Could I Have This Dance? (32 page)

John began to pray, haltingly at first, and then with fervor, words that he felt, asking God to protect Claire and put his arms of peace around her. He prayed for grace and for guidance.

Claire brushed back her tears. “Thanks, honey.”

“I love you,” he concluded. “Sleep tight.”

She walked out of the bathroom clutching her robe and put the phone back in its cradle. She pulled a sleeping bag and a pillow from the closet and tossed them on the couch. Brett was watching TV.

“Don’t you get cable?”

“Why would I want it? I’m never here.”

“Good point.” He paused. “I guess that was your fiance?”

“Good guess.”

“Was he upset about me being here?”

“Should he be?”

He nodded. “I think so.”

“He’s jealous. He’s honest enough to tell me that.”

“Should he be?”

She smiled. “I guess I wouldn’t like it if he didn’t care.” She turned and walked to the stairs. “Thanks for coming over. I’ll feel safer knowing someone else is in the house.”

“Sure.”

“Good night, Brett. I’ll let myself out quietly in the morning so you can sleep. Saturdays off is a benefit you should cherish.”

“Good night, Claire.” He put his arms behind his head. “I’ll be right here if you want me.”

She turned and walked up the stairs, clutching the front of her robe.
Don’t tempt me, lifeguard boy.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
he night passed without catastrophe, and in spite of her exhaustion, Claire tossed restlessly at any little sound. She awoke at two to the barking of the neighbor’s schnauzer, suspecting that Tiger was responding to another prowler. She awoke at three to the sound of a Safeway bread truck, imagining a vandal’s getaway vehicle speeding into the night. Each time, she stared at the darkness and listened, her ears attuned to every minute sound which could alert her to the presence of Mr. Jones, returning to exact vengeance for his daughter’s death.

At four, she was sure she heard the floor creaking downstairs, and she had, but it was only Brett rising to use the bathroom. Then she started thinking how wonderful it would be if he would just disobey everything she’d told him and sneak upstairs and slip into bed beside her.

Ugh! I can’t be thinking this way.
She turned over and pulled the pillow over her head.
This is crazy.
She was actually looking forward to getting back to the hospital so she could get some sleep.

She rose and dressed at five, back to wearing her navy skirt.
I wish the CT attendings would enter the new millennium. What’s wrong with a woman in pants?

Claire left the house at five-thirty, with Brett sleeping soundly on the couch. At least one of them had slept well.

She closed the door quietly and looked at the jagged message printed there. She shivered and ran to her Toyota. Tiger barked again, and Claire escaped his wet greeting by ducking into her car.

Weekends on the CT service were a notch more relaxed than during the week, with no fresh hearts to sit. After morning rounds with Dr. Rosenthal, Claire spent an hour with the medical students, teaching them the basics of intensive care monitoring. They asked questions, took notes, and called her Dr. McCall.

“Call me Claire,” she reminded them for the third time.

Martin walked by and whined. “I could use some help writing notes, Claire.”

“It’s the weekend, Martin. Why don’t you skip out of here and I’ll do all the notes today? Then tomorrow, you write the notes and I’ll leave early.”

Martin ran his hand through his unwashed hair and wrinkled his forehead. It seemed this was a new concept to him: working together, not simply competing. “Hmmm. I could use a nap.”

And a shower. Claire smiled. “Get out of here, Martin.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan.” He pivoted and rushed from the unit, nearly running into Dr. Rosenthal as he exited the automatic door leading to the ICU. Claire listened to their conversation as she picked up her first patient chart.

“Leaving so soon, Dr. Holcroft?”

“Well, er, yes. It was Claire’s idea. She’ll do the notes today. I’ll do them tomorrow.”

Claire watched over her shoulder to see Martin backpedaling into the unit. “But I can stay if you want, sir. I really think maybe it’s best if I do—”

“Relax, Martin,” Dr. Rosenthal chided. “It’s the weekend. The attendings don’t care, as long as the work gets done.” He opened his hand and gestured toward the double doors. “Have a nice day.”

“Thank you, sir. I will, sir.”

Martin disappeared and Rosenthal looked at Claire. “Where did we get him?”

