Spiral

by Mila Ferrera

  “No,” I say. “Tell him Finn made it through. Please. It’s important.”

  For the first time, she appears caught off guard. She stares at me for several long seconds. “Very well,” she says quietly. “I will convey the message.”

  Then she turns on her heel. The receptionist opens the locked doors for her, and I watch them slam shut. Aron is just on the other side, but he’s already out of my reach.

  Chapter Nineteen

  It’s for the best. For five months, I drill those words into my mind, making them my new mantra, the first thing I think upon waking and the last thing I tell myself before I fall asleep. I dodged a bullet. It’s better that he’s gone. Our relationship was doomed from the start. Would I really want to be with someone who has the same disorder that took my father from me? Would I ever want to live the way my mom did, constantly watching him, waiting for the next peak or valley? No, I’m better off alone.

  I wake up early every morning and work out at the gym. I spend long days at the hospital, taking extra consult patients, joining committees, and attending every seminar and lecture. I dig deep in supervision, thinking constantly about my patients, what’s driving their problems and how to help them get better and cope with their illnesses. I get Ursula’s parents through the long weeks before her quiet, peaceful death on a snowy day in early March, and I sit with them for hours afterward while they cry. I see Greg and Finn at every one of their outpatient clinic appointments, celebrating with them as his hair grows back and his energy returns. I take on extra clients as the referrals from the onco department increase. I make sure my notes and reports are meticulous and complete. I get home late every evening and spend a few hours on my dissertation. It’s a brutal, soothing routine. There is no time to mope. Or mourn.

  It’s all going well. Perfect, in fact. Just like old times. Nothing hurts.

  Everything hurts.

  It’s not like it was before, because Aron changed the shape of my heart. If I slow down, even for a moment, memories of him come pouring in, drowning me. His green eyes sparkling with mischief. His forehead pressed to mine. His hand on the small of my back. His arms around me, his fingers tangled in my hair. His voice, whispering in my ear. Hours spent next to each other, reading in the medical library, playing chess at the pond, talking over steaming cups of green tea at the Au Bon Pain in the hospital plaza. Those are the recollections that sink me, the things we had before everything turned upside-down, the way he made me live while I was living. Without him, even the thought of those things is deadly, and so whenever they sneak up on me, I grab for my life preserver, whatever task I can use to keep myself afloat. And that is the way I keep myself going.

  Because Aron is gone. No one’s heard from him. If Dr. Feldman knows where he is or what’s going on with him, she doesn’t say. And by the time the weather begins to warm up and tiny green buds sprout from scraggly, winter-barren trees, his absence is a given. Like he’s been erased. The only evidence that he was ever here is the sad looks I get from Mark when we occasionally pass in the hall.

  By April, the end is in sight. All the psychology interns—myself included—are scrambling to finish their dissertations and secure positions for next year. I apply for several post-docs at other pediatric hospitals around the country and get invited for interviews in Seattle, Chicago, and Providence. I’m sitting at my computer, booking a flight to my final interview, when Lisa comes into the office and lets her knitting bag slide from her shoulder. “I’m so tired these days,” she says as she sinks onto her chair.

  I take in her sagging posture as she sweeps her mane of hair from her face. Even her freckles look pale. “Are you feeling all right?”

  She makes a so-so gesture. “Hanging in. I finished my dissertation last night. I’m sending it to my committee after I read over it one more time.”

  “Lisa, that’s awesome! You’re amazing.”

  She chuckles. “You’re not so bad yourself. Justin and Nick have started referring to you as ‘the cyborg.’”

  “Is that a compliment? I can’t tell.”

  “From them, it is.” She pivots on her seat and peers at me. “But I think you make it look easier than it actually is. I know the last few months have been hard for you ...”

