Pam closed the journal and slipped it into her backpack before finishing her beer. “Wow. I think that’s enough to digest for now.”
Trish nodded, stared into her glass for a long time. Her eyes looked full, as though tears might spill over at any moment. But they didn’t.
“You okay?” Pam asked quietly.
“Yes. I’m okay. I guess it drives it home, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. She wouldn’t have been happy living any other way. It really was her calling, like a religion.”
“I thought medicine was a calling too. Shouldn’t that have been enough?”
“Not for her.”
“But it is for you, right?”
Pam shrugged. “I thought so. Now, I’m not so sure.”
Surprise registered on Trish’s face. “What’s changed that?”
“Laura dying.”
“Yeah, it’s changed things for me too.”
“Really? Like what?”
The waitress came by, collected their plates and took their order for coffee.
“Wanting to chase my dreams more than I have been,” Trish said.
Dreams. Medicine had been Pam’s big dream. Graduating, completing her internship, working in a big city hospital’s bustling ER. Now that her dreams were reality, she’d stopped dreaming. Stopped wanting, until she’d met Trish again. Now she felt empty without a dream, and she didn’t want to die that way. At least Laura had died still dreaming. Hadn’t she?
“It’s stupid really,” Trish was saying, her mouth quirked into a sheepish smile.
“What? Tell me.”
“I’ve never told anyone this before.”
Pam leaned forward on her elbows. “Dreams are never stupid. I’m intrigued.”
“Don’t be. It’s not that exciting. It’s…I don’t know. I guess I’ve always wanted to write a book of some kind.”
“Really?” Pam had never known anyone who wanted to write a book before. Well, besides one of her professors who always talked about the ophthalmology textbook he was going to write some day. But that wasn’t what Trish was talking about. “What kind of book?”
The waitress swung by with their coffees, momentarily suspending conversation. Trish still looked a little embarrassed, but also invigorated. Like someone caught in a dream. Pam was a little envious.
“I’m not really sure. I’ve thought about a romance novel. I’m halfway through writing one actually.”
“Really? That’s so cool. I’ve never known anyone who’s written a romance novel before. Is it girl on girl?”
“Of course, silly.”
“And let me guess, girl gets girl at the end?”
“Oh, stop making fun. I knew I shouldn’t have told you.” But Trish didn’t look annoyed. In fact, she looked a little glad for the attention.
“I’m not teasing, honest. I think it’s great that you started writing a book. When are you going to finish it?”
“Probably never. I started it three years ago.”
“You can’t give up, not when you’re halfway there.”
Trish sighed, took a sip of coffee. “I guess I can’t bring myself to write a happy ending. I know the girl is supposed to get the girl, but…”
Pam understood perfectly. “It’s fantasy. The girl is allowed to get the girl, you know.”
“I know. I just don’t know what that feels like, you know?” Her voice caught, and Pam reached across the table to touch her hand.
“So write about something else,” Pam suggested. “A mystery or a thriller. Maybe even something nonfiction?”
“I know, you’re right. I should start something different and forget about this romance nonsense.”
“Don’t give up on it, Trish.” It saddened Pam that for Trish there hadn’t been a happy ending. She supposed she should feel encouraged that Trish’s heart remained her own and not possessed by someone else, but she wasn’t. Trish was a woman of substance and someone who deserved to be loved back.
“What about you?” Trish’s eyes probed her. “You’re not thinking of quitting medicine, are you?”
Pam looked away. She didn’t want to see the concern on Trish’s face. “My contract is done in a couple of weeks. I haven’t signed on for another term.”
“Are you going to?”
“I don’t think so. It feels like I need some time to figure things out.” That was an understatement.
“Does that mean you don’t want to be a doctor anymore?”
Pam didn’t exactly know what it meant. She couldn’t fathom not being a doctor. It’s what she’d dreamed about doing since she was a teenager and watched Laura go off to medical school. Her mother and sister had both made financial sacrifices to help her pay for her education, and she didn’t want to dishonor them by abandoning it. She was good at it, too, and yet, she was so lost now, so numb, so full of doubts. She could not find it in herself to care much about anything. Continuing her work felt passionless, an act of simply going through the motions. She didn’t want that, and her patients certainly didn’t deserve that.
“I guess I want to feel the way Laura did about her work,” she said, emotion strangling her voice. “Like it’s a religion. Or a wife.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I know Laura’s death has made you feel like you’re at a crossroads. For what it’s worth, I think you’re too good at what you do and you enjoy helping people too much to give it up.”
She hoped Trish was right and that her passion for medicine would return. But what if it didn’t? Her stomach clenched at the thought. There was no guarantee she would want to go back to it, but hell, there was no guarantee with anything, as Laura’s death was so painfully reminding her.
