Just another day in a big New York City hospital.
Sara hailed a cab, climbed in to settle into the steamy warmth of the car. The driver, who said he was from Nigeria, asked her to repeat her address four times. “What are you doing driving a cab if you can’t speak the language and can’t read the signs?” Sara asked irritably.
The driver pulled to the curb and said, very plainly, “Get out!”
“What?”
“Get out my cab.”
“I will not!”
“Then I dump you out!”
“Try it!” Sara shot back. “Now take me to the address I gave you, and you better hope you got it right.”
Mercifully, the ride was short. Sara was careful to give the man only a 10 percent tip, which he sneered at. “Stupid female.”
“Arrogant bastard,” Sara retaliated.
Inside her apartment, her body shaking with frustration, Sara shed her three layers of clothing. The phone was in her hand in a second. She called the hospital and said she wouldn’t be in tomorrow. She broke the connection before she was asked for an excuse.
“I hate this apartment. I absolutely detest hearing the elevator going up and down all night long. I can’t sleep. I hate the dirty streets and the filthy grocery stores. I hate what I do. I hate it that other people forced me into a profession I can no longer tolerate. I hate me. Me. I hate who I am.”
Sara sat down in the middle of the floor and cried. “That’s why nothing ever worked for me. That’s why I couldn’t commit to anyone. Especially Dallas. I saw in him the same problems I refused to acknowledge in myself. I denied everything my whole life. “No more!”
She was a whirlwind then, throwing her clothing into large green garbage bags that she dragged to the front door. Her pictures and framed diplomas went into a box any old way. So what if the glass broke. “Ask me if I care,” she muttered.
Satisfied that all her belongings were in the bags, Sara picked up the phone to call the management company that leased her the apartment. “I’m vacating the apartment in ten minutes. The rent is paid until January first. I’ll give you the address where you can return my security deposit. Make all the inspections you want. I won’t be here. I’ll leave the key on the kitchen table. This is not negotiable. So sue me. The lease was for six months, not a year. I had the option to renew in January. I’m choosing not to renew.”
Her next call was to the hospital administrator. “I’m sorry, Mr. Darwin. This is the way it is. I understand everything you’re saying. Yes, I’m breaking my contract. No, I will not reconsider. I’ve decided that medicine is not my forte. My career is no longer important to me. Actually, Mr. Darwin, I don’t like your hospital. I don’t like the way your people slough off the patients and make light of accidents. I don’t like the high rate of malpractice suits that are filed against your staff. What? Then sue me, but you’ll have to get in line.”
Sara’s clenched fist shot in the air. “My God, I did it! I finally did it! I burned all my bridges! I really can’t go back.” Carly was right. Sara felt like she could flap her arms and take wing. Carly had also said to soar with the eagles one had to be free. Sara had one more call to make before she called the telephone company to disconnect her phone. The phone in Charleston, South Carolina, rang twenty times with no answer. She frowned when the answering machine didn’t turn on. She tried the number a second time with the same results. The story of her life. Too much, too little, too late. The frown between her brows disappeared when she realized she could take the scenic route and stop in Charleston. She was no longer on someone else’s time clock. She was now a bona fide free spirit. Sara Killian, free spirit. She liked the way it sounded. She liked it a lot.
