Cara twirled around her bedroom, scarcely feeling the wood floor beneath her bare feet. For the first time in years her heart felt light, as if the breeze blowing in through the open windows drifted clear through her chest, caressing her inside and out. She had already registered for classes, which left her nearly a week to unpack and organize her apartment to her satisfaction, arrange her work schedule, buy her books and learn her way around Iowa City. Never in a million years had she expected to feel this kind of excitement. Cara was starting fresh as she’d longed to do. It felt like heaven.
May 1976
“How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Make every single man in this office stop whatever they’re doing and stare. Their tongues hang out when you pass by. Sheesh, they practically slobber all over their statistics.”
Cara laughed out loud. Jeanie, the administrative assistant and her boss, was quite a tease. “I don’t think it’s me.” She couldn’t resist a snort. “I think it’s the calfskin briefcase you loaned me.” Cara slapped it on her desk to emphasize the point.
Jeanie shook her head. “No, honey, it’s you. Believe me, it’s you.” She sifted through the paperwork on her desk. “How’s the schedule coming? Have you been able to set up the number of cholesterol screenings we need for this month?”
“Things are looking good,” said Cara. “I’ve got the VFW Hall lined up in Pella, the Lion’s Club in Newton, I’m waiting to hear back from our contact in Anita and I’m still working on Dubuque.”
“Who have you called in Dubuque?”
“The Chamber. Someone’s supposed to get back to me today about possible locations. Katie and I went out last week and contacted the local doctors. We’ve got our flyers all over Pella and Newton. We should be good for this Saturday and next.”
“Do we have nurses and the phlebotomists lined up?”
“Yes. Plus Dr. Marsh said he was going to send some of the residents along for the ride. He mentioned something about a field trip.”
“More like punishment,” Jeanie said.
“For whom?”
“You. You’ll have to hold their hands. Residents never leave the Med Center.”
“Yeah, well, I can send them out for coffee and doughnuts.”
Jeanie laughed. “How long has it been Cara? Two years?”
“Since I started?” Cara thought for a moment. “Almost two years. I think it will be two years on June first.”
“I remember when you first showed up here in your jeans and your little pink tee shirt. You were so skinny and so shy I thought you were one of the doctors’ kids.”
Cara blushed.
“Look at you. You still blush at the drop of a hat.” Jeanie walked over to Cara’s desk and dropped a pile of files onto it. “The results from last week. No one has had time to sort through them yet. Do you mind?”
“Not in the slightest.” Cara pulled the pile towards her.
“I don’t know how you do it,” Jeanie repeated.
“What now?” asked Cara, opening the top folder.
“Work so efficiently. Ever since you started here you’ve taken a full load of classes. You’re busy painting, doing research. And you still find time to do this. You were originally supposed to be half-time, you know.”
Cara glanced up at the older woman. “I like it.” She shrugged. “I’m accustomed to being busy. Besides, the money’s good. And I enjoy working with you and Dr. Marsh.”
“Dr. Marsh and I are old enough to be your parents. Well, I’m old enough to be your parent. Dr. Marsh could be your grandfather.” Jeanie laughed. “Don’t you want to hang out with young people?”
Cara smiled at her. “How do you know I don’t?”
Jeanie rolled her eyes. “In all the time you’ve worked here, you’ve never talked about a single kegger. You haven’t mentioned a single date. You’ve never come in hung over. You don’t call in sick. You’ve never once received a personal phone call. You bring an apple for lunch and you sit in the courtyard and read. I’ve worked with student assistants for a long time, my dear, and you are not the typical student assistant.”
“I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“Neither,” said Jeanie. “You’re an enigma.”
Cara just smiled in answer and sifted through her files. She needed to double-check the results before she called the test subjects.
Those subjects whose cholesterol level fell within normal limits or was just slightly elevated would receive a form letter explaining their results and informing them that they did not qualify for the project. Those whose cholesterol was significantly elevated would receive a phone call inviting them to enroll in the program and if they were willing, Cara would make an appointment for them with the intake staff. She’d always follow up the phone call with a packet of information explaining the program in detail, along with a form for their personal physician to fill out regarding their health history.
The job had nothing whatsoever to do with art or art history. That was one of the things she enjoyed about it. Another was the fact that the staff was like one large extended family and she’d grown comfortable with them over the past couple years. Cara felt comfortable with very few people. So what if she didn’t have a social life? She was better off.
The past two years had been the most uneventful of Cara’s entire life. She performed well in her classes, receiving praise from her professors for her work. She’d already presented a series of watercolors in two exhibits. Even though Jeanie didn’t think school work could be considered fun by any stretch of the imagination, Cara had taken electives like ballet and ballroom dancing, fencing, canoeing and riflery. She had her favorite running routes along the Iowa River and every Friday night she allowed herself some time off to hit the basketball court in the gym for a pick-up game with some of the guys.
