House Calls

by Michelle Celmer

  “I think my mother believed my weight reflected on her as a parent. She really resented me for not being perfect. I used to hear her talking to her friends when she thought I wasn’t around. She would say, ‘Molly is my special child. She plays the piano and paints beautiful pictures and gets honors in school. Maggie just likes to eat.’”

  Pete felt a sting of resentment on her behalf. “That’s cruel.”

  “Yeah, it did wonders for my self-esteem.” She said it casually, but he didn’t miss the bitter undertone. He gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s probably what prompted me to let Joe Murphy get all the way to third base in the backseat of his car when I was fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?” He hadn’t even been to first base by then. “How old was he?”

  “Seventeen. Bear in mind, I was in a D-cup bra by thirteen, so I looked a lot older than I was. And most guys saw right past the fat and focused on the breasts. Unfortunately, that’s all they saw.”

  Pete had to admit, they were kind of hard to ignore. To a hormonally challenged teenaged boy they would be a beacon.

  “Joe told me how beautiful I was and how much he liked me. Imagine my surprise the next day when I saw him in the hall and he had his arm around Christine D’Angelo. Who, of course, was a toothpick.”

  “Guys can be jerks,” Pete said, feeling the need to apologize on behalf of the entire male population. “I’m sure it wasn’t personal.”

  “Joe’s best friend Dave came up to me in the hall and said he was sorry for what Joe did, that he was a real jerk. I was beautiful and nice and any guy would be lucky to go out with me. Of course I swooned, and when Dave asked if I wanted to go out with him, I practically fainted at his feet.”

  Pete winced, afraid he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. He turned Maggie’s hand over, laced his fingers through hers and she didn’t stop him. Touching her, showing her that he cared was the only way he knew how to console her. “I don’t think I want to hear the rest of this.”

  “You’d think I would have learned my lesson the first time,” she said. “But that night, there I was in the back of Dave’s car, and the next morning at school, he avoided me like the plague.”

  Pete gripped her hand tighter, shook his head with disgust.

  “You would think at that point I would have caught on. But remember, I was a low self-esteem girl. Reid was next, then Mike. Finally it got back to my sister Molly what was going on and she had the extreme pleasure of informing me that all these guys had some kind of bet going to see who could get me to go all the way.”

  Pete mumbled a foul word under his breath.

  “At this point everyone at school had heard about it, so, of course, it got back to my mother, and I went from being Maggie the fat one to Maggie the slutty one. You can probably imagine how well that went over. She said I should have known better.”

  It had happened years ago, when he didn’t even know her. Even so it made Pete feel like putting his fist through a wall. How could anyone be that cruel? How could they use an innocent, vulnerable girl that way?

  He rubbed his thumb along the edge of her palm, wishing there was something he could do, something he could say to erase the hurt in her eyes. To show her that those boys didn’t matter anymore.

  “My mom told me that if I ever wanted to date a nice boy I’d better lose some weight. Like, a nice boy would never date a fat girl. Maybe she thought I deserved what I got.”

  “I don’t think I ever want to meet your mother. I’d probably end up saying something I’d regret.”

  Maggie shrugged and pulled her hand free, leaned forward and began gathering the cards from their abandoned game. “She did the best she could. If nothing else it toughened me up.”

  “That’s no excuse for the way you were treated.”

  “No, but it’s just the way things are.” Maggie yawned and looked at her watch. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I’m beat.”

  It was barely nine-thirty, but Maggie usually went to bed around ten, if not earlier. Not unusual considering she was up at the crack of dawn exercising. It was no wonder she ate like a bird and worked out so much. Those boys had humiliated her, her mother had shattered her self-esteem. And he was guessing he probably hadn’t heard everything. What other horrible things had Maggie dealt with growing up?

  He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow, so make sure you get a good night’s sleep,” she told him, rising from the couch.

  He grabbed her hand again. “I know you probably won’t believe this, but it wouldn’t have mattered to me.”

  “What wouldn’t have mattered?”

  “Your weight. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

  She gazed down at their hands linked together and only looked sadder. More lonely. “I’ll bet you told yourself that very same thing while you were slaving away in the weight room.” She gave him a look, one that said he was full of it, then she pulled her hand free and walked to her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

  He had no reason to feel guilty, to feel as if he’d wronged her somehow, but he did anyway.

  Eight

  Pete raised his hand to press the elevator button when he heard a loud pop from the direction of the ER.

  It’s happening again, he thought. I have to stop it this time.

  People were running past him, knocking him from side to side, their faces masks of terror.

  Rachel. He had to get to Rachel.

  He fought his way back toward triage. More gunshots rang out, more screaming. He tried to run faster, but his legs felt as if they’d been encased in cement. If he could just get there sooner he might be able to save her this time.

  He rounded the corner, saw Rachel lying facedown in the hallway.

  “No!”

  His world shifted into slow motion as he started down the hall toward her, barely aware of the gunfire. His only concern, as blood began to pool around her midsection, was getting her out of that hallway. He racked his brain to remember her blood type.