Two days later, Sara arrived in Charleston. She parked her Jaguar in a lot and set out on foot after she asked for directions to the Battery. The temperature was cool—probably, she surmised, somewhere in the low fifties—with the wind blowing off the water the way it was. It certainly beat the intense cold in New York. As tired as she was, her step was brisk and determined as she looked at the house numbers. Adam Lord’s number was on the high gate to a walled-off courtyard. A bell on a long chain hung to the side. She gave it a hard yank. The sound carried far and wide. She rang it three more times with no response. Did she dare open the gate? Of course she dared. She was a free spirit. Free spirits could do whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased. She pressed down on the black iron handle, but the gate didn’t move. Using her foot and her shoulder, she shoved the door. It opened slightly, giving off just enough room for her to get through. The heavy-duty springs attached to the top and the bottom forced it shut immediately. She stared in awe at the giant oak tree in the middle of the cobbled courtyard and the pruned camellia bushes laden with luscious blooms that were so heavy the branches almost touched the ground. Emerald green moss grew between the cobblestones. Instinctively she knew she wasn’t supposed to walk on it. From somewhere she heard a trickle of water. A fountain or a fish pond? A fountain with a cherub holding another cherub nestled between thick fronds of fern the same shade as the moss at her feet. Two lonely-looking empty dog dishes sat next to the door that led into the kitchen. Benches with colorful. cushions that matched the colors of the camellias beckoned. In the corner of one of them she saw a pack of cigarettes, lighter stuck in the cellophane wrapper. She sat down and helped herself to one of the cigarettes. A yellow ceramic ashtray in the shape of a frog was at her feet. She counted seven brown filters.
This, Sara decided, must be the most perfect garden spot in the world. Beyond the gates was the world, but that world was held at bay by the huge gates on their fortified hinges. She noticed the heavy iron chain dangling from a hook on the inside of the gate. Attached to the gate was the biggest padlock she’d ever seen in her life. Obviously when Adam was home with the dogs the gate was padlocked.
She hated to leave, but she needed a hotel room and sleep. Tomorrow was another day. Should she leave a note? What would a free spirit do? This must be one of those if you feel like it, do it, if you don’t feel like it, don’t do it questions. She felt like it. The only thing she had to write on was one of her New York checks. She voided out the front and wrote “I stopped by to say hello. Hope you and Jack are well. Regards to all the four-legged creatures.” She signed it Sara Killian. The note went under the yellow frog ashtray which she placed on the wrought-iron table.
Three days later, Sara was back in her house in Los Angeles. She had one bad moment when she saw the large For Sale sign on the front lawn and the lockbox on her door handle.
Sara dragged her garbage bags upstairs and tossed them into the spare room. She adjusted the thermostat for warmth, then headed for the shower. Wrapped in a tired old flannel robe from the back of the closet, she rummaged for her New York cell phone, aware that even though she was calling locally, she would be charged as if the call were made in New York. She didn’t care. Free spirits didn’t care about such things.
“Nellie? It’s Sara. I’m home. I mean I’m here at the house. I quit my job. I broke my contract and my lease. Everyone is going to sue me. What do you think of that?”
“Are you all right, Sara?”
“Never better. I’m a free spirit since a few days ago. I drove all the way from New York. I even stopped in Charleston to see Adam and you know who, but they were gone. I left a note. Free spirits do things like that.” Then she burst into. tears.
“Hang up, Sara. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Just stay put. Did you hear me, Sara?”
“Okay, Nellie. Can you bring some food?”
“Is Chinese okay?”
Sara sniffed. “Chinese is good.”
“Then it’s thirty minutes, Sit tight.”
Sara used up the time making coffee and setting the table. Thank God Carly hadn’t gotten carried away and packed up the household items. The fact that the power and water were still on made her wonder if Carly had a sixth sense that she would return.
As good as her word,
Nellie appeared at the front door in a little over thirty minutes. Sara fell into her arms. She started to wail again. “What’s wrong with me, Nellie? Do you think I’m having a nervous breakdown?”
“I don’t think any such thing. I think you’re in love and are too damn stupid to acknowledge the fact. Now, let me take off my coat. By the way, how do you like this outfit? It’s one of many your very kind friend paid for. I do miss that old orange sweater, though. He left me so much money I got my apartment painted, bought a new carpet and some new toys for my cat and dog. I still have money left. How’d he look in that sweater?”
Sara smiled, remembering her startled reaction when Adam peeled off the burnt orange jacket. “Really shitful.” Nellie burst out laughing.
