The Doctor Delivers

by Janice Macdonald

  She laughed and he told her that one of these days she should go with him and listen to some real Irish music. She smiled and said she’d like to do that. The breeze from the ocean blew their hair and the sun warmed his back. He smiled at her for a long moment. All the problems at Western seemed to melt away, and he wanted to stay right where he was forever.

  Catherine took a chip from the bag, tossed it onto the pier. Immediately, a flock of seagulls swooped down to fight over it.

  “Watch that one.” He pointed to a gull that had separated itself from the flock and was strutting toward them.

  “He’s going to demand that we hand over the rest of the chips,” Catherine said. “I think he’s got a little revolver under his wing.”

  “One of the local gull thugs.” He stretched his legs out in front of him, tipped his face up to the sun and closed his eyes. “I have an idea,” he said after a few minutes. “Call Western and tell them we’ve resigned to lead lives of sloth and indolence. We’ll sleep on the benches and eat fish and chips all day, then when the money runs out, you can catch fish.”

  “Oh sure.” She pushed his arm. “While you’re doing what?”

  “I haven’t decided yet, but I’m actually quite keen on the idea of doing nothing at all.” He kept his eyes closed, soaked in the warmth of the afternoon sun. Christmas in California might seem bizarre, but there was a lot to be said for sunshine in December. They sat in easy silence for a little longer, Catherine’s shoulder touching his, then she shifted slightly and he sensed a change in her mood. When he opened his eyes, he saw her watching him.

  “What is it?”

  “Reality suddenly intruded,” she said with a frown. Wind blew strands of hair across her face, and she brushed them away with the back of her hand. “Work. I’m supposed to have a talk with you. Get you to shape up and sing out of the same hymnbook everyone else is using.”

  Martin nodded. Jordan had given him a similar lecture. As though a trapdoor had opened, all the other problems at Western now crowded in. He stretched and yawned. God, he didn’t want to think about all of this now. What he wanted was to talk to Catherine about the decision he’d reached the night before, but something had crept into the air between them and it made what he wanted to say seem all wrong.

  “At the press conference this morning, Holly’s mother mentioned something you’d said.” She crossed her legs, clasped her hands around her knees. “But Eddie disagreed and—”

  “I’m not surprised,” he broke in. Back slouched against the bench, he tipped his face to the sun again. But its warmth had gone, and the wind felt suddenly cold. “The two of us don’t exactly see eye to eye,” he told Catherine. “Hodges listens to Grossman. Rita listens to me.”

  “The ideal situation,” Catherine said slowly, “would be for everyone to agree, at least publicly, about what should be done. From a public relations standpoint, this is a really good story, especially with Western picking up the tab. But if you, and now Rita Hodges, openly oppose the surgery, it obviously puts a different slant on things.”

  “Messes up your PR plan, is that it?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Sorry.” Contrite, he gazed at Catherine’s legs clad in navy tights, knees demurely pressed together below the folds of her tartan skirt, then forced his thoughts back to the subject. A pulse in his temple started to throb. There was something wrong with a system that put public relations benefits before the patient’s best interests. Something absurd about the expectation that he would ignore his clinical judgment and lie for PR’s sake. This fiasco wasn’t her fault. She had a job to do and he wasn’t making it any easier for her, but he wished to hell she worked in a different department.

  “As a mother, I can relate to what Rita is going through. Peter spent two months in the NICU.”

  He heard the emotion in her voice, fought the inclination to put his arm around her. “I’m sorry if I’m making it more difficult for you,” he finally said.

  “No.” She shook her head. “The thing is, Peter had to have all these procedures, but no one knew for sure if they would really help him.” Her eyes downcast, she traced her index finger over the weave on her skirt. “And he was being put through so much pain. But it would have been very hard not to try everything that might help.”

