by J. L. Berg
Not that it made a difference.
I stood on the opposite side of Molly, both of us solid anchors around him. I thought about grabbing his one good hand, but for the first time, I didn’t know how to handle this specific situation.
What did you do when the patient was family?
How did you separate the emotions from the truth?
You didn’t.
At that moment, I had to decide.
What was I to Dean?
A doctor or a friend?
I chose the latter, reaching out for his bruised hand and giving it a gentle pat. That single touch was like a lightning bolt in our lifeless friend. Suddenly, he looked around, taking in the scene before him.
“Guess things are working out well for you, huh, Jake?”
Instantly, I was taken aback.
In all my years of growing up with Dean Sutherland, I’d never heard him utter a single hateful thing.
To anyone.
“Pardon?” I asked.
Molly and I looked at each other with confusion.
“Get on the ferry, Dean,” he mocked. “Nothing bad will happen.”
I took a step back, my expression as blank and clueless as it’d ever been. “I couldn’t have known this would happen, Dean. I didn’t want this,” I said, pointing to his broken body. “No one wanted this.”
“No,” he agreed. “But it all seemed to work out well for you in the end, didn’t it? It always does, I guess.”
“Dean, what are you talking about?” Molly asked, placing her hand on his thigh.
He looked down at her perfect hand, a pained expression moving across his familiar face. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It was inevitable—you two, I mean. Just a matter of time.”
“Buddy,” I said, trying to lighten the conversation, “there’s nothing going on between us. That’s water under the bridge. Mols just sprained her foot, and I offered to drive her. Nothing more.”
He went on talking, entirely ignoring me, “I guess it’s better this way. Clean. Easy. God knows I’m going to be a handful from now on and no one needs to deal with all that. At least we can just skip to the end and move on.”
“Dean!” Molly cried, tears starting to fall from her cheeks. “Stop this. Please. I’m here. You and I are all that matter. Don’t you see that?”
His eyes darted between Molly and me. “I see a lot right now. I see the way you look at each other. Nothing’s changed. Maybe you don’t see it yet, but, frankly, I just don’t care anymore.”
“You can’t mean that, Dean. This is a setback, I agree—”
“A setback, Jake? A fucking setback? Look at my arm. Look at it!” he demanded, forcing me to turn my attention to his right side.
I’d been avoiding it since we walked in. I had known it’d happened. I’d spoken to the surgeon who’d made the choice. There was nothing that could have been done. My quick thinking on the ferry had saved his life, but it hadn’t been enough to keep him whole.
Part of him would always belong to that sunken ship.
“You should have just let me die on that boat,” he said, his eyes rising to the ceiling as his head rested against the stark white pillow.
“You don’t mean that,” Molly said, the anguish clear in her voice.
“I mean every word of it,” he seethed. “This isn’t the life I wanted. This isn’t the life I chose, and now, they’re telling me they can give me a new arm, like a goddamn robot! Like that will fix everything…”
“You have so much more to live for, Dean,” she sobbed. “I know it’s different, but we’ll adapt. We’ll adjust. But please don’t give up. Please don’t give up on us.”
He didn’t say another word. He returned to the stoic man we’d found when we entered. No amount of pleading from Molly or rationale would bring him out of it. He’d dismissed us.
From the room and his life.
The only question was, where would we go from here?
I didn’t know how long we’d stood there, waiting for Dean to say something.
Anything.
Eventually, Molly’s tears dried up, and determination spread across her face. She marched outside, and I followed behind.
“I need to speak to his doctor,” she said.
“I’m not sure you can,” I replied, hating to be the bearer of bad news. “You’re not family.”
She opened her mouth to respond, but I could see the light fading from her eyes.
“You’re right. I’m not. I should have never brought you here.”
Her words cut me like a knife.
“I’ll see what I can do,” I offered. “Take a seat over here,” I said, pointing to a small lounge. “And I’ll come back for you when I track him down.”
She nodded, a single tear trailing down her cheek.
“Hey,” I said in a last-ditch effort to offer some semblance of solace. “We’ll figure this out, okay? And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
She nodded once more before turning toward the tiny seating area. It was empty, only used by family members of patients for coffee refills and extra seating. Her gaze fell to the floor the moment she took a seat, and I knew what she was thinking.
Whom she was blaming.
If there was one thing that hadn’t changed about Molly McIntyre, it was her need to make everything right. Whether it was working on weekends with her parents or delivering food to the ill, she always had this constant desire to fix things.
It was why she was dead on her feet most of the time, not taking proper care of herself when there were so many other things to do. So many others who, in her mind, came before anything else.
So, rather than arguing with her, I made the most of our time and went in search of someone who could possibly help.
Dean’s doctor.
Or one of them at least. God knows, he’d probably seen a dozen by now.
But I had one person in mind.
The implant from Ohio, Dr. Fisher.