  I face my computer. Lisa only asked me about Aron once, in early December, as the hospital hallways swirled with gossip about what could have happened to him and where he went. Her concerned words pulled down my flimsy walls, and I ended up sobbing in the bathroom, then having to leave for the day. Since then, she hasn’t asked about Aron. Hasn’t mentioned him. But, like now, she takes every opportunity to leave me openings, to let me know she’s willing to listen if I want to talk.

  I don’t. I can’t. “Um. Of course. It’s been hard for all of us.”

  She sighs quietly. “Of course.”

  I’m trying to think of a way of moving our conversation into something casual and harmless when Phaedra Truax calls the intern phone and asks me to come to her office.

  I tromp up the stairs to the Psychology Department, hoping I’m not in trouble. Back in December, I made the decision to do a second semester in oncology instead of moving to a different rotation. Despite the twinge in my chest every single time I entered the unit, I didn’t want to leave Ursula’s family or any of my other clients. Phaedra and I have developed a good relationship over the last several months, but sometimes she looks at me like she knows I’m not as put together as I try to pretend I am.

  “Take a seat,” Phaedra says as I walk into her office. It’s decorated with pictures of her husband and children, smiling, round-cheeked tots who have inherited her flyaway blonde curls.

  “Is everything all right?” I ask. We’re not scheduled to meet for supervision until the end of this week.

  She nods. “I wanted to talk to you about post-docs.”

  “Oh.” I sit back in a plush armchair across from her desk. “I’ve got some possibilities. I interview at Lurie Children’s in Chicago in a week. And I think I’ll hear soon from the others where I’ve already interviewed.”

  She looks at me for a long time, her big grey eyes lingering on my face. “But you didn’t apply for the oncology post-doc available here.”

  I clamp my mouth shut.

  “Dr. Feldman specifically asked if you had,” she adds.

  “I know Nick’s put in his application,” I offer. He told me it was his top choice. It’s a two year position, and the hope is always that there might be a permanent position as an attending psychologist once you make it through.

  Phaedra twists the rings on her slender fingers. “Yes, there are other applications, but your work on this rotation has been truly exceptional, Nessa. You have a gift for seeing what lies beneath people’s unpleasant words and behaviors, for understanding their fear and pain, and it helps you figure out how to help effectively. The medical staff has recognized this, and they don’t want to lose you. Our consult requests have gone up significantly in the last few months, and I’ve come to believe you’re the reason.”

  I stare at the cluttered surface of her desk. “I love being on the unit,” I murmur. “I do … but I’m not sure I can … stay.”

  “Why?” Phaedra asks.

  Because, as time passes, no matter how hard I work, the gnawing ache of Aron’s absence isn’t fading. It’s not getting easier—it’s getting harder. But I can’t tell Phaedra that. “It’s, um … stressful.”

  Her eyebrow arches. “That might be true, but you just told me you love it. Tell me about that.”

  Now, this is something I can be honest about. “It’s a life and death battle every single day, and the admiration I feel for these children, their families, and the doctors and nurses who fight alongside them is endless. Being a part of it gives me purpose and focus.”

  Phaedra knows when to be silent. She sits absolutely still, waiting.

  I take a deep breath. “I feel like I’m making the world more fair.” Just saying it makes my eyes sting. Aron�
��s voice echoes in my head, repeating those words, and I have to bow my head and clench my jaw to hold in the sob. She thinks I have a “gift,” but it was Aron who helped me think like that.

  “If you told me you wanted this position, I would give it to you,” Phaedra says quietly. “You could have a long future here. I know it’s hard work, but it’s a special privilege to be with these families. And I think you understand that very well.”

  I nod without looking up. I do understand. I didn’t apply for the post-doc because I’m scared. I’m afraid of missing Aron so much that it will finally suffocate me and drag me under. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to stay afloat. But if it meant being able to help families like the Beemans, or like Ursula’s parents, if I could do good, if I could make the world more fair, is it really okay to avoid that responsibility because I want to avoid the pain? Am I once again stuck in a cage of my own making?

  I raise my head, the answers to these questions knocking away my hesitation and cowardice. “Yes. I’ll apply.”

