One Arctic Summer

by Dani Haviland

  Rocky watched as X’s eyes widened while he explained his reasoning. He was telling the truth, but he’d still rather work on her than let the young new intern see her. His need to protect her was surging the more time he spent with her. He felt as if he was only a millimeter away from claiming her as his own. Every time he touched her skin, it felt as if his soul was growing a new layer, that he had been missing this last covering and she was it, adding to his spirit even in her weakened, unconscious state. What would it be like if she felt the same way, if they touched and held each other as lovers…

  “Rocky, why are your ears red?”

  “Huh?”

  “You told me to look at your ears. All of the sudden, they’re crimson. Guys don’t get hot flashes, do they?”

  “Sometimes. Sorta. They’re more like tsunamis…” Rocky sat up and arched his back. “I did the best I could for now. The smaller pieces will work themselves out over time. Now that you’re awake, I want to soak some gauze in peroxide and swipe it across your belly. One reason, of course, is for use as a disinfectant. The other is that small glass bits will catch on the gauze and, hopefully, get pulled out. Now, this is going to tickle or hurt, depending on how you perceive it. Either way, it’ll feel cold.”

  “Why didn’t you… Oh, yeah. Thanks for waiting until I woke up to do this part. I don’t know what I would have done if I awoke with a whole new set of sensations.”

  “The first thing you would have done is probably grabbed for my hand, trying to get it away, using your injured and dominant right hand. That probably would have sent you right over the edge in pain and frustration and maybe even caused more damage, driving the glass in deeper or wider. Are you ready for this?” he asked, the peroxide-saturated gauze pad dripping over the bowl.

  “No, but I’d better be. I think I’ll watch your eyes this time. You sure have long, straight eyelashes… Ouch!”

  “Should I stop?”

  “No, let’s get it over with. I know the hand is next. Man, I wish I had a drink! And I’m not a drinker, either.”

  X’s abdominal muscles clenched—and so did her jaws—as Rocky finished his disinfectant swabbing. She knew he saw the old and faded scars on her lower belly, but he never said a word. He had to be curious, though. Depending on how severe her new wounds were, she wouldn’t even have a four-inch patch of unscarred belly. Not that she’d ever want to wear a bikini again. Even crop tops were probably out of the question now. Of course, if she ever moved to a cold climate, that wouldn’t be a problem. Barrow was a nice place and Rocky was a nice man…

  And she was out.

  “Hey, wake up. I know you’re tired, but I can’t work on your hand while you’re asleep. I do know where Grandma’s stash of berry and vanilla rheumatism medicine is, though. Would you care to try a little of that before I get started? It might ease the pain a bit.”

  “Yes, I think a little preventative medicine might help. It’s only throbbing now, but I know once you get into it, the pain will start all over again.”

  Rocky glanced at her belly. “Looks like you’re familiar with pain,” and nodded, a slight smile of appreciation showing on his tired face. “I’ll be right back. She keeps it under the sink with the cleansers.”

  As soon as he was out of the room, X sat up and looked at her bared belly. Rocky had laid a brown-knit shawl across her bared bosom. He had either taken the trouble to unhook her foam-enhanced pushup bra or cut it off. Either way, he now knew she was nearly flat chested, her curvy shape the result of a thirty-dollar foundation garment. Beyond the shawl, she saw his handiwork—a three-inch wound below and to the right of her bellybutton—stitched with at least twenty stitches. Three other shorter wounds were also stitched closed, the black knotted threads appearing like small ants in short marching lines. She relaxed her neck, letting her head plop down on the feather pillow, sinking into its softness and into despair at the same time. How long had she been unconscious? The brown paper over the windows masked out the twenty-four hours of daylight and there wasn’t a clock visible in her line of sight.

  And poor Rocky. The fatigue sapped the sassiness from his face, aging him at least ten years with lines of worry. Still, if that’s how he was going to age, he’d be a great-looking older man. Why are you fantasizing over him? Yes, he’s a great guy, but…

  “Are you okay? You look mad,” he said, sitting back down on the three-legged stool he’d been using as his surgeon’s seat for the last four hours.

