She Poured Out Her Heart

by Jean Thompson

  While Charlie was still in the hospital, Claudia asked Bonnie, “Isn’t Jane’s husband a doctor?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “I’d like a second opinion.”

  “On what? Eric’s at a whole different hospital. He’s a cardiologist.”

  “I’d feel better if somebody we knew looked at him. I don’t have full confidence in these people.”

  “Mom, he doesn’t practice here. He’s a heart doctor, how does that figure? And you’ve never even met him.”

  Claudia turned stubborn. She set her small, well-groomed chin and said she didn’t see why Bonnie objected to using every available resource, this was a serious, serious situation and her brother needed her support, why was she being so selfish?

  Bonnie called Jane. “He doesn’t have to. It won’t accomplish anything except reinforce my mother’s delusions that everybody should rally to Charlie’s defense.”

  “I’ll ask him,” Jane said. “I bet he will. He’ll do it for you. Anyway, he likes swooping in and talking doctor-talk to a worshipful audience.”

  “Really, he doesn’t have to,” Bonnie said, wondering at Jane’s tone. It was the kind of spousal snark that usually meant the speaker was mad about something else entirely. “Make sure he knows that. And it’s not really for me, it’s for my mother. That’s not the same thing.”

  “How’s Charlie?”

  “He’s still pretty banged up. At least he can’t drink while he’s in the hospital. I was hoping this would be enough of a wake-up call, but he’s back to feeling very sorry for himself because of all the terrible things he’s been through. You know, poor me, poor me, pour me a drink.”

  There was one of those lapses in the conversation when Jane had to cover the phone and go referee the children. “Sorry,” she said, coming back. “Robbie was teasing Grace and she bit him.”

  “I thought Robbie was in kindergarten now.”

  “Only half days. Full time isn’t till first grade. Listen, I have to get back to the slugfest. I’ll have Eric call you, OK?”

  Eric said he’d stop by for moral support. “You know I can’t change treatment orders or anything like that. Anyway, I’m sure they’re perfectly competent.”

  “Tell my mother that, she won’t believe me. I think she’s just looking for somebody to blame for the whole misery besides Charlie.”

  And so Eric made a visit to Charlie’s room and endeared himself to Claudia by agreeing with her, hospitals often made mistakes, doctors too, although, he said, Mount Sinai was very well regarded. He cracked jokes with Charlie and conferred with a nurse about the medical regimen. Everything looked like it was coming along fine, he said, not allowing himself to meet Bonnie’s eye. The doctors here had everything on the right track. It was just going to take a little tincture of time to heal. He wasn’t wearing his white lab coat, of course, only a sports jacket and a tie. Still, he was so doctorlike in his easy authority, his confidence and bearing, there was no mistaking him for anything else.

  “Oh, I wish you practiced here,” Claudia said, smitten.

  “No you don’t. I’m really a hard-ass. I like to boss my patients around.”

  “Listen to you, I don’t believe you for a minute. Why don’t we have a doctor in the family, it would be so helpful. Why did neither of you children go to medical school?”

  “Poor role models,” Charlie suggested.

  “Neither of them ever thought in practical terms,” Claudia said, appealing to Eric. “Charlie was going to live a rock and roll life. Bonnie took a lot of courses in, what were they, ancient civilizations? And she ends up in these horrible true crime stories. You’re so intelligent, darling, you just don’t plan things out very well. There’s no reason you couldn’t have been a doctor.”

  “Or at least married one,” Bonnie agreed.

  Charlie said, “Lay off Bonnie, Mom. You’re embarrassing her in front of the real doctor.”

  “No, really, it’s great,” Bonnie said. “Otherwise I get so full of myself.”

  Eric said, “I wish I could stay a little longer, but I’ve got to get home. Charlie, best of luck. Claudia, a real pleasure.”

  “Thank you so very much. I can tell you’re a wonderful, wonderful doctor. Do you have children yourself?” Claudia asked, extending her hand for him to shake.

  “Yes, a little boy and a baby girl.”

