Husband: Some Assembly Required

by Marie Ferrarella

  Sally patted her daughter’s arm, letting herself be led off like a child seeking guidance. “You’re a good daughter, Shawna.”

  Shawna smiled indulgently at her mother. “I know.”

  Chapter Seven

  She wasn’t at her best today.

  Shawna had spent the better part of the previous evening and most of the ensuing night sitting in the kitchen, nursing lukewarm mugs of tea and talking about her mother’s problem.

  Listening actually would have been a more accurate description of what had transpired. Listening and offering words of comfort whenever her mother took a momentary respite. Her mother, usually so flamboyant and outrageous, had been like a small, hurt child last night. A child in need of reassurance that she was still lovely, still lovable. It seemed like forever before she talked herself out and finally went to sleep. Shawna gave her the bedroom.

  What there was left of the night Shawna had passed trying to find a comfortable spot on the sofa.

  There wasn’t one.

  She’d slept in tiny, fitful snatches and felt worse when she got up than when she had lain down. It brought her days in medical school and residency back in vivid colors.

  Consequently, Shawna felt ill equipped to face the day. But it was there, waiting for her whether she was up to it or not.

  Attempting to kick-start her system, she drank three cups of strong coffee in rapid succession, threw a handful of saltine crackers into her purse in lieu of breakfast and was out of the house before her mother, a habitual late riser, ever opened her eyes.

  Shawna had no time to attempt to rouse her mother. Besides, she judged as she drove away, her mother was undoubtedly exhausted and needed her sleep. And she had a radial keratotomy waiting for her first thing in the morning.

  * * *

  Jeanne Hawkins walked into Shawna’s office and stood quietly in the doorway, waiting for Shawna to look up. It was just a few minutes past twelve and Shawna had been on the go since she had walked in at eight-thirty.

  When Shawna sensed her presence and glanced up, Jeanne shook her head. Cheeks as round as Washington apples spread wide as the woman smiled.

  “How do you do it?” It was a rhetorical question. If pressed, Jeanne wouldn’t have been able to think of a single person she admired more than Shawna, and she had been in medicine for the past twenty-three years. “You’ve had a waiting room crowded to overflowing with patients who you’ve managed to attend to, all before lunch. You’ve been going nonstop since you came in from the hospital, which is probably where you’re going to spend your lunch hour.”

  Her assumption was confirmed by the slight smile of acknowledgment on Shawna’s lips.

  “And I know that tonight’s your night for the clinic.” Jeanne’s expression was one of awed mystification. “Just how do you do it?”

  Shawna never really thought about the pace she maintained, which was the blessing. That was her goal, to be too busy to think. Too busy to feel.

  Last night had been an exception. “I just do.”

  Mechanically, as she had been doing all morning after each patient, Shawna reached for her mug and took a sip of the coffee that was always standing ready for her. She shivered and frowned, setting it aside. The coffee was beginning to taste more and more like sludge.

  Jeanne was still studying her. “Maybe it’s the vitamins,” Shawna added.

  If that was true, there would be a run on vitamins at every drugstore and market. “Remind me to order a gross for myself.”

  Shawna closed the patient folder she’d been making notations in. Jane McBee. She’d performed cataract surgery successfully on the woman, doing first one eye, then the other four months later. After a year Jane, a feisty eighty-year-old, was doing better than ever.

  Turning in her chair, Shawna looked at her assistant. Jeanne did look a little tired. “Hard night?”

  Jeanne laughed, tickled at the question. “When you’ve got four boys, all in different grades, all with papers due ‘now, Mom,’ the word ‘hard’ doesn’t begin to cover it. Thanks to Willie, my youngest, I now know more about Wisconsin’s dairy products than I ever wanted to in my wildest dreams.” Despite her complaint, Jeanne fairly glowed, just as she always did when she talked about her sons. “Mind if I send over a couple of the boys to you? You at least have the energy to keep up with them.”

  Shawna thought of the cramped condition of her apartment. Her mother’s evaluation came to mind immediately. “Sure, I’ll squeeze them in.”

  The phrase nudged Jeanne’s memory. “Speaking of squeezing, he’s back.” She nodded toward the hall.

  Shawna rose slowly. “He?”

  If the doctor was oblivious to the man she had seen a couple of days ago, the woman had no pulse. “The gorgeous hunk who told me you said to squeeze him in the other day.” Jeanne’s expression grew dreamy. “Wouldn’t mind doing a little squeezing of my own with him.”

  Shawna’s mouth quirked. Jeanne was almost old enough to be Murphy’s mother. Unlike her own mother, Jeanne exuded motherly warmth. Her idea of an exciting time was to curl up with her husband and watch a rented movie while her sons played basketball in the backyard. “Jeanne, you’re a married woman.”

  Jeanne’s chuckle was surprisingly lusty. Murphy, Shawna mused, seemed to bring out the sensual side of every woman whose path he crossed.