  He heard another pop. Then another, closer this time, then a third and a fourth, and pain seared him like a red-hot brand through his chest, knocking him off balance. Another pop and he felt the sickening thud of bullet to bone, felt the flesh of his knee as it was torn away. His leg gave out and he crumpled like a rag doll, his cheek smashing hard against the cold floor. Pain such as he’d never imagined possible slammed the air from his lungs. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing down the bile filling his throat. Rachel was only inches away, if he could just….

  He lifted his arms, tried to pull himself across the floor, and saw that his left hand was soaked with blood. His blood. The pain was all-encompassing, making him dizzy and limp. He struggled for breath and realized his lung must have been pierced. He was going to die right there on the floor before he could help Rachel.

  Feeling himself slipping into unconsciousness, he forced his eyes open. He was going to Florida tomorrow to teach his fiancée to water-ski. He was going to get married and have a family—he had plans, damn it. He couldn’t die, not like this, not without a fight. Closing his eyes in concentration, he thrust his hand out, stretching until he felt the cotton of Rachel’s scrubs. Clasping at the fabric, he pulled himself closer, fumbling to feel for a pulse at the base of her throat. Nothing. He tried to pull himself closer, to stop the bleeding, but he couldn’t make his arms move. His eyes drifted closed again and his head dropped onto the floor.

  Then he heard shouting. It was fuzzy, but close. He felt hands on his arms and legs, recognized the pressure being applied to his wounds, felt himself being lifted. He saw lights and movement through bleary eyes.

  “She’s gone,” he heard someone say, and forced his eyes open, looking down at his colleague—his best friend—still sprawled on the floor. Eyes cold and hollow and lifeless.

  “No,” he moaned, closing his eyes. He hadn’t been able to save her. He’d failed her again.

  “D
oc.”

  “Hang in there, Pete,” someone was urging. “You’re going to be okay. Keep fighting.”

  “Doc.”

  He didn’t want to live. He just wanted to die, he wanted it to be over with. The pain was too intense, too deep. But someone was shaking him—

  “Pete, wake up!”

  Pete gasped in a breath and shot up in bed, heart slamming against his ribcage, bile rising in his throat, choking him. Blackness surrounded him and for a second he didn’t know where he was, or if the hands rubbing his back, the calm voice soothing him, were part of the dream or just a figment of his imagination.

  “It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

  Then he realized, it was Maggie’s voice, Maggie’s hands. As his vision cleared and his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her silhouette crouched beside him on the bed. Her arms went around him, her sweet scent erasing the bitter metallic stench of blood still haunting him.

  “I couldn’t save her,” he said, tears stinging his eyes. “I let her die.”

  “Shhh.” Maggie rocked him gently. “It’s okay. It’s over.”

  But it wasn’t over, not as long as he kept reliving it again and again in his sleep. It would never be over. “I didn’t get to her fast enough. I had to lie there and watch her die.”

  She leaned back against the headboard, easing him down with her. “Lie down, try to go back to sleep.”

  Exhausted, he curled up beside her, head in her lap, shivering as the fan across the room blew cool air over his damp skin. Maggie reached down and untangled the sheet from his legs, covering him with it. He was too damned cold, too sick in his soul to care that she was seeing him this way—even to care that he was naked.

  He only cared that he wasn’t alone.

  “Relax,” Maggie said, gently stroking the hair back from his forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

  His lids began to feel heavy, so he let his eyes drift closed. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling himself closer, absorbing her heat.

  With Maggie’s hands soothing him, her gentle voice lulling him, he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  Pete opened his eyes, but when he reached for Maggie, he found himself hugging a pillow instead. He would have thought it was all a dream if not for her scent still clinging to the pillowcase, the form of her body pressed into the sheets beside him. The air was thick with humidity from last night’s rain and the sheet clung to his skin. It was going to be another unbearably hot day.

  He glanced over at the clock and saw that it was after eight, meaning Maggie was probably out for her morning run. At least he’d have a minute or two to pull himself together before he had to face her. He could only imagine what she would think of him after the way he’d behaved last night. At least he’d managed not to throw up this time, and he hadn’t woken wracked with sobs as he had so many times that first month he was out of the hospital.

  When the dreams had gradually tapered off, he’d thought he’d seen the last of them. Working with Maggie, being forced to deal with this on a daily basis, was dredging it all up again. It seemed as though whenever he tried to get on with his life, to put the shooting behind him, something kept dragging him back down, forcing him to relive it.

  From the other room he heard the squeak of the porch door opening and footsteps on the creaky wood floor. Maggie was back. He heard the fridge open as she got herself a bottle of water, then a loud thump, as if maybe she’d closed a cupboard door.

  Could it be possible that she was actually cleaning up after herself? Wouldn’t that be a novelty? he thought with a wry smile. Cleanliness wasn’t exactly one of her strong suits. Every morning he came out to find the remains of her breakfast waiting for him on the kitchen counter, and she never picked up her wet towel from the bathroom floor after she took a shower. Not to mention she usually left her clothes discarded there, too, and her shoes all over the house for him to trip on. He was constantly stuffing her clothes in the hamper and dropping her shoes by the back door. She never cleaned up when she made a meal either, and since dirty dishes in the sink grated on his nerves, he usually cleaned that up, too.

