by Ann McMan
“That’s the grant that’s running out in . . . what? Four months? What happens to your job then?”
“If you’d cared enough to discuss any of this with me, I’d have told you that Maddie offered me a permanent position. A partnership in her clinic.”
There was silence on the line. Lizzy knew Tom hadn’t expected that outcome any more than she had.
“Did you hear what I said?” she asked.
“Yeah. I heard you. I suppose you want to take it?”
“I at least owe it to her to consider the offer seriously.”
“More than you’ll consider my offer seriously?”
“Seriously, Tom? I think I can walk and chew gum at the same time.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m more than capable of thinking about the benefits of each possibility, simultaneously.”
“Benefits?” he scoffed. “Why do you make it sound like moving to Colorado with me is nothing more than a business proposition?”
“Maybe because you’ve never presented the prospect to me in any way that casts this as more than a convenient arrangement for you. You’ve certainly never bothered to suggest it would signify anything more important in our relationship than ready access to great skiing.”
“You’re talking about marriage again, aren’t you? I told you I wanted to defer that for some time down the road, after I’m established in a career, and have a handle on paying down my grad school loans.”
“You. You. You.” Lizzy’s frustration with his mental myopia was boiling over. “Everything is always about you. What you want. What’s in your best interest. Where you see yourself in five years or in ten years. It’s never about anything associated with me, or with what I want—with what I need. With how I see my own career prospects advancing and taking shape. As hard as it is to admit, I think we’ve reached a crossroads, Tom. Maybe even an impasse. You want what you want, and I’m not sure what you’ve decided is right for me.”
“So that’s it? That’s where we are? You won’t even think about going with me?”
Lizzy gazed at the wall across from her desk, but she didn’t focus on anything. Not her framed diplomas. Not the bulletin board covered with notes and thank-you cards from her patients. Not the oil painting of a spring meadow on Mt. Rogers that Maddie and Syd had given her for her birthday last year. Not the chair that held the laundry bag containing her dirty scrubs. Not on any of it. Right then, her focus was entirely on the finality of the step she knew she was about to take.
“No, Tom,” she told him. “No, I don’t want to move to Colorado. I want to stay here, where my heart is, doing the work I love.”
Tom took his time to respond to her honest declaration.
“My mistake. All this time, I thought your heart was with me.”
“Like I said,” she repeated sadly. “I know how to walk and chew gum at the same time.”
“Go ahead. Be glib about this. What you’re telling me is that we’re breaking up.”
Lizzy was aware of the churning in her stomach. But she knew his assessment, for once, was accurate.
“Yes,” she told him. “I guess that’s what I’m saying.”
She didn’t know whether she most wanted him to fight to keep her—or to accept her simple statement and agree they should go their separate ways.
She didn’t have long to wait for him to decide.
He hung up on her.
Lizzy wanted to hurl the phone across the room, but she didn’t. What would the point of that be? Tom was doing nothing but behaving in an entirely consistent fashion. She’d been so blinded by her fear and loneliness after her miscarriage, she’d thrown herself back into the same spiral that had always defined her relationship with him. Yes. Their sexual relationship had always been gratifying. Yes. He was good-looking and genial and a lot of fun at parties. Yes. She adored his family. Yes. She willed herself to believe his reason for going to veterinary school was because he had a passion for the welfare of animals, rather than the more cynical view of the profession serving as an express train to financial success.
She’d deluded herself consistently about Tom because she cared more about being with someone, no matter the compromises she had to make to do it, than about living as her authentic self.
It was a ridiculous and embarrassing admission to have to make. After all . . . she was thirty-two years old, not eighty-five. Why had she been so persuaded that Tom represented her last off-ramp on the highway to spinsterhood and a miserable life shared only with a couple dozen cats?
She didn’t even like cats. Maddie had already tried, repeatedly, to get her to take the tuxedo cat, Rosebud, off her hands.
Lizzy stayed seated in her chair and tried to take an inventory of how she felt.
Her stomach had mostly stopped its churning. The headache she was certain had been coming on had subsided. Her respiration had returned to normal. She held out her hands and examined them. They were steady.
She actually felt . . . okay.
She knew better than to think she wouldn’t wrestle with her share of bête noire. Sleepless nights were guaranteed. She’d have to fight her worst impulses to rethink her decision. But for now, she felt calmer about it all. Even relieved.
And hungry . . .
It was nearly six. Maybe she’d stop by Aunt Bea’s and grab something quick for dinner so she wouldn’t have to cook when she got home?
She picked up her bag of laundry and switched off the lights in her office. That’s when she noticed a light shining from the office Maddie had been fixing up for Avi. She hadn’t heard anyone come in since Maddie and Peggy had left for the day, so she just assumed one of them had forgotten to turn off the lights in there.
She made a detour to duck into the office, and was surprised to see Avi, unpacking books from a couple of boxes. Avi looked up when Lizzy appeared in the doorway.
“Hey, there. I heard you on the phone when I came in, so I didn’t want to interrupt you.” She held up the books in her hands. “I just wanted to offload these before I headed back to Roanoke to get another load.”
“No worries.” Lizzy held up a hand. “I hope I didn’t disturb you.”