  “My mad face looks just like my frustrated face, probably because I get mad when I’m frustrated and am frustrated that I get mad.” She laughed despite herself. You certainly can’t tell him you’re getting the hots for him and frustrated that you know it’d never work out!

  “It’s too bad you had to cut the kuspuk. I liked it.”

  “Kuspuks come and go,” he said, then finished his thought in his head, ‘But you’re a once in a lifetime woman.’ He cleared his throat and added out loud, “And I have a few more hanging on the wall, ready to personalize for you.”

  “Patched up, just like me?”

  “You have a lot of life left in you, too.” He showed her the coffee cup, half-full of homemade liquor. “I think I’ll need to lift your head, so you can drink. I’m sure your tummy muscles are tender.” He set the cup on the nightstand and stood up, leaning over to assist her. “Ready?”

  She tipped her head forward and he slid his hand beneath her left shoulder, bringing her forward enough that she could sip the berry juice and vanilla extract concoction.

  “Oh, my, that’s good! More…” She leaned forward, urging him to tilt the cup by sticking out her chin.

  “It’s stronger than you think. And if you’re not a drinker like you say, it’s gonna kick your butt.”

  She stuck her tongue into the cup, trying to get the last drop out of it before he pulled it away. “I got drunk once and that was enough. Never again. I’ll drink one glass of wine or champagne in a toast, but that’s it. I don’t even like the taste of beer, so I pass at barbecues and parties.” She scowled at the loss of sweet drink and licked her lips, wanting more. “How about you? Do you drink?”

  “I gave in to peer pressure and tried it once, and that was one time too many. I’m pretty sure there’s a genetic weakness for it. I’ve seen it around here enough. I don’t smoke, either. Why even try that? I can’t see anything wrong with drinking Grandma’s home brew as a medicine, though—at least in this case—because I need you to relax. If you’re not tense, my work is a lot easier. Can you imagine where we’d be if you fell and got hurt and we were both drunk? You’d probably still be in the living room, lying in a pool of blood. You’d survive, most likely, but you’d have a rougher recovery. Plus, I’d feel horrible for not being able to take care of you.”

  “Can you add a little water to the cup? Suddenly, I’m real thirsty.”

  Rocky poured water from the nightstand ewer into the cup, swirled it around to capture the last drops of liquor, then bent forward and lifted her shoulders again, this time allowing himself to sniff her hair, the aroma reviving his resolve to get this finished before Grandma showed up. He still had to clean up the mess in the living room, too. His shoulders sagged as he lay her back down on the pillow. It was becoming the longest day in more than one way.

  “Are you sure you shouldn’t make a pot of coffee before you start?” X asked, patting his knee with her uninjured left hand.

  He held up the can of cola that was beside the ewer. “Caffeine in a can, plus a sugar kick. I have more in the pantry if needed. How are you feeling now?”

  X giggled and poked her uninjured index finger into her cheek. “Soft and silly. Is that good?”

  He took her hand from her face, patted it gently, and tucked it under her hip. “That works for both of us. Keep your hand down so you don’t reach out and slap me without thinking.” He scowled and amended his phrase. “Or punch me intentionally. This isn’t going to be fun for either of us.”

  She gi
ggled again. “Okay. But promise me we’ll have fun again soon.” She winked at him and grinned. “And this time I want more fun than just playing bingo for buttons!”

  Puzzled but intrigued at the possibility that she was flirting, he pasted on his conciliatory smile and said, “I promise,” his doubting second-nature shouting, ‘It’s the alcohol making her horny. She’ll forget about you in the morning.’

  Rocky picked up the stool and went to the other side of the bed. His patient was very relaxed, singing and humming random tunes as he examined the angle of how the glass shard had entered her hand. If he could pull it out the same way, there’d be less damage.

  “I’m going to pull out the big piece,” he said, interrupting her song of Happy Birthday to Me. “It’s going to hurt. I have something that might help, though. Bite on this. It’s what my patients use. It helps to keep them focused and not lashing out.”