Nellie ladled out the food while Sara poured coffee. “You really need to broaden your palate, Sara. Chow mein is so blah. There hasn’t been a thing in the papers lately about the judge, the trial, or that singer that jumped bail. I read the paper from cover to cover as you know. My job is unexciting but very rewarding in case you’re interested. I hope Carly is happy. Just how long is an extended honeymoon?”
“I guess until their money runs out. They’re somewhere in Illinois now, working to replenish their funds. She’s happy, so that’s all that matters.”
“I suppose so. It must be wonderful to be young. I can’t seem to remember life ever being wonderful. All I can remember is hard work, struggling to make ends meet, and more hard work. Maybe I’m just a cranky, jaded old woman.”
“I don’t think any such thing. You are a wonderful, warm, caring human being whom I love dearly. I don’t know what I would have done without you, Nellie. I missed you so much while I was in New York. You know what, I knew it wasn’t going to work when I accepted the job. I must have been out of my mind.”
“You really quit?”
“Yep. Told them what I thought. Broke my lease, too. I sent the song back in January, Nellie. They didn’t even bother to thank me. God, I can’t do anything right. Were my expectations too high? Am I stupid? Do I wear some invisible sign that says I don’t matter. Damn it, I do matter. I have feelings. I hurt and bleed just like everyone else.”
“Is that a fact?” Nellie bit into an egg roll. “Look at me, Sara, and listen. In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen any real emotion in you except when Carly had her accident. You’re robotic. You do everything by the book. If I knew where that damn book was that you go by, I’d rip it to shreds. It’s like someone programmed you. You keep everything locked inside you. Let’s take Dallas Lord and talk about him. You liked him. I saw something in your eyes when you mentioned his name. However, he wasn’t from that staid, straitlaced world of yours. He was a rock star. People would talk. People would point their finger at you if you were seen with him. You couldn’t risk damaging that precious reputation of yours. You’ve never taken a chance or a gamble on anything in your life. You’ve let your life slip by. I know it eats at you that you aren’t married with a family. It’s your own fault, Sara. I can say this because I’m your friend and I care about you.” She took a deep breath and went on.
“You’re one of the best doctors I’ve ever seen and believe me, I’ve seen plenty. You’re good at what you do, but you lack compassion and heart. You’re afraid to get involved with a patient. The Ortega family was a first for you. You have never, Sara, for as long as I’ve known you, treated the whole patient. You treat the ailment. You would have to get involved if you treated the whole patient, and you couldn’t risk that. Tell me I’m wrong, Sara. Tell me to mind my own business.”
“You aren’t wrong, and I would never tell you to mind your own business. When you’re right, you’re right. I never wanted to be a doctor. That’s what my father wanted. I think my mother wanted it, too, but she wasn’t as verbal as my father. I had to work twice as hard as everyone else to compensate for not being born a boy. I did everything he wanted. I literally gave that man my life. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I worked my ass off. I gave up everything to do something I . . . I don’t hate it, I just don’t like it. Medicine is not for me. I need someone to explain to me how I can be good at something I don’t even like. I’m just like Dallas, and I didn’t want to be like him. I understood him, but I closed my eyes to my own failings. What the hell kind of person does that make me, Nellie?”
“It makes you a human being. Just think, you could have gone through the rest of your life being a robot and not knowing what life is all about. Somebody must think you deserve a second chance because that’s what you have now. How you handle it is up to you.”
“I bet my father is spinning in his grave right now.”
“Stop playing with that chow mein and eat it. We both know it is impossible to spin in one’s grave. In case we missed something, too damn bad. Let him spin. That man almost ruined your life. Just who the hell are you in love with, Dallas or the brother? The Sara I know is not a serendipity kind of person, so it’s obvious to me you need some kind of plan, some kind of direction. Since Carly isn’t here I’m electing myself.”
“Plans never work out. Carly said we were homeless, rootless and that I was an old maid. She said that, Nellie, back in July. It’s so true it’s scary.”
