I don’t want to live that way anymore.
25
Cody
I have a break between patients, so I eat a sandwich at my desk and check over Lyle Brown’s test results. The last time I saw him, I was able to rule out a number of things. I decided to look past the obvious and I checked him for several autoimmune diseases. Surprisingly, many of his symptoms lined up with polymyalgia rheumatica, a condition that causes pain and limited mobility in the neck, shoulders, and sometimes hips. It wasn’t something I expected to see in a man his age. Lyle’s only in his forties, and it typically doesn’t present in men younger than sixty—and it’s more common in women.
But something told me to pursue it, so I ordered an MRI. What I found was inflammation consistent with polymyalgia rheumatica. His blood work pointed to the same. He came in for another appointment, and I decided to trust my instincts. My gut was telling me this was right, even if he didn’t fit the profile completely. I started him on a low-dose corticosteriod two weeks ago, and had him come back for blood work. His test results indicate a sharp reduction in inflammation, which is a great sign. I’m anxious to see how he’s feeling.
As soon as I come into the exam room, I can tell the treatment is making a difference. Lyle sits up straighter, and he’s not flexing his hands. His wife sits next to him, her hand on his arm.
I shake hands with both of them. “Lyle, how are you feeling?”
“So much better, Dr. J.,” he says. “It took a few days, but the pain is almost gone.”
His wife beams at me. “Thank you so much. It’s so wonderful to have him feeling better.”
I take a seat on my stool and run through his test results one more time. “Your blood work looks great. The signs of inflammation are down, and that’s exactly what we were looking for. We’re going to keep you on the same dose for another two weeks, and then we’ll need to gradually reduce it. This will take months, so be prepared for that. We can’t reduce your dosage too quickly, or we risk a relapse. But there are side effects—we talked about those at your last appointment. Ideally, a few months from now we’ll be able to back you off the steroid completely and only use it again if your symptoms start to return.”
“Sounds good, Dr. J.”
“So in the meantime, keep working on getting your strength back. And, Mrs. Brown, make sure he’s eating well. Inflammation in the body has a lot to do with what we put in it, so his symptoms are less likely to come back if he follows an anti-inflammatory diet. I’ll send you more information about that when I get to my office so you’ll know what foods to avoid.”
Mrs. Brown nods. “Of course. We’ll do whatever we have to do.”
“Good,” I say. “I’d like to see you in about sixty days for some follow-up blood work, just to be sure. You can schedule that with Maria or at the front desk.”
I stand and Lyle holds out his hand. He shakes with a firm grip. “Thank you again. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you didn’t give up on me.”
“You bet, Lyle,” I say. “I’m only sorry I didn’t get to the bottom of it sooner. What you’re dealing with isn’t common, so it took some digging to figure it out.”
“It’s all right, Dr. J. I’m just glad we found something that works.”
“Me too,” I say. “You guys enjoy the rest of your day.”
I avoid walking by the nurse’s station on my way back to my office. I’m oddly choked up after seeing Lyle. I’m pleased that the treatment is working, but that isn’t what has my throat feeling thick. I figured out his problem because I listened to my gut. I trusted my instincts.
I didn’t do that months ago when he first came to see me. I did everything by the book, assuming the book knew what it was talking about. But that doesn’t always work, because people aren’t their symptoms. They don’t fit into neatly detailed lists you can check off to find the answer.
Clover taught me that.
I don’t suppose she intended to. But she pushed me to take chances, and to look at the world through different eyes. To draw outside the lines once in a while. I needed that.
Since Portland, I’ve fallen right back into the habit of living at the clinic. I go in early, and stay late. The staff has noticed, and Darcy called me out on it. I told her I was busy and need to catch up. It’s not a lie. But it’s not the real reason I haven’t left work before eight in weeks. At work, I can focus on my patients. I don’t have to think about Clover.
I go back to my office and shut the door, then glance at my phone. I haven’t tried to call her. I should. I should swallow my stupid pride and go see her. Maybe she’s not ready to think about the future, but does that mean a future isn’t possible? I wanted her to assure me she wouldn’t bail. But did I give her a reason to stay?
I have two more patients that afternoon, but as soon as I’m finished with the second one, I head out. I drive straight to Clover’s house, but it’s dark and her car isn’t there. Old Town Café is closed in the evenings, but she could be working at the Mark. I drive the twenty minutes up the coast to the restaurant, but I don’t see her car. I check with the host to see if she’s there, but he tells me she doesn’t work today.
Back at her house, I know what I’m going to find. I know she’s gone. I park in her driveway and sit there, staring at her front door. No lights. I wonder how long ago she left.
I could call her and ask where she went, but I’m afraid to find out. I want to go inside and find her things still there—her clothes in the closet, her fluffy blue blanket on the couch, her vintage kitchen timer that makes the most horrible noise when it dings. I want to believe they’ll be there, that she didn’t go.
I know they’re not.
I let myself in anyway and look around. The furniture is there, but it was part of the rental. Her things aren’t. I open the kitchen drawers and find most of them empty. Her closet is bare. The bed is still made, and the drawer of my t-shirts is still full. But the rest is gone.
