by Webb, Peggy
Smiling, her sister buttoned the choir robe up the back.
"Wipe that silly grin off your face. You don't know shit from shinola about looking after yourself."
Susan saluted. "Yes, ma'am."
"And another thing. If I'm going to sing in this damned choir, I want the best solo parts. Understood?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way. Follow me. And watch your language. You’re in church."
Susan led the choir into the sanctuary, and Jo Lisa followed along, dressed in virginal white. She hoped God had a sense of humor.
Chapter Seventeen
Paul was heading toward the nursing station when he heard his name.
“Do you think Dr. Tyler’s eyes look bloodshot?”
"How would I know? I didn't even get close enough to see his cute behind, let alone his eyes." Evelyn opened another bottle and counted out pills into small paper cups.
"Why do you ask?"
"Well ... I don't like to say this."
"I'll draw blood the hard way if you don't."
"They say he was at Sam's Place this past weekend, so drunk, he couldn't walk a straight line." Cindy tried not to look pleased that she’d been the first one to tell a fresh tidbit of gossip about the hospital’s most talked-about doctor. "Of course, it's probably a rumor."
"I thought he was on the wagon."
"So did everybody else. But it seems he's got a lot of people fooled. I even heard that he keeps a flask in his pocket so he can take his nips here at the hospital."
"Noo."
"I'm sure it's all just gossip. Please don't repeat it.”
Around the corner from the nurses' station, Paul paused to control his anger.He'd known Cindy O'Connell for years. She was a damned fine nurse. Not one to gossip. Or so he had thought.
Why?
Rumors of that kind while he was on probation could be devastating to his career. Lack of trust and confidence among his peers was one thing, but let that kind of talk spread to his patients, and he would be a doctor without a practice.
Bracing himself, Paul went around the corner to confront the woman he now viewed as an enemy.
"Hello, Cindy . . . Evelyn." Both of them had the grace to look flustered. "I need Dennis Wickle's chart."
"Yes, Doctor." They both said it at the same time. He wouldn't have been surprised if they'd saluted. They nearly collided in an effort to do his bidding.
He stood back, waiting. As long as they did their jobs, they wouldn’t encounter his censure. He wasn’t about to lend weight to the gossip by denying it.
o0o
By the time he left the hospital, he was emotionally exhausted.. Susan and Jeffy were already at the center. For a while, he stood at the gate watching them, not unlike a weary desert traveler sighting a fountain of cool water.
Fergie was playing tag with Jeffy's feet. He would swim up to touch Jeffy's toes with his snout, then race to the other side of the pool, leap out of the water and chatter in his beguiling way. Jeffy was squealing with laughter.
Susan saw Paul and waved; then laughing, she motioned for him to come. His spirits lifting, he joined her at the pool.
'Just look at him, Paul. It's remarkable what you and the dolphins have done for Jeffy." Susan was wearing something feminine and gauzy, and when she stood close her soft skirts brushed against his thigh.
Praise. Laughter. Gentleness. He soaked them up as if he had a right, as if Susan and Jeffy belonged to him. He reached for her hand. Selfish. He had to touch her. She let her hand lie softly in his as she studied him.
"Remember when I told you I wanted to put Jeffy in the water with Fergie?" he asked.
"Yes."
"It's time, Susan. As you know, the large muscles always come back first, and I see signs of strengthening in Jeffy's left leg. With the buoyancy of the water supporting his weight, I think he might walk."
"Walk? Oh, Paul. Do you really think so?"
She gazed at him as if he were a hero, and for a little while he almost thought he was.
"This is not my field of expertise, and I can't make any promises." Her face clouded over. Paul would have said almost anything to bring the joy back into her face. "But I think we have a very good shot at it."
She smiled then, and the hope that bloomed across her face almost broke Paul’s heart.
"Are you ready, Susan?"
Susan studied the dolphins spinning in the sun. High in the air they were shining giants, looking down on mortals with the mysteries of the sea hidden in their secret smiles.
"They're so large." She panicked. What if she and Paul were both wrong? "Are you sure Jeffy will be safe in the water with them?"
