CLUB MEDicine: A Novel

by Jack Kinsley

  From the bathroom window, Travis could see out onto Sarah's patio. It looked like she had a major project in the works. He opened the small bathroom door that led out to the patio and got a better look. There was a great bare slab of concrete flanked by two planters of fresh dirt. The earth had been recently turned; it was deep black, and dank with fertilizer — patiently waiting to perform its miracles. A sole dwarf Meyer lemon tree had already taken root in the corner of a bed, bearing fruit and catching the morning sun. Grouped near it and ready to be planted were an array of vegetables and California native plants in plastic containers: beets, broccoli, cabbage, turnips, cauliflower, spinach, Brussels sprouts, golden poppies, ruby stars, and forget-me-nots. A pair of gloves, cultivator, and a trowel rested around their bases.

  Travis secretly loved to garden. It had often been an escape at his Victorian home when tensions flared with Ana and he'd needed the time alone to clear his head. Sarah's garden was calling to him now, and he found himself genuinely excited at the thought of getting his hands dirty.

  He went back inside and sat next to her. She rolled over to hold him, but looked up when she realized he was only going to sit.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "I see you got a project out there."

  "Out where?"

  "On your patio."

  She rolled away from him and didn't answer.

  He caressed one of her shoulders. "Want some help?"

  She rolled back and read him curiously. "Planting? No, that's okay. It's usually something I do alone."

  "Oh. Okay, then."

  She read the disappointment in his face. "Why?"

  "I haven't done it in a while, and it just seemed like something I wanted to do. Why do you only garden alone?"

  "Oh, Travis..." She hid her face with her arms. "You're not going to start wanting to know everything about me now are you?" She stretched out her body like a coy feline.

  "Well, I would have probably let it go, but now it's just way too interesting," he said. He jiggled one of her breasts, teasing her.

  She covered her chest and giggled. "That's not gonna get you anywhere."

  He pinched her butt.

  "Hey! Stop it! You're a damn child."

  "We are the company we keep," he said, but he kept his hands to himself.

  She lay still for a moment, then turned back to him. "It's personal, Travis. We've only been with each other one night."

  "All right. No worries."

  She shifted her head to his lap and looked up at him. She was quiet for a few seconds. He didn't push, sensing that she was working through something.

  Finally she told him, "I plant a garden every year in memory of my mother."

  He swept a few loose hairs from her face. "It's a wonderful way to keep her memory alive," he said. He felt the same terrible pinch he'd had when he lost his own mother to a stroke four years ago. She had lived just long enough to hear Bella say her first word: 'Momma.'

  "I'm a little early getting the plants in the ground this year," she told him. "Your mother still around?"

  "Nope."

  Sarah sat up suddenly, bounced her weight off the couch, and sprung to her feet. She grabbed his hand and pulled him up.

  "Come on then, we can plant in the memory of two mothers." She led him to the garden.

  Outside, she told him, "I have only one rule. We can't be sad. Okay? This is about remembering the beautiful times. Deal?" While she said it, he could see a wave of sorrow behind her strained smile.

  "Deal."

  Sarah handed him the trowel and gloves, but he told her to keep the gloves for herself and he would use the cultivator if necessary. She agreed to his gentlemanly offer and proceeded to tell him where the angle and duration of sun would most benefit the specific plants. They set each plant in front of the site where they would be dropped and quickly got to work.

  He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed gardening, watching nature take over. It was something he would add to his list in the quest to change his lifestyle; he'd also include surfing on a regular basis — something he once considered the best medicine in life.

  There wasn't a lot of banter while they dug and arranged, but before finishing, he could no longer deny his urge to toss a handful of dirt at Sarah's bare lower back, where her sweatpants had dropped in her squat. It was a good shot and some soil stayed in the corner of her rear vertical smile.