Claire lifted her nose. “Harvard, sir.”

Rosenthal laughed, then lifted a donut from a box on the counter. He held the donut with a paper napkin, appearing to carefully avoid touching the food with his fingers.

Only a cardiothoracic surgeon would eat a donut that way.

Rosenthal chuckled again, uncharacteristically jovial. He finished his donut and folded the napkin before discarding it in a trash receptacle beneath the counter. He studied a cardiac monitor for a moment before turning to leave. He paused at the door and looked back at Claire. “You might want to go easy on the Harvard jokes when you’re around Dr. Lewis. He’s an alum and he absolutely adores Harvard grads.”

She tapped her pen on the progress note page and smiled before offering a mock salute. “Thanks for the warning, sir.”

He shook his head. “Careful, Claire.” He pushed a button on the wall to activate the automatic door leading from the unit. He disappeared with his words fading, “I’m on my beeper.”

Saturday night Claire slept for five hours without interruption in a hospital call room. Five hours! She pried herself from the inadequate mattress and stretched, relishing in the amazing amount of time since her last page. She checked the beeper, fearing a dead battery, but it was fine. The service was stable, and she hadn’t been needed.

She thought back to her last night at home and wondered how she would feel tonight all alone in her quiet house. She couldn’t just invite Brett to move in with her. Sooner or later that would drive him … or her … to do something they’d regret. Or at least
she’d
regret.

She looked around the call room. And she couldn’t exactly just live there, could she?

She back-burnered her concern during rounds, and left Martin Holcroft as the lonely front line for the CT service by nine A.M.

She traveled Devonshire Boulevard, noting the paucity of city traffic. She passed two large churches with parking lots crowded with cars. She felt an urge to turn in at the second, but dispelled the idea when she looked at her plain navy skirt and remembered her commitment to go shopping. She pressed on the accelerator and pushed aside a pang of guilt.
I feel guilty every time I see a church.
She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel, aware of the irony in her thinking.
I’m supposed to be in church so I can feel better, right? But I’ll just end up feeling worse because I’ll see how far I have to go.

She’d find a church once she got through her internship. Certainly John would want to go somewhere after they were married.

Suddenly, she was thinking about Brett, about his lips on her forehead, and the way he gently nudged her face toward his. Her heart quickened at the memory. Why did she always have to think about Brett when she wanted to think about John? He was like a virus in her brain, lying in wait to attack, just when her defenses were down. What was it about him, that she had allowed him to get under her skin so effectively?

She looked down at her diamond solitaire, and she tilted it to reflect the sunlight coming through the windshield.
I’d better find another shoulder to cry on before I let him kiss me. I’m afraid I’d melt. I’d be putty in those masculine arms …

She passed another church and felt guilty again.
I haven’t even read my Bible in weeks.

Claire pulled her car into the Safeway parking lot. She wanted to do her grocery shopping while the parking lot looked empty.
I’ll read my Bible later today.

Then I won’t feel so guilty.

That afternoon, Della McCall cleared the dishes from the table and checked on Wally. He was watching TV with a glassy-eyed stare, sitting on the couch, but certainly didn’t appear to be relaxing. His right arm flew up with a jerk into the air and landed on the seat back. His head twitched and he kept crossing and uncrossing his legs, seemingly unable to keep them in one position for any time at all.

“It wears me out just watching you.”

Wally said nothing. He just kept staring ahead at the TV screen. He hadn’t spoken two words since she’d returned from church. He may have belched once or twice, but he uttered nothing Della could understand. She stayed out of his way when he was like this. It was better just to let the cloud pass.

She went back to her dishes, filling the sink with hot soapy water. Della began to wash. Just doing something so normal brought a little comfort to her soul, as everything else around her seemed to boil. She caressed each plate with a drying towel and stacked them in a painted cupboard.

When the phone rang, she dried her hands and carried the receiver out into the shade of the back porch. “Hello.”

“Mom, it’s me.”

“Claire.” She sighed. “It’s good to hear you.”

“I hadn’t talked to you for a while. I thought I should check in. How was Clay’s court date?”