"Dolphins are the most gentle creatures in the world, especially with sick children. They seem to have a sixth sense that tells them when someone needs help. There's nothing scientific to support that theory, but there is a large body of anecdotal evidence. If you like, I'll go into Bill's office and copy some stories for you to read."
"No." She touched his hand once more, briefly and ever so gently. "I trust you."
Sweat inched down his cheeks and beaded his forehead.
He felt the sweet weight of Susan's hand and the gentle regard in her eyes.
"I'm ready, Paul. Take my son into the water."
Please, God, if You can spare any mercy for one who has sinned so grievously, make me worthy of her trust.
o0o.
Susan stood on the edge of the pool watching as Paul carried Jeffy into the water. She couldn't have done it more tenderly herself.
"The water might be a little cold at first." Paul gave an exaggerated shiver. "Brrr."
Jeffy laughed. "You can say it, too, if you want. Nobody in here but us men and the dolphins."
"Brrr," Jeffy said. And then because it was fun he said it again. "Brrr."
Fergie swam close to them, not cavorting as he usually did but slipping through the water silently and smoothly. Susan pressed her hands together over her heart, praying.
"Now, Jeffy, I'm going to hold onto you. Don't worry, I won't let you fall. I'm going to hold you under your tummy like this . . . and I want you to kick your legs."
"They won't move."
"Yes, they will. Remember how Fergie lifts them out of the water. Make them move the way Fergie does."
Susan wanted to urge him on, but all she could do was pray. Please, God. Please. He'd already granted her one miracle. Was it too much to ask for two?
"I'll try, Paul."
As if Fergie understood, he swam close to Jeffy and gently nudged the tiny legs. Giggling, Jeffy began to move his legs. At first there was only a small flutter, but gradually his movements became bolder, stronger.
"Look, Mommy. I'm swimming."
"That's wonderful, sweetheart." She could hardly speak around the lump in her throat.
Paul eased slowly around the pool, supporting the frail body while Jeffy swam. Fergie swam beside them, keeping a watchful eye on the child.
"Use your arms, too, Jeffy," Paul urged. "Let's see you use those arms."
Jeffy's face got red from the effort as he forced his little arms to move.
Fergie never left his side. With his watchful eyes and kind manner, the big dolphin put Susan in mind of an oversized nursemaid. Breathless, she stood at the edge of the pool watching the tableau played out before her.
Paul moved toward the shallow end of the pool with Fergie swimming along beside them.
"Now, Jeffy, I'm going to hold you under the arms and let you stand in the water . . . Trust me now."
"Okay."
Susan knelt at the edge of the pool. What if they failed? What if her son couldn't walk? A part of her wanted to call out to Paul, Wait, he's not ready, and another part wanted to yell, You can do it, Jeffy. She leaned over the edge of the pool, her lips trembling, her hand pressed over her heart.
Gently Paul set Jeffy on his feet. His frail little body looked even more shriveled underneath the water.
"We're going to walk through the water. Ar
e you ready?"
"Yes."
"Move your legs."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Remember how strong they were when you were swimming?"
"Yes." Jeffy looked near tears.
Susan almost screamed, Stop. But she knew she couldn't. Jeffy would never walk without trying, and she had to be strong enough to let him fail.
Fergie swam close and nudged Jeffy.
"Fergie wants you to try, Jeffy."
Jeffy glanced pleadingly at his mother. She smiled and nodded to him. He took a deep breath.
"Okay." He took one small step.
"I've got you, pal. Don't worry."
Jeffy took another. The watchful dolphin swam beside him.
"That's a good boy," Paul said. "Keep it up."
Slowly they moved toward her. Paul looked at her over the top of Jeffy's head. Her lips formed his name, but she couldn't speak. She could only watch and pray.
"I'm going to let go now, Jeffy." Slowly Paul removed one hand. Susan could picture her son crumpling into a boneless heap at the bottom of the pool. "Don't be afraid."
"I'm a big boy."
"Yes, you are."
Susan held her breath as Paul released her son.
