Flying High (21 page)

“Did he have that made for you?”

“No. He saw it in an art shop and it reminded him of me.”

“And you still remember that verse.”

“I still have the little plate.”

The message of that gift she’d cherished for nearly two decades suddenly struck her as a criticism. Maybe it wasn’t. Perhaps he’d only been telling her that he understood her. Either way, she didn’t want to talk about it any longer.

“Hey, I felt some raindrops.” He jumped up, fastened the lid on the picnic basket and reached for her hand. “We’d better make a run for it. The clouds over toward Washington don’t look one bit friendly.”

The raindrops seemed to get bigger by the second as they sprinted across the park to his car. He opened the front passenger door for her, dashed around to the driver’s side, tossed the picnic basket to the backseat, hopped in and closed the door before a torrent of rain cleared the park of picnickers.

“This doesn’t look so good,” he said, and she’d been thinking the same.

“Maybe it won’t last long.”

“Yeah,” he said, almost as if he hadn’t heard her, his entire demeanor flashing warnings. “I’m going to avoid the expressway. Cars will be backed up for miles, and with rain pelting down like this, we could have flash flooding in minutes.”

She didn’t know the region, so she said nothing when he chose a side road that paralleled Little Hunting Creek. Very soon, his windshield wipers proved useless, and water rose along the road.

“Good Lord, Nelson, I never saw such a heavy downpour. I think the creek is flooding.”

“And so is this carburetor. I’m trying to make it to that incline. Then I think we’ll be all right, though we may have to sit here for a while.” He reached the slight hill, drove as close to a big oak tree as he could get and cut the motor.

“If the water rises above the car, we can get up in this tree,” he said. “Let’s see if the radio is working.” He tuned in station WRC in Washington and heard what he knew firsthand: that the southern portion of the Potomac and its tributaries were overflowing.

“You don’t seem overly concerned,” she said, her own nerves beginning to unsettle her.

“Oh, I am. I wouldn’t want anything untoward to happen to you, especially not because of me. However, I don’t think we have anything to fear.” He flicked off the radio and turned to her. “Let’s make good use of this time. We can’t go anywhere or do anything else except talk to each other.”

Here it comes,
she thought.
If only I could give him what it is that he needs of me. But I’ve never opened up my soul to anyone, not even to my mother. He needs that, and maybe I’d be happy if I did it but I can’t. I don’t know how.

“You know,” he began, leaning back against the car seat, “until I finished Buckley Academy, I was scared to death of high places. I didn’t even want to get on the top of a six-foot ladder.”

“But you’re a pilot.”

“My father was a pilot, and my younger brother intended to fly. I didn’t want to be left out, so the summer before I went to the Naval Academy, I made my way to Switzerland and forced myself to climb the Matterhorn. Every time I looked down, I got sick to the stomach, so I stopped looking down. When I got to that peak, I was so happy I cried. I flung my arms out wide and shouted at my echo for a good half hour until I began to feel great, as if I belonged up there close to the sky with the planes crisscrossing over my head. Those were magical moments. None of my other accomplishments will ever equal that one.”

“Not even earning that fourth silver star?”

He slid his right arm across the top of the bucket seat in which she sat and brushed her shoulder with his fingers. “That was triumph over myself, killing my personal demon. If I did that, I can do anything I put myself to.”

And that’s the key to who you are today,
she thought, understanding for the first time how he could endure the pain in his neck and shoulders for the sake of a coveted goal.

“I already knew that you have an inner strength that sets you apart, a toughness that I haven’t see in other men. I thought it was because you’re a Marine officer, but I was wrong. It’s you.”

“Do you have a fear or a feeling of inadequacy that could hinder fulfillment in some area of your life, that stands between you and something you covet badly?” He asked the questions in a casual tone that anyone would have thought was merely a continuation of their conversation.