  Martin watched a couple of seagulls drag an empty Doritos bag across the ground, a few yards from where they sat. Both birds tugged at the bag and then a gust of wind blew it away. “I don’t know all the details about your son,” he said, “but I’m guessing his problems were nowhere as severe as Holly’s. Of course, you’d want to do everything if there’s any chance at all. Anyone would. Sometimes though, you just have to admit you’ve done all you can.”

  “Grossman seems to think more can be done.”

  “He wouldn’t if the media weren’t watching. What we should be doing, what we would be doing any other time, is just making her comfortable and letting nature take its course. That’s what Rita wants, but she’s up against Grossman and Western’s PR machine.”

  Catherine dug her fingernail under a loose chip of paint on the wooden table. “The problem is…” Bottom lip caught between her teeth, she stopped to examine the pad of her index finger.

  “The problem is you’ve got a splinter.” He took her hand, held it in his palm and with his thumb and forefinger gently squeezed the end of her finger, then he flicked away the sliver of wood. “There, lunch and major surgery, what more can you ask?”

  “I’ll tell you that when I get your bill,” she said.

  “Look, I know you have a job to do.” Her hand was still in his. “And if it helps, I’ll mouth the platitudes to the press. But I’m not going to be party to railroading Rita. I’ve explained the situation to her as I see it and that’s all I can do. The surgery is her choice.”

  AS THEY PULLED into the doctors’ parking lot, Martin seemed miles away, lost in his own thoughts. Preoccupied herself, Catherine hadn’t really felt like talking and they’d driven back to Western in silence. Of course he wouldn’t railroad Rita, she didn’t want him to. But how much did her feelings about him influence what she believed about surgery? If Holly were her child, would she be so ready to accept that they’d done all they could?

  She glanced over at him. He sat with one hand still on the steering wheel, his right arm extended over the back of her seat. His reddish hair, thick and coarse, just brushed the collar of his blue-and-white checked shirt. This close, she could see the faint dusting of freckles on his face, the twitch of a muscle in his jaw.

  Earlier, during the ride to the pier, the cramped space of the small car had enforced a physical closeness that had charged the air. As he’d maneuvered into the parking space, his knee had brushed against hers and she’d felt her stomach do a slow roll. Now, while the physical proximity was still there, a dense curtain of silence separated them. The tension—his and her own—felt palpable. She cleared her throat to speak, and Martin turned to look at her. Their eyes met and held.

  “I just want you to know that administration could make things difficult for you.” She described Derek’s threat to use the press to sabotage him if he didn’t cooperate. “Although, if you’re going to Ethiopia—”

  “I’m not going.” His voice was flat, uninflected.

  “You’re not? Why…when did you change your mind?”

  “Last night, I think. I’m not sure. I’d been going back and forth on it.” He looked down at the keys in his hand. “But last night I reached a major decision…a kind of turning point, I suppose. I want to stay and fight to keep WISH alive. If Western won’t fund it, I’ll keep looking until I find an agency that will.” He looked down at the keys again. “But there’s something else,” he said without looking up.

  Catherine waited for him to continue. Behind her she felt the pressure of his right arm across the seat back. The silence lengthened, and she glanced over at him.

  “This will sound odd,” he finally said. “We hardly know each other.
I’m not exactly a model of stability and you have children…” He ran his hand across the back of his neck, then frowned at the keys in his hand as though he couldn’t imagine how they’d got there. “I can’t stop thinking about you. You’re on my mind all the time.”

  She watched him. He hadn’t looked at her at all as he spoke and now he sat with his head back against the seat, eyes straight ahead as though scared of what he might see if he turned to her. Moved by what the words had obviously cost him, she couldn’t speak for a moment. In his silent refusal to look at her, he’d revealed more about himself than he could have with days of explanation. Words jangled around in her brain, the silence between them lengthened.

  “I didn’t want to go to that holiday party,” he said, “and then we started talking, and I didn’t want to leave. The same in your office. Same right now. There’s so much I want to say, I don’t really know where to start.” With his forefinger, he slowly traced the pattern on the knob of the gearshift column. “I’d like to see you…outside of the hospital, I mean. We could take it very slowly. There’s an Irish band at Mulligan’s I’d like to hear. Perhaps we could have dinner first.”

