Working on a Full House

by Alyssa Kress

  But it seemed it was true that time healed all wounds. Every day she felt a little bit better. Or at least she told herself that.

  Cherise's eyes opened a fraction of an inch more. "I really thought Roy would have broken down by now and called you."

  Valerie's back stiffened. "Well, I never thought so. And I've told you why. More than once."

  Cherise sighed. "He didn't love you."

  "He did not." Despite herself, Valerie could feel a sick lowering in her stomach.

  Cherise shook her head slowly. "After our dinner at Cowboy John's, I coulda sworn that he did."

  Valerie ground her teeth. "I'm not going to hear from him — nor do I even want to." She needed to get over him. Heal. She directed her attention back to her chart, where she made a note with her pen. Their relationship was over. She'd given Roy a clear choice: love me or leave me. He'd left. It's what she'd expected, really, all along.

  What Valerie hadn't expected, and didn't understand, was the pervasive sense of guilt she was beginning to feel, now that the edge of hurt had dulled.

  Guilt? She didn't understand it. Roy was a multi-millionaire. The opportunities he had regarding women were staggering. All Valerie had done was withhold her love from a man who, more than any other, could walk off with a different, more attractive alternative than herself.

  There was nothing to feel guilty about in preventing certain heartbreak.

  Cherise continued to regard Valerie from partially closed eyes. "Sometimes I think Roy's deal is that he's, well...shy."

  Valerie slammed down her pen. "Cherise." The fact that her friend had just enunciated the hypothesis Valerie, herself, had so often considered made her want to snap. "Roy is not shy. He told me straight out what he wanted: a say and some rights regarding his child. That's it." Well, there had been that bit about wanting to go to bed with her, but that didn't count. Sex and love didn't necessarily go together. Peter had certainly taught her that, and Roy had driven in the message.

  Valerie drew in and let out a deep breath. "Roy was not shy. He simply didn't love me." She raised an eyebrow. "How about Kenny? Did he love you?"

  Cherise neither confirmed nor denied. "It would never have worked out," she said instead. "We're too damn different."

  Valerie picked up her pen and tapped it on the desktop. "Different can be good. Sometimes people need a person to balance them out, complement their, er, more intense qualities."

  Cherise's eyes narrowed a fraction. "This was too different."

  Valerie closed the chart she apparently wasn't going to finish, after all, and grinned. "Fine. Let's call a truce. You won't comment on my defunct relationship and I won't comment on yours."

  "You have got a deal." Cherise smiled.

  The sound of the telephone ringing on Valerie's desk broke into the sacred moment. For a second, both women went still, staring at each other.

  "It isn't Roy," Valerie said out loud, since they were both so obviously thinking it anyway.

  "Of course not," Cherise agreed. "And it couldn't be Kenny." She nodded toward the phone, which had rung again. "So why don't you answer it?"

  Valerie reached over and picked up the receiver.

  "Dr. Kendrick?" It was Nicky's mother, sounding excited.

  Oh, no, Valerie thought, and braced for the worst.

  "I had to call you," Mrs. Gordon went on, sounding as though she'd just run a hundred-yard dash. "Just as soon as the news came through. Oh, you won't believe it, it's so wonderful — Oh, I just can't believe it!"

  "Whoa, whoa." Valerie could feel herself smiling, even though she had no idea what Nicky's mother was talking about. "Back up a few steps. What news?"

  "They accepted our application. We got the money, the money for Nicky's transplant."

  Valerie's mouth opened. "What?" she managed to say.

  "This foundation. Oh, I can't recall the name of it right now I'm so overwhelmed, but they approached us. They give money to people who would have good prognoses if they only had the cash for the operation. You know, just like Nicky. We filled out the application, and they said yes! Just a half an hour ago we got the phone call. They said yes! They're going to pay for it all, Dr. Kendrick, the whole thing, can you believe it? I can't believe it."

  Valerie couldn't believe it, either. This was a real miracle. "I couldn't ask for any better news than that, Mrs. Gordon."

