by Webb, Peggy
o0o
Susan had bought flowers and was planting her spring beds. Bessie said it was a little too early, but Susan needed to stay busy, and more than that, she needed the beauty in her life.
It was an unusually warm day, almost like summer, and Jefiy sat on a quilt nearby playing with his dolphin box.
A taxi pulled into her driveway and deposited Jo Lisa, wearing leopard print leggings, gold high heels, and dangling rhinestone earrings. The taxi driver stayed long enough to watch her walk across the yard before pulling into the street. She stopped beside the quilt and swung Jeffy high in the air, then took his little hand and led him to the flower bed.
Susan looked up and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "Hi, what's up?"
"My dander and my sap both. I'm leaving."
"I wish you could stay."
"It's time to move on, Susan."
Jeffy tugged at Jo Lisa's hand. "Aunt Jo, can I see the shiny things in your ears?"
"Sure thing, mister." She plucked her earrings out and handed them to her nephew. He walked back to his quilt and became absorbed in holding the earrings in the sun and watching rainbows dance across his white shirt.
"He's going to miss you, Jo Lisa. We all will."
"Mother will be relieved, and think how much easier it's going to be for you at church. I thought old Erma Jane was going to have a stroke that day you let me sing Just As I Am. " Jo Lisa pulled a cigarette out of her shoulder bag and lit up. "I don't want you to think I've reformed or anything, but I'm going to miss you, too, kid."
The sisters studied each other for a long time, then knowing how Jo Lisa hated sentimentality, Susan turned back to her flower beds. "Stay in touch this time, Jo Lisa."
"I'm not making any promises, but I'll try."
"Try to come home more often ... at least at Christmastime."
"God, Susan, Christmas is a hundred years away."
"I know. But I like having my family with me on major holidays."
"Careful, kid. You're beginning to sound like Mother."
"Mommy!" They both stiffened at Jeffy's cry of distress.
It was a weak sound, like the mewling of a newborn kitten. Clutching his stomach, he bent over the quilt and vomited on Jo Lisa's earrings.
They ran to him, Susan with dirt flying every which way, and Jo Lisa with her gold bag bouncing against her hips. Susan caught her son just as he collapsed.
"Help me, Jo Lisa."
o0o
Paul was making rounds when he saw Susan following the small gurney down the hall. Her sister was with her, practically holding her up.
Fear gripped him. Not Jeffy. He started down the hall at a trot. Then, halfway there, he stopped. He was no longer a part of their lives. He wasn't Susan's lover or Jeffy's doctor.
A friend is someone you can hold onto, he'd told Jeffy. Lately he hadn't even been their friend.
He stood watching the doorway through which they had disappeared, then heartsick and knowing exactly why, he turned away. He finished rounds, but always the sight of that small form on the gurney was in the back of his mind. Rather than go home and face another silent meal with Jean, he went down to the hospital cafeteria.
Through the roast beef and baked potato he mentally rehearsed all his reasons for staying, but during dessert he knew there was only one. He sat in a quiet corner of the cafeteria lingering over his coffee until he knew that visiting hours would be over. Then he took the elevator upstairs. He didn't have to ask which room. It was emblazoned in his memory.
He eased open the door, then stood silently watching. Jeffy lay against the pillows, so pale and still that Paul had to look at the machines to see if he were breathing. Susan sat beside the bed with her back to the door, bent over Jeffy, holding his tiny hand. Her hair parted over her neck exposing the vulnerable spot that Paul so loved to kiss.
He stood outside the door watching, filled with longing and despair. Now that he was there, what would he say to her? He'd been a fool to come.
He turned to leave and his watch clicked against the door handle. Suddenly Susan was staring at him . . . and he at her. They couldn't seem to get enough of looking. Then they both moved. He stepped into the room and opened his arms. With the unswerving trust that had always been a part of her character, Susan came to him, came without question and without judgment, simply came to him and stood quietly with her heart pressed close to his.
