Stiff Competition

by Annelise Ryan

  “That’s dangerous thinking,” Izzy says. “Relationships require work, compromise, and sacrifice from both sides. That’s the only way to keep things alive and interesting. If you neglect your relationship with Hurley and get passé about it, it’s going to fall apart.”

  I’m not sure why, but Izzy’s little pep speech ticks me off. Maybe it’s because I’m so tired and frustrated over being so tired and frustrated. Maybe it’s because I feel guilty over not being a better superwoman and I’m worried that he’s right. Or maybe it’s the lingering hormonal storm going on inside me. Whatever the reason, there is a shrieking harpy inside me dying to come out, and it’s all I can do to contain her. I manage not to shriek but I don’t exactly keep her contained, either. “So, do you practice your relationship philosophy with Dom?” I ask Izzy, hoping I don’t sound as snide as I’m feeling.

  “Of course,” he says, finishing his incision.

  I dig the hole a little deeper. “So, you would support Dom if he wanted to do something different with your relationship?”

  Izzy shoots me a glance as he sets his scalpel to separating the tissue in the chest from the ribs. “Yes, within reason, of course. I mean if he wanted to start having threesomes or something like that, I wouldn’t agree to it. But if it was something that simply changed the dynamic of our relationship in a way that was going to make him happy, I’d definitely consider it.”

  “So you support Dom’s desire to bring a child into your relationship?”

  Izzy drops his scalpel in Lars’s chest. He retrieves it and then stares across the table at me. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean just what I said. He wants a child.”

  “He’s never said that.”

  “Not to you, perhaps, but he said it to me.”

  Izzy stands there speechless for several seconds, and then gives me a dismissive smile. “I think you misunderstood him,” he says, going back to work.

  “I didn’t misunderstand him, Izzy. He was pretty clear on the matter, not only about wanting a child, but about his plans for getting one.”

  Izzy sets his scalpel down and lays aside the chest skin flaps, exposing the rib cage. Then he picks up the rib cutters and starts snapping, separating the ribs from the sternal plate. “He’s just . . . snap . . . enjoying Matthew so much . . . snap . . . that he thinks it would . . . snap . . . be fun. But he doesn’t . . . snap . . . mean it . . . snap. I think that . . . snap . . . losing his dad has left him . . . snap . . . melancholy and overly emotional.”

  He hands me the cutters so I can do my side. I make quick work of the remaining ribs and then set the cutter aside without saying another word. I look over at Izzy, ready for him to remove the breastplate, but he just stands there staring at me with a concerned look.

  “What?” I say after several silent seconds.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  I shrug, deciding then and there that Izzy isn’t ready for the rest of the news yet. “I just don’t think you’re taking this seriously enough, Izzy. I don’t think this is a phase Dom is going through, and I don’t think he’s going to let it go anytime soon, if at all. Sure, maybe his father’s death has been a reminder of his own mortality—and yours,” I add pointedly. “But if anything, I think it has served as a reminder to him about what he wants from his life.”

  Izzy frowns and shakes his head as if he’s trying to shake off the whole idea. “This just seems so sudden and out of left field,” he mutters. “We’ve never talked about bringing a child into our relationship.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Yes, I’m sure. I would have remembered any such conversation.”

  “How often has Dom talked about or done things with kids, like when he took Erika and Ethan out trick-or-treating last year, or asked the high school drama teacher if he could invite some of the students to his thespian group? What about the time he was talking about being a Big Brother? Why do you think he was so eager to volunteer in helping me out with Matthew?”

  Izzy stares at me, and I can see the shock of dawning creeping over his face. So I push my advantage.

  “He’s always been fond of kids, Izzy. And he’s good with them, too. You should see him with Matthew. When I can’t get him to stop crying, Dom can take him and do it in a heartbeat. He’s always gotten along well with Erika and Ethan whenever he’s been around them, and they adore him back. Heck, even Emily likes him, and she hates every other adult on the planet along about now.”

  Izzy blinks hard and turns his focus back to Lars’s corpse, working intently to remove the lungs. It’s a distraction method I’ve seen him use a bazillion times and I’m not about to let him get away with it.

  “I mean, think about it, Izzy,” I go on. “Dom is the cook, the housecleaner, the shopper . . . He is and always has been a natural nurturer. Look at what a great job he does taking care of you. He’s been a phenomenal househusband and he’ll make a phenomenal parent.”

  Izzy removes a lung and sets it on a tray so I can weigh and section it. As he goes back in after the second one, he lets out a perturbed sigh and says, “And what about me? What about what I want? Taking on a child is a full-time job that lasts a lifetime and I’m not exactly young anymore.”

  “Valid points,” I admit. “And maybe it won’t be the right thing for the two of you. But I think you should at least open up some dialogue on the subject . . . hear Dom out and consider his thoughts on the matter.” He opens his mouth to object, but before he can, I hold up my hand like a traffic cop. “What were you just preaching to me? Something about how relationships require work, compromise, and sacrifice on both sides, right? At least give it some serious thought. Don’t shoot Dom down right at the start.”