  "Me, either." Mrs. Gordon was clearly on cloud nine. "I need to call the hematologist, get everything scheduled. Oh, Nicky may put up a fuss about using his sister for the transplant, but I'm not going to let that stop us now."

  "If you want me to talk to him..."

  "I may. I'll let you know. Oh, I am so — Just praising the Lord, you know. Praising the Lord."

  "Ditto," Valerie said. "Keep me posted, okay? I'll check in with the hematologist, myself."

  "Sure thing," said Mrs. Gordon, and rang off.

  Valerie put down the phone and looked over at Cherise. "Well, that's something to celebrate. Nicky got the money for his transplant. Some foundation or other."

  "You're kidding!" Cherise slapped the arm of her chair. "That's terrific news."

  "Yeah." Valerie could feel herself grinning. Nicky was going to be all right. Once he had that transplant, his prognosis was excellent. Things were turning out the way they ought to, for a change.

  And she was a small part of that, a cog in the machine that was working to make things better in the world. Maybe that was her true role, her part.

  Clearly, her role was not to be some man's femme fatale.

  So why was it that when Valerie walked out of her office with Cherise to celebrate the expected recovery of Nicky Gordon, that pervasive undercurrent of guilt was marring the edges of her joy?

  She simply couldn't understand it. Why the heck should she feel guilty?

  ~~~

  He was one away from taking it down. For twelve hours Roy had finessed his way through the Friday Hold 'Em tournament at the Bellagio. Now he sat at a green baize table staring at the only thing that stood between him and fifty thousand dollars — a heavily bearded man wearing sunglasses. Heavy Beard was all that stood between Roy and winning, once again, a big, well-attended tournament. The money was no big deal. Roy could win several times the amount in a juicy side game. The high would be beating everybody else. Coming out on top. The winner.

  In the center of the table lay a big pile of chips. Heavy Beard had been betting deep, trying to force Roy down. Now Roy looked into his opponent's dark glasses and willed the blocks to fall into alignment: every bet, every mathematical probability, and every possible tell Heavy Beard had made. With force of will and hard-bitten determination, Roy shoved everything else from his mind. Everything. The blocks fell obediently into place. Chunk-a-chunk-a-chunk.

  "All in," Roy said. He pushed the remainder of his chips toward the center of the table.

  A low buzz went around the crowd who lounged about the table. Heavy Beard stared at Roy. Roy stared back. Heavy Beard's jaw tightened. "All in," he said resentfully, and pushed his chips, too, into the center.

  "Cards up," said the dealer.

  A low expletive emerged from the depths of Heavy Beard's facial hair when he saw Roy's cards, cards that beat his. He jerked upright from the table and, with another blistering expletive, stomped away.

  Heavy Beard's anger didn't bother Roy. In fact, it added to his sense of triumph. He was a winner. Again.

  For one isolated moment Roy felt good. He felt whole and real and purposeful.

  By the time Roy stood up from his chair, however, the goodness had faded. The pleasure dimmed.

  Dammit, Roy thought, his smile also fading. That didn't even last half as long as the last time.

  People slapped his back, shook his hand, and smiled ingratiatingly as he made his way through the room. But it was too late. The pleasure had dimmed, and was leaving in its wake a very different sensation.

  By an empty table, Kenny stood in earnest conversation with Isaac F
ranck. They both stopped talking when the crowd parted long enough for them to see Roy.

  He nodded in their direction. They nodded back, looking solemn.

  Hey, there was nothing to be solemn about, Roy thought with a flash of temper. He was training for the World Series of Poker. They both knew that. They knew how important he considered it that he win.

  For a moment Roy enjoyed another moment of fullness, created by the brief, if contentious, interaction with his friends. But almost immediately, that moment faded into the ether, as well.

  Damn. What was it going to take? Roy dealt with his winnings, then strode out of the Bellagio poker room and through the sumptuous lobby, still asking himself the question. What was it going to take to fill this awful emptiness inside, to make him feel right again? Even starting that medical foundation hadn't helped much, only made him feel better for a day or two. And it had made him think too much about her.

  As he walked around the big lagoon the fountains were turned off, but that didn't stop Roy from remembering... They'd watched those fountains from her hotel room, the lights splashing color over her face as he drew her close.

  "God!" Roy picked up his pace. Okay, okay, so he was still thinking about her. He missed her. It had been five weeks since he'd last seen her. God, he missed her. But she was not a possibility. There was no point letting the idea of her into his mind. She wanted his soul split open and laid before her on a platter.

  Roy walked quickly and forcefully, keeping his eyes pointed straight ahead. She wanted him to explain to her, exactly and precisely, how much she meant to him. He didn't even want to explain that to himself. It wasn't good to need people. Didn't she understand that? It wasn't safe. It was like showing your cards. Nobody showed their cards.

  Showing cards made you lose.

  Roy breathed deep and fast as he strode down the sidewalk. He was not going to lose. He never lost, especially not in this particular game.

  But he could feel the emptiness yawning inside of him, no matter how fast he tried to go.

