Pulling Home (That Second Chance)

by Campisi, Mary

  “I don’t understand.”

  Doris cursed herself for what she’d done to her best friend. “Your mother was seeing someone. She wouldn’t tell me who it was, but she said they were in love. It was her first time. I was so jealous of her. She always had all the attention, even though she could care less. I just wanted to make the boys not like her so much. When she found out she was pregnant, I started a rumor.”

  Corrine’s daughter tensed. “What kind of rumor?”

  Doris rested her head against the pillows and forced herself to speak. “The kind that ruins lives.”

  Chapter 18

  “I cursed the day I met you.”Jack Wheyton

  The surgery lasted four hours, three pots of coffee, ten cigarettes, and six rosaries. Relatives and friends saturated three quarters of the tiny waiting room on the fifth floor of McMahon Children’s Center. Joe Wheyton complained about the location every time he had the need for another puff—which averaged every twenty-two minutes—and didn’t know why the waiting room couldn’t be located on the first floor, close to the exit doors, and fifty-five feet of a smoking clearance.

  Alice clutched a rosary in one hand and a Kleenex box in the other as Joyce and Marion guarded her like sentinels with words of reassurance and scripture quotes. Tilly did her part, too, positioning her bony frame against Audra and Peter’s seats as though to ward off evil.

  Audra ignored the old biddies’ curious stares. One of them looked almost sympathetic, her sorrowful gaze sweeping Audra. Perhaps she had suffered her own misery. Had lost a child. Audra squashed the thought. Kara would survive and recover. People flew in from all over the country for Jack’s touch. Hadn’t the woman in the waiting room professed as much when she told Audra how he saved her sixteen year old? I’ll treat her as though she were my own child, he’d said. If he only knew.

  Peter held her hand, ignoring Joe Wheyton’s glare as the old man limped toward the elevator for the seventh time. Audra didn’t care what they thought. She needed Peter’s strength and hadn’t missed Jack’s cool stare when she insisted Peter remain for discussions of surgery and testing.

  Surprisingly, Leslie and Grant Richot offered the most comfort, sending trays of sandwiches and pots of black coffee along with Joe Wheyton’s favorite, raspberry kolaches. Eating, despite a lack of appetite provided a means of control, no matter how small. This group could perform the ritualistic machinations of hand to mouth to chew to swallow—anything to cling to the known and help time pass.

  The elevator dinged open and Joe Wheyton emerged along with Leslie, who balanced a tray of kolaches between her hands. “More kolaches”—she winked at Joe—“extra raspberry.”

  Joe snatched two from the tray and popped them in his mouth. “Almost like my mother’s,” he said around a mouthful of pastry.

  Leslie made a bee-line for Audra and nudged the tray in front of her. “My grandma used to make these when I was a little girl,” she said. “I carried on the tradition.”

  “Thank you.” Audra selected a nut kolache and bit into it. The woman was beautiful, loved sex, and could cook. What man wouldn’t fall in love with her? Certainly Jack had.

  “It shouldn’t be much longer,” Leslie said in a soft voice. “She’ll go to recovery and then Jack will come out to talk to you.”

  “Thank you, you’re very kind,” Audra said, and realized she meant it.

  Leslie offered Peter a kolache and then with a swift jerk of hip, hefted the tray from the table and moved to the people on the other side of the room. Audra spotted Peter’s gaze on Leslie’s legs and whispered, “Okay, so she’s beautiful, sexy, and nice.”

  He smiled down at her, his blue eyes twinkling so like Warren Beatty in Shampoo. “So, now you really hate her, right?”

  Audra sighed. “How can I? She’s the only one who’s treated me like half a human being, even if she provides way too much history of her sexual escapades.”

  “With Jack of course,” he said, his tone suddenly serious.

  She shrugged. “I’m safe, don’t worry about me.”

  Peter leaned closer. “I’ve seen the way he watches you when he thinks you aren’t looking.”

  Jack hadn’t watched her any way, except with annoyance. “You’re mistaken. We’re barely civil. Except when it comes to Kara.”