In fact, Lizzy was praying that Avi hadn’t overheard any of her conversation.
“Nope. I was more concerned about scaring the crap out of you once you realized somebody else was in the building. I mean . . . ” Avi lowered her eyes to Lizzy’s laundry bag. “You could be packing. I’ve heard rumors about this community’s fondness for the second amendment.”
Lizzy smiled. “The way my day is going, it might be something worth considering.”
“I didn’t want to ask.”
“I suppose that means you overheard some of my phone conversation?”
“To be honest?” Avi looked uncomfortable. “Not very much. Just enough to know it was private. I promise I didn’t eavesdrop.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be private for long.”
Avi gestured toward a chair. “Why don’t you sit down for a minute?”
“I don’t want to hold you up,” Lizzy replied. “You said you were heading back to Roanoke.”
“I am.” Avi claimed a seat on the small sofa. “But not until the morning.”
Lizzy noted with irony that the only sofa in the clinic had been moved into Avi’s office from the waiting room. Tools of the trade, I guess.
“Okay, then.” Lizzy dropped into a chair. “But only for a minute. I don’t want to keep you from unpacking.”
“Right. Because unloading a couple boxes of hopelessly out-of-date psych textbooks will easily eat up my entire evening.”
“I guess claiming a seat on the sofa is your way to demonstrate that I’m not a client . . . yet?”
“Oh, it’s far less complicated than that. It was actually an act of selfishness: the sofa is way more comfortable than that chair. Besides, most of my ‘clients’ prefer to sit on the floor.”
“Ah. That
explains the box of toys.”
“Yeah. Although, sometimes I play with them myself.”
“Which are your favorites?” Lizzy had no idea why she was rambling on the way she was. She was keenly aware that she was sitting in a shrink’s office, and it was making her more than a little uncomfortable.
Avi appeared to notice. “Do you really care about the toys?”
Lizzy shook her head.
“Relax, Nurse Mayes. I’m not here to analyze you.”
“You’re not?”
“Not unless you want me to.”
“Can I take a rain check on that?”
“Of course. But how about I give you an unvarnished opinion for free?”
It was an intriguing idea. “Okay. Go ahead.”
Avi crossed her legs. Lizzy noticed they were bare. But then, she tended to notice most things about Avi’s eclectic appearance. Was it eclectic? Or did it simply stand out in a provincial place like Jericho?
“I’ll need a few more details first. That is,” Avi added, “if you’re comfortable sharing them.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Then I’ll hold my tongue. And I’ll have you know that perfecting an ability to do that consumes about 80 percent of the curriculum in psychology.”
“I fear you won’t get to regale me with your hard-earned proficiency this time. It’s all pretty simple: I just ended my relationship with Tom.”
“Oh.” The way Avi said the word suggested she hadn’t been prepared for Lizzy’s directness. She seemed to choose her next words carefully. “And . . . am I sorry about this?”
It was a curious way to ask how Lizzy felt about her actions. At least, she thought that’s what Avi was asking . . .
“I don’t know about you,” she replied. “But I don’t think I am. Well . . . maybe ‘happy’ is just too much of a stretch right now. But I do think I feel relieved.”
“Relieved that you made the right decision, or relieved that you made a decision?”
Lizzy gave her a nervous smile. “Yes?”
Avi laughed. “You’re gonna be fine.”
“Is that the unvarnished opinion?”
“Yep.”
“Wow. That was sure painless. I thought clarity was a more protracted process.”
“Normally, it is. But it’s late and, as we’ve established, you’re not my patient.”
“No. Although maybe I should consider it.”
“Too late.”
“Why?”
“Well,” Avi fixed her with a steady gaze, “we’re already friends, and that immediately negates any kind of therapeutic relationship. And even if it weren’t unethical, it wouldn’t be something I’d be advised to undertake with you.”
Lizzy found Avi’s reasoning a bit circular. But maybe that was just a shrink thing?
“Why not?” she asked.
Avi gave her a curious look. “Aren’t we just a busy little hive of curiosity this evening.”
“You introduced the exception. I’m just following up.”
“Fair enough. Okay. Let’s just say there’d be impediments to my ability to be impartial. And that obstacle would benefit neither of us.”
Lizzy felt a nervous surge of . . . something. She couldn’t identify the source of her reaction, but it was unsettling, nevertheless.
‘I guess I’m not sure what that means.”
“It’s okay. I’m not sure I know, either.”
Lizzy decided to change the subject. She’d dallied here long enough.
“So, I need to get going.” She got to her feet and hefted her laundry bag. “The washing machine awaits.”
Avi stood up, too. “Ah, yes. The old dirty laundry sequitur.”
Lizzy smiled. “Don’t you mean non-sequitur?”
“I was giving you the benefit of the doubt.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Lizzy headed for the door.
“Um—” Avi stopped her. “Have you had any dinner yet?”
“No. I was gonna stop and grab something on the way home.” She slung her laundry bag over her shoulder. “Folding clothes always gives me the munchies.”
“Yeah. Me, too. Too bad I can never manage to fold my pants without getting a double crease.”
“I think your pants look just fine.”