He was one of the surgeons who had attended on Dean’s surgery to save his arm. Although they hadn’t succeeded, I knew Dr. Fisher and his team had done everything they could, and I was hoping he could at least shed some light on his weary patient.
Heading into the doctors’ lounge I’d found him in before, I managed to luck out and catch him sitting down for a quick bite.
“Hey, Jameson. Didn’t expect you back so soon. Checking in on us?” he joked, rising quickly to shake my hand.
I took it, giving him a nod as we parted and took our seats. There were dark circles under his eyes, but he was taking it in stride, cozied up to a bowl of leftovers and the latest thriller in paperback.
“I’m here visiting a friend actually—Dean Sutherland. I think he’s a patient of yours.”
He nodded, setting the book aside. “Ah, yes, Dean,” he said, as if he already knew where I was headed.
“Can you give me any updates?”
He set down his fork and gave me his full attention. “Honestly, I only see him once a day on rounds, but I recognize that familiar look in his eyes. He’s giving up.”
I nodded in agreement. “Has he had a psych evaluation or met with a counselor?”
“Yeah, we’ve done all the typical things you do with an amputee, and this is normal, as you might know. A patient can go one of two ways—bound, and determined to fight or they retreat.”
“Dean’s retreating,” I let out a sigh. “He’s had a good life. An easy life, as far as I know. No major uphill climbs to test his strength.”
“Until now,” Dr. Fisher replied. “You can’t blame him. I’m not sure I’d respond much differently. The loss is a great one—knowing your life is forever altered.”
“But he has a life. That’s what I don’t understand. So, he’s missing an arm. It doesn’t mean he should just roll over and play dead. There is still plenty he can accomplish.”
“And maybe he’ll realize that in time, but for now, he needs to go at this on his own.”
&nb
sp; “Even if it means breaking the heart of the woman who loves him?” I asked, clearly frustrated.
It caught Fisher’s attention, and I found him leaning forward.
“Like I said, it’s something he needs to figure out—”
“On his own,” I said, finishing his sentence. “Thanks, Fisher.”
He gave me a quick nod. “Sure thing.”
I got up to leave but stopped by the door when Fisher called out for me.
“Yeah?” I said, feeling disheartened by the entire conversation.
“Take care of her,” he said. “The girl.”
I took a deep breath. “I will,” I replied, hating myself in that moment. Because I knew it was the last thing I needed to hear. If there was any man on the planet who should be keeping a distance from Molly McIntyre, it was me.
Little was said on the way back home. After returning to Molly with nothing but more infuriating news, I felt my presence was just making things worse. So, I tried to be invisible, speaking only when spoken to—which wasn’t much. Only a request for a bathroom break and radio station adjustment.
It was a long trip, made longer by the influx of people waiting for the ferry.
The initial fear of the ferry system felt by many had worn off with the flood of tourists taking advantage of the lovely spring weather. It wasn’t as hellish as summertime, but a definite uptick in bodies and cars.
By the time we made it to the inn, we were both tired and famished. I offered to make us sandwiches, but Molly declined, forgoing food for the sanctuary of her room. Seeing her walk off toward the family side of the house brought back many memories.
Sneaking into her room at night.
Sneaking out of her room at night…and all the things we had done in between.
Molly had once been my entire world. My past and my future.
Until, one day, she wasn’t.
I’d made the choice to put myself first—or at least, that was what I told myself. In reality, I’d only buried the past, like one of those hopeless pirates my mom had always spoken of during bedtime stories.
After my poor excuse for a ham sandwich, I decided to retire to my room for the night also. Taking the stairs to the yellow room, I was stopped abruptly when the doorbell rang.
What should I do? Do I answer it?
Looking around for some sort of answer, I quickly made up my mind and turned around. Molly, the ever-present and overworked hostess, however, beat me to it.
And she found herself face-to-face with Dottie Sutherland.
Realizing my presence might make it difficult for her, I melted back into the stairwell and headed for my room.
Until I heard Molly burst into tears.
Twisting back around, I stuck my head around the corner.
Dottie had stepped inside and was holding Molly as she fell apart.
Oh God, what happened?
He couldn’t have…
“He wants the ring back?” Molly said, disbelief woven into every syllable. “Why, Dottie? I don’t understand.”
For a brief second, I was relieved. Relieved my friend hadn’t done anything drastic, like taking his own life. It was common for victims of post-traumatic stress disorder, and based on his mood earlier today, I wouldn’t put it past him.
But this?
This was like a twist of a knife straight into Molly’s heart.
“I don’t know, hon, but he demanded I visit you today and call it off. Otherwise, he’d do it over the phone, and I couldn’t let him be that cruel.”
“I was just there. I just saw him.”
She nodded, the warmth and understanding of a mother showing through the depth of her eyes. “He called right after you left. I argued with him over it, asked him to think it over and not make any rash decisions. He said he’d thought it over, more than any of us could realize, and it was the best choice for everyone.”
“What did his doctors say?” Molly asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I called his psychiatrist right after we hung up, and he said that this was all part of the journey.”