“I need to be sure it’s what I want to do,” Pam said. Sure that it was what she really wanted for herself, that she wasn’t Laura’s shadow, copying Laura in everything she did—from medicine to wanting Trish. With quiet desperation, she wondered now if that’s what she’d been doing all these years, playing the role of little sister mindlessly following in big sister’s footsteps. If that was true, then it was time to find her own path. Time to be the leader instead of the follower. Of course, it wasn’t like she had a choice anyway, because her leader was dead.
She looked at Trish and tried not to let the panic show on her face. She didn’t want to give up everything she’d worked at for so long, every dream, every ounce of her love for Trish, simply because they weren’t original ideas.
“Pam? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I…”
“Trish darling!” A large African American woman, about six feet tall and with the wide girth of a middle-aged ex-athlete, slapped Trish on the shoulder. “Girl, what a treat running into you here.”
“Bev, how are you? Oh, sorry, this is my friend Pam. Pam, this is Bev Jermaine. Coaches the women’s basketball team at our school.”
Pam half stood and shook the woman’s meaty hand. Yup, definitely basketball mitts. “Pleasure to meet you, Bev.”
“Oh, the pleasure is all mine.” Bev’s dark eyes swept appreciatively over Pam before returning to Trish. Her teeth gleamed in the widest grin Pam had ever seen. “Please tell me you’re bringing this lovely woman to the party tonight.”
“Oh, I, ah…”
Trish’s face began to flush. A party was news to Pam.
“Don’t tell me you were going to weasel out of it.” Bev pretended to be angry, but was soon grinning again. “’Cuz you know I’ll come find you and drag y’all there.”
Trish cleared her throat. “I, ah, wasn’t sure we were up for a party. Pam is Laura’s sister. She’s visiting me this weekend.”
“Oh. Shit.” Bev clasped a heavy arm around Pam’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry about your sister, Pam. My condolences. And I totally I understand about the party.”
“Thanks.”
Bev’s scrutiny of her took on a patina of awe. “I’ve heard a lot about the Wright sisters at the school over the years. Your athletic accomplishments are
legendary.”
“Please. I only wish it were true.”
“You still play basketball?”
“Once or twice a week with the guys at work.”
Bev frowned. “Then for sure I’m not going to ask you for a little one-on-one while you’re visiting. You’d kick my ass. Anyway, seriously. If you ladies feel like a nice distraction tonight or a drink, then come on out, okay? We’d love to have you both. A happy crowd always makes things better.”
“Thanks, Bev. We’ll think about it.” Trish rose and hugged Bev.
“You know fun is never in short supply at our place.” Her laugh was so deep, it resonated in Pam’s toes.
“I sure do know that. Thanks. And tell Jean I said hello.”
Bev winked. “You can tell her yourself tonight. Pam, again, great to meet you.”
“Thanks. Great to meet you too, Bev.”
As soon as Bev moved along, Trish began apologizing. “I should have mentioned the party to you. I just didn’t think…”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’d have done the same if I were you. But I don’t mind going. Honestly. It might even be nice.”
“Really? You sure?”
Pam shrugged. “Why not? It’ll be mostly gay people, I take it?”
“Mostly, yes. Every year around this time, we have a party to celebrate the end of the school season. Most of us are teachers or connected to the school in some way, but not everyone. And some are straight, but they’re all very gay friendly. Nobody’s afraid to let their hair down.”
“Sounds like fun.” Trish looked like she was holding something back. Pam pressed her. “Something you’re not telling me about this party?”
“No, not really. I just need to figure out how to kiss and make up with Rosa, because I’m pretty sure she’ll be there.”
“You had a fight?” Pam asked in alarm.
“Sort of. Not really. I don’t know. Things didn’t end well when we got together last week.”
The waitress dropped their bill on the table, asked if there was anything else. Pam pocketed the bill, ignoring Trish’s protestations.
“Well?” Pam said as they walked to Trish’s car. “Is your falling out so bad that you need to avoid her?”
“Oh, hell, I don’t know. I guess I need to give myself a slap or something.”
“So the falling out is your fault?”
“No, it was both of us. She had some pretty harsh words for me. Words I didn’t want to hear, and I was pretty nasty about it. She’s texted me and tried to call a few times, and I keep ignoring her.”
“Do you think you two can work it out?”
“I guess. Or we should at least try, anyway.”
Pam slipped her arm through Trish’s. “Good. Then we’ll go to this party later. I’d like to meet your friends.”
Trish laughed. “You might be sorry.”
“I don’t think so.” Pam enjoyed the thought of experiencing Trish in the company of her friends, relaxing and enjoying herself. They both needed a little fun, some casual conversation for a change. While she enjoyed—needed—their deep, cathartic talks, they were also exhausting. “Will there be music? Dancing?”
“Ha, you can count on it. Especially since it’s at Bev and Jean’s. They love old R and B stuff. And Bev doesn’t need an excuse to put on her dancing shoes.”
“Sounds perfect.”