Avi didn’t reply right away but she smiled. Lizzy felt like an idiot.
“Would you like to join me?” she asked, quickly—mostly to cover her embarrassment.
“In fact, I’d love to.” Avi retrieved her keys and messenger bag. “What do you feel like?”
“I was just going to pick something up at Aunt Bea’s. But I can be flexible. Do you prefer grab-n-go, or sit down?”
“I always prefer sit down. Especially when I’m dining with a fellow compatriot in the relationship wars.”
“You, too?” Lizzy asked. “It must be going around. And am I sorry?”
“Touché.” Avi noticed her irony. “No. It would appear you’re not the only wayfaring traveler declining to take a ride on the midnight train to Georgia.”
“Woo, woooo,” Lizzy sang. “Come on, Gladys. I’m driving.”
Avi snapped off the lights and followed her to the parking lot.
◊ ◊ ◊
After dinner, Buddy thanked “Quiet Lady,” as he always called her, and left on his little scooter just before Maddie and Syd arrived to get Henry. Henry complained about having to leave so early, but Syd reminded him that he had a math test in the morning, and they needed to work on fractions.
Henry was even less happy about having to go home and practice math problems until Syd suggested they could use a slice of leftover apple cake as a means to make sense of dividing things into equal parts.
His energy for the exercise picked up right away.
After they’d departed, Celine and Dorothy set about washing dishes and restoring order in the kitchen. It amused Celine that Dorothy seemed to be as committed to tidiness as she was. She’d noted with pleasure the way Dorothy meticulously made her bed every morning, and always took care to clear away the mixing bowl and baking sheet on mornings she made sweet biscuits before school.
Dorothy was quieter than usual this evening. Celine worried that maybe she felt awkward or uncomfortable after rousing her from her bad dream the night before.
Bad dream? That was too benign a term for the nightmare she’d had. It wasn’t that Celine had never had bad dreams about her mother before: she’d had scores of them since her mother’s passing, decades ago. And those dreams invariably involved common motifs: searing feelings of failure and disappointment being chief among them.
The aftermath of Dorothy’s having gently shaken her awake last night had led to an uncharacteristic bout of intimacy that seemed, at least to Celine, to temporarily shift the power dynamic between them. As they’d sat together beneath the covers in Celine’s dark bedroom, they talked about ordinary things: the progress Buddy was making planting the autumn garden, the prospects for more rain later in the week, and even details about the new book Dorothy had been reading. Eventually, they both fell quiet, and Dorothy drifted off to sleep. But Celine stayed awake, keeping a silent vigil while the girl slept. She wondered how long it had been since anyone had watched over Dorothy in a safe and caretaking way.
She supposed it had been a very long while.
When she awoke in the morning, Dorothy had already left her room. Celine could hear her in the kitchen, making their breakfast. The oven timer dinged and the teakettle began to whistle.
Normalcy had been restored.
Dorothy had said very little during dinner tonight. But that could’ve been because Henry had chattered nonstop throughout most of the meal, asking Buddy endless questions about vegetable plants and garden pests, before shifting gears and asking Celine to explain what a beaver moon was.
Celine finally decided it was better to talk about their unusual interaction last night, rather than ignore it. She didn’t want to adopt a posture that would reinforce a
ny notion the girl might have that Celine would rather forget about last night.
She’d done that same thing too often with her own daughter, with the unhappy result that Maddie grew up thinking her mother was determinedly cold and distant—or worse: emotionally unavailable to her. It had taken the two of them years to recover from Celine’s mistakes and repair their relationship.
She was determined not to repeat the same mistakes now.
“I want to thank you, Dorothy, for taking such good care of me last night. I hope I didn’t scare you too badly.”
Dorothy was carefully folding her dishtowel into thirds—another proclivity they shared.
“I was a little scared when I first heard you,” she admitted. “But I figured out right away that it was a bad dream.”
“I suppose you’ve had your share of those, too?” Celine asked.
Dorothy nodded. “I still do a lot of nights. But I don’t make very much noise. I had to learn not to do that.”
Celine wanted to wrap the girl in her arms and rage at the heavens to please take her demons away.
“I’m sorry you ever had to worry about that. We can’t control our dreams.”
“No,” Dorothy agreed. “We can’t control very much that happens when we’re awake, either.”
“Sometimes it feels like that. But if we’re open to it, we can try things that might lead us toward a different path—to a place where we can have more control.”
“Is that what you did?”
Dorothy’s question found its target with laser-like precision. Celine nearly staggered backward from its impact.
“Yes. I suppose it is. I had a serious injury several years ago—one I sustained in a laboratory accident. I nearly didn’t survive. It gave me a lot of time to think about the choices I’d made in my life. And even more time to think about the choices I’d never made—the ones I avoided and allowed time to make for me.”
“Do you want some tea?”
Dorothy’s question seemed to come out of nowhere. But Celine nodded, and claimed a seat on one of the metal stools beside the kitchen island. She watched the girl’s methodical actions as Dorothy selected two cups from a cabinet, filled the kettle, and put the water on to boil. This was a ritual of theirs. Something they did most nights before retiring to their separate spaces in the house.