  Catherine pulled at a loose thread on her skirt. Was she dreaming? He couldn’t stop thinking about her? And she couldn’t stop thinking about him. It seemed incredible, like something in a movie. And about as realistic, the voice in her head warned. Look, you’re finally getting your life together, the voice continued. You don’t need a man to blow it all apart. Don’t risk everything you’ve worked for.

  “I don’t think that would be a good idea, Martin.”

  “Mulligan’s?”

  “Seeing you.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, we work together, which complicates everything. I mean, you didn’t want to do the press conference, but then you did because I asked you to. If Grossman does the surgery, the situation will get even more difficult. The whole idea of compromising what you really believe just because—”

  “What’s the real reason?”

  “The real reason?”

  He nodded. “I realize that working together is a potential complication, but I don’t think that’s the problem. I think there’s something else.”

  She folded her arms across her chest, stared at the tiny run in the left knee of her tights. “I just can’t, that’s all.”

  “I can see why you’re in public relations,” he said. “You explain things so well.”

  “Yeah, I guess that wasn’t one of my better efforts.” With a weak grin, she tried again. “See, my family is like this little boat bobbing around on the ocean. We’re all fine as long as we stay in calm waters, but storms could be a problem and we don’t have room for any other passengers.”

  “So what do I represent? The storm or the passenger?”

  The question took her by surprise and she looked at him for a moment. “Both.”

  “That’s very picturesque, Catherine, but I’m not asking to come aboard.”

  She felt her face color. God, what an idiot she was. He’s talking Irish music and she’s assuming he’s after commitment. “I realize you weren’t,” she lied. “And of course, I’m not either. I mean, a relationship’s absolutely the last thing I want, and anyway our lives are very different. You’re unencumbered and I’m…” She bit her nail. Please God, stop me babbling. “All I’m trying to say is…”

  Laughter played across his face. “Yes?”

  “Actually, I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I figured I’d bored you silly going on about my kids and baking cakes and now I’m just kind of blown away.”

  “Actually, I’m only interested in the fact you like to cook. It’s been ages since I had a decent meal.”

  “Ulterior motives. I knew it.”

  He laughed, his eyes intent on her face. Logic told her not to get involved. Logic told her they were too different. The Becky-Home-ecky thing might appeal now, but he’d tire of it. Right around the time she started really needing him, he’d be gone. But what if she didn’t let herself need him? What if they kept things friendly and casual? Like Darcy said, maybe she did need something in her life besides work and the children. And as long as she held the reins, why not? But then a thought occurred to her.

  “You’re not…I mean, are you involved with someone else? If you are, I’d rather know right now.”

  He waited a moment before he answered. “I’ve no commitments,” he said.

  She thought of the rumors about Valerie Webb. Maybe he didn’t consider it a commitment, but if he and Valerie had something going, she didn’t want to get caught in the middle. “What about—”

  “Valerie Webb?”

  She nodded. “You know the hospital rumor mill.”

  “I’ve no commitment,” he said again. “To Valerie or anyone else. Valerie knows that. Whatever else you might have heard.” With his finger he traced a pattern on the back of her hand. “I’d tell you if it were otherwise.”

  “I don’t mean to give you the third degree,” she said. “I mean, we’re talking…well, we’re not talking anything serious, but I don’t have much tolerance for fooling around and…” Again her face went hot. God, she was a veritable light show. She looked up at him. “Obviously, I also don’t have much practice with this sort of thing.”

  He laughed. “Well, let’s give you some practice. Tonight after work? We can leave from the medical center. That way if you decide I bore you silly, you can easily get up and go.”

  “How about lasagna instead? I don’t like to leave the children with a sitter unless I have to.”