Afterward he would wonder if he made the sound intentionally. But for the moment he was too full of conflicting emotions to do more than hold her, rocking her gently in the cradle of his arms.
The tiny form on the bed never moved.
They might have stayed that way three minutes or thirty. Paul lost all track of time.
At last, Susan leaned back so she could see his face.
"It's viral hepatitis," she said.
"Very treatable."
"That's what Dr. Freelander said, but . . She wrapped her arms around him and leaned on his chest. "Oh, Paul, I feel responsible . . . and guilty."
"That's the curse of every mother who loves her child."
Of one accord they walked toward the small bed. Standing there with their arms around each other watching Jeffy sleep, they fell silent.
Paul felt like a man set adrift in a leaky boat, banished from a place he loved and yet irrevocably bound by memories so achingly sweet, the place he held dear would forever be a part of him. Beside him Susan stirred, her soft arm brushing against his. And he knew that she was the place, she and Jeffy, and that he longed with every fiber of his being to return to that sweet, familiar port.
Memories flooded him until he was drowning in them. How she kept the front porch light burning for him—and how eagerly he watched for its beam in the darkness.
Sometimes she would be at her desk poring over musical scores for her choir; other times she would be in the kitchen, humming as she baked some delicious, tempting treat. Often there would be no lights burning inside, and she would surprise him by stepping out of the dark, filled with a scorching passion that left them gasping.
On the hospital bed, Jeffy stirred. Susan bent over him, brushed his hair back from his forehead, and pressed a kiss on his pale cheek. When she straightened back up, she was strong and full of resolve. He could see it in her eyes, her stance, the set of her shoulders.
"I don't want Jeffy to see you, Paul. He's too fragile to have to go through another good-bye."
"You're assuming that I will leave."
"Are you still with Jean?"
"Yes. But it's not working ... for either of us."
"I have no intention of being a part of that triangle again."
"I know I have no right to be here, Susan, but I had to come. I had to find out about Jeffy . . . and about you. How are you doing?"
"I'm surviving. I'll always survive."
"That's your gift, Susan. Courage."
"Or my curse."
The moment of his going came to them in flashes of bittersweet memory. You're strong, he'd said. Jean's not.
Paul took both her hands in his. "If you ever need me for anything, Susan, anything at all, please call."
o0o
Too full to speak, she merely nodded. Paul left as quietly as he had come.
Susan lost all sense of time as she stood gazing at the door.
I'm calling you, Paul. Can't you hear?
o0o
On the fifteenth day of March, the lawsuit against the renowned Dr. Tyler made front-page headlines. All the facts were there, of course, that charges were also being brought against Blake Medical Center and Dr. Curtis Blake, but the focus was on Tyler. An enterprising reporter had done his homework, and Tyler's career was traced from his days in medical school through the pioneering of the Tyler technique to the tragedy in ER the day Paul had lost his own son.
Paul folded the paper and put it in his briefcase so Jean wouldn't see, but later in the day she called him from the art gallery, crying.
He hurried to
his partner's office. "I have to go and get Jean. Can you cover for me, Luther?"
"She saw the newspaper?"
"Somebody told her."
"Why can't they let decent people alone?" He waved Paul toward the door. "Go."
Paul found her sitting in her office, rocking back and forth in the swivel chair, hugging herself.
"Jean?" He stood in the doorway. "Are you all right?"
"You didn't have to come." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "I'm not going to do anything foolish."
"I didn't think you would."
The distance that separated them was more than the small space from desk to doorway: it was a vast wasteland of misunderstandings and collected hurts.
"Do you want some coffee?" Jean left her desk and went to the coffeemaker.
"No, thank you. If you're all right, I need to get back."
Holding onto her coffee cup she walked back to her desk with the care of someone negotiating a mine field. She set down the cup and saucer, then dug into her purse for a compact. Paul watched from the doorway while she repaired the damage to her face. Finally satisfied, she closed the compact with a loud click.