“The judge fined him 250 dollars and gave him a restricted license, but he has to attend an alcohol safety course of some sort.”

“What’s a restricted license?”

“He can only drive to and from his classes, to work, or to a doctor’s appointment.”

“Oh, man.” She heard her daughter exhale into the phone.

“What?”

“Oh, I was just trying to imagine Clay not having access to all the things he loves to do: his motorcycle, fishing, whatever. He’s not very content sitting still.”

“He’s going to have to be.”

“I guess. How’s Daddy?”

Della glanced back at the closed screen door. “He’s the same, Claire. I’m getting to the end of my rope with him. I wish you could come home and see him. He needs a good doctor.”

“Thanks but no thanks. He still won’t see Dr. Jenkins?”

“No. He says he knows what he’ll say. He thinks doctors are all the same. They’ll just get on him for his drinking.”

“Do you think it’s all his alcohol?”

“No.”

“So maybe someone is finally inclined to back my theory that Daddy needs a real doctor to see if something else is going on?”

“Claire, I’ve never doubted that he needs medical help. You’re the one who insisted that he was a drunk and that all his problems stemmed from that.”

Claire sighed. “I know, I know. But that was before I learned about Huntington’s.”

And that was before it was affecting your future,
Della thought.

“You didn’t want me to talk to Grandma about Huntington’s disease. You thought I’d offend her.”

“And you did anyway.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment. “How did you find that out? Did she tell you?”

“No. Dr. Jenkins told me of your concern, and why.”

Claire huffed. “I told him those things in confidence! Why did he turn around and tell you?”

“Claire, it’s not like he’s spreading this all around. This is a family matter, and he thought I should know. Actually, he seemed concerned for you. He wanted me to reassure you that you didn’t need to worry about this Huntington’s disease or whatever disease you’ve diagnosed your father with.”

“I’m not so sure what makes him so confident. Is he afraid he’ll be looked down upon if he’s missed an important diagnosis?”

“Dr. Jenkins is a very smart man, Claire. Perhaps you should believe him.”

“Maybe he feels threatened by me. I’ve just finished medical school. He’s been at it for a long time. I’m in a high-powered medical university. He’s a country doctor. I come up with a diagnostic concern that I think he should check out, and instead of feeling grateful, he says I’m living in an ivory tower.”

“Honey, he’s one of your biggest fans. I’m sure he didn’t mean to offend.”

“Maybe it’s not his fault. It’s just all of Stoney Creek. No one can see past the end of their nose down there. Dr. Jenkins won’t listen. You were too concerned that I would offend Grandma, and all she can think about is some stupid legend of an old curse. Is everyone just backwards, or does everyone have a skeleton in the closet?”

Della glanced in at Wally. He was still watching TV with a blank stare and still twitching. “Look, Claire, don’t sell us all short. Stoney Creek may be small, but—”

“Dr. Jenkins told you everything that I told him? Even about Grandma?”

“Yes, even about Grandma’s little secret.”

“Ugh! I shouldn’t have told him. Grandma was so concerned this would get back to Daddy. She didn’t think he should know.”

“Don’t worry, Claire,” she responded, lowering her voice. “I’m not about to share that with him, not in his condition.”

“Good.” Claire’s voice lightened. “Have you talked to Grandma? How was her trip to Martha’s Vineyard?”

“She stopped by this afternoon. She looks great. She’s tanned, ready for another trip somewhere.”

“She stopped there, by the house? What gives? I thought she never visited anymore.”

“She doesn’t. At least not very often. But since the summer rolled around, she seems to worry a lot about your father. I think she feels responsible for him.”

“It’s the curse thing, Mom. She’s worried she passed along a generational curse.”

“I’m not so sure. She may be coming around. She said that her cousin Hilda tried to talk some sense into her. She even mentioned that Hilda had known a person with Huntington’s disease once, and said that in Hilda’s opinion, you might not be so far out in left field after all.”

“Thank you, doctor cousin Hilda.”

Della heard the sound of the refrigerator door squeaking before Claire continued. “What about you, Mom? Do you think it’s possible? Could the Stoney Creek curse be Huntington’s disease? Maybe this is what’s been wrong with Daddy all along.”