  ~~~

  "It's a pleasure to see you again," Roderick Johnson told Cherise. He was a good-looking, African-American attorney she'd met through a mutual friend. Now he smiled as he allowed her to precede him into La Cucina on a Saturday night in June.

  "It's nice to see you again, too," Cherise replied. It was, almost, true. If she weren't going out on a date with Roderick, she'd be sitting at home alone, without the energy to do anything, least of all paint.

  Roderick showed her his perfect white teeth, and then walked past the people already waiting for tables. Cherise eyed the square shoulders under his Brooks Brothers suit as he spoke to the maitre d'. Roderick was absolutely everything she looked for in a man: educated, responsible, and more-than-gainfully employed. It was icing on the cake he was also African-American.

  But the thought of spending the rest of the evening in his company made Cherise stifle a yawn.

  As he turned around and came back toward her, he wore a rueful smile. "The wait is forty-five minutes. If only they had a bar..."

  "It's all right." But Cherise remembered Kenny, who'd garnered a table with a few secret, smiling words. "I don't mind waiting."

  "We can talk," Roderick said.

  Cherise stifled another yawn. "That would be nice."

  It was frightening to admit that no man had been able to hold her attention since Kenny. Sometimes she wondered if she had been in love with him, as Valerie insisted. Certainly there'd been an infatuation. Cherise had put this down to temporary insanity.

  But as she stood waiting in the foyer of La Cucina chatting about Roderick's latest court hearings, Cherise wondered if it had been insanity, after all. Or temporary.

  Certainly she'd wondered — often — if Kenny's indictment of her had any truth to it. Did she try to play it too safe? Did she insist on keeping control?

  She'd never told her parents why she hadn't wanted to go to medical school or a PhD program. Instead of being honest, she'd gotten mediocre grades so it would never be an issue. So she could control the outcome.

  She found herself asking why she'd never shown her paintings to anybody. The truth was she'd been afraid of getting any feedback, afraid of getting an opinion she couldn't control.

  Just like Kenny said, she hadn't wanted to take any risks. The result was she'd never shared her life's work.

  "And after I brought the Motion to Compel," Roderick told Cherise, his handsome features animated, "my opposing counsel crumpled in defeat. Sent me a letter practically begging to give in." He laughed with a rich, intelligent sound.

  Cherise shook her head and smiled dryly, hoping that would suffice as a response. Idly, she wondered if she could ever show her paintings to Roderick. It was a stupid question.

  So why was she going out with him? Where did she expect this relationship to lead, if she couldn't even bring this man into all the rooms of her home and let him know the deepest part of her?

  Meanwhile Roderick's triumphant smile dimmed. Cherise fervently hoped he hadn't guessed her mind had been wandering.

  "I've been going to some open houses," he told her. "Thinking about trading up."

  "Oh, is that so?" Cherise did her best to look interested. "Are you unhappy with where you're living now?"

  "No-o." Roderick drew the word out, looking at her. "But...sometimes a man has to look to the future, if you know what I mean."