Sure, she got asked out but she preferred to study, paint and read in her apartment or in the sunny park beneath her bedroom window, alone. The anxiety attacks were under control for the most part. If they did occur, it seemed to be when she went home or when she was thinking about going home, so she limited her visits to the holidays. She’d lived two summers now in Iowa City and this coming summer would be her third. She and her mother had a much easier time keeping their relationship cordial if they didn’t live together.
Cara would actually graduate in January with a double major in Art and Art History, but she hoped to continue working with the project while she attended grad school. She shared a nice clean office in the Med Center with professionals who behaved like professionals despite Jeanie’s claims to the contrary. And as Cara said, the money was good. It helped pay her expenses and she’d managed to put some aside for grad school. Asking her mother was for financial assistance was out of the question. Her mother still struggled at times with depression and Cara felt guilty enough as it was about leaving her alone to care for her grandmother. She didn’t want money to become an issue too.
Cara smiled as she thought about Jeanie’s comment. She had worn jeans and a pink tee shirt the first day on the job.
Jeanie had sized up Cara’s deficiencies and taken her under her wing. She taught her how to dress like a professional. Even though Cara was merely a student assistant, a large portion of her job involved meeting with city officials to arrange for cholesterol screenings and with physicians to try to recruit their high-risk patients. The shops in Iowa City didn’t have much in terms of business attire, so Jeanie had taken Cara up the road to Cedar Rapids. They even made an occasional weekend foray into Des Moines just for fun.
Jeanie showed her how and where to look for bargains, how to mix and match her clothes so she appeared to have far more outfits than she actually did, and she taught Cara about the judicious use of makeup. She also helped her find the right styling products to control her unruly hair. Cara learned how to straighten her curls and for work she kept it pulled back in a neat French twist.
The one area Cara ref
used to compromise was comfort—she would not under any circumstances wear pantyhose. Cara detested the suffocating feel of them against her skin.
Jeanie had winked at her and said, “Well, your legs are long enough and pretty enough and tan enough that I’m guessing no one will care.”
Cara had been grateful to Jeanie for taking an interest in her. She imagined this was the kind of thing normal mothers and daughters did together. They shopped, they went to lunch, they gossiped. Cara couldn’t place all the blame on her own mother. Maybe if she had been a normal daughter, the kind of child her mother had hoped for, the two of them could have had some fun together.
“Cara,” Jeanie’s voice interrupted her musings. “Cara, Dr. Marsh is in the conference room with our new volunteers. Do you want to go fill them in on the screening?”
“The doctors are here already? Sure.”
Cara rose from her desk, automatically smoothing down her form-fitting knee-length gray skirt and straightening her crisp white blouse. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor as she proceeded down the long corridor to the conference room. Volunteers came and went. Usually they were medical students. Residents rarely volunteered, they were too busy. Because of that, she was certain the group would be small. It shouldn’t take long to give them the details. All they had to do was show up for the van on time, stethoscope in hand and have a decent bedside manner.
The worst thing they might have to deal with would be a patient with a fear of needles or blood. Cara had seen an occasional subject faint when the tech stuck him. Once in a great while a medical student might be asked to do a tough stick, but most of the time the techs and the nurses could handle it. It was a plus though, if they could field some questions about cholesterol testing and heart disease. Cara had observed that middle-aged men seemed to trust any information they received from a physician far more so than they did the same information received from a nurse.
Cara walked through the doorway. The director of the program, Dr. Marsh, rose from his seat. He stepped forward to take her arm and introduce her. There were three other men in the room. Cara glanced at the two standing next to the coffee-maker, cups cradled in their hands. One wore standard issue green scrubs, the other dark trousers and a blue button-down shirt covered with a white lab coat. Then Cara turned her gaze to the third man where he leaned against the edge of a table, dressed in faded jeans and a dark brown long-sleeved Henley. She looked up from the leather sandals on his bare feet, took in his lean, muscular legs, his narrow hips and waist, his broad chest and the arms crossed in front of it. She met his eyes. He was staring at her, faint amusement evident in his half smile. Cara blinked in surprise. It was James Mackie.
“Gentlemen, thank you for coming,” said Dr. Marsh. “This is Cara Franklin, one of our assistants. She works directly with the program coordinator and she schedules all our test sites, our community outreach and our patient intake. She’ll explain what you can expect on Saturday. Cara, they’re all yours.”
Still staring at James, Cara cleared her throat and dragged her eyes away from his face. “Good morning, gentleman. As Dr. Marsh said, I’m Cara and I am one of the student assistants. I work with Jeanie Anderson, our program director.” She turned towards the two men near the coffee pot. “You are?”
“William Donovan,” said the doctor in the scrubs, extending a friendly hand in her direction. Cara shook it firmly, back in control.
“Dr. Ezra Payne,” said the second man. The hand he extended was limp, his handshake less than enthusiastic. He set his coffee cup down and crossed the room on long, thin legs. “Dr. Marsh, may I speak with you for a moment?”
“Is there a problem, Dr. Payne?”
Dr. Payne didn’t mince words. His voice was harsh. “I had no idea when I volunteered for this project that I would be reporting to a student assistant, let alone a woman. I thought you were in charge of this project.”
