Dear Emily

by Fern Michaels

  Emily could feel her heart start to flutter in her chest. “Well what? You’ve told me the why, you haven’t told me the what, although I can guess.”

  “There you go again, Emily. What am I going to say?” Already Ian had inched away from her as he waited for her to say what was on her mind.

  “I think you want to open a second clinic. I’m not as stupid as you think, Ian. I answered the phone when the bank called, not once, not twice, but at least a dozen times. Our accounts are in order so what else could it mean? I think you should have spoken to me about it before you went ahead and held discussions. We’re doing fine, we’re about to go into the black, in fact I think we’re already in the black. You want to saddle us with more debt. What am I going to get out of this, more years of hard work, agonizing work? Ian, I want a baby, a life. I want to go to school. You promised me. We didn’t agree to open clinics. One, yes. It will generate enough income for us to live quite well. I know how to manage money. We can have a wonderful life with time for ourselves. We can hire people and still have plenty of money. How much is enough? Tell me, how much? I see two hundred thousand dollars a year as a lot of money. That’s ours after all the bills and salaries have been paid. And you want to know something else, Ian, this perfume gives me a headache. I can’t wear it anymore. Well?”

  “I can’t believe this is you talking, Emily. When did you become so closeminded? I’m sorry about the perfume. I assumed because I liked it that you would like it. I’ll take it back and get you something else. You’re right about the banker. This is an opportunity not to be missed. It fell in my lap, Emily. We’ll be fools to turn it down. We’ll literally be sitting on easy street if we go for it. I swear to you the second clinic will net us three quarters of a million a year. Put that together with our income from the Front Street clinic and we’ll be taking in a million a year. We’ll be millionaires, Emily. You and me, millionaires. It boggles my mind. A year, Emily, just one more year. The bank wouldn’t go for it if it wasn’t a sure thing. How can you even think about turning this down? I can’t believe that perfume gives you a headache. You’re busting my chops, aren’t you, Emily? Because you’re being selfish. You don’t want us to get ahead. You’re one of those people with no visions, no insights. I thought we were alike.”

  “No, Ian, I’m not one of those people. The dream we had was limited. Family, schooling, success. I personally do not have any of the things I signed up for. I want a life, Ian. Can’t you understand that?”

  “What’s a few years?” Ian huffed. “I’m not complaining, I’m the doctor here. I put in as much time as you do and I’m not whining about it. I’m prepared to put in another year to achieve what I thought was our dream. You’re letting me down, Emily.”

  “Get off it, Ian. Arrogance should be included at the end of your name along with M.D. A few years, my butt! Try the word eternity. I’ve been working forever.”

  “Emily!” Ian shouted in outrage.

  “Ian,” Emily shouted in return. She wasn’t going to give in. Not this time. She tried to block out the tears in Ian’s eyes, the quiver in his lips. She would have succeeded if Ian hadn’t taken that moment to speak.

  “I’m sorry, Emily. You’re right, I am selfish and greedy. Of course you can go to school. We’ll start trying for a baby, but I have to warn you, babies are expensive. There’s college and then medical school. Our kid is going to be a doctor and I don’t want him to have to struggle like I did. I know you, Emily, you’ll want to shower him or her with everything, the best preschool, the best private school, the best prep school. We’ll need a house with a yard, some household help for you, a station wagon, bikes, toys, that all costs money. Your schooling is going to cost a bundle, but I’m up for it if it’s really what you want. But that two hundred thousand is going to whittle down to say, maybe thirty thousand. And we can’t forget the insurance, more help at the clinic. Before you know it, we could be left with minimum wage as take-home pay. Let’s go for a walk, Emily. The wood you brought in was wet and the room’s kind of smoky. We need to clear our heads. We need to work off that grand dinner you made for us. A brisk walk will do us both some good. Later maybe we can have some turkey sandwiches with hot chocolate. I’ll even fix them. Can you forgive me, Emily?”

  Emily dropped to her knees and laid her head in Ian’s lap. She cried. Ian cried too. “How long, Ian?”

