by Jane Peart
“This is so lovely and peaceful,” Joy said in a hushed voice. “If I had a place like this, I’d stay here forever.”
“That was sort of my plan. At one time I thought of just chucking everything, coming up here and living.”
“In a way, that would be a waste for you, Evan. You have so much to give. Your skills as a surgeon are so valuable. So many people’s lives depend on your expertise.”
“Well, solitude isn’t all that good if your mind and soul aren’t at peace. Being alone just accentuates whatever is troubling you. You have no way to work it off.” A smile touched his mouth. “Of course, most Good Samaritan staff members think I vent my frustration over personal problems on my residents, the interns, and nurses. ‘Ivan the Terrible of O.R.’”
“No way, Evan. All I hear is how much they all admire you.”
“Well, they probably wouldn’t say anything bad about me to you, Joy.”
She didn’t know how to answer that, so she just let it go.
By the time they returned to the cabin, it was late afternoon, and Evan said they should probably start packing up to leave. “I hate to see this day end,” he added, frowning, “but you can’t hang on to happiness. That’s one thing I’ve learned.”
Impulsively Joy asked, “Why are you so bitter, Evan?”
For a minute Joy thought he wasn’t going to answer, that he was angry at her for asking. He put his toolbox and the picnic hamper in the back of the jeep, then faced her.
“I hadn’t planned to talk about this. At least not yet, anyhow. Maybe this is as good a time as any. Let’s have some coffee.” He took out the thermos and poured them both full mugs, then led her over to the deck and they sat down on the steps.
“You know I was married,” he began. “I don’t talk about it much. Not to anyone. But I want to tell you, Joy. I want to tell you about Susan.
“We were married when I was an intern. She had just graduated from nurses’ training. We’d known each other in high school, gone together to school events. We weren’t particularly romantic about each other—good friends, mainly. Both serious about our careers. Later our feelings changed. We realized we loved each other, were each other’s best friends, which is a good basis for marriage.”
Evan took a long swallow of his coffee before continuing.
“In spite of the odds, we decided to get married. Susan was working as an RN. If we had waited, it would have been seven years before I was through, years before I could start a practice. Susan was more than willing to support us. We had no idea what marriage under those circumstances would really be like. It was very hard—a grind, actually. I was studying night and day. We hardly saw each other, because she was working different shifts.”
Evan shook his head. “I don’t think I appreciated how hard it really was on Susan. Finally, the summer I finished my residency and before I began two years of surgical residency, we decided to take a vacation. Our first one.” Again Evan shook his head, as if in disbelief. “We planned a two-week camping and backpacking trip. Susan loved the outdoors as much as I did, so we went up to the Sierra-Nevada wilderness area.” Evan clenched his hands and took a long breath, as if what he was about to say was painful.
“We were miles from anywhere. Susan developed flu-like symptoms and became very sick. I wanted to start back but she wouldn’t hear of it. She said that it was probably a twenty-four-hour virus of some kind, that she’d just stay in her sleeping bag and rest, that she’d soon be fine. She urged me to go on, to hike further in to a little lake we’d heard was full of trout, and to just let her sleep. So I did. I was gone most of the day, and when I got back early evening, Susan had a raging fever. I knew right away it was serious and blamed my stupidity for not insisting we start back earlier. By the next morning she was delirious, and I knew we were in big trouble. I carried her back to where we’d left the car. It was quite an ordeal. She was a big girl and now she was a dead weight, limp with fever. We were both strong climbers. On the way up we hadn’t minded the rocky, steep path. I got her to the car, and even then in my panic I think I knew it was too late. By the time we got to the nearest hospital in a small mountain town, she had lapsed into an irreversible coma. The diagnosis was bacterial meningitis, the kind that strikes suddenly and is deadly. Even in the best conditions its symptoms are easily confused with those of any number of other illnesses. Without sophisticated testing, it’s impossible to know how to treat it. Anyway, it was already too late.”
Evan’s face became a mask of resentment. “It was so unfair. We were only in our mid-twenties. Susan had made it possible for me to become a doctor, to go on with my plans, and she never had a chance to reap any of the rewards. She never got to enjoy any of the benefits, the prestige of my position, the material perks—nothing,” he said fiercely. “Now maybe you can understand why I’m low on faith. Susan was such a good person—kind, generous. That’s why I find it hard to believe in a personal God who cares about individuals.”
“I’m sorry, Evan,” was all Joy could think to say.
“That was six years ago. I was in pretty bad shape for a while after Susan died. Then I threw myself into my work. To prove somehow that all her sacrifice had been worthwhile. For the next five years I didn’t do much else but work. I got a chance to join the staff at Good Samaritan, and it helped. I thought being in a new place, among people I didn’t know and who didn’t know me, would help me get a new outlook, allow me to get on with my life. Lately, however, I see that work isn’t enough. I’ve narrowed my life too much. Susan was practical, sensible, levelheaded. She wouldn’t have been happy about the way I’ve handled my life since her death.”
