by Dianne Drake
“We used to be friends,” she said, not sure why she felt compelled to. “Years ago.”
“He mentioned that. Said you were a competent nurse, which is why he wanted you here.” He stood up and gave her a long, thoughtful appraisal. “Dermott’s life is his own business, Miss Lawson. I don’t interfere, I don’t express opinions. But let me tell you this much. He’s a good man. Most people wouldn’t let us have the involvement Dermott lets us have with Max, and my wife and I owe him a lot for what he’s done to keep the boy in our lives. But Dermott is dealing with a difficult situation, and he doesn’t need any more pressure than he’s already got on him.”
“You think I’d do that? Cause him more pressure?”
“Maybe not intentionally. But things aren’t normal for him, the way they used to be before my daughter…” He paused, swallowed hard. “All I’m saying is, whatever it is you’re expecting to find here may not be what’s really here. See it for what it is, Miss Lawson. Not for what you want it to be and it’ll work out for both of you—however you want it to work out.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant. Was it a warning for her to keep away from Dermott, or a blessing to get involved with him? “What I want is a job I love. That’s why I came here.”
“Is it?”
That was a question she couldn’t answer because, the truth be told, she probably wouldn’t have accepted the position, such as it was, from a stranger. Which meant Dermott’s father-in-law was one very perceptive man. “I love being a nurse, and that’s always my first priority. I’m not trying to step in and take your daughter’s place, if that’s what you think I’m doing.”
“Except that you’re doing her job, living in her building, having a relationship with her husband and her son.”
“Professional relationship.” Jenna glanced over at Max, who was so caught up in racing his little cars that he didn’t even know anybody else was in the room with him. Or did he? He was a perceptive little boy. An observer, Dermott had called him. So, how much had he observed when no one was noticing, when the adults around him underestimated how much a young child was taking in? Like Frank was doing right now. “Dermott and I had a good working relationship years ago, and that’s what I’m trying to re-establish right now. All I’m trying to re-establish.” She felt sorry for Frank. It had to be so difficult seeing another woman in all the places he was used to seeing his daughter. “I appreciate you setting up the bed,” she said. Then to Max, “And you couldn’t have picked a better color. In fact, it’s the best blue bed I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m going to ask the big guy if I can paint my bed blue, too. Maybe blue and purple! Can I use your paint, Grandpa?”
Frank chuckled. “I think that’s a project I’ll let your dad help you with.”
The phone downstairs rang just as the bell over the door jingled, and Jenna dashed down the stairs ahead of Frank and Max, pulling on Dermott’s oversized white coat as she did so. Waving at the young woman standing in the waiting room, she got to the phone on the fourth ring. It was a woman named Barbara who wanted to know if Jenna could have a look at her daughter. The child had a sore throat, no fever, and Barbara thought that since it didn’t seem serious maybe Jenna could do the exam. Not a good situation, but Jenna asked Barbara to bring her daughter in. Then she turned her attention to the young woman in the waiting room. “May I help you?”
“My grandmother…” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea.
“Does she need to see a doctor?” Jenna prompted.
The woman first nodded, then shook her head. “I’m not sure what she needs. She’s been down for a few days now, and she doesn’t have the energy to get up and do much. She’s losing weight, too, but I’m not sure she’s really sick. She says she feels well enough, but…”
“These are recent changes?”
“Yes. Until a few days ago, she walked a couple of kilometers a day, still rode her bicycle a few times a week. Then she took to her bed and she won’t let me call a doctor. Refuses to let me call one, actually. So you can see what kind of problem I’m having. On top of that, I can’t stay here much longer. My husband and children need me at home. So, I thought that since you’re not a doctor…I mean, I know it’s sneaky, but I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Will she be needing a house call, or do you think she could make it into the office?”
“At home, I think. She’s staying close to the bed.”