  “Fourteen months tops.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Work in the Front Street clinic from seven till eleven. Then you’d go to Terrill Road and work till one. You can still work your job at Heckling Pete’s because we’ll need that money for our personal living expenses. I don’t want to borrow more than I have to. It will be like now, you’ll be on the books, but your money stays in the corporation. I need to know in my heart that you can handle this, Emily, otherwise there’s no point in going ahead.”

  “What I did sign on for was till death do us part, for better or worse. I’m being honest, Ian, I don’t think it can get worse so I guess you can count on me. I can’t work seven days a week anymore, Ian. I need some time for myself. Fourteen months. Swear to me on our unborn child.”

  “Whatever it takes, Emily. I swear. You won’t regret this, honey, I am going to give you everything in the world. You wait. That’s a promise I mean to keep.”

  “All I want is an education and a baby.”

  “That too. Well, are you up for that walk?”

  Emily tried to smile, tried to put some bounce in her step, tried to feel something for her husband at that moment, but it all fell flat.

  Ian didn’t notice.

  Chapter 3

  Things moved quickly after the first of the year. There were days when Emily barely spoke to Ian and days when she didn’t speak to him at all. Only the thought of their trip to the Cayman Islands kept her sane. She was packed, had been packed since the second of January. All she had to do was stick her comb and brush and toothbrush into her bag.

  Grudgingly, she had to admit Terrill Road was the perfect location for the second clinic. It was amazing, she thought from her position in the open doorway, how fast renovations could go in just two weeks. Ian must have promised the workers overtime and paid extra to have the equipment shipped out right away. When Ian wanted something, he left no stone unturned. For him it worked. For her it didn’t.

  She watched, huddled inside her heavy coat, as the examining tables were unloaded from a huge tractor trailer. Who was going to set them up? Her question was answered a moment later when four husky young men, probably Rutgers students on Christmas break, bounded out of a van. Two of them carried paint cans, another a tool kit, and a fourth was lugging boxes of tile. By nightfall, she was certain, everything would be in its place. When she stepped into what was going to be the waiting room, the shutters were up and painted on all the front windows. She shook her head in wonderment. Ian’s philosophy was, hire somebody, pay them well, they’ll do the job and get out and on to the next one. Not one minute wasted. Still, for all this to have happened in two short weeks meant the people he hired had worked round the clock.

  Emily felt a chill wash over her. If everything was done by the end of the weekend, they could be open for business on Monday. It wasn’t like Ian to open and then go off and leave the clinic to someone else to operate. The sign was already in the window.

  Emily stepped outside. A light swirling snow was starting to fall. All thoughts of the island vacation was whisked away with the gusty wind. She might as well go home and unpack her bags. Now that she thought about it, she’d never seen the tickets. Her eyes narrowed. Ian wouldn’t do that to her, would he? He never broke a promise. Intentionally. To Ian a promise was a promise. Maybe she wouldn’t unpack.

  Emily switched on the windshield wipers before she steered the six-year-old Chevy onto Route 22. She took the first turnoff, waited for the light before she headed back in the opposite direction. She almost missed the Somerset Street turnoff that would lead her to Park
Avenue and the third-floor apartment they lived in. She was home in twenty minutes. She was stunned to see Ian sitting in the kitchen eating a cheese sandwich. “Want a sandwich, Emily? I opened some tomato soup and saved some for you—it’s on the stove. I fixed an extra sandwich.”

  “How did you know I was coming home, Ian?”

  “I heard you tell Esther. Your car was gone. I called over to Terrill Road and they said you’d just left. See, I’m a sleuth. I knew you’d be cold so I made the soup. Besides, I wanted to change my shirt. I have clean ones, don’t I?”

  “Of course. I ironed late last night, they’re hanging on the pantry door. Ian, do you know how long it takes to iron twenty-one shirts every week? I think we should start sending them out. I don’t have the time anymore and do you really have to change your shirt three times a day? And when you get called out at night, you put on a fourth one. It’s a bit too much, Ian.”