  “Lasagna? So that’s a yes then? Whew!” He laughed aloud and wiped a hand across his forehead. “I haven’t been that nervous since I was twelve, and Sister Mary caught me out walking with Sinead O’Malley.”

  Amused, she waited for him to go on.

  “It was after dark, and we were holding hands,” he explained. “Pernicious night walking, it was called. A very serious offense.” A moment passed, and his face turned solemn. With one hand, he caught her braid, pulled it slightly. “You might have just done a very foolish thing, but I’m glad you did.” His palms on either side of her face, he kissed her softly on the mouth. “That’s just a down payment, all right?”

  Friendly and casual, she reminded herself, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face or tear her eyes away from his. She wanted to touch him again just to be sure she wasn’t dreaming. And then she remembered the administrative meeting. “Omigod.” She checked her watch. “Derek’s going to kill me.”

  “AH, PUBLIC RELATIONS deigns to honor us with its presence.” Ed Jordan, at the head of a long mahogany table, stood as Catherine walked in fifteen minutes late. Heads around the table swiveled to look at her.

  Jordan waited until she’d found a seat.

  “Since this is your first meeting—” his voice and face were stony “—I’ll just warn you. For future reference, we take punctuality very seriously. Everyone in this room is extremely busy. No one has time to sit around waiting for those who can’t be on time. Understood?”

  “Yes, Mr. Jordan.” It occurred to her that the last time she’d been late was the night of the holiday party when she’d missed Jordan’s speech because she’d been talking to Martin. And now it had happened again, for the same reason. She crossed her fingers and made a silent prayer that it wasn’t an omen. Windswept and still stunned by what Martin had said, she smoothed her hair and tried to compose her thoughts. In her haste to get to the meeting, she’d left her folder with the agenda and details of the week’s media activity back in her office. Now she’d have to wing it, she thought, angry with herself. This was the first time Derek had asked her to attend an administrative meeting and she’d wanted to make a good impression. Being late was not the best way to start.

  “When were you planning to do the Hodges surgery, Nate?” Jordan addressed Grossman, who leafed through a leather-bound appointment book.

  “I’m going to Greece the e
nd of next week. I’d like to do it before I go.” Grossman pulled a pair of half glasses down his nose and returned his gaze to the calendar. “Let’s see. Today’s Monday. It would have to be…no, that won’t do—it’s going to have to be Thursday. I’m booked full until then.” He glanced at Catherine for a moment. “If we leave it any later, the press will be too busy with Christmas stuff.”

  Catherine listened with a sense of disbelief. Surgery, it appeared, was a foregone conclusion, regardless of who opposed it. She glanced across the table at Valerie Webb who had just started to speak.

  “We’ve still got the problem with the mother, Ed.” Valerie looked at Jordan. “She’s as much opposed to the surgery as the father is for it—”

  “Connaughton has brainwashed her,” Grossman said. “However, I have a proposal that might be of interest to him. I’ll talk to him later today.”

  “I can also talk to him,” Valerie offered. “We work together closely in the unit. I understand some of his concerns.”

  “Good.” Jordan’s smile lingered on her face. “I think if you can make him understand—”

  “Have you ever tried to make Connaughton do anything?” Paul Van Dolan rolled his eyes. “It’s an exercise in frustration.”

  A smile spread slowly across Valerie’s face. “Ah well, there’s a secret to it.” A tip of pink tongue darted between her lips. “You just have to know the right buttons to push.”

  Catherine saw the eyes of every man in the room turn to Valerie Webb. Each one, she guessed, speculating on the buttons involved. I’ve no commitment. Whatever else you might have heard. She realized she’d missed Jordan’s question.

  “I’m sorry.” Her face flushed. “Could you repeat that, please?”

  Jordan’s expression suggested extreme displeasure. He let a moment pass. “I was saying—” he paused again “—that I’m a little concerned by Mrs. Hodges’s remarks at the news conference this morning.”

  “Unfortunately, there isn’t very much we can do—”

  “Did you approach any of your media contacts about not running her remarks?”