see you soon.”

Mr. Collins kneels at Dean’s side and takes
his hand, calling his name a couple of times until Dean eventually
looks at him too. “Hi son. Are you coming back to us?” George
chokes on these last words and I’m too overcome with emotion – my
eyes start filling with tears as well.

I feel uncomfortable sharing this private
moment with the family and want to leave. But I stay silent and in
my seat, my stomach rumbling painfully from hunger, and watch as
the family in front of me shares a moment.

Mark shows up about fifteen minutes later,
dressed in a tux. His wife, I assume, waits near the door in
equally fancy attire. Mark must be a neurologist with the type of
assessments he starts. Dean’s eyes follow him throughout the exam
but nothing else moves; no eyebrow raised, no finger twitch, no
lips trying to form words. He looks stuck inside a frozen body and
my heart breaks for him.

Mark addresses the Collins’s when he is done,
“It looks as though there are some reflexes returning. I’m truly
amazed. Bring him in tomorrow morning and let’s do more tests.” He
smiles, “This is really good news.”

The doctor leaves and dinner is finally
served. The family talks excitedly about their son’s prospects of
recovery to each other and I feel like the odd man out. I’m neither
part of this family, nor going to be part of the recovery process
so why should I be involved in their discussion? I eat my dinner
and try to pretend interest in the conversation around me, but
eventually tire of the charade and keep my head down to focus on my
meal. What’s the point?

Knowing that I have a twelve hour shift that
begins early the next morning, I ask to be excused before even a
hint of dessert is offered.

Mrs. Collins seems a little relieved and
immediately stands to walk me to the door. Mr. Collins stays with
Dean at the table as I say goodbye to the both of them.

“Thank you Mallory,” Mr. Collins says. I
shake his hands and walk to the door where Jeanette is waiting.

“It has been a pleasure getting to know you
Mallory. Thank you for coming.”

I want to roll my eyes, but instead smile
warmly to her. Does she think I believe the shit she’s dishing out?
But I can play this game as well. “You’re very welcome. Let me know
if there is anything further I can do. Good luck.”

Driving home I feel like I’ve done my good
deed for the day… week… whatever. I tell myself it’s stupid, but I
feel a little responsible for Dean’s change in condition. Knowing I
will probably never see him again, I’m a little sad, but relieved
that I don’t have to deal with the fake niceties of his family
again. I smile to myself and think of my bed – I’m exhausted and
can’t wait to get in it.

Chapter 4

By December my resolve to keep some distance
between Greg and I had faltered. We were only apart about a month
before the convenience of being with him got the best of me. We
started hooking up, and even though he is still the same Greg, we
found a symbiotic way to be together. Being with Greg was just too
easy.

I get off work and walk out the double doors
of the Good Samaritan Hospital. I take a deep breath of cold air –
relieved not to be in the stuffiness of the building anymore.
Turning left, I start walking down the hill towards the shopping
district to stroll around before I catch my bus. Tara and I have
plans with Adam and Greg, but it’s not until later as they have
some big case and need to work late. There is something magical
about downtown Seattle at Christmastime, and even though my feet
are killing me, I’m looking forward to the walk.

I’m crossing the street when I hear my name
being called somewhere in the dark, ahead of me. I stop on the
corner and wait. My name is uncommon enough that I figure the
person is calling for me and not someone else named Mallory.