The Doctor Delivers

by Janice Macdonald

  Afterward, his expression was as dazed as she knew hers must be. Unless she did something, they would start kissing again, so she got up and went into the kitchen. Martin followed. As she ran water into a glass, she saw her hand shaking.

  “Uh…listen.” Avoiding his eyes, she walked to the refrigerator and pulled open the door. “I’m not going to sleep with you, okay? I mean, you probably thought that was implied when I invited you over and I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. It’s just that it wouldn’t be a good thing.” She opened the cheese drawer, closed it. Aligned two quart containers of milk. “Not that I’m not attracted to you, but it doesn’t feel right.”

  “I completely agree,” he said.

  “I mean we’ve only just met.” She lifted the lid off a carton of potato salad, sniffed at the contents. “I’m sure I seem hopelessly old-fashioned, but the thing is, I don’t sleep around. Actually, I’ve never had sex with anyone besides Gary and with him I just wanted it to be over, so naturally I’m cautious.”

  “Quite rightly so.”

  “It’s not as though either of us is looking to get involved, so I think it would be better if we don’t get into situations that could lead to—”

  “Sleeping together.” He reached over her shoulder and removed the pan of leftover lasagna. “Does this go in the microwave?”

  “Huh?” She turned to see him struggling not to laugh. “Okay, what’s so funny?”

  “You.” He took her face in his hands. “Were you expecting an argument? Did you think I was going to throw you down and ravish you with your kids in the next bedroom?”

  “Well, I just thought…things seemed to be moving too quickly.”

  “Maybe we should establish a timetable,” he said, amusement still on his face. “No horizontal kissing until the second date, no clothes removed until the third.”

  I can’t wait for the fourth one, she wanted to say, but it didn’t seem like a good idea. With the way he was looking at her and the zings that kept charging through her body, she wasn’t sure she could hold out until the fourth date. She took the pan of lasagna from him and stuck it in the microwave.

  “Here or to go?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was ten, thirty minutes past the time she usually went to bed, but sleep was the furthest thing from her mind.

  “Here.”

  BY THE TIME he’d polished off the rest of the lasagna, drank another glass of wine and they’d swapped life stories, Martin was filled with a pleasant sort of lassitude that gave him no incentive to get up and drive back to the marina. Sprawled in front of the fireplace, Catherine curled up at his side, listening to the music on the stereo, to the crackle of the fire, he felt truly happy. At that moment, he thought, as he heard her breathing grow steady and then felt himself drifting off, he wanted nothing else in the world but to be exactly where he was.

  Hours later, he awoke to Catherine shaking his shoulder. He sat up, stiff and bleary-eyed. The room was cold and the music had stopped. In the dim light, he squinted at his watch and saw it was after two. With some effort, he pulled himself to his feet, then stood for a moment, dazed and still half-asleep.

  Without a word, she took his hand and led him into the bedroom where he flopped down on the bed fully clothed and immediately went back to sleep.

  In his dream Sharon had given birth and somehow he hadn’t heard about it until days later. When he finally saw the baby, he realized that it was Kenesha Washington and she was screaming. As he tried to quiet her, Eddie Hodges suddenly appeared brandishing a hacksaw. Wildly waving it, Hodges tried to grab the baby. Martin resisted and a battle ensued. As he fought with Hodges, he heard the baby’s cries grow louder and more desperate until they eventually awoke him.

  For a moment he lay in bed, disoriented. Then in the blue dawn light that filled the small bedroom he saw Catherine sleeping beside him, an arm flung out across the bed. Kenesha’s cries, he realized, were his beeper going off. He reached to silence it, then quietly went into the living room and called the unit. Holly had coded again, but the immediate danger was past, the resident informed him. The call was just a heads-up.

  Still groggy, he hung up, then stood for a minute looking out onto Second Street and the neon lights of Morrey’s Liquor Store across the road. As he watched, a street sweeper rolled by flashing yellow lights. A Long Beach Transit bus pulled up just outside the window in a belch of engine noise and hydraulic doors, and he thought about Peter’s asthma and Catherine’s concerns that divorce had compromised her children’s living standards. And, as illogical as it was, he wanted to make everything right for her.

  He bent down to pick up the empty wineglasses they’d used and carried them into the kitchen. The day Sharon had told him she was pregnant, he’d felt a sense of awe, a recognition of the way in which his life was about to change. A feeling of sheer, bursting happiness.

  He reached under the sink, found a bottle of detergent and squirted emerald-green liquid over the glasses, then carefully rinsed them and set them in the wooden dish drainer. A pale beam of morning light struck a soap bubble he’d missed on one of the glasses and he watched it tremble for a moment then burst. Standing here in Catherine’s tiny kitchen, he recognized that feeling again.

  “Did you sleep here all night?” a small voice behind him demanded.

  He turned around to see Julie, blond curls and red flannel nightgown, looking up at him, wide-eyed. As he considered what to say, Catherine appeared behind her daughter. She wore an old yellow robe and her eyes were heavy with sleep.

  “Martin was very tired last night.” She scooped Julie up in her arms. “It wouldn’t have been safe for him to drive, so he stayed here.”