  "Prick." She returned the favor with a trowel-full at his bare feet. He instinctively grabbed another moist handful, but she stood, shaking the dirt out her pant legs, and stopped him, reminding him that they were due back at work in thirty minutes. He released his handful back into the planter, but she kept an eye on him while planting her last one.

  They slapped a dirty high five when finished and Sarah handed him a large broom to sweep up while she cleaned the patio of all the discarded plastic and tools. Only the final rewarding step of giving the garden a thorough watering remained. Travis spun the hose free of its wheel and handed the nozzle to Sarah to do the honors.

  "Really?" she asked, as if he was offering something of great value.

  "Of course. I'm only your humble assistant."

  Sarah clicked the setting to SHOWER on the nozzle and methodically watered all the plants with the devotion and love one would expect from a true tree hugger.

  "You know..." she started to say, but didn't finish her thought and simply continued to watering.

  "Know what?"

  "Nothing. It's a silly thought." She bent down and trickled some water over some soiled leaves, avoiding a couple orange buds.

  "What is it?"

  "Well, what I was going to say..." She was still reluctant. "I was going to say, I love gardening because I feel like it brings me closer to God. And my mother, of course." Her eyes flicked at him and then back to the plants. "I know it's silly."

  Travis felt quite the opposite. On the contrary, he was deeply moved by her comment. He'd never been able to find the correct words to describe his relationship with gardening. There was a mystical sensation he'd always felt while doing it; watching the miracles spring to life from the blueprints of each and every unique seed.

  "No, it's not silly at all," he answered sincerely, and then spun the hose back onto the wheel when she was finished. After, he motioned for her to come to him, held her shoulders, and thanked her for letting him be a part of it. "That meant more to me than you realize." He kissed her, feeling strangely closer to her here in the garden than when they'd been naked and entwined in bed hours before.

  "You're welcome. But now we have to get moving before all hell breaks loose with Lucy at the helm."

  He had a ridiculous vision of Lucy manning a ship with torn sails, being tossed around like a cork in a storm. Dallas was in the background, balancing in the high winds and rain, whipping her from behind.

  "She's already fucked," he laughed.

  Sarah read into the very possibility of his comment. "You're right, let's get moving." She darted into the kitchen.

  "Where are the rest of my clothes?" he called out to her.

  Sarah stopped in her tracks, as if her memory had just thrown her into a vat of molasses. She slowly turned right at a snail's pace and walked into the laundry room. When she returned, she was carrying his clothes expertly folded in her arms. Sitting on top of his shirt was his little black box — prominently displayed to him where it had no chance of being overlooked. His heart dropped like a stone.

  "I found this in your sock," she told him.

  He ran through a list of lame excuses in his mind, but nothing stuck — nothing with an ounce of validity that she would buy. She didn't shovel it and she certainly wouldn't buy it.

  He took the bundle from her and folded the box inside the clothes. "It's not what you think," he could only say. "Don't let your imagination run too far."

  "I don't need much of an imagination for what I saw. But if I do see it again, you'll never see me again. Is that clear?" Her words were cold and
held the imminent threat of lightning forming over a damp metal rod.

  Travis nodded and went into the living room to get dressed. He mentally whipped himself for being so careless. She had just been royally deceived by another man and he was proving to her that all men were the same.

  Chapter 14 / A Salute To The Sea

  It was Dallas himself who recommended using the story that he needed to visit a relative in San Diego for four days — specifically, a sick aunt in the hospital. It was fitting since there was already a concert of heartstrings playing daily for Betsy's final decline and, luckily, Dallas hadn't divulged a lot of family history to anyone but Travis. Not even Helen Ross had managed to put all the puzzle pieces together about him, which was not only a rarity, but made her all the more suspicious of him. His keen manipulative traits and superficial charms worked like magic on everyone but her. As for Travis, he had confirmation straight from the devil's mouth. He didn't even consult with Helen before allowing Dallas temporary leave (a normal practice for such occasions), as he knew it would have been met with strong and persuasive objections.