So is she.
I leave, locking the door behind me, and get back in my car. I’m as empty as her dark house. I let this happen. I pushed her away and she left. She could be anywhere by now, following the stars.
I glance at my phone. I want to call her, but I don’t think I can. I don’t want to hear about the signs she followed, or how fate was telling her it was time. I want to tell her I’m sorry—but tonight I don’t have the words.
Instead, I drive home, feeling the emptiness eat at me.
At home, I crack open a beer. I haven’t moved the pictures my mom gave me. Clover is still on my mantle, smiling at me. That ridiculous fucking smile. The one that turns on the sun in the morning.
God, I miss her.
I go to work the next day and keep my brain in doctor mode. I see my patients, do my job. I try my best to put Clover out of my mind so I can focus, but she creeps in every time there’s a lull. After my last patient, I bury myself in paperwork. Anything to keep my mind off her.
Around six my phone lights up with a text. For a split second, I’m hopeful, but then I see who it’s from.
Jennifer.
Hi, sorry, I know it’s been a while. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing.
I blow out a breath. What is she up to? I’m fine. You?
Her reply comes quickly. Ugh. My parents are here and my mom is driving me crazy. Any chance you’ll come get a drink with me?
I wince. Her mother makes Jennifer’s life a living hell when she’s in town. I debate for a minute before answering. I can tell what she’s doing. She wants a reason to get out of the house, and probably needs someone to talk to. Do I want to do this? I suppose it won’t hurt anyone to have a drink with her.
Sure.
I meet Jennifer at the Porthole Inn. She looks as put-together as always. Perfect makeup, perfect outfit. I look comparatively under-dressed, in a pair of casual slacks and a green shirt.
She’s already at a table when I arrive. I order a drink, but I’m not particularl
y hungry, so I decline her offer of an appetizer.
It takes me all of three seconds to realize I don’t want to be here.
“Thanks for this,” she says. “You know what my mom is like. She’s been here for two days and I’m going out of my mind.”
“I bet.”
“So, how have you been?” she asks.
“Fine,” I say. “The clinic is busy, but I guess that’s no surprise.”
“I take it, since you’re out with me, that you aren’t seeing that woman anymore?”
I shift in my seat. “That isn’t something I want to talk to you about.”
She sips her drink. “Fair enough. I was just curious.”
“What about you?” I ask. “I guess wanting to meet me for a drink means you aren’t seeing anyone.”
“No,” she says, her dark red lips curling in a seductive smile. “You’re a hard act to follow.”
I take a deep breath. A year ago, this would have ended with us having sex, and I’d have found myself right back where I started. I’m not going there, regardless of whether or not Clover is gone for good. “Sorry Jen,” I say, “but there’s no way this is happening.”
“What?” she asks, her voice thick with mock innocence. “There’s nothing happening.”
I raise an eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry your mom is a pain in the ass, I really am. And it doesn’t matter if I’m with someone else or completely single. We’re not getting back together.”
She shrugs one shoulder. “I’m not suggesting we do. But don’t you get lonely?”
“How do you know I’m not still with Clover?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?” she asks.
I look away.
“See?” she says. “Come on, Cody. We might have been at each other’s throats too often, but that’s because we had passion. Don’t you miss that?”
“Not really.”
She laughs, as if I’m joking. “Tell you what, let’s just go back to your place. Just for tonight. We’re both single, there’s nothing stopping us. We were good in bed together, at least.”
No, we weren’t. “Jen, this was a mistake. I’m not bringing you back to my place for some kind of old time’s sake hook up.” I take out my wallet and toss a twenty on the table. “I’ll buy your drink, but I have to go.”
“Cody,” she says as I walk away. “Cody, you are not walking away from me.”
Yes, I think. Yes I am.
26
Clover
The Welcome to Jetty Beach sign is the best thing I’ve ever seen. I was gone for less than twenty-four hours, and I didn’t even tell anyone I was leaving. But driving through the town’s gateway feels momentous.
It feels like home.
When I feel the tingle run up my spine, I tell myself I’m just being silly. I want to feel it, so I do. I’m excited, because I can go back to my cottage and unpack my things and pretend I didn’t drive seven hours south yesterday.
I can go see Cody.
It’s late afternoon, and I don’t want to bother him at work. I’ll wait until tonight and go to his house. I think about texting him first, to see if he’s busy, but I feel like I need to see him in person for this.
I unpack my car, and answer a text from Gabriel. He doesn’t need me to come in until Saturday. I smile as I reply. I get to tell him sure, I’ll be there Saturday. I don’t have to try to explain that I’m gone.
By six, I can’t wait anymore. I assume Cody is at work, so I drive to the clinic, but I don’t see his car. He’s not at home, and I drive by his parent’s place but don’t find him there either. I kind of feel like a creepy stalker, so I decide to go into town and grab something for dinner. I’m tired from driving so much in the last two days, and I don’t particularly want to cook.