But how could she tell him she’d rolled herself up tight as a ball of knitting yarn throughout her years of college and medical school because she thought herself homely compared to the flamboyant and beautiful girls first at Howard and then at George Washington University, where she attended medical school. Girls whose fathers didn’t collect tickets on Amtrak as hers did, but who were doctors, lawyers and professors. Girls whose mothers didn’t clean the women’s room at the Pentagon. How could she tell him she grew up thinking she was nobody?

He waited for her answer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. What could she say? “Can’t think of anything right now,” she said, hating herself for lying to him.

He withdrew his hand, leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Soon it’ll be dark, and it looks like it’s going to be a long night.”

His words had the impact of a blast of frigid air, and her sense of defeat was further exacerbated when he turned his head toward the window, effectively ending their conversation. She couldn’t retract her dishonesty. What would he think? He, a man from a privileged family.

I knew from the start that we couldn’t make it,
she said to herself.
Even if I could tell him that, I could never tell him all he’d want to know about Gerald and me.
She turned on her right side, away from him.
Oh, Lord, I hurt. I hurt.
She opened her purse, took out a tissue and slid it between her lips to stifle her groan. She was damned if she’d cry over him or any other man. If she didn’t want to advertise her background, that was her business. He had no right to demand, like some latter-day guru, that she confess all if she wanted to hang out with him.

“I won’t do it,” she whispered.

You’re wrong,
her conscience whispered right back.

“Won’t do what?” Nelson asked. “Oh, never mind.”

He dialed her Aunt Lena on his cellular phone, explained their plight and told her not to worry. Then he slouched down in the seat and turned his face toward the window.

In the darkness, she couldn’t see whether the water level had risen or fallen, and she didn’t want to disturb him. She’d made a mess of what had been one of the sweetest, most enjoyable days of her life. If she could have forced herself to tell him something, even about her fear of the dark, maybe he’d have his arms around her right that minute.

When she heard the engine stir some time later, she realized she’d slept. “What time is it?” she asked him, noticing that the car’s headlights shone brightly.

“A quarter of three. The water is down to about a foot, so I’m going to try to get out of here.”

He flipped on the radio to an all-night station and didn’t speak again until he stopped in front of her house.

He walked with her to her door, took her key, opened the door and placed the key in her hand. “I went through a breakup with someone who was very dear to me but who gave me the most painful surprise of my life. I’ve been over it for years. I guess we broke up because I didn’t understand her and definitely not her needs, and I’m not going through that again. If you want to be just friends, nothing more, I’m game. Thanks for the day. Be seeing you.”

She managed to get inside the door, lock it and make her way to the living room, where she slumped into the nearest chair. He was right, she knew. If she had queried Gerald, she would have at least been suspicious of his marital status, particularly because he didn’t introduce her to any of his friends. But she had been so excited, yes, and so happy that the handsome, refined man reciprocated her feelings that she hadn’t let herself risk knowing more about him than he volunteered, which wasn’t much.

I blew it,
she said to herself, heading upstairs,
but as much as we care for each other, I can’t believe it’s over.
She stripped, headed for the shower and stopped. Hadn’t he said he could do anything he put himself to? She couldn’t control the trembling of her bottom lip and after a while she stopped trying.

* * *

I did my best, and it wasn’t good enough,
Nelson said to himself as he rolled out of bed the next morning without having slept one minute.
I can’t and I won’t go any further with a woman about whom I know so little. I thought I knew Carole, but I wouldn’t have dreamed she couldn’t go seven days without a man. And I certainly would not have believed that she would go to bed with the man who I thought was my best friend.

He disliked leaving home before Ricky awoke, but he had to get to his office and tackle the mound of work he’d left there Saturday afternoon.

“Good morning, Colonel. This is Lieutenant McCafferty,” the voice said when he answered his intercom. “General Gray wants to know if there’s a reason why you shouldn’t return to Afghanistan for fifteen months. A change of command there is in the offing. If you have reasons or reservations, please fax them over to me before eleven this morning.”

“Please tell General Gray that I’ll try to carry out any order I’m given to the best of my ability.”