  “What is it?” she asked, trying to figure out what the long brown object he held was.

  “I call it my anesthetist, but it’s just a length of walrus hide, too tough to bite through.”

  “Are those teeth marks from other people?” she asked, her stomach rumbling at the thought of chewing on anything that had been in other people’s mouths, especially the back end of a two-ton sea mammal.

  He leaned close to her face to look at it from her point of view, wanting to be near a part of her that was uninjured. “Yup.” He sat back, then offered it to her again. “Here, hold onto it, just in case. Once I get into doing this, I won’t be able to let go and give it to you.”

  “Good grief!” X exclaimed as she took the eight-inch long by inch-and-a-half wide strip of tough leather. “This thing’s heavier than it looks.”

  “It’s because it’s denser. It was thicker twenty-two years ago when my grandmother gave it to my mother to bite down on when she was delivering me.”

  “Ew! What an heirloom. I think I’ll only need to hold onto it.”

  “Whatever works,” Rocky said, then bent over her hand, restrained at her wrist with a belt strapped to his knee. He took out a fresh pair of gloves and slipped them on, saying a quick silent prayer as he always did when gloving up.

  Giving her his best smile of confidence, he said, “I’ll make this as quick as I can.”

  “I’d prefer as painless as you can,” she said. “I really don’t want to use your anesthetist,” and twirled it between her fingers.

  “I’ll do both. Stick it under your hip for now so you don’t use it to whack me with. Ready?”

  X turned her head, slipped the hide and her hand under her left butt cheek, and took a deep breath. “Go for it, Doc.”

  Rocky bit his bottom lip as he quickly tugged on the glass shard. It wouldn’t budge.

  He felt her back arch at the pain, but she didn’t cry out or try to jerk away from him.

  “Hold on. I have to rinse off the dried blood. Your body’s already trying to heal around it.” Rather than squirt his limited supply of peroxide on it and cause her even more pain, Rocky grabbed the bottle of saline eye wash from the table, his go-to sterile solution.

  “Again,” he said, and pulled. It didn’t come free.

  “Shit! I have to try one more time.”

  He heard her sniff at the pain, her hiccups of sobs being swallowed by her determination not to cry out.

  “Got it!”

  “Can I have another drink now?” X asked, raising the back of her left hand—still clutching The Anesthetist—to wipe under her nose.

  “No. You’d just throw it up. I don’t want that and neither do you.” Rocky saw her disappointment but knew he had to be tough. It was hard for her and even worse for him. She may have liked him a few minutes ago—even flirted with him, entertaining a little one-on-one happy time together—but she would probably be on the next plane before her first twenty-four hours in Barrow was over.

  “I know that was uncomfortable, but now I have to clean it. If I don’t, you might get an infection. I have antibiotics—and believe me when I say I have more experience in hand surgeries than a lot of doctors—but if I don’t get all the tiny bits of glass and debris out, you’ll have to have another surgery, at best.”

  “And at worst, I’ll lose my hand?” she asked, sniffling and wiping her nose again.

  “You’re pretty smart, even when you’re a little drunk.”

  “Certified genius. Flat-chested, red-haired, stuck-up genius.”

  “Shut up and bite The Anesthetist. Nobody but you cares about labels, and I’m not too sure you really do, either.” He quickly poured the peroxide over the wound, grasping her wrist as he did so, making sure she didn’t pull free from the leather belting.

  “Um!” she shrieked, the walrus leather extending from either side of her mouth like a starched mustache. Her feet twisted and turned, her knees pulling up halfway until he elbowed the right one down, telling her sharply, “No!”

  Just as he was ready to give in to his sympathies and let up on the probing for more debris, he found another shard. He grabbed it with the forceps and set it down, squirting the area with saline one more time to flush away the new blood that had been blocked by the glass. Satisfied that the cleansing was done, he blotted the excess away and began the arduous task of stitching. It would be easier to take fewer stitches, but he had enough suture, and this was a woman. A lady. She didn’t need or want a Frankenstein scar on her dainty hand, even on the inside of it. He wasn’t a plastic surgeon, but he’d give it his best shot.