In the end, Jenna promised to drop in on Leona Hazelwood after she’d had a look at Barbara Moorehouse’s daughter, Emily, whom she was seeing immediately after she assisted Dermott with their ten o’clock appointment with Tom Parker’s mysterious rash.
“I understand that the famous blue bed has arrived,” Dermott said from his office a while later, as Jenna busied herself for the first appointment of the day.
“And a nice blue bed it is.” He was sitting at his desk, looking rather fetching in his white coat. Smiling, but the smile was strained, a little unsure. It was an attempt, though, and she appreciated it.
“I heard rumors that there might be a blue bed in my future.”
“That’s between the painter of the blue bed and his father.”
“I’m sorry about yesterday, Jenna. Sorry that I wasn’t honest with you about Nancy, too. It’s easier not talking about her, and sometimes I feel cornered when I have to.”
Living life a few steps away from the reality of it. Well, if anybody understood how it felt to be cornered by reality, she did. But she didn’t have anybody so connected to her that her avoidance of anything made a difference. Dermott did, and in some way, deep down, it had to make a real difference knowing that the avoidances had a purpose. “You know, I really don’t want to get into the middle of this. With what I’ve been through I don’t need another person’s problems, but, like it or not, I’m getting dragged in and you’re not being helpful about it. And I don’t even get the impression that you care what’s going on.”
“I care,” he said, his voice as brittle as ice. “That’s the problem. Because if I didn’t care I’d get the hell out of here so fast…” Dermott paused for a moment, shut his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. When he’d exhaled it, he opened his eyes again. “My marriage was hell, Jenna. In so many ways. I jumped in too soon, didn’t know her well enough. Probably had residual feelings left over for someone else.”
Her? Thinking that she might have been the one he’d had feelings for caused her pulse to quicken a little.
“And when things started changing, there was no one to turn to. I was married to the town’s fair-haired child who was changing more and more every day. She needed drugs to wake her up in the morning, drugs to help her sleep, drugs to make her feel better during the day. Nancy did so many good things, but she had such a dark side to her that I simply couldn’t deal with because no one believed it was there.” He shrugged. “Sometimes the obvious isn’t easy to see, especially when you don’t want to, and nobody wanted to. Including me.”
“I’m so sorry, Dermott. I had no idea how bad it was. When you said she had a drug dependence…”
“That’s a nice way to put it, JJ. She was addicted. It changed her personality. Pitted people against each other, which she enjoyed doing. Like she enjoyed hiding it until the point when she couldn’t any longer.”
“Some drug addicts are very good at hiding it.” Like some alcoholics. Like her father.
“You’d think a doctor would notice, though, wouldn’t you? Or a husband?”
“Except you weren’t seeing her as a doctor. And I expect that when your marriage started going bad, you weren’t seeing anything very clearly.” At least now she understood why he was spending so much time with Max. Dermott felt guilty for spending so little time with his wife and he blamed himself for what had happened to her. “She was an educated woman, Dermott. A nurse. She knew what she was doing when she took those drugs…knew better than most people.”
“But wa
s she trying to get my attention? Is that why she was doing it? Or was that always in her and I simply didn’t know it when we married?”
“Don’t make it that personal. With addiction, it’s not about the other person. It’s about what the addict wants. They may lay the blame somewhere else, because that’s the easiest way to justify what they’re doing, but if you’re the one having the blame thrown at you, you have to fight your way through the guilt to realize that another person’s addiction is their choice, not your fault.” And so sad for everyone involved.
“You sound like someone who has some experience.”
She hadn’t meant to do this, but she had to. After so many years, there were no more avoidances for this, because Dermott needed to hear it. He needed her honesty. “I do. My father was an alcoholic. There was never a day he was sober, and I did get help through a program when I went to live with my grandparents.” Until she’d quit and run away.
“Then you know why I have to protect Max the way I do. What his mother did, he doesn’t need that brought down on him again. He needs someone to keep it all away from him.”
“Have you ever thought that you over-protect him?”
“Maybe I do.”