Jeffy teetered in the water, suspended by its buoyancy, then finally he found his balance.
Moving quietly so she wouldn't break Jeffy's fragile concentration, she held out her hands. "Come to me, sweetheart." He stood in the water, looking at her. "Come on. You can do it."
He took one tiny step. A giant smile bloomed on his face. Picking up speed, he took another . . . and another.
"Look at me, Mommy!"
"You're walking! Oh, Jeffy, you're walking."
As if he understood, the big dolphin breached the water and spun in the air. Sunshine glinted off his silvery skin.
"I can walk! I can walk!"
Jeffy navigated the last few feet, and Paul lifted him from the water. Susan reached for her son.
"Tears, Susan?" With her son between them, Paul touched her wet cheeks. "Everything is going to be all right."
“I always cry when I’m happy. I guess it’s the release of tension or something. I know it’s silly.”
“No,” he said. Just that one word, Susan was overwhelmed with tenderness. Leaning across her son she kissed Paul’s cheek.
"You were wonderful out there with my son.”
Silently, the great gray dolphin swam closer and offered his dorsal fin.
"Can I ride?" Jeffy asked. "Can I? Can I? Please?"
If he had asked for the moon, she'd have hitched a ride on the next rocket and tried to drag it out of the sky and bring it home to him. Laughing and crying at the same time, Susan gave her permission.
That moment would forever be emblazoned on her heart. Dolphin, man, and child seemed to be one as they clung together, Fergie carrying Paul, and Paul carrying Jeffy.
Jeffy's eyes were shining with triumph when the ride was over and Paul lifted him from the water. Susan wrapped him in a large towel and hugged him close.
"Thank you, Paul."
"You're more than welcome, Susan."
"I don't know what . . . Jeffy would do without you."
A chilled hand brushed Paul's soul. Or what I would do without him, he thought. Suddenly he realized how important they were to him, this brave woman and her tiny son, how much a part of his life they had become.
"Can I have a cookie?" Jeffy asked.
Paul watched as Susan got home-baked cookies for her son. If he had a lick of sense he would leave now and never look back, leave before it was too late.
Susan glanced up and smiled at him, and Paul knew that it was already too late.
o0o#
His boat was a thirty-three-foot sloop, and it hadn't been in the water since Sonny had died. Paul stripped the cover off a deck chair and sat down. His saxophone
gleamed in the moonlight. The mouthpiece was cool against his lips.
He played an experimental scale. The sound of the sax echoed mournfully across the water. A startled sea gull flew squawking off the bow of his boat.
He felt foolish sitting in the dark playing a rusty old saxophone. He'd let everything in his life get rusty—his sax, his surgical skills, his heart.
He played another scale, then segued into My Funny Valentine. Back in medical school, he'd been the sensation of the Hot 'n Tot Club, playing a mean sax with the band on weekends when he wanted to unwind. For his graduation the band members had made him an honorary African-American. He still had the handwritten certificate—somewhere back at the house he'd lived in with Jean.
Jean.
When the last blues note died away, Paul sat with his saxophone across his lap, looking out over the water. There was a bright path of moonlight that looked as if it led straight to heaven.
He knew exactly what heaven would feel like, for he'd been there—this afternoon at the dolphin pool with Susan Riley.
God, what was he going to do? He and Jean were over. And yet, until she signed there was a small chance she would try to bring Susan into the divorce proceedings.
A man always has a choice, Luther had said. Paul knew that was true. He had a choice, but did he have a second chance?
He lifted his sax and began to play. Sounds of I'm a Fool to Want You drifted over the water.
o0o
The storm windows wouldn't cooperate. With her hair tied back in a scarf and her mouth set in determination, Susan wielded the screwdriver. She knew the darned things would come off, for she'd watched Flagstone Door and Window Company put them on. They hadn't been taken down since Brett died, and three years' worth of dust and dead bugs were trapped inside.
"I don't like the bugs, Mommy." Jeffy sat on a quilt nearby with his books and his favorite teddy bear.