  “And they’re both going to medical school,” Charlie said.

  Bonnie stood up to leave with Eric. She kissed Claudia on the cheek. “I’ll be back tomorrow after work, call me if you need anything.”

  “I’m like, a black hole of neediness,” Charlie told her. “A gaping maw.” He looked cleaner than he had when he’d been admitted, but years of galloping drinking were taking their toll. His face was both puffy and shriveled. He was growing a drunkard’s inflamed nose.

  Eric and Bonnie walked out together, past the nursing station, around the corner to the elevator. The day shift had gone home and the halls had an empty, echoing feel. “Do they still have candy stripers?” Bonnie asked. “You know, the girls in the red and white pinafores who walk around cheering people up?”

  “I think they’re just called volunteers now,” Eric said. “Older women, mostly, and they wear smocks. There’s some younger kids who help with transport. They wear polo shirts and khakis.”

  The elevator came and they rode it down. Bonnie started to say something about the decline in standards, and what it must have been like when nurses wore real nurse outfits, not just pajamas, but she was sick to death of saying amusing things, and when she and Eric emerged from the building into an early dark and misty rain, she burst into angry tears.

  “Hey,” Eric said, putting an arm around her shoulders and guiding her away from the door, along a sidewalk with a concrete overhang. “Hey, it’s OK.”

  “This is not,” Bonnie said between sobs, “about my mother humiliating me. That’s nothing new.”

  “It’s OK,” he said again. He wrapped both arms around her and Bonnie leaned into him and cried for all she was worth. She was cold, miserable, and Eric tightened his hold on her and they stood there a long time. The fine rain turned the light from the streetlamps into halos and veils. Cars rolled by on the street, their tires skimming the puddles. “It’s just so sad,” Bonnie said, surfacing. “My whole sad, stupid family. I mean, me too.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” Eric told her. Bonnie hiccupped and sniffled and let herself cry some more. She’d forgotten the comfort you could take in a man. It was so seldom offered to her, she was so accustomed to doing without it. She hung on for dearest life. Eric was tall enough so that the top of her head fit into the hollow of his shoulder, and she buried her head in the solid warmth of him and breathed the smells of his clothes and his skin and felt the rumble and pulse of his body, its secret shiftings, and it was only Eric after all so it was all right and then the next moment it was not all right and she pulled away.

  “God,” she said. “I’m such a mess, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re fine.” He looked embarrassed. She was an idiot. Well, everybody knew that already. “I mean, you’re not fine now, but you will be. Your brother’s going to get better.”

  “And my mother’s going to stay the same. It’s OK, I’m used to it.”

  “She’s a little hard on you.”

  “It’s just her way. A fond, doting, ultimately hostile way.”

  They laughed. Eric patted her on the back and dropped his arms and Bonnie turned and dug in her purse for anything resembling Kleenex. “Thank you again,” she said, still looking. Giving up. Maybe she had some in the car. “For the unofficial medical consult. Hospital chaplain services. Much appreciated.”

  “Sure. Sometimes all it takes is a little doctor juju.”

  They headed out to the parking lot and Eric said he would walk her to her car,
it was already dark, and Bonnie said there was no need, she was right over there, and anyway he didn’t need to stay out in this rain. Not wanting to tell him how many times a week she got into her car by herself after dark, and in far worse neighborhoods. They hugged again, to show there was no harm in it, and Bonnie said to say hi to Jane. She got into her car and started the engine and the windshield wipers. Eric stood where she’d left him, watching. She backed out and tapped the horn as she drove away.

  Claudia stayed in town, moving into Charlie’s apartment in Lakeview and doing a lot of energetic and scandalized cleaning. Charlie couldn’t manage stairs without help, he needed groceries and cooking, he needed to be hauled back and forth to doctors’ appointments, he needed cheering up, Claudia said. “Try a candy striper,” Bonnie suggested.

  “What? Are you making a joke? Please tell me what’s so funny.”

  “Nothing, forget it.” They were on the phone. Bonnie called so she didn’t have to go over there. “How is Himself?”