  Phaedra smiles. “I was hoping you’d say that. We make our final offers next week.”

  I thank her and head back to the intern office, wondering if I should cancel my interview in Chicago, since it doesn’t even have an oncology consultation specialization. Nick is at his desk when I walk in. He grins when he sees me. “I officially interviewed for the onco post-doc with Phaedra this morning. Nailed it.”

  I sit down at my desk, silently cringing. She must have called to meet with me right after she talked to Nick. “I’m glad you feel good about it. I know you want it.”

  “No kidding. I know there will be some permanent positions coming up in the next few years, and these gigs pay so much better than university jobs. The benefits here are awesome, too. If I didn’t have to deal with the onco docs themselves, it would be perfect.”

  I frown. “That’s kind of a big part of it, isn’t it?”

  He shrugs. “Every job has its downsides. How are your interviews going? Where do you think you’ll end up?”

  I stare into his clear blue eyes, within which glint something cold and unreachable, not that I want to try. “I don’t know yet,” I say. “I’m evaluating my options.”

  “Too bad they don’t have two onco post-docs, right? You could have stayed.” He gives me a look I’ve become accustomed to, this hungry, wishful once-over. It used to give me chills, but now it’s simply annoying.

  “Yeah, too bad,” I reply, getting up with my notebook in my hands. “I’m headed over to see some of my patients.”

  “Have fun. Give Joanna the finger for me.”

  I head for the door, wishing I could give him the finger instead. Joanna respects hard work. She likes thorough documentation, a clear rationale for treatment—whether it’s medical or psychological—and good communication. She referred a few patients to Nick at the end of last year, right after Aron went away, and I’ve wondered if it was because she blamed me. But it’s clear now that she doesn’t like Nick, because she’s stopped referring to him and gone back to requesting me specifically. I think sometimes his dislike of her leaks through to the patients, which makes her work harder instead of easier. It’s a bad dynamic, and while she’s no picnic, he doesn’t even seem to recognize that he’s a major part of the problem.

  As the intern office door closes, I put him out of my mind and let my thoughts turn toward what the future might be like if I stay at CHOP. I could make a life here, but I’d have to let Aron go for real, no more pretending. I’m not sure how to do that, because everywhere I look, there are reminders of him, whether other people see them or not. The books he skimmed his fingers over in the library. The stool in the medical records booth that twisted my ankle and first brought my face into contact with his chest. Every time I see those things, every time I touch them, I feel him beside me, and I wonder where he is now, what he’s doing, if he’s well … and if he ever thinks of me.

  The doors to the oncology unit swing wide, and I walk in, looking at it with new perspective. This could be the place I spend my days, the people I work with, the life I choose. I just have to decide if it’s worth the hurt, worth the risk that Aron will never be completely gone from my heart.

  I spend a few minutes at the front desk, chatting with Carol, who tells me she’s having a birthday party next Saturday. She orders me to come, and I promise her I’ll show, then head down the hall to check in on one of my new clients, a fourteen-year-old patient of Mark’s named Rohan. He’s been combative and verbally abusive with the staff who try to administer treatments he needs to stay alive. My phone buzzes in my purse as I consider my strategy for our first conversation. I’m reaching for my cell when a tall figure rounds the corner and strides up the hall.

  My footsteps stutter to a stop as a tingling wave of disbelief breaks over me. “Aron?” I say, my voice cracking. His hair is a bit longer, and the angles of his face are slightly softer, like he’s put on a few pounds. He’s wearing dark slacks and a tailored button down, and with a twist in my chest I realize it’s the one I smeared with coffee and lipstick on the first day we met.

  He is still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen up close.

  He glances up from his phone and does a double-take when he sees me, the strangest mixture of emotions playing across his face as he slowly looks me over. But his expression goes smooth as he meets my eyes. “Nessa. I thought you’d be done with this rotation.”