  “You’re the one who got me into that. You specifically told me I should always look crisp and professional and you were right. I can’t tell you how many compliments I get on my shirts. You know just the right amount of starch to put in them. The laundries either use too much or too little. I hate it when they do my shirts. You do it perfectly, Emily. Are you ticked off about something and taking it out on me?”

  “Of course not.” Damn, she should have reheated the soup. The sandwich on the plate looked dry; Ian didn’t use mayo or butter the way she did.

  “It’s snowing out,” she said, to have something to say. “Did you pack yet, Ian?”

  “Not yet. I thought you were going to do it. I can do it if you don’t have the time. You’re too busy, right?”

  Emily shrugged. “Where are the tickets, Ian?”

  “In my desk at the office. I had them sent there because I had to sign for them and I’m never really here. Did the agent make a mistake or something?”

  “No. I was just curious. Esther asked me if we had any stops and I said I didn’t know. Do we?”

  “Beats me, I didn’t even look at the tickets. I just shoved them in the drawer. Emily, Emily, I can see right through you. You should know you can’t pull off deviousness. You think I just made up the trip, that we aren’t going because the new clinic is opening in a few days.” He shook his head in disappointment. Emily looked away and said nothing. She bit into the cheese sandwich.

  “Well, isn’t that what you thought?”

  Emily turned around and eyeballed her husband. “More or less.”

  “Dear Emily, we’re going and we’re going to have a wonderful time. I’m telling you now I’m not taking a lot of clothes. I plan to live like a beach bum the whole time. How about you?”

  “While you’re being a beach bum, I’m going to sleep on the beach. I plan to live in a pair of shorts and halter.”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Emily. You don’t have a midriff anymore. You need to be rail thin to dress like that. I thought women were self-conscious about things like that. If it doesn’t bother you, though, it won’t bother me. A tan will help your legs, cover those bulging veins a bit. I thought you were going to see Dr. Metcalf.”

  “When have I had the time, Ian? I plan to make an appointment in the spring. The support hose help quite a bit.”

  “You can’t wear support hose on the beach.”

  “Then how about if I wear long underwear? That way I’ll be covered from my neck to my ankles. Sometimes, Ian, you are very cruel and thoughtless. You don’t seem to have any regard for my feelings.”

  Tears flooded Emily’s eyes as she started to wash the soup mugs and sandwich plates. She didn’t say anything—what was the point?

  “See you, honey,” Ian said, kissing her on the cheek. “I love that new shampoo you’re using, smells like a summer breeze.” He ruffled her hair. “Don’t ever cut this wild mane; it’s you, Emily. I think your hair is part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

  She was suddenly shy, confused, unused to compliments like this. “If it wasn’t soooo curly…” She should be saying something witty, something with a double meaning, but the words stuck in her throat. “Guess I’ll see you tonight.”

  She didn’t want to think. Instead she moved by rote the way she did every day. First she shed her skirt and blouse, pulled on the thick support hose that were more elastic bandages than hose, and pulled them up. She was exhausted with the effort. If only she could take an hour-long bubble bath and then lie down. The long shift she had to work at Heckling Pete’s loomed ahead of her. “Don’t think, Emily, just move your butt and do what you have to do,” she muttered to her made-up reflection. She did her best to calculate the minutes and the seconds until she could return to this tiny bathroom, shed the elastic stockings, and take a long, hot bubble bath. Of course Ian might have something to say about running the water at two o’clock in the morning. Once he’d said the light shining under the bathroom door bothered him so she’d resorted to taking her bath by candlelight and running the water through a bunched-up towel. “I’m crazy. Nobody in their right mind does the kind of things I do for Ian. They’re going to come and lock me up.”

  “Do you believe this weather?” Ian asked, seven days later, as he snapped the lid of his suitcase. “God, we’re going to be lucky if we make it to the airport. When was the last time it snowed like this?”

  “About five years ago. I think we had fourteen inches. I’m going to the airport if I have to walk.”

  “We’re going, so wipe that look off your face.”

  “Okay, Ian.”