  "The future." Cherise nodded. "Yes, they say real estate is always a good investment, in the long run."

  "An investment," Roderick said, sounding disappointed for some reason. "Yes."

  Cherise glanced toward the maitre d', wishing there were some way to speed up the evening. It occurred to her that she'd never hoped to rush through an evening with Kenny. She'd never looked at her watch, a habit she indulged in on dates with all other men. Thinking about it now, she realized her watch-observing came from dating men who didn't challenge her. Safe men.

  Men with whom she could stay in control.

  Looking back toward Roderick, forcing herself to smile, Cherise felt the unwelcome questions come rushing at her. Did she limit her life? Stifle herself?

  Would it have been so awful to quit her job and go to Europe? She couldn't pretend she hadn't dreamed of travelling through France and Italy, visiting the famous museums, and even doing some painting of her own. She'd often thought how exciting it would be to see the Alps, and the Mediterranean.

  But she hadn't been willing to entertain the idea, not even for an instant. She hadn't been willing to let go of one iota of her security in order to make a change that might lead to something better, bigger, or more fulfilling.

  "Did I tell you about the hearing I had before Judge Netherdorf?" Roderick asked Cherise.

  Cherise smiled. "No, you didn't. What happened?"

  As Roderick proceeded to relate the details of what must surely have been an amusing anecdote, Cherise looked at his handsome, well-educated, and gainfully employed face and wondered how much fun it would have been to traipse around Europe like a gypsy.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  "No, no. Not like that. You gotta put your fingers up first, then down. Right. Now you got it."

  "So glad I finally mastered that handshake." Valerie gratefully disengaged her hand from Nicky's. In the examination room on a Monday in July, she took a step back to look at him. "Unbelievable," she said, and shook her head.

  "I know." In the Mom chair, Mrs. Gordon heard Valerie's comment and agreed. "He looks like himself again."

  "Indeed he does." Nicky had skin the color of a healthy child, no bruises, eyes bright and alert.

  Now he rolled his eyes at the two women and jumped down from the examination table. "So, whaddaya say, doc? Do I get to go back to baseball now? My team has been dying without me."

  "Dying, huh?" Valerie couldn't resist shaking her head one more time. It was no less than a miracle, how the bone marrow transplant had changed him from a pale shadow of himself back into the
boy he'd been before his illness. "Regardless of your baseball team's dire need for you, I want you to take it slow. Play only a quarter of a game the first time out. We'll see how it goes."

  Nicky heaved a dramatic sigh, but said, "Okay."

  Valerie smiled and tried to ruffle his hair, the hair that called to be ruffled, but Nicky ducked out from under her hand. She laughed. Oh, it was good to have something to celebrate, for a change.

  She blinked at the thought, startled. For heaven's sake, there was plenty to celebrate already. Her own health was good, she'd switched to maternity clothes, and the baby was coming along fine, according to Dr. Janis.

  But as Valerie stood there, she knew she wasn't as happy and excited about that as she should have been. She couldn't help feeling like something was missing.

  Something like Roy.

  Valerie's smile abruptly dropped. Damn, she was doing it again. Thinking about Roy. How could he be missing from her life? He'd never been in her life.

  And yet every day that went by without him chipped away at her. Instead of time repairing her broken heart, it was wearing it away.

  The worst part was the feeling of responsibility Valerie had about it all, as if she could have arranged a different outcome, as if she'd had any control over it whatsoever.

  "So I was telling Richard," Mrs. Gordon spoke, interrupting Valerie's preoccupation. "I was telling him this was a prime example of a lost soul trying to wash clean his ill-gotten gains."

  "Pardon me?" Valerie had completely lost the train of the conversation.

  "The fellow who started this foundation, you know, the one who paid for Nicky's operation?" Mrs. Gordon shook her head self-righteously as she got up from her seat. "We discovered he's some kind of big-time Vegas fellow, a gambler. Guess he's trying to make up for his sins, not that I'm complaining, mind you." Mrs. Gordon set a hand to her chest and laughed. "If it makes him feel better to give money to children who need operations, more power to him!"