“If I were your fairy godmother and I appeared and said I’d give you three wishes, what would they be? What do you want more than anything in this world? Close your eyes and pretend you’re talking to Carly. This has been so long in coming it’s making me crazy. If you aren’t going to eat that chow mein, push it over here. Contrary to belief, I can do two things at once. In this case, I can eat and listen. Let it rip, Sara.”
Sara’s voice was little more than a whisper when she started to talk. As she became comfortable with her thoughts and feelings, her voice grew stronger. “I want it all. I want everything I missed, everything I gave up. want to be a kid for a little while. I want to know what it feels like to be a teenager without sixty pounds of books on my back. I want to dance and flirt. I want pretty clothes that swish and fuss about my knees and ankles. I want to wear perfume that makes people turn around to see who is wearing it. I want to fall in love and have that person fall in love with me. I want us to do all the things I never got to do. I want him to care if I don’t feel well. I want him to make a mess in the kitchen when I’m sick in bed and he has to make me food. I want to do the same thing for him. A dog and a cat to make us a family. I want us to fight and kiss and make up. I want all of that. I want to be loved, so I can love back. I want someone to call my own. I want to be able to say, ‘This is my husband.’ I want his face to be the last thing I see when I close my eyes at night and the first thing I see when I open my eyes in the morning. I want to hear him tell me my cooking is wonderful or that it stinks. I want to see what I feel for him reflected in his eyes because he feels the same thing. Then and only then I want to get a space that is truly my own, maybe a garage or the basement, and I want to make pottery. I want to create and design something that says Sara Killian made this. I don’t care if it’s good or bad. I’ll get better and improve with practice in time, but if I don’t, that’s okay, too.” Sara stopped long enough to take a deep breath.
“You’re doing real good, Sara. Listen to this, my fortune cookie says I am going to come into a windfall. Yours says—are you ready?” Sara nodded. “Yours says, ‘In order to soar with the eagles, you have to be free.’”
Sara laughed. “You made that up, Nellie. What does it really say?”
“It says, ‘A wise man never counts his change.’ I have no idea what that means. It sounds pretty stupid if you ask me. I always count my change.”
Sara smiled. “I do, too. So, are you going to grant my three wishes?’
“I don’t have to grant them. Don’t you know anything, Sara? Fairy godmothers only grant the impossible. Everything you mentioned is something you can do yourself. In fact, you are the only one who can do them. When you want something you have to go after it. If you don’t, you get left at the gate. No
w, what’s our game plan?”
“I don’t have one.”
“Get one.”
“Nellie, it isn’t that easy. No one knows Dallas is alive but us. I don’t even know where he is. The answering machine doesn’t come on in Charleston. They’re away. They could be anywhere.”
“Criminals always return to the scene of the crime. Carly told me that.”
“They aren’t criminals, Nellie. What crime are you talking about?”
“Dallas’s secret identity. No one would ever look for him at his own house. You told me it was for sale, and I saw it listed for five million dollars. Not too many people buy that kind of house. I bet he’s holed up there. The brother, too, and all those dogs. It’s the perfect place if you stop to think about it. We could drive up there. Or, you could drive up there just to, you know, see if there are any lights on. Then you can come home and stew and fret while you think up a plan that won’t be too obvious.”
“Let’s do it! I’ll get dressed. How’s the truck running?”
“Like a top.”
Sara laughed all the way to her bedroom. She returned to the kitchen, grabbed her jacket, and they were off.
An hour later, Sara said, “I feel like a sneak. Carly used to do this when she was in high school. She’d make me drive past some boy’s house sometimes eight or nine times just hoping he’d be outside. Do you feel like a sneak, Nellie?”
“Not at all. Are we just going to sit here by the gate with the lights off, or are we going to get out and walk around?”
“I can see lights. Someone is here unless the lights are on timers. If we go any farther, the dogs will start to bark. We didn’t come up here to go in, Nellie.”
“That’s right. We just came up here to spy.”
Sara's Song Page 35