  It all seemed trivial when he thought about everything she’d been through, and all she’d done for him. The way she’d been there for him last night.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. No point in trying to put off the inevitable. He was going to have to apologize for last night, and try to figure out some way to explain what had happened—without her thinking he was a big wuss.

  He got dressed and brushed his teeth, then headed out to the kitchen, confused at first to find the refrigerator door hanging open, until he looked down and saw Maggie lying on the kitchen floor, out cold. She looked peaceful, as if she’d just decided to plop down and take a nap. It took a full ten seconds for the reality of what he was seeing to kick in—pretty pathetic for an ER doctor. The thump he’d heard hadn’t been a cabinet door closing, it had been Maggie hitting the floor.

  As fast as his legs would carry him, he was at her side. Ignoring the ache in his knee, he lowered himself to the floor and knelt beside her. “Maggie, wake up.”

  When she didn’t open her eyes a slug of fear lodged itself in his gut. Sweat soaked her clothes, her skin was clammy and deathly pale, and she had dark smudges under her eyes. He pressed two fingers to the inside of her wrist, wishing he’d brought a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff with him. “Maggie, can you hear me?”

  He grabbed the bottle of water from the floor beside her and poured some into his hand then patted her cheeks. “Come on, Maggie, wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, she gazed blearily up, and for a second he didn’t think she was really seeing him. Then she blinked a few times, and recognition seemed to set in—then confusion.

  “Hey, doc. Why am I lying on the floor?”

  “My guess is that you’re dehydrated and you’ve pushed yourself too hard on too little food. But I’m going to want a second opinion on that. Can you sit up?”

  “I think so.”

  “Take it slow,” he said, taking her hand and helping her. She swayed halfway up, clutching his arm to steady herself. “Easy.”

  When she was upright and steady, he handed her the water. “Drink this slowly.”

  She took small sips of the water. Already the color was returning to her cheeks, but she still looked like hell.

  “Have you ever passed out before?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, this is new for me.”

  “But you’ve been dizzy lately?”

  “Sometimes, but it’s probably just from the heat.”

  “Nausea?”

  “Also from the heat.”

  “Missed periods?”

  She shot him a scathing look. “You have to have sex to get pregnant, doc.”

  “You can miss periods for a lot of reasons other than pregnancy.”

  “No, I haven’t missed any periods. Not completely.”

  “But you’ve been irregular?”

  “A little.”

  “How little?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know that I’m comfortable having this conversation with you.”

  “I’m a doctor, Maggie. How irregular?”

  “Last month I just spotted.”

  Pete slowly rose, gripping the edge of the counter to pull himself to his feet. “Where are your car keys?”

  “Why?”

  “You said you would do something drastic if I didn’t go to town with you. I guess you weren’t kidding.”

  “You think I did this on purpose?”

  “Your keys?”

  “In the bedroom. Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

  She shook her head. “No way. I’m okay, doc.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re dehydrated, malnourished and I’m guessing you’re probably anemic.”

  “I feel fine.” To illustrate her point, she pulled herself to her feet…and lost her balance on the wa
y up. If Pete hadn’t been there to grab hold of her she would have wound up right back on her butt on the kitchen floor.

  “No arguments,” he said when she opened her mouth to plead her case. “You’re going.”

  “Your blood pressure is low, you’re dehydrated and though I won’t know for sure until we get the results of your blood tests back, you’re most likely anemic.”

  Pete shot Maggie an I-told-you-so look.

  She stuck her tongue out at him.

  Dr. Cartwright, who looked to be about the same age as Pete—and was almost as cute in a preppy sort of way—gave them an odd look. He had run down a laundry list of about a million questions, and spent the last fifteen minutes poking and prodding her.

  “I’ll get you started on an iron supplement, but the best way to keep your iron levels up is through a balanced diet.”

  “That could be a problem considering she never eats,” Pete said, and Maggie glared at him.

  “I do so. I eat three meals a day.”

  “What’s your typical daily intake?” the doctor asked.

  Maggie faltered, knowing it was going to sound like a lot less than it really was. To lose those last five pounds, she needed to keep her calorie intake low and her activity level high.

  “She eats cottage cheese and fruit for breakfast,” Pete said for her. “A diet shake for lunch and usually a salad for dinner.”

  The doctor regarded her with a lifted brow. “Does that sound about right?”

  “And she works out vigorously for about two hours a day,” Pete added.

  Maggie shot him another scathing look. He was making it sound a lot worse than it was. “I’m trying to lose the last five pounds and I hit a plateau so I cut my calorie intake,” she explained to the doctor. “As soon as I lose the weight, I’ll eat more.”

  “What do you weigh now?” he asked.

  Maggie chewed the inside of her cheek. “I’m not sure exactly. The cottage doesn’t have a scale. But my clothes haven’t gotten too much looser.”

  “How can you tell?” Pete asked. “Everything you own is a size too small.”