I’ll just have to break down and call Cody when I get home. I wanted to surprise him, but maybe we’ll just have to make plans to get together. That’s the mature thing to do anyway, right? A little more planning, a little less spontaneity. I hope I can convince him to see me. We left things so unfinished, I’m not even sure if it was me who was mad, or him. Or both.
My heart leaps into my throat as I drive past the Porthole Inn. I see his car parked outside. There aren’t many other cars in the parking lot, but maybe he’s having dinner with his family.
I find a parking spot and stop myself before I get out. I’m being impulsive again. Should I interrupt him when he’s at a restaurant? What if he isn’t happy to see me? That would be humiliating.
But I have to risk it.
I go inside and look around. Several tables are full, but I find him. His back is to me. With a deep breath, I straighten my shirt, my tummy tingling with nervousness. I take a step toward the table and stop dead in my tracks.
He isn’t alone.
He’s sitting with Jennifer. She takes a sip of a drink, her mouth turning up in a smile. I know that smile. That’s an I want you to fuck me smile.
I’m going to vomit.
I bolt outside before they can see me. Fuck, he’s with his ex. Did he get back together with her? I can’t decide if I want to scream or cry.
My tires squeal on the pavement as I get back on the road. I want out of there. The last thing I need is to see them come outside together.
My thoughts race. Damn it, Cody, you shouldn’t be with her. She’s doesn’t understand you the way I do. She’s cold and selfish and never made you dinner. She’ll complain when you work late, even though the work you’re doing is incredible. She’ll fill up your house with her gallons of makeup and stupid cute shoes and scathing judgment. You’ll wake up to that resting bitch face every morning. Is that what you want?
I want to call him and tell him not to make this terrible mistake. But for all I know, he already made it.
I’m supposed to open at the café in the morning, so I decide to go home. I try to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach, but it won’t go away. I don’t know if it ever will.
27
Cody
Ryan texts me Saturday afternoon to see if I want to meet him for a beer. I haven’t seen my brothers in a while, so I decide I ought to make myself get out of the house and join them. We meet at a restaurant on Main Street, just up the road from Old Town Café. I haven’t been in the café since I left Clover. I avoid looking at it when I drive by.
Hunter’s at a window booth when I get there.
“Hey,” he says as I sit down.
“Hey man,” I say. I notice something on his shirt. “What’s that?”
He looks down. “What?”
“You have something on your shirt.”
“That’s awkward,” he says.
“Is that lipstick?” I ask.
“Um, yes?” he says, like he’s unsure.
I raise my eyebrows at him. I didn’t know Hunter was seeing anyone. “What’s going on?”
He shakes his head. “It’s actually nothing. I, um, kind of hooked up with someone, but it was a stupid thing to do.”
“Who is she?” I ask.
Hunter looks away and rubs his head with his hand. He looks uncomfortable. “It’s nothing.”
“All right, man,” I say. Hunter’s been back in town for less than a year after his medical discharge from the Marines. Until recently, I thought he was adjusting to post-military life pretty well. But beneath his easy smile, there’s something else going on. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about it, so I don’t push. But I’m also not going to let him close off entirely.
We’re guys, there’s only so much we want to talk about what’s going on in our lives, or inside our heads, and I get that. But I also let my other brother Ryan drift away when he was suffering from depression, and things got bad. Really bad. I’ll be damned if I let it happen to Hunter.
As if on cue, Ryan shows up and sits down in the booth. “Hey look, it’s brother bonding hour.”
The waitress comes by with three beers.
“I ordered for us when I got here,” Hunter says.
“Thanks, man,” Ryan says.
“So what’s up with you?” I ask, looking at Ryan. I want to avoid talking about me, and Hunter seems to be in the same place. I’m hoping Ryan can fill in the conversation.
“Dude,” he says with a half-smile on his face. “Nicole and I hung out with Melissa and her fiancé the other day.”
“The rich guy?” Hunter asks.
“Yeah, Jackson,” Ryan says.
“What was that like?” Hunter asks.
“You know what, the guy’s pretty cool. Nicole talked me into it, because Mel’s her best friend. I was dreading it, but Jackson’s all right.” Ryan pauses, his mouth turning up in a grin. “He let me drive his car.”
Hunter laughs. “What does he drive?”
“A Bugatti.”
I raise my eyebrows. That is a seriously expensive car, with a price tag that starts with an M. “Holy shit.”
“Holy shit is right,” Ryan says. “It’s the sexiest motherfucking car. Made me want to be a damn billionaire just so I can have one.”
“They’re getting married too, aren’t they?” Hunter asks.
“Yeah, but not until November. Nicole and Melissa planned it all out yesterday over lunch, figuring out the dates so the weddings are far enough apart or whatever. They talked for at least an hour. Jackson and I just sat there looking at each other, all bewildered, while our fiancées planned out our lives. I guess money doesn’t make you immune to that.”
“Great, more weddings,” I say.
“What’s your problem?” Ryan asks.
“Cody’s pouting,” Hunter says.
I lean back in the booth. “For fuck’s sake, I’m not pouting.”
Ryan looks at me and narrows his eyes. “So are you going to tell us what’s going on? Or do we have to keep relying on Mom’s guesses?”
Messy Perfect Love Page 15