  “He’s supposed to be doing exercises, but he says they hurt too much. I think he’s depressed.”

  In the background Bonnie heard music, some kind of Goth-punk banshee chorus. “He sounds depressed.”

  “I don’t know why more of his friends haven’t come by. There was a girl, but she didn’t stay long. I know what you’re thinking. I was perfectly nice to her. We have to meet with the lawyer Tuesday. I don’t believe he’s looking forward to it.”

  “The lawyer will tell you it’s a very serious situation but he’s going to do his expensive best to give you a good result.”

  “I don’t suppose you want to come along,” Claudia said, without much hope. “He doesn’t always listen to me.”

  “Maybe he’ll listen to the lawyer. The lawyer will tell him to stop drinking, clean up his act, go to AA, and show a judge he’s changed his ways. Of course, that means he actually has to change his ways.”

  “Oh I don’t know, honey. He’s so miserable right now, I don’t know if this is a good time to tell him he has to start a whole different life style.”

  “When is a good time? After his next DUI with injuries? What does Stan think of all this?”

  “Stan is being difficult,” Claudia said, primly, and Bonnie waited for her to say more about it but she didn’t.

  “You can’t keep doing everything for Charlie, Mom. Are you familiar with the term ‘enabler’?”

  “Would you stop it? You always think you have to be so smart about everything, making fun of people who have actual feelings, like that makes you better than the rest of us, but you’re not. You don’t care about Charlie, he’s only your family, not some homeless crazy person.”

  Bonnie let the phone slide away from her ear. Then she picked it up again. “Mom? Just who was I supposed to be, huh? Exactly how have I disappointed you, I’m really having trouble nailing it down.”

  But Claudia had resumed her usual ladylike and plaintive manner. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry if you’re unhappy, but you’re going to have to work on that yourself, because right now I’m very concerned about your brother and it’s taking all my energy. I have to go now, love you.”

  Bonnie got off the phone and looked for something to throw or break, but what good would that do, and who would be able to tell the difference in this hellhole of an apartment? She’d lived here too long, telling herself she didn’t care that it was small, unfashionable, grim, even using it as proof that she didn’t care about appearances, as if she was above, or below, all that, as if she’d been playing some elaborate joke on herself. And now all she had to show for it were her little bits of artsy junk, the furniture that was, at best, funky-amusing, the kitchen with its slopped-over stove burners, the sad and messy manifestation of her sad and messy life.

  She picked up the phone again and called Jane. It was eight thirty, not late for most people but borderline for moms with little kids. The phone rang and rang, and just as it was about to go to voice mail, Eric answered. “Hello?”

  “Eric? Hey, I’m sorry, I thought I was calling Jane’s cell.”

  “You are. She’s trying to get Grace to sleep, she has a fever.”

  “Is she all right? Nothing Daddy Doctor can’t handle, I hope.”

  “Yeah, she’s . . .” The phone must have gotten away from him. There was a sudden fumbling racket.

  “Eric?”

  “Sorry, yeah, it spiked at 103, but you know, high fevers in kids aren’t as concerning as they are in adults.”

  Bonnie did know that, or at least she used to know it. She said she hoped it was nothing serious, and Eric said he was pretty sure it wasn’t. He sounded tired, rattled, abrupt. Bonnie said to tell Jane she called, and they hung up.

  Her phone rang again a minute later. It was Jane’s house phone. “Hello?”

  It was Eric. “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask you how Charlie’s doing.”

  “Oh, thanks. I guess his knee’s better. And he’s on some medication for his liver. My mom’s staying at his place to help him out, which is sort of a mixed blessing. You know, if it’s not one thing, it’s your mother.” She had wanted to complain about Claudia to Jane, but it would have felt whiny to do so one more time to Eric. “I’ll tell her you were asking about him, she’ll be all kinds of ecstatic.”

  “Ha, well, that’s nice. I’ll tell Jane, maybe she’ll be more impressed with me.”

  “Yeah?” Bonnie said, careful to have her voice convey exactly nothing.