  Apparently he didn’t agree. “I’ve seen you watching him, too.”

  “If I’m watching him it’s only to determine his ability to help Kara.”

  “If you say so.” Peter settled back in the vinyl chair and flipped open Newsweek.

  Audra wanted to continue the conversation but couldn’t risk the coffee klatch overhearing. Or Joe Wheyton, who seemed to gimp by whenever she and Peter leaned in to talk to one another. She knew what they were all thinking. The messages were as clear as if they wore neon billboards on their chests. She’s just like her mother, flitting from one man to the next. But one woman knew differently, even believed Corrine’s corruption hadn’t started until the rumors mounted and the man she truly loved cast her aside. Doris O’Brien had given her a list of men. Their names were familiar—Audra had even gone to school with a few of their children. She would begin the search tomorrow and was planning ways to approach these men when Jack burst through the surgery doors. He headed straight for her, looking tired and worn in his scrubs and cap with his mask dangling around his neck.

  “Audra,” he said in a hoarse voice.

  She jumped up, oblivious to anyone but him. “How is she?”

  He laid a hand on her shoulder, a comforting gesture of doctor to parent. Then the touch changed ever so slightly as he squeezed the flesh beneath her cotton shirt. “She’s in recovery.” His eyes never left hers. “Everything went well. We were able to make room for the cerebellum.”

  Relief made her weak. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but Joe Wheyton interrupted in a blast of expectation. “How’s our girl, Jack? Your mother’s beside herself here.”

  Jack’s hand fell to his side and he turned to face the group on the other side of the room. “Kara’s doing well. The next several hours are critical, but she’s young and strong.”

  The room burst into excited chatter. Would they be able to see her? When? How long would she remain in the hospital? Would she need medication when she went home? And then, bolder questions—what were the chances this surgery was the last? Was she cured?

  Audra listened as Jack addressed each question, careful to explain, hesitant to predict. When it came to the question of another surgery and cure, he sidestepped this altogether, stating only that it was much too soon to tell.

  “I’m sure Audra would like to see her daughter,” he said, signaling an end to the bombardment of questions.

  “Jack”—his mother tugged on his sleeve, her eyes pleading—“will I be able to see her, too? Just for a second?”

  He glanced at Audra, silently asking permission, and she found herself nodding. “Okay, once Audra sees her. And Mom”—he fixed her with a firm look—“just for a second.”

  She nodded, pressing the rosary she held to her lips.

  “Praise be to the Lord,” Joyce murmured.

  “And mercy on all His children,” Marion added.

  “Amen,” Tilly finished.

  Audra followed Jack to the recovery room, leaving Peter with Joe Wheyton and the biddies. Jack had saved Kara’s life, and whatever else they’d shared, the sex, the betrayal, it all fell away when she stood over her daughter, staring at the closed eyelids, the smooth forehead, the blond curls spilling across the starch-white pillow. With the exception of the IV running in her left arm, Kara looked no different than any other sleeping child.

  “I know you said you’d only shave a patch of hair, but I thought I’d be able to tell,” she whispered, studying her daughter’s neck.

  “There’s a patch in the back, about four inches long, but once it grows back, you won’t see it.”

  Audra gripped the side rails.
“She’ll look normal, but she won’t be.” She sniffed and blinked hard. “I don’t even know what’s normal anymore.”

  “That’s enough.” Jack grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the bed. He didn’t speak again until they were several feet away near a supply room. He opened the door and motioned her inside amidst shelves of medical supplies. “Never say anything in front of a sleeping patient you wouldn’t say to their face.” His expression turned dark. “Haven’t you heard of people in comas who can hear?”

  “I didn’t think—”

  “No. You didn’t.”

  He advanced on her and backed her against the supply door. “She’ll need every ounce of strength you have to pull her through this. You’ve got to be strong for her.” Jack placed both hands on either side of her head. “Look at me.”

  He was too close. “I’m sorry,” she said again, fixing her gaze on the mask dangling from his neck.

  “Audra. Look at me.”

  No man had ever zeroed in on her emotions the way Jack did. He knew how to touch, stroke, and strip her with a few words.