  Sarah had her own protests, but for different reasons. She tried to camouflage her real concern by pushing Dallas to have a personal companion with him 24/7, which was standard protocol in these situations, but Travis suspected he knew why she was strongly resisting. While the three of them sat in the office and discussed Dallas's departure at length, she finally came right out and said it.

  "Not only would it be entirely unwise to risk your recovery, but there is also the matter of your loan, Mr. Vallero. You would be leaving us without any form of collateral or retribution. And with all due respect, how can we be certain you'll even come back?"

  Her words were particularly harsh, carrying an accusatory tone, and Travis wished Dallas could have avoided such a reprimand. The last thing he wanted was to send his giant off in a bad mood, putting at risk an operation that already had a high probability of failure. He hadn't even been expecting the meeting, but Sarah pulled the two of them into the office without warning.

  Dallas flicked his eyes at Travis seated next to him. He could see the beast was reaching his threshold. Travis needed to think of something quick, while still appearing to be a neutral party. The giant was just about to say something when Travis interrupted him.

  "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I didn't have a chance to tell you, but Dallas just informed me earlier that he received his money this morning. It's not all he was hoping for," he smiled casually at Dallas, "but there's enough to cover his immediate debt and additional funds will be available to him by the time he returns."

  Dallas observed him with mild admiration, and then told Sarah, "Yes, so sorry, Ms. Daley. My apologies for not tellin' you first thing this mornin'." His tone was forgiving, but held an edge of vindication. In the last ten minutes, Sarah had shrunk him to the stature of an adolescent called to the principal's office.

  She threw Travis an inquisitive look, still not completely convinced. "Oh, well, I'm very happy to hear that. Will it be enough to secure a personal assistant to accompany you on your journey to San Diego?" She had only slightly relented. There was a lie there and she could smell it.

  Dallas took the reins from there. "No, it ain't necessary, honestly, ma'am. This ol' dog don't need a leash. He knows better now to keep his snout out of the dumpsters and off them highways. It's the straight and narrow from here on out."

  His charm was back full throttle and it made Travis a tad more confident that the beast could actually pull off the disappearing act of his wife. As for Sarah, Dallas's usual act of humility and self-deprecation seemed to be working on her.

  She smiled easily at him. "For your own good, I also strongly suggest you stay away from partygoers of the female persuasion. That may be even more important in regards to your recovery."

  "I'm hearin' you loud and clear. Know it all too damn well — becomin' the company we keep, and it ain't gonna happen. That there's a promise from me to you." He ticked a fat finger back and forth between them.

  "And when should we expect your money transfer?" she asked, firing another hole in Travis's plan.

  "I'll be taking him to the bank personally later this morning," Travis jumped in. "It'll be a cash payment and he'll hire a taxi down to San Diego from there."

  It would be the first time in years he would personally handle any financial transactions for Crystal Heights — this was solely Sarah's department — and he could feel the weight of her gaze roll over him like a two-ton truck. Her woman's intuition was on high alert and he began systematically digging further under the quarter moons of his nails. He didn't believe there would be the usual rainbows and unicorns behind Sarah's eyes when he held her in bed tonight. Instead, she'd be asking him seemingly random questions, looking for any inconsistencies in his answers to prove him a liar.

  They'd slept together almost every night since they'd become romantically involved, but last night he'd lied to her and said he was having Bella over at his place — which he only wished was true. The last time he'd seen his daughter was in her hospital bed, and he knew Ana was sticking to her word. The real reason he hadn't slept at Sarah's last night was because he had run out of Valium the night before and lay awake in her bed staring at her ceiling — his heart pounding from the residual Adderall rush until morning. He needed a good night's rest and the only way that happened these days was by taking an obscene amount of Valium.

  Travis also needed time alone to think about his plan with Dallas. He would stop the pills. He promised himself that, but not before Ana was gone — he couldn't risk his conscience catching up with him.