  They were doing a last-minute check of the apartment when the phone rang. They stared at one another. “Don’t answer it, Ian.” The phone continued to ring, six, seven, eight rings. It stopped suddenly in midring and then rang again a few seconds later. Emily shook her head.

  “I have to answer it, Emily. I’m a doctor.”

  Emily sat down on the arm of the couch and watched her husband’s face. When she heard him say, “I’ll meet the ambulance at Muhlenberg. Not half as sorry as I am,” she took off her coat.

  “I have a patient in crisis, Emily. Mrs. Waller had a heart attack. At the clinic. They’re transporting her as we speak to Muhlenberg. I have to go. Damn, she was doing so well too. I don’t want to lose her, Emily.” He was ripping at his heavy jacket, at his cable knit sweater. Emily automatically picked them up and folded them.

  “What should I do?”

  “Take the Honda and drive to the airport. Leave my ticket at the counter, and when I’m satisfied Mrs. Waller is in stable condition, I’ll take the next flight. Check my bags with yours. It’s the best I can do,” Ian said, slipping into his coat. “Don’t say anything, Emily. This is an emergency and I am a goddamn doctor. Go, get in the car and go. I’m the one missing out. I’m using your car.”

  He was gone. She could hear the Chevy sputter once, twice, three times before it caught and rolled over. Even if it didn’t, Ian could walk the three blocks to Muhlenberg. Now what was she to do?

  Well, she wasn’t going to the Cayman Islands, that was for sure. In her heart she knew Ian wouldn’t join her.

  She leaned back on the sofa. The old lady had touched some deep chord in Ian just the way the children at the clinic did. Everyone appeared to love Ian. He had a wonderful bedside manner and he always seemed to know just the right words to soothe anxious patients. And it paid off in referrals. Everyone who came in wanted to be treated by Dr. Thorn.

  Emily picked up her purse and threw it across the room. The airline tickets and colorful brochures of the Caymans spilled onto the floor.

  Then she howled like a banshee.

  Chapter 4

  It had been a disappointing day in more ways than she wanted to think about. She’d slept for eleven straight hours. It was almost midnight, and the Cayman Islands vacation was dead in the water.

  Groggily, Emily tottered into the bedroom to see if Ian had returned while she was asleep. He hadn’t, the bed was neatly made, just the way she’d left it. It occurred to her th
en to look out the window. Her eyebrows shot upward. There was so much snow she couldn’t see across the street and it was still snowing, which meant Ian would stay at the hospital. The Chevy wouldn’t make it in this kind of weather and Ian hadn’t taken his boots. Ian would never trudge through snow, no matter what. He hadn’t called. Then again, maybe she hadn’t heard the phone ring. Anything was possible. Possible, but unlikely. Ian thought she was in the Cayman Islands. She wished now she’d had the guts to brave the turnpike. Now what was she going to do? She was on a week’s vacation with nowhere to go and no one to spend time with.

  Emily marched into the kitchen and did what she always did when she was frustrated and angry. She ate. When she was finished, she said what she always said: “I wish I hadn’t eaten all that food.”

  Emily stomped her way to the bathroom to fill the tub. A bubble bath eased some of the tension that was settling between her shoulder blades. A big glass of wine would probably help even more. Then some more sleep. She felt sluggish with all the food and candy she’d eaten.

  An hour later she was in bed, dressed in her long flannel, granny nightgown. She slept till three the following day, when she got up, showered, and ate a monster lunch of fried potatoes, Spam, and a whole can of creamed corn. She finished it off with a half a tin of butter cookies and two glasses of chocolate milk. She watched soap operas for the rest of the afternoon. When the commercials came on, she switched to the local weather station.

  At noon of the third day, Ian arrived home in the middle of the day. Emily was sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread in front of her, a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “Emily!”

  “Ian!”

  “Emily, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were in the Caymans. I called you all night long and there was no answer.”

  “I fell asleep, Ian. I guess I didn’t hear the phone,” she said. “I was afraid to go. Besides, I didn’t want to go without you.”