  “Audra.”

  She met his gaze—a mix of anger and desire—and wished she hadn’t.

  “I cursed the day I met you.” He plunged his hands into her hair. “You put a wedge between me and my brother.” One hand slipped along her neck, traced her collarbone. “Gave my mother untold years of misery.” His index finger dipped beneath the opening of her shirt, stroked a sliver of flesh. “You made my life a living hell. And yet”—he undid the top two buttons of her shirt and slid a hand inside to unclasp the front of her bra—“I can’t get you out of my system. Even after all these years.” He moved closer, rested his forehead against hers and breathed, “I can’t forget.”

  When he kissed her, she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue as he plunged deep inside, stroking, probing, stripping away years of denial. When he lifted her skirt and buried his hand inside her panties, cupping her sex, she groaned and moved against his fingers. When he yanked down his scrubs with an impatient jerk, she helped him, desperate for the taut flesh she’d once known so well.

  And when he turned her against the metal door until her breasts flattened and spread her legs wide, she knew what was coming. Wanted it. Needed it. He entered her with one vicious thrust, hard and long, and full. Everything stopped for the briefest of seconds—her breath, his groans, their hearts—and then he grabbed her hips and thrust into her, erasing nine years of separation with each pump, until they both exploded, hard and long, and full.

  They didn’t move for several minutes as their breathing evened and relaxed. Audra kept her face turned to the side, staring at a carton of catheters. She wouldn’t think right now. She couldn’t. Jack stepped away and she heard the rustle of clothing as he adjusted his scrubs.

  “Open up,” he said softly, nudging her legs apart. She felt limp and wobbly, disconnected from her body. He dabbed her sex with a wad of Kleenex, gently wiping the tiny stream escaping down her right leg. When he finished, he pulled her panties up and smoothed her skirt. Audra stepped away from the door and fastened her bra. She didn’t turn around. “Audra.”

  There it was again—that voice. The one that made her forget who she was and what she stood for. That voice made her forget she hated him. For once, she ignored it. Instead, she buttoned her shirt and opened the supply room door.

  Chapter 19

  “All I’m trying to figure out is if it’s already happened or if it’s coming around the bend.”—Bernie Kalowicz

  “Jack? Hey, I just told you Leslie and I were going to Vegas for a week of sex and gambling and all you said was ‘Have a good time.’ What’s with you?”

  Jack scratched the stubble on his jaw and closed the chart in front of him. “Long day.”

  “Right.” Bernie eyed him like a damn cross-examiner. “So, you don’t care if Leslie and I take off then? She’s feeling a little neglected lately and I told her I know just the cure.”

  “Carolyn would emasculate you before you reached the take-off gate.”

  Bernie scowled. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about her.” He picked up the chart on Jack’s desk. “I guess wives don’t go for their men having flings, do they?”

  “Can’t say, as I’ve never had a wife, but my guess is, no.”

  “Damn. I’ll have to break the news to Leslie.” He flashed Jack a grin. “She’s going to be awfully disappointed.” He sucked in his size 44 belly and flexed his grizzly-sized arms.

  “I’m sure she will be, but she’ll manage.”

  Bernie let out a laugh and flopped onto one of the chairs opposite Jack’s desk. “Seriously, man, what’s up with you?” He eyed the rumpled blanket and pillow on the couch in the corner. “You should go home.”

  “Not yet.” Jack reached for another file. If he went home now Leslie might be waiting for him. In bed. Naked. He wasn’t ready for that. An empty house might also force him to think about what happened between him and Audra in the supply closet. Not that he’d been able to think of anything else these past few days. The feel of her, the taste, the smell. Nothing could erase that no matter how many charts he read.

  “I’m thinking we can discharge your niece tomorrow.”

  Jack had been thinking the same thing. There’d been no sign of fever or cerebral spinal fluid leakage. Cranial pressure readings were good, vitals were steady. Time to go home.

  “She really doesn’t like you, does she?”

  “Who?” Of course he knew who Bernie meant.