  Half an hour later, Rocky took off his gloves and dropped them in the trash by his side.

  “Do you hate me?” he asked when he removed the leather strap from her mouth.

  “Are you done hurting me?” she replied, her eyes still red from crying.

  He looked to the box of tissues on the nightstand, pulled a couple out, and held them up. “Except for this,” he said and wiped her nose. “It looks a little red under there. Better?”

  “The nose, yes. And I know you had to do it. Shoot! When did you start doing this? You act as if it’s all in a day’s work for you.”

  “Since I was about eight, I think. My first patient was a dog, though. After that, the men took me out fishing as the medic. I was too small to haul anything in, but I was good at cutting bait. Pretty soon, they figured out that it was better to leave me on shore so if someone got hurt on a different boat, I’d be available. Kinda hard to get the word out sometimes. Besides, most of the injuries happened on land, while they were hauling in the catch or processing it. Worked for me because I don’t care to be on the water.”

  “So, is that what you want to do? Become a doctor?”

  “Some folks are called to be healers, no matter where they live. My options are pretty limited here. I might be able to get a scholarship to cover the cost of college, but,” he shrugged a shoulder, uncomfortable with the topic, then had a thought. “Wait here,” he said and winked. “I’ll be right back with something for you.”

  X looked at her right hand, now tethered to the metal headboard with a series of ropes and knots. “As if I could go anywhere.”

  Rocky walked back in with the bottle of liquor and a straw. He filled her coffee cup half full and set the straw into it, holding it up to her so she could drink from her reclined position. When he was sure she had finished swallowing it, he set it down, then knelt beside her. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I won’t tell anyone I had my way with you in bed.”

  X snorted a chuckle that quickly became a full laugh. “Oh, I so needed that,” she said when she calmed down enough to talk.

  “Needed what? Me to have my way with you in bed or my doctoring skills? It’d better be one or the other, because if you’re making a joke out of me as a lover…”

  Rocky stood up suddenly, his words evaporating into the chill of his insecurities. “I gotta go clean up the mess before Grandma comes back. You need to rest.”

  “Rocky,” X said, her voice calm and compassionate, “I’d love to hav
e you in my bed. I appreciate your skills as a doctor and I have no doubt that you’re just as wonderful and caring in making love. When you’re done cleaning up that horrid mess I made, would you come lie down with me?”

  He nodded. For the first time in years, he wanted to cry. Whether it was from shame at being seen as a lesser man by a woman he was quickly falling for or from fatigue and exasperation he didn’t know. But he did know he had to tell someone what he was up to or burst. Was she the one, though?

  Chapter 5

  “I thought you were going to lie down with me,” X said when Rocky came in to take a blanket out of the closet.

  He shrugged as he held the crocheted afghan close, his arms crossed in front of his chest, unintentionally miming protecting his heart. He became aware of his body language and set it lower, protecting his manhood instead. He shifted it again to his hip. Danged psychology books! Now what in the heck does this mean—that I’m beside myself in confusion?

  “You look uncomfortable,” X said. “I know you’re tired. I’ve waited up this long for you; please, don’t make me beg you to come lie down with me. I really am scared, and you said you’d take care of me.”

  “You remember that?” he said, then came to her left side, setting the afghan down to use as his pillow.

  “I think I remember everything you’ve ever said to me, including putting me in my place for jumping to conclusions when you were rolling those asthma cigarettes.”

  “As I recall, I said judging others on outward appearances,” and turned to face her.

  She shifted to face him, then grunted, the wounds in her belly screaming for attention now that her hand wasn’t throbbing as much. “I forgot about the cuts in my belly,” she said. “How many were there?”

  “Only four that required sutures. The others were just shallow surface cuts.”

  “How long will I hurt?”

  “As long as you’re thinking about them plus a day. The extra day is because your mind will remember the pain and will want the attention. The brain is funny that way.”