“Right on, Colonel.”

He knew better than to ask for consideration in any circumstance other than his health or a serious family emergency and so didn’t avail himself of the general’s offer to take account of his “reasons or reservations.” Instead, he converted his thinking to that of a man who would soon be headed to a war zone. Ricky would be safe with Lena, but how would the separation affect his personality and sense of security? That was a risk he had to take. As for his neck, he reasoned that if he took along enough painkillers, his neck wouldn’t be a problem, though the possible dangers didn’t escape him.

Neither did he fail to admit to himself that he would be leaving an aborted relationship with a woman he cherished, and that fifteen months of separation would stamp it final.
I can’t help it. It’s over.

* * *

Audrey’s war with herself had hardly begun. She spent the better part of that Monday morning upbraiding herself for having gone against her good judgment and allowing Nelson Wainwright into her life, her mind and her heart.

“Dr. Powers, that Latham case is still in my box of pending cases,” her receptionist said. “Mrs. Latham has called several times. What should I tell her when she calls again?”

“I have to think about it.” Audrey walked to the window and stared unseeing down on Georgia Avenue.
Why should I help Gerald Latham after what he did to me? Let him suffer as I suffered.
The words tore themselves from her, and she raised her fist to strike the window but caught herself, turned and went back to her desk. Her conscience served noticed that she would have no peace.
Is it right to make the boy suffer for his father’s deed and your own folly?
It nagged at her.

Folly? I didn’t know beans about sophisticated men. I was Gerald Latham’s victim, dammit,
she answered her conscience in an attempt to justify turning the child away. With repeated and lengthy surgery, he stood a good chance of regaining the normal use of that foot, provided he received the proper therapy. She knew what he needed and could give it to him.
But why should she?

As if to assuage her guilt, she spent an extra half-hour with her next patient, a ten-year-old girl who had broken her left middle finger, jeopardizing a possible career as a violinist.

However, her conscience would not be placated, and that night, beautiful little girls with long braids and smooth black skin played “Jitterbug Waltz” on their violins while little black boys hobbled on crutches trying frantically but unsuccessfully to dance. One by one they fell with hands outstretched toward her. She awoke amid twisted sheets dampened with the sweat of her culpability.

She tumbled out of bed and made her way to the kitchen. As she sipped coffee, she asked herself why she should forego the chance given her by fate to show Gerald what it meant to hurt.

But the child will hurt more than Gerald,
demon conscience needled.

He’d done his dirt and walked away with impunity, unscathed. He hounded her thoughts. She couldn’t look at a copy of
The Washington Afro-American
without seeing something about “socialite Dr. Gerald Latham and his lovely wife, Jemma.” She got up from the table and dashed the remainder of the coffee into the sink. Gerald Latham had paid his dues and he was going to get his reward.

The telephone rang and she answered it with reluctance, still deep in thoughts of the Latham family. “Audrey, honey, do you know where the Colonel is?” The anxiety in Lena’s voice triggered a sense of alarm in Audrey. “I been calling his office, and his secretary would only tell me he stepped out for a few minutes.”

“What is it, Aunt Lena? What’s the matter? Is Ricky all right?”

“Hold on, the ambulance is here. I’ll call you when we get to George Washington University Hospital. Bye.” Lena hung up.

“Aunt Lena!” The sound of the dial tone heightened her frustration. She didn’t know whether something had happened to Ricky, her aunt was ill, or what.

She packed her briefcase and cleared and locked her desk. “I’ll be away for the remainder of the day,” she told her receptionist. “If you need me, call my cellular phone number.” After telephoning Nelson’s office and leaving a message with his secretary, she left her own office and hailed a taxi. She didn’t have hours to search for a parking place. At the hospital’s information desk, she learned that Ricky had been admitted and was being prepared for surgery.

“What’s his problem? Why is he having surgery?”

“Sorry, madam, we give particulars only to family members.”

“I’m a physician,” she said, showing her credentials.