A rueful smile tugged at his mouth as he looked at Joy. “But I do think I’m beginning to change. I’m reaching out more. I can see other possibilities for my life, my future. I’m ready now to take on life again—a whole life.” He took a long breath, then stood up. “I just thought you deserved to know that you’ve helped me do that. You also needed to know what I was coming out of.…I wanted to tell you. I didn’t want any shadows hovering…”
The day was fading into a purple dusk when they drove in under the huge oak tree near Joy’s little house.
Evan turned off the motor and said, “This has been a special day, Joy, thanks to you.”
“I enjoyed it, too. Thanks for a lovely time,” Joy said and got out of the car. “See you Monday at the hospital.”
As Evan drove off, Joy realized that all of her former awe of Dr. Wallace had vanished. She saw him now not as the formidable surgeon but as a vulnerable human being with his own struggles. She found she liked the man she was getting to know.
chapter
12
AFTER THAT SATURDAY at the cabin, Evan became—without Joy being fully aware of it—more and more a part of her life. Almost every day, he stopped by the solarium and they took coffee breaks together. Often on Sundays, after Joy had been to church, they met somewhere for brunch. Sometimes Evan came to the art museum when Joy researched costumes and backgrounds, and they had lunch in the restaurant there. In fact, it wasn’t long before being together on the weekends during which Evan was not on call seemed natural.
Joy was not even aware how much time they spent together, until one day during a conversation with Ginny, the nurse asked in her blunt way, “So what’s with you and the Iceman?”
Joy blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not criticizing, just curious. And I guess I envy you a little. Cliff and I can’t be seen together openly. No theater, no restaurant, no event. As the song goes, ‘We meet in the shadows, afraid to be heard…’”
Joy knew of Ginny’s affair with a married doctor; it was one of those open secrets no one at the hospital was supposed to know about but everyone seemed to.
“I still don’t know what you mean, Ginny.”
“Oh come on, Joy. Don’t you realize that you and Dr. Wallace are doing the kinds of things together that people in love do? You’d have to be blind
not to see the way he looks at you.”
It came as a shock that they had been not only observed but speculated about.
That conversation with Ginny startled Joy into thinking about how much time she was spending with Evan. Ginny had once confided to Joy that she often had to alter her plans to fit in with Cliff’s schedule or accept a last-minute invitation from him, and Joy realized that she was now doing the same. Just last week she had skipped her evening class to go to a local revival of the Broadway musical South Pacific. It was a dangerous parallel to Ginny’s situation. Joy could see how easy it would be to become attracted to someone, put that person’s demands ahead of her own goals. The thought of letting anything interfere with her dream of going to Europe, visiting the galleries and museums of the Old World, seeing the great art masterpieces firsthand, was frightening. She couldn’t let anything change that long-held plan.
Joy planned to spend the long Thanksgiving weekend with Molly, who lived about sixty miles from Middleton. She was looking forward to having a chance to talk to Molly about Evan, try to sort things out.
Gayle was also going home for the holiday. Before she left, she told Joy she was going to try to find out something that might give them a clue to what connection there might be between their two families, something that might help them sort out some of the coincidences.
Molly, plump, with rosy cheeks, silver curls, and merry bright eyes, greeted Joy happily. “Oh, darling, I’m so glad you’re here. We have so much to catch up on. I can’t wait for one of our old heart-to-hearts.”
Molly’s small bungalow was full of company. Molly held a constant open house. Her hospitality was famous, and there was a continual flow of friends in and out during the three-day holiday.
Her ladies’ group met to pack baskets of food to distribute to needy families on their list. Then there was all the food preparation and cooking to be done for the dinner party, to which Molly always invited a dozen and welcomed any extras who came along.
On Thanksgiving Day they attended service at Molly’s church and afterward went to the festive coffee hour.
A couple of times during her visit Joy started to bring up the subject of Evan, but every time either the phone rang or someone dropped by. It wasn’t until the night before she had to return to the city that she at last was able to discuss Evan with Molly. Joy had intended to lead up to it, but after all the interruptions of the weekend, she just blurted it out.
“Is it serious, Joy?” Molly asked.
“That’s what I don’t know. I admire him tremendously, I enjoy being with him, we talk about everything—”
“And has he told you how he feels?”
“He’s a man of few words, but I think I can tell…”
Molly sighed. “What can I say, Joy? Only you know what’s in your heart.”
“Why have you never married, Molly? I’m sure it’s not for lack of opportunity. I’ve seen pictures of you when you were young. You were so pretty.”
Molly smiled and touched her flyaway snowy hair and patted her double chin playfully. “That was then, this is now,” she said with a laugh. “Well, Joy, my next question to you would be, how does Evan feel about your art career? You see, one reason I never married was because I don’t believe you can have it all. I know, I know—people say you can, but I truly doubt it. At least in my day it was nearly impossible for a woman to have both a career— especially something as all-consuming as art—and a family. Nowadays some think you can. But at what cost? And to whom? What goes? Family life? What is neglected? Husband? Children? Art is a demanding priority. It was for me and others I knew who were serious about it. Artists have to be selfish to succeed.”