"I'm not crying about Sonny, you know." He said nothing, waiting. "I can deal with death; it's life I'm having a hard time handling."
"Jean, I need to get back to the office. Can we have this discussion another time?"
"What other time, Paul? We've been together now for almost six months. We never talk."
"I'm not going to argue."
"That's the whole trouble. You don't care enough to argue. You shut me out, Paul. You won't talk about the lawsuit. You won't talk about having another child."
"I'll be home late, Jean." He turned to leave.
"That's it. Just walk away. If you walk away this time, Paul, keep on going, go straight to Susan Riley."
"This has nothing to do with Susan Riley."
"It has everything to do with Susan Riley. I can't compete with a perfect memory, Paul. I won't compete."
He went to her and put his arms around her. "You're upset now, Jean. We'll talk when I come home."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
o0o
It was another promise he was destined to break. That night there was a pileup involving six cars and a busload of children going to a church youth rally. All available doctors were called to the ER battlefield.
When Paul finally eased into bed beside Jean, it was 4 A.M. Careful not to disturb her, he rolled onto his side and tried to sleep.
Chapter Thirty-two
Jean sat in the back of the courtroom listening to the evidence mount against her husband—alcoholism, loss of nerve, problems with the credentialing committee, eagerness to return to the operating room even at the expense of a child. Paul sat beside his cadre of attorneys, stoic.
Once he glanced her way, but it was not the look of a husband seeking solace from a loving wife: it was a look of concern for her well-being. The knowledge, coming upon Jean with such conviction in the crowded courtroom, devastated her. She'd never wanted to be pitied. She'd never wanted to be weak, someone to be cared for and watched after and chained to.
She got her handkerchief out of her purse and pressed it to her trembling lips. How selfish, to cry for herself and not for her husband.
Sitting beside her, Maggie leaned over to whisper, "Are you all right?"
Even her best friend, who was burdened with guilt and worry over Beth Ann, still worried about her. Jean felt as if the shame of her weakness were stamped on her forehead in black Greek letters, the mark of a coward.
"I'm fine." She smiled to show that she meant it.
Blake, whose turn to be crucified had not yet come, sat beside his lawyers, looking pompous and self-satisfied.. Watching him, Jean was astonished that she'd ever thought him attractive in the first place, and appalled that she'd let him back into her life. She shuddered to think of the times she'd called begging him to come.
When this was all over, she had a lot of soul searching to do.
o0o
Sitting beside Jeffy's bed, Susan read news of the trial. Fear for Paul gripped her so hard she felt the blood drain from her face.
"Can you sing me a song, Mommy?" Jeffy, much improved, was sitting on the edge of his hospital bed, picking at his breakfast.
She folded the paper and took her station beside the tray. "I can, but first let's see how much my big boy can eat. Dr. Freelander says you can go home as soon as you're stronger."
"Will Aunt Jo be there?"
"She'll be there. And so will Grandma."
"Can I go home tomorrow?"
"Yes, sweetheart, tomorrow."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
Silently she prayed that it was a promise she could keep.
o0o
Dr. Scott Matthew came in late and switched on the television while he heated a can of soup. His kitchen was small and ultra-modern, exactly right for one man.
He hummed while the soup heated. Coming to Atlanta had been the right decision. Although he sometimes missed the ocean, he certainly didn't miss Blake Medical Center. Whithead Memorial in Atlanta had a far larger cardiology department, and with the larger staff there seemed to be fewer professional squabbles.
The news broadcast came on as he sat at the table with his soup and crackers. The top news story was a medical malpractice suit. Scott was only half listening when he heard the familiar names—Blake Medical Center, Dr. Paul Tyler, Mark Baxter.
His spoon clanked to the table, and he leaned toward the television, rapt. The reporter had been thorough: Paul's prominence in the field of cardiovascular surgery plus his recent alcoholism coupled with the lawsuit made juicy copy. Even the death of Paul's son was noted for the entertainment of the late night television viewers.