Dr. Marsh’s face flamed with anger, while Cara’s turned just as red, but with embarrassment. She noticed Dr. Donovan trying hard not to laugh.
“Could we step outside for a moment please, Dr. Payne? Excuse us, Cara, gentlemen.” Dr. Marsh left the room, Dr. Payne close on his heels. The door shut behind them.
“Yeah, he’s a pain all right,” William Donovan said. “Don’t take it personally. He treats everyone like that. Dr. Marsh will chew out his ass and he’ll do his job. He won’t be happy about it, but he’ll do it.”
“Thank you for saying that,” said Cara, grateful for his good humor.
“Cara.” The voice belonged to James.
She turned abruptly. It had been two and a half years. As she watched, he lazily pushed himself away from the table and approached her. He took both of her hands in his and held them. If it had been any other man, Cara would have pulled away, but she couldn’t pull away from James. She stared into his eyes. She saw the same amusement she’d seen when she entered the room, but there was more, male admiration, male interest. Not something she had ever expected to see in his eyes or had even allowed herself to imagine. If James was smart, he’d leave her alone. If she was smart, she’d let him.
“You two know each other?” William’s voice came from behind her.
“Yeah,” answered James, still holding her hands. “Yeah, we do. We’re old friends.”
“How-how are you?”
“I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“You look . . . fine,” he replied grinning at her. “You look very . . . fine.”
“Hey,” said William. “Knock it off, Mack. I was hoping for a chance.”
“Not on your life,” said James, his eyes focused directly on Cara’s face. “She doesn’t date residents.”
William guffawed. “And that makes you?”
“A volunteer, pure and simple.”
Dr. Marsh and Dr. Payne reentered the room. Pulling her hands free, Cara whirled around, her cheeks still hot. Cara hoped Dr. Marsh would assume she was flushed because of Dr. Payne’s comments, rather than from the overwhelming, heart-pounding excitement she’d felt when James had taken her hands and looked into her eyes.
Cara had buried any feelings, any desire to have a relationship with a man long ago. She’d shut down that part of herself the day she’d been dragged to the mental hospital. Since that day, since Rick, the only man she’d let come physically close to her was James and even then, the contact had been brief and necessary. She trusted him, but she didn’t know if she could trust herself not to do something stupid. Stupid was her pattern.
“I think we’ve settled everything, Cara,” said Dr. Marsh. “Why don’t you go ahead and explain what happens at the testing site, how we screen our subjects, the instructions we leave with them and what might be expected of the doctors. I’ll be in my office.” He shot Dr. Payne a last look of warning before he disappeared down the hall.
Cara began by thanking the three doctors for their willingness to volunteer for the project. She explained the screening process and discussed the typical questions patients might ask. She ended with instructions about where and when to meet the vans on Saturday morning—the vans that would take them to the VFW Hall in Pella—and she handed them printed information about the drug. When Cara finished, Dr. Payne stalked off without a word. Cara couldn’t help but glance at James. Despite her embarrassment, her mouth turned up when she saw that his broad shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. William Donovan, just behind him, was actually laughing out loud.
“Don’t feel singled out for special treatment, Cara,” William said. “You should have seen the look on his face when one of the nurses asked him to get a rectal temp. I thought his brains would blow out his ears. The nursing staff knows how he is and they love to get a rise out of him.”
Cara smiled at him over James’ shoulder.
He shot a quick sideways glance at James. “So, this thing about not dating residents, is that true or is Mack here just acting like your big brother?”
�
��I don’t date,” Cara answered, looking at James. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. It’s nice to meet you, Dr. Donovan. Goodbye, James. I’ll see you both on Saturday.”
Cara turned on her heels and strode out of the room with what she hoped passed for confidence. Inside she trembled. She could still feel the warm pressure of James’ hands around hers.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Damn.” William whistled long and low after Cara had gone. “She is something.”
“She’s not for you,” said James.
“Why the hell not?” William’s tone was flippant.
“Because to you she’d just be a fling. Cara’s not that kind of girl.”
William seemed to consider James’ words. “She may not be that kind of girl but she’s certainly my kind of girl, unless you have a prior claim on her, of course. And since you’re a year ahead of me . . .” William gave him a big grin. “I’d certainly defer to you.”
James didn’t answer.
“Do you, Mack? Do you have a claim on her?”
“Maybe,” said James. “Maybe I do.”
James had the afternoon free. After the unexpected encounter with Cara, he found himself in need of distraction. He crossed the river and walked up the hill to Prairie Lights Bookstore.
He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He wondered if he had the right to say anything more to Cara, to do anything more, the right to touch her again.
How he wanted to touch her again.
He perused the shelves, not really seeing the books. My god, Cara was striking, but then he’d been aware of that from the first. Years ago he’d felt the urge to protect her, to rescue her. He still had that same feeling, the sense that he should protect her, but she wasn’t a girl anymore. That fact had smacked him in the face the minute she stepped through the door to the conference room in her tight gray skirt and her tailored white blouse and those high heels.
Come Back To Me Page 10