Joy reflected that Molly was about the most unselfish person she knew. Hadn’t she taken in an orphan teenager and given her a home, love, devotion? Molly seemed to have a rich, full life with her artwork, her friends, her activities. Still, Joy thought she understood what Molly was saying. Sometimes you have to make a choice. And that is not easy.
On the Monday after Thanksgiving, Joy was back at work. There were only two more panels to finish. The most dramatic one of all, she felt, would be the one with the centurion coming to Christ. She had still not approached Evan about posing. She was convinced that he would be perfect to represent the Roman officer. Everything about Evan made him a prime candidate— he could have been cast for the part in some Hollywood biblical spectacular.
Yet she felt shy about asking him. By his own admission, Evan’s approach to life was scientific. It did not include faith. It precluded miracles. How would he feel being asked to be involved in this tremendous depiction of a miracle? Would he be angry, resent her placing him in the awkward position of having to refuse? She didn’t know. Nevertheless, it kept nagging at her that she would never find out unless she asked. She would have to wait for the right time—and trust she would know when that was.
All this was on her mind as she painted. Suddenly she heard Evan’s voice speaking to someone at the nurses’ station. Calmly she mixed some cobalt blue to fill in the stripe at the edge of the paralytic’s garment. Joy was trying to be as authentic as possible in costuming her figures. She had read in the Old Testament, in Numbers 15:38–40, that the Lord told the Jews to put a blue thread on the borders of their clothes so that when they saw the blue, they would remember God’s holy purpose for their lives. Joy had been taught that God had a plan for everyone’s life. What was the purpose of her life? God had given her the talent to paint. She wanted to be true to that calling, not allow anything to deter her from fulfilling it.
Her brush was poised when Evan came into the solarium. “Still here?” he demanded. “You keep long hours.”
Joy swiveled to see him approach. “Look who’s talking. So do you.” She stood up stiffly, paintbrush still in hand, noticing that he looked tired. She suddenly realized what it must be like for Evan, what a toll it must take on him, dealing with life-and-death situations every day. Maybe today he had had to give a patient or his family a negative prognosis.
“Let’s go somewhere, have something to eat, listen to some music,” he suggested.
“Oh, I don’t know. We’ve both had a long day. I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company.”
“You’re always good company. Come on, don’t say no. I need to go somewhere tonight where there’s light, life, activity. I don’t want to go alone. We’ll eat and I’ll take you right home, I promise.”
“Evan, you’re always feeding me!” she protested.
“We can’t have any starving artists around here. Bad for the image of the hospital.”
Joy laughed helplessly. “Okay.”
She quickly cleaned up her brushes and put everything away, and they left the hospital together.
When they had seated themselves in Evan’s car, he asked, “How was your holiday?”
“Very nice, very traditional,” she replied. “Molly loves it that way. Dinner was fabulous. She cooks the turkey and makes the pies, and all the guests bring their prize dishes.”
“What did you take?” He seemed genuinely interested.
“Well, mainly I fixed the centerpiece—fruit and flowers spilling out of a cornucopia basket…”
“Naturally, the artistic touch.”
“Well, each person does what he or she does best.”
“Fair enough.”
“It was a busy, happy time. Molly’s house is always filled with friends.”
“Molly sounds like someone I’d like.”
“I’m sure you would,” Joy said. She almost added, “Someday you’ll have to go down there with me and meet her,” but she stopped herself, remembering Molly’s warning about her involvement with Evan.
Slowing at a sign that read, “World’s Best Pizza,” Evan asked, “Pizza all right?”
“Sure.”
As they pushed through the door, the sound of loud music engulfed them, along with the warm smell of garlic and tomato sauce. The place was crowded—mostly with the youn
g crowd from the nearby college, since it was Friday night and a popular gathering place for students. Evan and Joy saw an empty booth in the back and headed toward it. As Joy slid in on the red plastic seat, she laughingly asked Evan, “Is this what you needed?”
He made a grimace. “Not exactly what I had in mind, but close. Anyway, I know they make a good pizza.”
They ordered a large California combo to share. While they waited, they sipped on steaming coffee in thick white mugs. The music and voices and laughter all around made conversation nearly impossible. Evan shrugged and they smiled at each other. They were both tired anyway, so they simply absorbed the atmosphere surrounding them.
A few minutes later a boisterous group of young men came in and found a table that had just been cleared. When they started to sit down, two of them looked over at Joy and waved, calling, “Hi!” She smiled and waved back.
Evan glanced at the group, who were busy joking with the waitress amid much laughter. Then he gave Joy a questioning look.
“A couple of the guys I knew at college,” she explained.
Pretty soon their pizza was served, and they both ate hungrily.
Later as Evan drove her home, Joy noticed that he was unusually quiet. At first she thought it was due to his fatigue, but she soon found out that wasn’t it at all.
When he took her up the winding steps to her door, she asked, “Is something wrong, Evan? You haven’t said a word since we left the pizza parlor.”
“I was just thinking that maybe you’d rather be out with people your own age than with someone like me. Like those guys you knew from school—”