The evidence against him was stacked. The verdict seemed certain. Only a miracle could save him.
"Is Dr. Paul Tyler fresh out of miracles?" On that closing statement, the reporter smirked for the camera.
Scott left his soup getting cold on the table and reached for the telephone. Paul might be out of miracles, but he was not.
Chapter Thirty-three
It was a day made for bad news, a gray, drizzly day full of gloom and shadows. The warm spell that had settled over the seacoast like a familiar, fuzzy blanket stole away in the middle of the night, leaving behind a harsh chill.
Susan stood outside Jeffy's room listening to Dr. Freelander deliver the bad news: Jeffy wouldn't get to go home that day as they'd anticipated. Only a minor setback, the doctor said. A few more days, and he'd be ready to go.
A few more days. To a child that could be an eternity.
Before going back inside to tell her son, she called her mother.
"Jeffy can't come home today, so I thought we might do something special to cheer him up. Can you stop by the house and pick up his dolphin in a box?"
"I'll do better than that," Bessie said. "I'll call Jo Lisa and have her bring it. She can always cheer him up."
"Don't disturb her if she's sleeping. She works so late at the club . . ."
"Stop worrying over everybody else. Jo Lisa will be there . . . wearing rhinestones, no doubt. And I'll think of something. Maybe bake a batch of those chocolate chip cookies he likes so well."
"Thanks, Mother."
"I'll see you in a little while. Keep a stiff upper lip, Susan."
Susan hung up and leaned against the wall. She was so tired of keeping a stiff upper lip.
Resolutely she squared her shoulders and went down the hall to tell Jeffy the unhappy news. As always, fear squeezed her heart when she saw him lying so still against the covers. She tiptoed to his bed and stood over him, watching the rise and fall of his breathing.
He came awake slowly, like a reluctant turtle peeking from its shell.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, darling?"
"Can I go home?"
"Not today, sweetheart, but Aunt
Jo's coming to see you."
"Will she sing to me?"
"If you want her to."
"She sings funny songs."
Susan smiled. When Jo Lisa made up songs, she didn't strive for beauty; she sought humor. Her extemporaneous songs were so funny that she'd have Susan and Jeffy both holding their sides with laughter.
Crazy, wonderful Jo Lisa. What would either of them do without her?
Susan helped Jeffy with his breakfast, then sat by the bed reading the paper and waiting for her sister. Paul's trial was still front-page news. Reading it, she ached. She'd seen him with Jeffy, seen his wisdom, his tenderness. He would never have deliberately performed surgery on a child merely for the sake of getting back into the operating room.
She wished she could sit on the witness stand and say so. She wished she could sit beside Paul and hold his hand and tell him she believed in him.
"Jeffy?" Jo Lisa stuck her head around the door frame, holding the dolphin box aloft. "This crazy old thing called me up on the telephone this morning and said he had to get down here right away. Can you imagine why?"
"No."
Susan watched her son's face light up. Quietly she left his bedside and walked to the window.
"He said he had worked out this routine for the three of us and thought if we practiced it we might make it to television."
"What's my part?"
"You get to hold the box . . . and this magic wand." Jo Lisa whipped a small gold-tipped black wand from behind her back. "Now . . . put it in your hand like this. And when you wave the wand, Aunt Jo and the dolphin will sing."
"Together?"
"Yes, together . . . What's that funny face, pal? Don't you believe me?"
"Nahh."
"Try it. Wave the wand . . . That's right."
While Jeffy concentrated on waving the wand just right, Jo Lisa slipped her hand into her pocket and turned on a small tape recorder. The dolphin language of squeaks and clicks sounded in the room. Jefiy's eyes got big.
"How'd you do that, Aunt Jo?"
"Don't you believe in magic, pal?"
"Maybe."
"Try waving that wand again."
The dolphin's chatter segued into a squeaky alto voice and Jo Lisa joined in. Enchanted, Jefiy kept waving his wand.