  “The whole idea is ludicrous,” he grouses, setting the second lung on a tray.

  I sigh, lace my hands together in front of me, and stare at him as he works at removing Lars’s heart. He keeps working, ignoring my posturing. “Do you love Dom?” I ask.

  “Of course I do,” he retorts. “But that doesn’t mean I should engage every whim he has.” He removes the heart, sets it aside, and finally looks at me. “Do you know how many times Dom has decided to make some sort of life-changing decision—ones with a lot less impact than this one would have—and then never followed through on them? Like this acting business he’s into,” he says, pointing his scalpel at me. “Did you know that at one point he wanted us to pull up roots and move to L.A. so he’d have a chance to make it big? Before that there was the cooking school he wanted to start, and before that was the gay men’s clothing line he wanted to launch.”

  “And why didn’t he do any of those things?”

  “Because they cost money, and he doesn’t have any.”

  I grab a lung, place it on the scale, record the result, and then return it to the tray. As I go about repeating this action with the second one, I ask, “Did you ever offer to fund Dom for any of his ideas?”

  “No,” he says irritably, shifting his focus to the lungs on the dissection tray. “It would be a waste of time and money because Dom doesn’t stick to any of his ideas for any length of time. They’re all whims.”

  “Perhaps he doesn’t stick to them because he doesn’t have the resources to do it on his own, and senses your lack of support. He’s always been all about supporting you. It seems that so far Dom has been the one doing all the sacrificing and compromising. So maybe it’s his turn now.”

  Izzy is clearly perturbed by this comment. His brow is furrowed, his eyes are narrowed down, and his lips are pursed. He slices open the right lung, revealing that it is filled with partially congealed blood. He does the same to the left lung, with the same results.

  Izzy sets his scalpel aside, sighs, and says, “The severing of that left carotid artery was enough to cause death, though if that had been the only injury and someone had applied pressure to the area it’s possible Lars might have survived. But because the arrow al
so tore through the trachea and the esophagus, the blood had an easy escape. Based on the amount of blood on his face he likely tried to cough it up but the flow was too fast, too much. Lars exsanguinated and drowned in his own blood.”

  The two of us stand there silently for a while, staring at Lars’s ashen, claylike face. Though I can’t be sure, I guess that Izzy is thinking the same thoughts I am, imagining the grim and terrifying horror of Lars Sanderson’s final moments. One thing about this job that has changed the way I think of my own death is that I’m less focused on the inevitable when, and more focused on the how. I used to think the phrase a good death was an oxymoron, but I now know better.

  I sense Izzy shifting his attention back to me and when I meet his gaze, the sadness I see in his eyes makes my heart ache. It would be easy to assume this despondence stems from the stark reality of Lars’s unfortunate demise, but I know it is more than that. A wave of guilt washes over me because I know my attack on his relationship with Dom was a purely defensive and, in some ways, mean-spirited move on my part, an effort to deflect the conversation off of my own ailing state of coupledom.

  “I can manage the rest of this on my own,” he says, returning his focus to Lars’s body and putting his professional, unemotional face back on. “Why don’t you go call Hurley and see what you can do to help with the investigation?”

  “Izzy, I—”

  “I heard what you said, Mattie,” he says gruffly, not looking at me. His lips tighten for a second, but then in a softer tone he adds, “I realize I might be a little close-minded on the topic. So if you don’t mind, I’d like some time alone to digest things and figure out where I stand on the matter, okay?”

  His brow is deeply furrowed and there is a tight rigidness to his posture that tells me he is angry. What I can’t tell is who or what he’s angry at. Is it himself? Is he angry at me for bringing up the topic? Or is he upset with Dom for . . . well . . . for being Dom? I’m hesitant to leave, but just as reluctant to say anything. Fortunately, Izzy fills the void before I have to decide.

  “You’re right, Mattie,” he says, severing the connections to Lars’s stomach. “I’ve always been the one who’s called the shots in our relationship. I’m the one with the power and the purse strings. It’s not balanced, and I have to admit that I kind of like it that way. But I also realize that it’s not fair to Dom. So I’m willing to entertain the idea that I need to be more open and flexible about things. I just need some time alone to contemplate this particular thing.”

  “Are we okay?”

  He pauses in his work, looks at me, and smiles. It’s fleeting, but it appears genuine. “You and I have always been brutally honest with one another about things and situations,” he says. “But in the past it’s typically been me who’s the brutal one. I suppose it’s only fair that you turn the tables on me once in a while. You called me out today and rightly so. Now go fawn over Hurley for a while and let me have some time to recover my pride and dignity.”

  I don’t say anything, nor do I make a move. I’m still weighing his mood, taking his emotional temperature.

  “You need to leave, Mattie,” he says after a few seconds pass. “You’re about to create a whole new nipple incident by dripping on my autopsy.” He nods toward my chest, arching his eyebrows. I look down and see two large wet spots on my scrub top, one over each nipple.