"Neither do I, Jeffy." Susan slapped at a mosquito on her arm. "But I have to get these storm windows down so I can wash them; then we'll have nice, clean windows."
"I don't want clean windows."
"Well, I do." She applied all her strength to the screw, but it wouldn't budge. "Play with your bear, Jeffy."
"I don't want to play with my bear. I'm hot."
She decided to ignore that complaint. She bore down on the screw, and the screwdriver slipped. The metal tip raked the inside of her left arm and blood oozed out.
"I don't like the bugs, Mommy, and I want a drink of water."
Sweat trickled from Susan's scarf and between her breasts and down the sides of her legs.
"In a minute, Jeffy."
"I want to play something else, Mommy. I don't want to read old books." Jeffy heaved The Little Engine that Could across the quilt. It landed at her feet. He poked out his lower lip and glared at her.
She envied him that temper tantrum. "Don't throw your toys." Patiently, she retrieved the book and handed it to him.
If Susan could have gotten her hands around Brett Riley's neck, she'd have choked him. But then, he was already dead.
"I don't like this," Jeffy whined.
Neither did she. Her back was stiff with the effort of being noble as she picked up her screwdriver and attacked the storm windows once more. There was silence from the quilt. She looked over her shoulder, and Jeffy sat staring at her, a big tear rolling down his cheek.
She put her screwdriver in the toolbox, then sat beside her son and pulled him onto her lap.
"What would you say if I told you we were going to the beach?"
"The beach? Really?"
"Really."
"Can I get in the water?"
"You can sit in the edge of the water and we'll build sandcastles."
"What's a sam castle?"
"Why don't we go and find out, pal?"
o0o
Paul saw her standing at the edge of the water. She had her head tilted back, laughing, and she was wearing something so feminine that his throat hurt just looking at her. The wind caught her white skirt and blew it back against her legs. Her feet were bare.
<
br /> He stood watching her, feeling like a thief.
Susan Riley. Soft and beautiful. He had no right to want her so.
Go on by, fool.
It was Luke's weekend to be on call, and Paul had come to take out his boat. Not to find Susan Riley. She was an unexpected bonus, something wonderful that had happened to him by accident.
You're asking for trouble.
What would it hurt to say hello?
Small shells scrunched under his feet as he made his way across the beach, and the soles of his shoes left ridged marks in the wet sand, as if a strange and exotic creature had washed up with the tide and was frantically trying to make its way back to the sea. The tide rolled away from him, humming its endless song and curling the water into white, foaming waves.
"Hello, Susan."
She turned to him, and her face lit up as if he were the one person in the entire world she'd wanted to see. Dangerous. Reckless. Hopeless. He could think of a dozen reasons why he should go, and only one why he should stay. Susan Riley.
"Paul! What brings you to the beach?"
"My boat. I thought I'd take her out today." The sun glinted on the fine blue network of veins at the side of her throat. He wanted to kiss her, then he wanted to run his tongue down the side of that delicate throat and feel the throb of her pulse.
"You got a boat?" Jeffy was sitting at the edge of the water with his baseball cap askew and wet sand decorating his arms and legs. Except for the pale bluish tinge of his skin, he might have been any other four-year-old. "You really got a boat, Paul?"
"Yes, I have a boat." Laughing, Paul scooped the little boy out of the water. "How would you like to take a ride, pal?"
"Oh boy! Can I, Mommy? Can I?"
The sweet scent of Susan's perfume washed over him. He knew just how she would look on the deck of his sloop with the wind in her hair and the sun kissing her skin. He felt guilty using the son to get to the mother.
Jeffy clung to him with frail arms, and pressed a sand-smeared cheek to his. "You my bestest friend."
Paul's heart grew until it was almost too big for his chest.
Understanding kicked him in the gut. Oh, God, he wasn't using Jeffy; he loved him, this frail little child, this little boy who was hanging by his fingernails to life, this little soldier who might never live to see another surgery, let alone live through it. He knew that loving God's special ones was a terrible risk, but the alternative was unthinkable. Not to love was the greatest tragedy of all.