  “Audra. You know, tall, dark hair, killer legs. I try to throw your name in now and again, seeing as you’re the premier surgeon at this hospital, but she turns up her nose like you’re a pile of manure in ninety degree weather.”

  “Thanks for the visual.”

  Bernie kicked off a clog and planted a size 13 on the edge of Jack’s desk. “I know your family’s got issues with her and she’s not exactly thrilled to be here, but there’s something between the two of you that reeks like ten-day-old milk.”

  Jack ignored Bernie and his farm boy analogies.

  “Are you gonna tell me, or do I ask her?”

  Jack’s head shot up. “Don’t you dare talk to her about anything other than Kara. I mean it, Bernie.”

  “Hmmm.” His partner tapped his chin and nodded his bushy head. “Sounds like I hit a splinter.”

  “Shut up or I’ll kick your ass back to that hick farm in Pennsylvania you came from.”

  “Does Leslie know?”

  Jack was past irritated. He was royally pissed. “Know what?”

  Bernie leaned forward and lowered his voice to a quiet rumble, “I come from a thirty-acre farm where six year olds see bulls mating. So, I know a mating ritual when I see one. All I’m trying to figure out is if it’s already happened or if it’s coming around the bend.”

  ***

  Under any other circumstances, Audra would have turned and run from the shuttered Victorian which housed one of Holly Springs’ founding families. The Ruittenberg name was splashed on buildings, street signs, even the community pool.

  They were not a friendly people. While in office, the Honorable Victor Ruittenberg faxed drunk and disorderly convictions to The Holly Springs Sentinel as a lesson for the ‘weak in spirit’. His wife, Telda, refused to let her staff eat indoors or use the bathroom facilities, demanding they find other accommodations. The daughters, Glenda and Gretchen possessed a similar air of superiority, labeling girls without designer clothes cheap and tawdry though rumor had it Glenda made out with two thirds of the football team senior year and Gretchen stole enough lipstick and eye shadow from Mr. Crutchfield’s Drugstore to open a cosmetic counter. Her name did not appear in the weekly newspaper blotter.

  The Ruittenberg’s only son, Malcolm, held the distinction of robbing a liquor store and a bingo hall in the same night, not that he needed vodka or money as one could find plenty of both in the Ruittenberg cupboards. Rumor had Malcolm performing the deeds to force his father into a m
oral dilemma, which of course, the Honorable Judge failed when he threw his son’s case out of court for lack of evidence or witnesses, which then prompted the sixteen year old to steal a car and parade it down Main Street. He got plenty of witnesses, evidence, and a three year sentence.

  Audra glanced at the wobbly handwriting on the paper she held. Doris O’Brien had written three names, two were Audra’s potential fathers and the third had information. Malcolm Ruittenberg was number one on the list. Audra worked her way up the brick walk lined with blood-red petunias and rang the doorbell. A young woman of no more than twenty opened the door dressed in a French maid outfit complete with fishnets and stilettos.

  “I’m looking for Mr. Ruittenberg. Is he available?” Audra tried not to stare at the girl’s cleavage which resembled a Victoria Secrets’ cover.

  “Depends,” she said, giving Audra a long once over. “Are you one of Trilla’s girls? Mal didn’t like the last one they sent, said she was too young, even for him.”

  Too young for what?

  “Come on in. You’re a little on the old side but you might do. Put your shoes over there.” She pointed to a brown Rubbermaid tray. “Mal doesn’t like shoes in the house.” She glanced down at her own four-inch heels and shrugged, “Unless we’re playing dress up.”

  Please do not let this pervert be my father. Audra shoved the paper with names on it in her pocket and followed the French maid down a corridor lined with gold-framed photographs of dogs. When they reached the end of the corridor, the woman knocked softly and said in jerky French, “You have a visitor, Monsieur Malcolm.” A stream of perfect French blasted the door. The woman teetered back on her stilettos and said, “I think that means he doesn’t want to see you.”

  Kara’s life could depend on this visit and whether the man cursed her in French, Russian, or Japanese, she was going to see him. “It’s okay. You go on. I’ll just be a few minutes.”