“What journey?” she cried. “How can this be helpful? Pushing people away? Pushing me away?”
She buried her head in the loving embrace of Dottie as I watched the heartbreaking scene below. Part of me felt like I was intruding on a personal moment, but I knew, once Mrs. Sutherland left, someone would need to be here to help pick up the pieces.
“He wants you to move on with your life,” she instructed.
“And what about his life? Does he care about that at all?”
“I think he’s trying. The doctor said he was making clear strides toward acceptance, but they were small steps.”
“Including, but not limited to, dumping his fiancée?”
“I’m not happy with him either, and believe me…when this is all said and done, he’s going to get an earful from his dear old mother for putting her through this. You know you are already a daughter in my eyes? You always have been.”
“For me, too,” Molly said.
“Let’s not forget that, hmm?”
I chose that moment to walk away. They could say good-bye without prying eyes. Unlocking the yellow room, I found myself flooded with the memories it held.
It happened every time I entered.
But, today, I couldn’t help but think about the future.
Molly had had hers all planned out—a handsome husband, a thriving business—and that had all been crushed the moment I ran into Dean.
Was I to blame for this?
And, if so, what could I do to fix it?
Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I did the only thing I could think of.
I called the hospital and asked for Dean’s room.
He picked up on the second ring.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“Nice to talk to you too,” he replied, a distinct note of amusement in his tone.
“This isn’t a damn joke Dean. I just had to watch Molly get dumped by your fucking mother. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot,” he said simply.
“She’s downstairs crying because of you.”
And it’s breaking my damn heart, I failed to say.
He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry for that, I really am and had I been thinking clearly I would have done it when she was here, but seeing you together today,” he paused for a brief moment. “Well, I’m allowed a little residual jealousy.”
“We’re not together,” I pressed. “Hell, we barely even looked at each other.”
“That’s the fucking point Jake. You had to make a concerted effort to look away, but you couldn’t help it, could you? Neither of you ever could.”
“Are you out of your mind? You’re talking nonsense. What kind of pain meds do they have you on? I’m here for one thing Dean—to get my father’s clinic in order. When that’s done, I’m out of here.”
“She still loves you.”
My breath caught in my throat. “She can barely stand me,” I countered, the cadence in my voice faltering.
“Look Jake,” he said. “I was here when you left and every day after. I know that girl better than most. She hasn’t spent one day since that ferry pulled away from the dock hoping that it wouldn’t someday bring you back. But days turned into years and eventually she tried to move on.
“With you,” I added.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “That’s what happens when two best friends get lonely. We thought we’d be happy. But you can’t force love or passion Jake.”
“So what are you saying? I have your blessing to go after your fiancé?”
“She’s not my fiancé anymore,” he reminded me. “And she was never mine in the first place.”
By around ten that same night, I’d been staring at the yellow walls of my room for nearly three hours thinking over the words that had been spoken between Dean and I. Sleep had somehow eluded me, leaving me edgy and bored. After years of grabbing sleep wh
enever and wherever I could, it was an odd feeling. But then again, anything having to do with Molly always left me feeling like I’d been flipped over ass-backward.
So, I went in search of something to do.
Hell, I’d even settle for senseless late-night television at this point to get my mind off things. But there was only one TV in the inn—a rule made up long ago by the McIntyres to promote family time and outside activities.
Mrs. McIntyre had always said, “If you’re on vacation, what do you need a television for?”
It had been an annoying rule as a teenager, but I saw the value in it as an adult.
Even if it did mean having to leave my room in the middle of the night. At least I could grab another sandwich from the kitchen.
Heading downstairs, I was surprised to hear the TV already on, especially since I was currently the only guest in the place.
Peeking my head into the living room, I found the culprit.
Molly…and a bottle of whiskey.
“Hey there, Jakey!”
Scratch that. Half of a bottle of whiskey.
Picking up the bottle, I took a quick sip, feeling the cheap liquor burn all the way down my throat. “Been busy, I see.”
“I got dumped,” she announced, holding up her empty cup for a refill. “By Dean’s mom no less. Bastard didn’t even have the balls to do it himself.”
I obliged her request, going against my initial instinct, which had been to dump it down the drain and carry her sorry ass back to bed.
But this wasn’t my Molly anymore, and I’d already done my fair share of intruding today, first by eavesdropping on her and Dottie and then by calling up Dean. So, I decided to join her.
Why the hell not?
Taking a seat next to her, I took another sip of liquor straight from the bottle as she indulged in the full glass I’d refilled.
“I’m sure he had his reasons,” I said.
She stared at the amber-colored liquid in her glass, swishing it around the ice. “Yep,” she said adamantly. “He said we’re not right for each other. Or at least I think that’s what he said when I called him a bit ago.” I looked over and saw her phone next to her. Apparently I wasn’t the only one making phone calls to the hospital. “Besides, I didn’t want to marry him anyway. What women gets engaged and never plans the actual wedding?”