  “Did he sleep in your room?”

  Catherine met his eyes over the top of Julie’s head.

  “Yes he did, sweetie.” She set Julie down on the floor. “See how tall Martin is?” The child looked up and nodded. “It wouldn’t be very comfortable for him to sleep on the couch, would it?”

  “No.” Julie giggled. “His feet would hang over the edge.” She hopped around on one foot. “Oooh, I’ve got to go to the bathroom, Mommy. Bad.”

  “So go then.” Catherine grinned.

  Filled with admiration and a little envy, Martin watched her move around the kitchen, taking mugs from the cupboard, bread from a blue enamel bin. “You handled that well, I had no idea how to answer her.”

  “It’s something you learn.” Catherine measured coffee into a pot. “What’s going on? I thought I heard your beeper go off.”

  “Holly coded again. She’s okay for now, or as okay as she’ll ever be, but I need to get over there.”

  “Want some coffee first?”

  He shook his head. Beneath her robe, he could see the frilled neck of a pink flannel nightgown. He took her in his arms and held her and they stood for a moment, arms around each other. The smell of brewing coffee filled the air, steam misted the kitchen windows. He ran a hand slowly down her back, let it linger on the curve of her bottom. Her thigh pressed against his leg and he felt its warmth and then the shiver that ran through her body. With a smile, he pulled away to look at her.

  “Are we both thinking the same thing?”

  “We are.” She pressed closer, and kissed him, light at first and then harder. “Unfortunately,” she said after a moment, “I’ve got two children to get off to school.”

  “Tonight?” He went into the living room, grabbed his jacket from the chair, pulled it on and dug in his pocket for the car keys. “We could take the children out for pizza… Damn, that won’t work, I’m on duty. I probably won’t even be able to get away for lunch. What’s tomorrow?”

  “Wednesday.” Catherine grinned, clearly amused. “Listen, Martin—”

  “No, I want to see you. I think I’ve got a late meeting though. The Committee for the Protection and Preservation of Hospital Bureaucracy or some bloody thing like that. I’m trying to get kicked off it. What about Thursday?”

  “Holly’s
surgery.” Catherine bit her lip. “It might be kind of frantic.”

  “Right.” A moment passed. He’d almost succeeded in blocking Holly’s surgery from his mind and the thought of it now was a dark reminder of the world outside Catherine’s cozy home. “Friday then?”

  “There’s a recital at Julie’s school,” she said. “A whole bunch of little six-year-old monsters, suddenly transformed into angels.” One hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. “I’d invite you, but I’m supposed to meet Gary.” She rolled her eyes. “For a little chat.”

  “All right then.” He felt as though he’d been excluded from a warm room, shoved out into the cold again. He stood there, not knowing what to say.

  “Hey.” Catherine caught the collar of his jacket in both hands, kissed him on the mouth. “Don’t look so stricken. Listen, I’m taking the children to the mountains this weekend. Want to join us?”

  The sun came out again. He felt his entire face light up, an ear-to-ear grin that he couldn’t stop. When he pulled her close again, he could smell her skin, faintly fragrant and still warm from sleep. “Late Saturday night all right?” he asked, his mouth against her neck. “I have to work during the day.”

  “Late Saturday night’s fine, Sunday morning, too, if you like. I’ll draw you a map for how to get there.” She kissed him again. “You’ll have to bring a sleeping bag, or sleep on the couch.”

  “This will be our second date though,” he said, low enough that the children couldn’t hear. “So we’re allowed some horizontal kissing, right? Or, if you count lunch on the pier, it’s the third one, which means we could take off our clothes.”

  “You are incorrigible.” Her palms flat on his chest, she smiled into his eyes. “We’ll see.”

  “God, what an incentive.” For a moment, he just looked at her, struck again by how much he wanted her. About to speak, he saw Julie peep around the corner, flutter her fingers and disappear. Then the grin broke out again and wouldn’t go away.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I feel a bit like a family man going off to work,” he said. “And I like the feeling.”

  “Ah, but you forgot something.” She put her hands on either side of his face. “A family man can’t go off without a goodbye kiss.”

  “Mommy.” Julie called from inside the house. “Daddy’s on the phone.”

  “Tell him I’ll be right there,” she called over her shoulder, then turned to Martin again. “I’ve really got to go,” she whispered against his mouth.

  From inside the house, Julie’s end of the conversation wafted out to where they stood.

  “…his name is Martin,” she was saying. “And he was too tall for the couch so he slept in Mommy’s room last night.”

  “GARY THINKS he could do a better job raising the kids,” she told Martin that evening as they sat in one of Mulligan’s wooden booths. He’d found someone to cover his shift and they’d strolled over to the tavern. “Hearing that you’d spent the night was all the ammunition he needed. He went on and on about what a corrupting influence having a man stay over—”

  “Did you tell him I was fully dressed?” He regarded her over a tankard of Guinness. Beer signs blinked red and green over the long wooden bar. “Did you tell him what you were wearing?”

  “My flannel nightgown and robe?” She grinned. “You’re saying it wasn’t seductive?”

  “I’d find you seductive if you were wearing full body armor,” he said, “but it wouldn’t be my first choice. Are you concerned though?”