  Eric exhaled. “Scratch that. Nobody’s required to be impressed.”

  “I’m not sure if I—”

  “No, really, I spoke out of turn. I’m glad Charlie’s feeling better.”

  “Let me guess, Jane’s freaking out because of Grace’s fever and you can’t convince her it’s not a crisis.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Don’t take it personally. It’s a Mom thing.”

  There was the sound of water running in the sink, then he shut it off. Ice cubes. A drink?

  “I wish,” Eric said, “that she’d keep things in proportion when it comes to the kids. It’s a fever, not the plague.”

  “She’s very responsible. Very involved.” It seemed like a good idea to say something in Jane’s defense.

  “Yeah, she is.”

  A gap of silence. “I hope Grace will feel a lot better soon. I’m sure she will.”

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  Another silence. Bonnie was ready to say good night and hang up, but instead she asked, “Are you all right?”

  “It’s been a long day and I’m feeling sorry for myself, but I guess I still qualify as ‘all right.’ But thanks for asking, that’s sweet of you. I should go see how Grace is.”

  “Sure. Say hi to Jane.”

  “Will do. Good night, dear.”

  “Good night.” Bonnie put the phone down. She didn’t much like the thoughts she was thinking.

  She was so accustomed to Jane and Eric being fixed points in her world, especially since they’d moved back to Chicago. My married friends who live in the suburbs and he’s a doctor. They didn’t see each other that often, but they were all busy, and it never seemed that necessary, since after so much time, they could always pick up where they left off. But you could not count on anyone or anything in life to stay the same and she ought to know that by now. So maybe Eric and Jane were having themselves a little fuss, people did that. So she and Eric had a bit of a moment, or two; it was what it was and nothing more and she needed to be stern with her fool self.

  It wasn’t like she didn’t have enough to keep her busy. One of Chicago’s Finest had lost his shit and beaten a homeless guy who had been creating the usual minor disturbance. It was the kind of cop overreaction that happened for all the familiar cop reasons of stress and one too many crumby encounters with the more combative segment of the general public. It wasn’
t even the worst such incident. But this one had been captured on cell phone video and showed the officer sitting astride the man and head-punching him for a solid minute, and now it was all over the place, and there was general outrage, and editorials implying or outright saying that nothing ever changed, and all the community outreach and so-called training was just a lot of noise.

  It didn’t do any good to point out all the times the cops didn’t beat anybody up in the performance of their difficult, life-threatening duties. Or for the officer to argue that the video didn’t show the homeless guy whaling away on his girlfriend, and then when the officer attempted to render assistance, the guy spitting on him and trying to knee him in the balls. Also not recorded: the homeless guy’s girlfriend (“the female subject”) wading in and straddling the officer’s back and locking her legs around his neck (the female subject’s lack of hygiene described in regrettably nonprofessional terms by the officer), and the subsequent use of pepper spray to subdue her. (Along with another departure from professionalism on the officer’s part in his unsolicited remarks as to where on the person of the female subject he would have liked to administer pepper spray.)

  Bonnie was good at staying calm in these difficult situations and doing what had to be done in terms of damage control. Putting it all behind her, moving forward. Anyway, she was only a consultant, an advisor, she had no power to discipline or to change policy. She made her suggestions, helped draft the press release. Stood ready to protect and defend her turf, since she was invested in the program, and she honestly believed it accomplished good things. And it did, in general; it was only when you had to deal with the unfortunate specifics that doubts crept in.

  She was thirty-two now. She felt, if not exactly old, at least no longer young. When she’d started her job it was the crisis part of it that had engaged her, the proximity to what was risky and outlandish. Now she had migrated over to the management side, fund-raising, grantwriting, justifying her own existence. Patience, argument, strategy: those were her tools, the skills she’d developed over time. She achieved results in less flamboyant and more lasting ways. At the same time, she missed her younger, impulsive, unafraid self. She hadn’t necessarily wanted to grow sadder and wiser. Well, she probably wasn’t any wiser. That was some consolation.