She smiled. “Of course you do. That’s who you are.” The old Dermott. She was glad he was still there. Damaged and discouraged, but there in all the ways that mattered.
His eyes went soft for a moment, soft and distant, and she could see the pain. It was profound and raw. At that moment she could feel his pain as surely as if it were hers. She didn’t understand it fully yet, but she knew its depths, knew how hard it was for him to talk about it. As hard as it was for her to talk about her pain, and her father’s addiction. No, she hadn’t told him everything. But it was a start and, surprisingly, she didn’t feel too bad for it. Maybe because it was for Dermott’s sake. And for Max. Or maybe because Dermott simply made things easier for her.
“So, we’ve got a rash to deal with,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. A little emotion spent went a long way, and she was emotionally exhausted. The look on Dermott’s eyes told her he was, too.
He sighed, visibly grateful to be back to the topic of medicine. “Ah, yes. Contact dermatitis. Weed poisoning. He doesn’t like to wear socks and yet he likes to walk out in the wilds. Gets him every time, right around the ankles. Red rash, tiny pinprick-sized bumps, itchy, dry. He scratches, it gets worse, until he needs a shot of cortisone and some pills for follow-up.”
“Impressive. You know your patients well. So tell me about Leona Hazelwood. She’s my house call who refuses to see a doctor.”
“She refuses because the doctor knows she’s not ill. It’s loneliness. Physically, she’ll be fine. Heartier than most seventy-year-olds. But her family gets busy, they forget to call for a while, don’t make that two-hour drive in to see her as often as they should, and she gets sick. Classic symptoms—she’s weak, just doesn’t feel well, loses a pound or two because she refuses to eat, even though she has a stash of chocolate hidden in her bedroom. It brings one of her daughters or granddaughters running and two or three days later Leona has a miracle cure. She’s up and back to normal.”
Jenna laughed. “No wonder she refuses to see you. So what do you advise I do for her?”
“Give her a good check-up. At her age, it doesn’t hurt. Then a nice little shot of vitamin B12. I’ll prescribe it, you’ll give it.”
Jenna laughed. “B12? It’s just a vitamin, doesn’t cure anything.”
“On the contrary, it cures a plethora of ills. Just not any medical ones.” He smiled. “She’ll be up and out of bed by this evening, eating a fairly normal meal again, and tomorrow morning she’ll feel like taking a short walk. After her granddaughter leaves town, she’ll be happy for weeks.”
“Does Leona know she’s faking?”
“Probably. Although I haven’t told her so. Why spoil a good round of sympathy and attention with something so unnecessary? But she’s smart, and while I don’t think she exactly plans her sick spells, I’m pretty sure she’s onto them, which is why she doesn’t want a doctor taking a look and calling her a hypochondriac. I like to think of it as being manipulative in a sweet little granny way.”
“And if a sweet little granny can’t be manipulative, who can?”
“You go take care of the granny, I’ll take care of the rash, and maybe we can have lunch together afterwards? We’ve got a new jar of grape jelly.”
“Could we stop at the grocery for some strawberry?”
He smiled. “I’m not the boss of the peanut butter sandwiches, but Max likes you. He thinks you have very good taste in blue beds, so I suppose strawberry will be fine.”
“Blue and purple,” Jenna corrected.
“Is there something going on I don’t know about?”
She laughed. “I think this should be one of those special father-and-son moments.” Then she scampered down the hall, drew up a syringe of B12, grabbed her medical bag and waved a greeting to Tom Parker, who was hunched over, scratching his ankles, as she hurried to the door. At the door, she paused for a moment, went back to Tom Parker, whispered something in his ear, then dashed out the door.
“She took her shot?” Dermott asked, as he slathered the strawberry on the peanut butter. Peanut butter sandwich, glass of cold milk.
“Like a trouper. And it’s amazing how quick that B12 took hold. Her granddaughter agreed to stay the night and leave tomorrow rather than this afternoon.”
“Why’s that?”