  “Right,” I say, backing away from the table. “Sorry about that.” I turn and head toward the door, stripping off my gloves and removing my protective headgear in the process. As I’m about to exit, Izzy calls out to me.

  “Mattie?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Think Dom would settle for a dog?”

  I decide now is the time. “Nope,” I say definitively, shaking my head. “I’m pretty sure he’s serious about this. He asked me if I’d be a surrogate for the two of you.”

  With that I make a hasty exit, the image of a stunned Izzy stamped in my mind.

  Chapter 4

  After stripping out of my scrubs, I hook up the breast pump and drain, sticking the bottles in the break room fridge when I’m done. Then I give myself a quick once-over in the mirror. It isn’t a pretty sight. My hair is still frizzy and the clump I’d found in it earlier has taken on a life of its own, sticking out perpendicular from my head. I give it a quick finger wash and attempt to comb it into submission. I dig in my purse for some makeup and apply some eyeliner, mascara, and blush, hoping it will help. It’s better, but still far from what I want. I decide I need to take Dom up on his offer, so I put in a call to my hairstylist, Barbara, to make an appointment. As usual, she has no problem fitting me in. The dead aren’t very demanding customers.

  I shove my puke-stained top in a bag and grab a spare sweater from my locker. Then I call Hurley.

  “I have an official cause of death for you,” I tell him. Then I fill him in on the grim details of Lars’s demise.

  When I’m done, he says, “I’ve been digging into Lars’s recent business deals and his personal life. Turns out the guy has been sued no less than four times in the past two years, all by people he’s worked with on some sort of land deal. Two of those were settled out of court, and the other two are still pending. I’m about to go over and take a tour through his house to see what I can find. After that I plan to have a chat with his personal assistant, to deliver the bad news and see what details we can dig up in his office.”

  “Does Lars have some family we need to notify first?”

  “He has elderly parents who live out in Denver. We’ve got local guys out there making the notification as we speak. Lars has never been married and has no children, so no family locally.”

  “Want some help?”

  “Sure, if Izzy’s willing to kick you loose.”

  “I think he might be willing to do the kick-me part.”

  “Uh-oh, what did you do now?” Before I can answer he adds, “Grab a scene kit and meet me out front. I’ll be there in two minutes and you can tell me all about it.”

  “Is Charlotte coming along?” I hold my breath, hoping to hear the answer I want.

  “No, she’s still on site out in the woods.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “I don’t think we need to film a simple notification, but if we do I can handle that myself. I probably will do some filming at Sanderson’s home and office though. Do you mind helping with that if need be?”

  Mind? I’d take out a hit on Charlotte if I had to in order to keep her away. “Of course I don’t mind.”

  Minutes later I slide into the front seat of Hurley’s car. He leans over and kisses me before we head out. His lips linger on mine a tantalizing smidge longer than is proper, considering we are in public view, and I love every illicit second of it. When he finally pulls away, it’s all I can do not to grab him and haul him into the backseat. It seems my body is more than ready to resume that part of my life.

  “All right, spill it,” he says, pulling out into traffic. “What did you do to upset Izzy?”

  “I told him about Dom’s request.”

  “The baby thing?”

  I nod.

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did.”

  “And you’re surprised that he got upset over that?”

  “Not surprised really. And anyway, he upset me first.” I can hear the petulance in my voice. “He was lecturing me on how to manage our relationship.”

  “Whose relationship? Yours and his?”

  “No, ours,” I say, wagging a finger between the two of us. “He told me I’m too complacent about our situation, and that if I don’t make some changes, I’m going to lose you.” I let the statement hang for a few seconds in order to gauge Hurley’s response.

  “What does he think you should be doing?” he asks after several agonizing seconds of silence. I was hoping for a quick denial, an affirmation of our commitment to one another, even if we are living essentially separate lives most of the time.

  “He didn’t say
exactly. But when I told him I didn’t have the time or the energy right now to deal with all the extra emotional and psychological baggage that would come from trying to live with you and Emily, he implied that I wasn’t holding up my end of the relationship.”

  “Hmm,” Hurley says, staring out the windshield.

  “Hmm?” I echo with a questioning tone. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, Izzy is right in a way, though I think we’re both equally guilty. Let’s face it; our relationship is kind of stagnant right now. We hardly spend any time together unless it’s work related. I can’t spend as much time with my son as I want to. You’re already exhausted from being a single mom, and that’s only going to get worse now that you’ve returned to work. I have a daughter who seems to hate us both and who’s determined to suck up every spare minute I have in a day. I think it’s safe to say that we’re both emotionally, physically, and psychologically drained right now, and that our relationship, out of necessity or a basic need for survival, has been put on the back burner.”

  Hearing Hurley say it aloud like that, so blunt and honest, frightens me. “I don’t want our relationship to die of neglect, Hurley. If we’re going to crash and burn as a couple, so be it, but we at least have to give it a fighting chance.”

  “That’s hard to do when we have to carve out minutes of time to be together.”

  “I know. It isn’t easy . . . I get that. But this business with Emily will take care of itself eventually. Either she’ll finally come around, or she’ll get old enough to move out.”