Chapter Thirteen
Trish put the party out of her mind as they read more of Laura’s journal. Her writing style was pure, honest, with the right mix of emotion and observation. She’d have made a good journalist, it occurred to Trish. She hadn’t given a lot of thought to the war the last few years as it shifted from Iraq to Afghanistan, other than wondering what Laura was up to and whether she was safe. She’d never found herself very curious about what went on in a war zone, but now she was. She eagerly absorbed Laura’s journal entries, sometimes closing her eyes when it was Pam’s turn to read so that she could picture exactly what the words described. She could almost see the dust, feel the heat, hear the thwack of helicopter blades and the thundering scream of jets overhead.
“Jan. 3:
“Medevac brought in a Taliban soldier this afternoon. He’d been shot up pretty good by a British soldier during a roadside ambush. His left leg was shredded by bullets, his left hand pretty much shot right off. He was conscious, but he refused to speak to our interpreter. Wouldn’t look any of us in the eye. Kind of had this look of disdain on his face, like he hated our guts, which was mutual. I supposed it really pissed him off having a woman doc, which secretly pleased me. It’s true that some of our staff get a little rough with the enemies when they’re brought in like this. You know, as in, forgetting to give them a shot of morphine, not being very delicate with the IV, or tying the tourniquet a little too tight. Believe me, I’d have loved to kick this guy to the curb with a few more areas of pain to worry about. He might very well have killed or injured some of my friends over the course of this war and might inflict more damage once we let him go. But it’s my job to help anyone who comes through these doors, and, yeah, it fucking kills me to do it sometimes, but I know the day I can’t do this, I’ll have to stop being a doctor. The Hippocratic Oath doesn’t talk about wars and enemies. People are people. They’re not born this way, they’re made. And so just maybe, when we help save these guys, they’ll pause a second or two next time they pull that trigger, and it might be long enough to save a life. Or maybe they’ll stop fighting us. I don’t know. My cynical side says it won’t make a damn bit of difference, but I believe hate just leads to more hate. Sometimes that thought is the only thing that makes me push forward and help a guy like him.
“Anyway, I think we saved his leg, but not his hand. With luck, he was left handed and won’t be able to fire a weapon again.”
Trish looked at Pam. “I didn’t know they had to treat the enemy sometimes. Does that ever happen to you, where you have to treat a killer or a bank robber or something?”
“Sure. Not often, but regularly enough. It’s tough, I won’t lie about that. In some ways it’s easier to do your job when you don’t really give a shit if they live or die. But it’s definitely not as satisfying to save someone that you can’t identify with or feel any positive or empathetic emotions for. Isn’t it pretty much the same in teaching? Some kids you feel good about helping, and some you don’t?”
She’d had a few students over the years who’d been lost causes and some she thought she could help turn around. She’d spent many of her personal hours one semester trying to help a fifteen-year-old boy who was battling a lot of personal demons—alcoholic parents, bullying issues at school, poor grades. As hard as she tried, whenever the two of them would take a step forward, they’d take another two steps back. A school janitor ultimately found him hanging from the bathroom ceiling one morning. It’d taken her a long time to get over it.
She told Pam the story. “Those times when you give so much, it feels like sometimes you never get those pieces of yourself back.”
“I know. And sometimes you need to step away, try to find that part of yourself that made you want to go into that profession. I think that’s where I am at right now.”
“If you need to take time for yourself, then you should do it. Is there anything I can do? I have tons of space here if you want to come back and stay for a while.”
Pam immediately perked up, and for a moment there was that look in her eyes again—the one that temporarily rendered Trish speechless. She could fall into those gray-green pools, lose herself. But no. She couldn’t let that happen. She also couldn’t backtrack on the offer she’d just made.
Pam’s smile faltered. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea.”
Desperate to change the subject, Trish glanced at the antique clock on the mantel in her living room. “Crap. If we’re going to mooch some food at the party, we’d better get going. I’m sure the barbecue’s fired up by now.”
Each clutching a bottle of wine as a hostess gi
ft, they walked the seven blocks to Bev and Jean’s, having decided it was easier than worrying about a car.
Bev launched herself at them with a bear hug. She was the kind of person who threw formalities out the window and made best friends quickly. Bev then introduced her partner Jean to Pam. The cozy brick bungalow was teeming with people, most of whom Trish knew, and most of them were lesbians. The dress was casual—shorts and polo shirts or sundresses—and there was a palpable sense of summer and freedom in the air. Alcohol, conversation and laughter flowed in great proportions. The smell of steak on the barbecue wafted through the air, and Trish’s stomach growled.
“Come on, kids,” Jean said, tugging at them. “Let’s fix you up with some supper.”
“And wine,” Bev added with an indulgent grin, taking the bottles from them.
Soon after, their plates and glasses full, Trish proceeded to introduce Pam to as many people as she could around mouthfuls of food. Some of them shot Trish a knowing smirk, figuring Pam was her date. She wanted to explain, then decided against it. People could think what they wanted. And really, was it the worst thing in the world if people thought she was sleeping with a gorgeous, younger woman who also happened to be a doctor? You incorrigible cougar, she told herself and grinned slyly.
Last Salute Page 11