  I tense my muscles to keep from staggering as his cold words hit me. “I decided to do a second semester …” I lose my train of thought beneath his distant, icy gaze. He’s never looked at me that way before. “You came back,” I say weakly.

  His posture stiffens. “I only took a leave of absence. I contacted Joanna a few weeks ago to let her know I was ready to return.” His accent seems a bit heavier, and I realize it’s probably because he’s spent the last several months speaking Swedish and hasn’t quite made the switch back to American English.

  “How are you?” I whisper, walking forward. My fingers clutch at my notebook as I try to keep myself from throwing my arms around his waist and bursting into tears. I can’t believe he’s here. Part of me wonders if I’m hallucinating.

  He gives me a guarded look. “I’m well.” He peers at his phone and clears his throat. “And I’m late. Excuse me.”

  Then he shoulders past and walks away.

  Knowing I can’t stay on the unit and keep it together, I flee to the women’s room and stand there, staring into the mirror and trying to catch my breath, until I’m sure I’m not going to faint or scream or cry. And then I stare some more, wondering what he saw when he looked at me, what he felt. Because … it didn’t look like he felt anything. At all.

  I blink back tears and finally check my phone. It’s a text from Mark. Heads up. He’s back.

  With shaking fingers, I reply. Wish you’d sent this sooner. Can we talk?

  Cafeteria in ten?

  I dab my eyes and head down, and when I see Mark waiting for me at one of the tables, I nearly run to him. He’s gotten me a coffee. “Hey, Nessa,” he says, looking frazzled, his black hair standing on end. “I saw him in Hematology rounds, but I had to go straight to another meeting. You ran into him, didn’t you? I can tell by looking at you. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner.”

  “It’s okay,” I say, gratefully taking a sip of coffee and letting it sear my throat, hoping it will dissolve the lump that’s lodged there. “Did you talk to him?”

  He shakes his head. “He greeted me, but he was really distant.” He rubs the back of his neck, frowning. “I would have expected him to call me as soon as he got back into town. But I guess … I don’t know what to do, or what he needs. I don’t want to stress him out.”

  I clamp my lips together and watch Mark’s fingers play with the plastic lid on his coffee cup. “We barely exchanged a few words,” I finally say. “It’s like he … like he didn’t want to talk to me. Like he wanted to get away from me as soon as possible.”<
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  “I don’t think that’s true,” Mark says, but I hear the doubt in his voice.

  “It was like everything he felt for me was … gone.” I grimace, the pain taking over.

  Mark gets out of his chair and comes around the table to sit next to me. He puts his arm over my shoulders and squeezes. “Don’t, Nessa. Shhh. He’s been through a lot. It might take him a while to feel comfortable being back.”

  I nod. “But I don’t think that’s the problem.” Mark gives me a quizzical look, and I speak my devastation aloud. “I think his feelings for me might have been part of the mania.”

  Mark shifts away from me so he can see my face, and then his eyes go wide. “My God, you really believe that, don’t you?” His brows lower. “I gave you more credit than that.”

  “His mother thought that was true. You heard her,” I whisper.

  “Yeah, but his mother was looking for someone to blame for her son’s problems. Nessa, I remember clearly the morning after he met you. We were lifting weights, and instead of talking about the last journal article he read or asking how my last procedure went like he normally did, he was jabbering about this adorable intern who nearly ruined his shirt, and how glad he was that he had an excuse to talk to you again. I’d never seen him like that.”

  “I wasn’t exactly the first girl he’d been with,” I mumble.

  “And those women meant very little to him. Whatever he felt for them really was just a product of his mania. But he was his normal self when he fell for you. The guy you were with in the fall, that was Aron. He was so determined to get his relationship with you right. He approached it like he went after anything else he really wanted—with total focus.”

  “Like winning at chess.”

  He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, but that’s just the way he thinks, the way he pursues things that are important to him. And he was like that with you. He might not have given me every detail, but it was so obvious. Don’t tell me you were that clueless. You had to be able to see it.”