“I asked her to keep an eye on Leona for a reaction to the shot. Just one night. I figured that would give Leona a little bonus time she probably wasn’t counting on. Oh, and I talked to Leona about buying a computer, so she can have access to e-mail. She claims she’s too old, but I promised that I’d show her how to use it if she decided to get it, and that way she could have almost instant access to all her family, anytime. I explained that the problem with the phone nowadays is that people don’t always have time to talk when someone calls, but an e-mail can be answered at a person’s leisure, and that she could actually write one e-mail and send it out to everyone at the same time, if she wanted. And I mentioned that she could have a camera in it to get live pictures.”
“You’re devious.” Dermott placed the sandwiches on plates and pointed to the pitcher of milk. “You carry that and the glasses, and I think we’re set for lunch.”
“Not devious. Just trying to think of ways to help Leona feel better. Her granddaughter said she was going to ask the whole family to pitch in on the cost of the computer.” She followed Dermott out the door, to the picnic table in the back yard. “Do Frank and Irene join you?”
“Not usually. Most of the time it’s just Max and me. They know we like our time together, and I think after a morning of Max and his high-volume energy, they’re glad to have a little rest.”
“Am I’m butting in? Are you sure Max won’t mind because I could go to the diner.”
“And leave me stuck with strawberry jam on peanut butter? Who’d eat it?”
“But I don’t want to interrupt your time with Max.”
Like the rest of town, but Jenna could never, ever be an interruption. “Trust me, you’re not interrupting. And Max won’t mind. If I thought he would, I wouldn’t have suggested it.”
“You’re a good father,” she said, sitting down at the table.
“A good enough father with a pretty damned good kid.”
“Not just good enough, Dermott. Any father who’d eat peanut butter sandwiches every day with his kid is a very good father. Especially when that father doesn’t like peanut butter.”
He looked over at her. “What makes you think I don’t like peanut butter?”
“You told me. We took a break together once, and went down to the staff lounge to grab a sandwich from the vending machine. You accidentally punched the button for a peanut butter and jelly, and you threw it in the trash when you got it because you said you hated peanut butter. You got
a ham and cheese instead.”
“You remembered that?” It had happened, and he hadn’t thought of it until now. So why had she remembered something so insignificant about him? Maybe for the same reason he’d remembered so many insignificant things about her.
Jenna shrugged. “Of course I remembered it. I had to loan you enough money to buy that other sandwich.”
He hoped she’d remembered for some other reason than that, and he was a little disappointed. But Jenna did sidestep her feelings, didn’t she? So she could have remembered because…Well, he wouldn’t finish that thought. But what she claimed wasn’t necessarily the real reason. And on that thought, he relaxed a little. “Did I ever pay you back?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then I owe you, don’t I?”
She held up her peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich. “I think you’ve just paid me back. So tell me, why do you eat something you don’t like? Couldn’t you and Max have ham and cheese sandwiches instead? Or alternate between ham and cheese, and peanut butter and jelly?”
“We could, but this is his favorite and he likes the idea that it’s my favorite, too. So what’s one sandwich in the course of a day?” He studied Jenna for a moment, as she cut her halved sandwich into quarters. There was so much there, so many layers to her. Years ago he hadn’t looked much past the obvious assets, and while they were stunning in ways that the years had only enhanced, everything else about her was stunning, too. Here he was being almost mean to her, yet she was looking for ways to make it all good. “Wash it down with enough milk and it’s not so bad.”
She handed him a quarter of her sandwich. “Try it. You might change your mind.”
“You’re being devious again.”
“Practical. Not devious. Connect one lady with her family on a more regular basis and that’s even better than a shot of B12. Tell one man that if he doesn’t wear socks and continues getting these rashes, then accidentally forgets to wash his hands after scratching it once, he could spread that nasty rash to, well…you know where. Connect that rash to a man’s more sensitive parts and I’ll bet that man puts on a pair of socks next time he takes to the wilds.”