  Initially, he'd thought his new intimacy with Sarah would have consequences in their working relationship, but it hadn't changed much. Aside from stealing the occasional kiss behind a closed door, they had managed to keep it professional and a secret from everyone — or nearly everyone. Nothing could escape the finely tuned, wise eyes of Helen Ross. She didn't say anything, but Travis was certain they were on her radar.

  The only change Travis really noticed was the look of distrust Sarah would occasionally drill him with. Her eyes seemingly begged the questions: Are you still popping pills? Are you high now? What else are you hiding? That was the look she was giving him now, as he told her about collecting Dallas's money.

  "Like I said," he reassured her. "I'll handle it."

  "That's not what I asked." She eyed him more suspiciously than ever. "Would you like me to prepare his travel pill box for him? Or would you like to do that?"

  He hadn't realized he'd drifted off. His usual mind recording and delay-playback had failed him, and he had to force himself back into the moment. "That would be great, if you could handle it. Thank you, Sarah," he said, but didn't recognize his own voice. He couldn't keep this up much longer. Darkness was throwing out its welcome mat and he wanted to wipe his bare feet on the coir and swan dive into oblivion.

  Sarah stood from her chair, a clear signal she was done with them, and went over to the med safe in the closet and started spinning the tumbler. Both men looked at each other, stood, and headed for the exit. Travis held the door open for Dallas, who left without hesitation while Travis lingered and fished for a last look from Sarah. Her head was just above the opened safe, peering inside a gallon Ziploc bag at the dozens of amber pill bottles inside. She didn't look up, but he was undoubtedly in her line of sight. She shut the safe and sat back at her desk without acknowledging his continued presence. He closed the door and stood outside, thinking his days were truly numbered.

  Then he heard her call out to him. Relieved, he swung the door back open.

  "Yes?" he asked.

  "Can you give this to Betsy?" She held out a printed sheet. The paper floated at the end of her reach while she kept her focus on the growing line of pill bottles across her desk.

  He grabbed the paper. "Hey, Sarah."

  She looked up at him for a split second, then back down.

  "Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?
" He smiled.

  "Please tell Betsy her attorney needs an answer from her ASAP."

  "Will I see you tonight?" he asked.

  She plucked a pair of reading glass from her face — something she wore only when dealing with medication or obstinate men. "Are you going to be a good boy? Or just pretend to be one?" She let out a short breath of exasperation.

  His mind instantly produced two answers: no, and yes. No, if it was meant for the next seventy-two hours, and yes, if it was for the rest of his life after that. "Of course," he said, choosing the future Mr. Martin — the one he hoped to impress Sarah with once again. "Remember what I told you," he reminded her. "Don't let your imagination run too far with what you saw."

  She studied him and then said, "Okay, but let's just have a quiet night. Maybe watch a movie — something funny. I need to rest."

  "You got it." He gave her a wink and shut the door.

  In the hallway, he read the header on the document for Betsy: Last Will and Testament. The lawyer needed a final signature.

  Recently, Travis had felt more privileged than usual when he spent time with Betsy. There was a lifetime of wisdom in their conversations, and he could use some guidance in his life right now — possibly today, he thought, as he walked toward her room with the printout.

  When he entered her suite, she lay so still that he stopped in his tracks five feet away, holding his own breath, while he tried to watch for hers. At first there was nothing, no movement under the comforter that lay across her chest. He dropped the sheet of paper to the floor; by random chance, it landed on a single hard edge and made a louder sound than he would have thought possible. He could have tried a thousand times and not been able to repeat it. The sharp clack pulled Betsy from her deep slumber. Her chest rose in one big inhale and then found a slow, uneven rhythm of short, shallow breaths.

  It hadn't wakened her completely.

  He quietly slid the paper under the corner of the lamp on the nightstand and watched her sleep for another few minutes before he slipped back out the door.