  “About Gary?” She frowned for a moment. “I’m always concerned about what he’s going to pull next. He likes to issue threats.”

  “Want me to beat him up for you?” He raised her hand to his mouth, kissed it. “I’d be more than happy to take him on.”

  “I can take care of myself, thanks. Anyway,” she added, only partly in jest, “I think you’re in enough trouble as it is.” Rumors were flying around Western that Grossman was considering legal action for the assault on his son in the parking lot. “But I appreciate the offer.”

  He smiled, leaning across the table to touch her face. On a jukebox in the corner, an Irish group was singing something unintelligible. She strained to catch the words, caught him watching her and felt something dissolve inside her.

  It was as if they’d invented romance. She’d floated through the day, her thoughts full of him. His voice, his smile, the tragedy of his wife’s murder. Waking up to his face next to hers this morning. Twice he’d stopped by her office, once they’d run into each other in the lobby and then, as she was leaving for the day, he’d called to invite her to Mulligan’s. With only a slight twinge of guilt, she’d arranged with Darcy to pick up the children; the need to be with him so powerful that she’d turned a blind eye to the little voice in her head that warned things were moving too fast.

  Arms entwined, they’d walked to Mulligan’s from Western and when they’d stopped to kiss at the edge of the parking lot everything else had fled her mind. When she pulled away, her insides were churning. Please let this be the right thing to do, she prayed, because somehow I’ve lost control.

  “That trip to the mountains this weekend?” Martin lifted his glass to drink some beer. “Does Peter know how to ski?”

  “He’s never tried.”

  “I’d like to teach him.” He put the glass down, his expression animated. “Physical exercise doesn’t have to aggravate his asthma, I’ll keep a close eye on him. I want to win him over, Catherine. I want him to see me as a friend not a threat and…damn.” The beeper on his belt sounded and he glanced at it. “It’s Grossman’s office,” he said. “I forgot I was supposed to meet with him at six. I’d better go call him.” He stood. “Be right back.”

  “GROSSMAN’S a little irritated that Rita had the nerve to actually express her doubts about surgery for Holly,” Martin told her as they walked back to the medical center from Mulligan’s. “He’s particularly irked that she did it in front of the TV cameras. He’ll prevail of course. I suppose you know about the press conference he’s holding tomorrow to announce his plan.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t want to spoil the evening.”

  “Essentially he’s rationalized pushing ahead by saying that the whole issue is too complex for Rita to really understand and that I’m just adding to her confusion.”

  Catherine said nothing. Although her immediate impulse had been to rush to Martin’s defense, she wondered whether that might not be the case.

  “All I’ve done is explain the options,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “Rita understands that surgery is one of those options. Another option is to allow nature to take its course.”

  “But you’re biased against the surgery, Martin, and I’m sure you didn’t try to hide that.” He had his arm around her, and as she leaned into it, she felt him tense. “With Peter, I was overwhelmed by all the decisions I had to make, but at least everyone agreed with what should be done. Rita’s got her husband and Grossman giving their opinions and you giving yours, it’s got to be torture for her.”

  “If I thought there was any hope at all,” he said slowly, “I would tell Rita to go for the surgery. I’d do it if I had even the faintest hope that this whole thing wasn’t a PR stunt so that Grossman can stand in front of the TV cameras and play the hero surgeon.”

  “But…” She thought of something he’d said the night before. “You know how you said you sometimes felt guilty after your mother died? As though it were your fault?”

  He nodded.

  “Maybe Rita feels that way, kind of guilty that it was something she did—”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Did it make any sense that you felt guilty about your mother?” She stopped to look at him. “Of course it didn’t, it was just the way you felt. Surgery might just make her feel that she’s doing all she can. And it is your opinion against Grossman’s. He’s a respected surgeon and—”

  “Dammit, Catherine.” He dropped his arm fro
m her shoulders. “You work in the public relations department, so maybe it’s to be expected that you’d let yourself be conned into believing Grossman can perform some sort of medical miracle. It’s great press, isn’t it? A nice little fairy story.”

  “Thanks,” she said, hurt now. “You’ve just given me a great idea. I think I’ll quit Western and go and do PR for a tobacco company, or maybe the National Rifle Association. Why not, since I obviously have no moral principles?” They reached the van and she leaned her back against it, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. “From now on, maybe we should avoid this topic.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “No, I truly am.” He put his hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean to suggest…the thing is, Grossman essentially bribed me. He hinted that the physicians have a discretionary fund that could be used to fund WISH. If I play ball and persuade Rita Hodges to change her mind, he’d recommend using it for ongoing funding.”

  “Oh God.” Catherine shook her head. “I wish I hadn’t heard that.”

  “He told me to consider…how did he put it? The greater good. A single child for whom surgery may or may not be of value, depending upon one’s point of view, versus a program that could prevent who knows how many premature births.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I laughed.”

  The rain had intensified while they were talking, and she felt a drop trickle down her face. With his finger, Martin touched her cheek. Behind him, Western glowed an eerie white in the dark night. She caught his hand, brought it to her mouth. Another drop hit her face, then another.