  “Yeah, I know, but I can dream, can’t I?” She noticed that Shawna, usually a portrait of perpetual motion, was just standing there. “Do you want to see him?” Just like the last time, he’d had no appointment, but had prevailed on her to “squeeze him in” again. Because Jeanne knew Shawna had only one more patient scheduled for the morning, she figured it was worth a shot.

  Did she want to see him? Shawna thought. Yes.

  No.

  Suddenly nervous, Shawna chose to procrastinate for a moment. “Sure, give me a minute to throw this out.” She lifted her mug.

  Like a hawk swooping out of the sky and snatching its prey, Jeanne took the mug. “Here, I’ll do it for you.”

  Left without an excuse, Shawna followed Jeanne out into the hall. She glanced toward the front. Only one of the patient rooms had a closed door.

  I’ll take door number two, Monty. The phrase floated to her out of the recesses of her childhood. She’d spent hours alone, with only the television set on in the background to keep her company.

  Jeanne pointed toward the room. “I put him in room two for you.”

  Shawna nodded, then remembered why Murphy was coming in. “Did his M.R.I. arrive yet?”

  “Half an hour ago. It’s on the side shelf in your office.” Jeanne tossed the words over her shoulder as she rounded the corner to the tiny kitchen they maintained in the back.

  Shawna retraced her steps to her office. The huge manila envelope was just where Jeanne had said it was, leaning to one side. How had she missed that?

  Because she hadn’t had the time to look around, that’s why. The morning was a blur from this vantage point.

  Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she pulled out the large, flat sheet. At first glance it looked like a ghoulish composite of undeveloped film. She placed it on the view box and flipped the light switch on the side. Muted light shone through the various negatives. There were twelve different angles of Murphy’s cranium. Shawna studied each in turn and stopped abruptly as she came to the third one.

  Bingo.

  There was no missing it.

  The fact that her prognosis had been correct didn’t please her. She didn’t need to read the two-page report that accompanied the films to tell her what was wrong, but she did just to be thorough.

  When she finished reading, she laid the pages aside. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, trying to ease the tension. Murphy’s condition didn’t generate a life-and-death scenario, but it wasn’t a walk in the park, either.

  What was worse, she couldn’t seem to divorce herself from the case, couldn’t quite take the distant, professional view that had always been her
mainstay. This time, she took it personally.

  That wasn’t good.

  With a sigh, Shawna took the unwieldy sheet with its accompanying report and went to see Murphy. To tell him what they both already knew and had been hoping against.

  Murphy was standing by the enameled worktable, attempting to entertain himself by looking through the various lenses that were housed along the wooden cubby. When she opened the door he turned, startled, looking like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

  Very carefully he replaced the last lens and took his seat in the examination chair. His eyes never left her face.

  “Hi.” She looked a little tense, he observed. Was that because of last night? Or was there another reason behind the tight smile on her lips? “What’s the good word?”

  “Hello.” For a second, as she placed the report to the side, she couldn’t get herself to say anything else.

  She was definitely uncomfortable. He had a feeling it was more than just last night that was causing it. “No other good words, eh?” Crossing his arms, he resigned himself to what she was about to say. “All right, what did they find?”

  Instead of answering immediately, Shawna placed the gray-and-white sheet of images against the view box. She turned on the light switch and stepped back.

  Murphy rose and joined her. He studied it in silence for a long moment. “They didn’t get my best side.”

  With the tip of her index finger, Shawna pointed to a small region just behind his left eye. There seemed to be a light dot there, no larger than a pencil point. It seemed incredible that something so minor could be the source of all this trouble.

  And yet it was.

  “What you have is rather unusual. That blow to the head you sustained during the fire caused a small vessel attached to the dura—the outer covering of the brain,” she interjected for his benefit, “to tear. That led to the accumulation of blood between it and the brain. You have what’s known as a subdural hematoma located near the optic canal. That’s where the optic nerves leave the brain and run through the skull to end in the eyes. Essentially, that tiny clot is what’s responsible for your dizziness and that in-and-out feeling that you’ve been experiencing.”

  So saying, she switched off the light and then laid the sheet aside. It suddenly seemed like a macabre reminder of what lay ahead.

  Murphy slipped his hands into his pockets, feeling defenseless and hating it. “Any chance of it just going away?”

  She knew that was what he was hoping for. Though she was suddenly tempted to comfort him, she couldn’t give him false hope. “I suppose that anything is possible, but it’s also highly improbable.”

  That was not what he wanted to hear. Despite their conversation last night, he wanted her to tell him that the clot would dissolve on its own and he could go about his life, business as usual.

  Damn it, he didn’t have the time to take off for an operation. Even worse, he didn’t want to think of himself as being vulnerable, not this way, as well. Commitment might not be something he could place his trust in, but he thought he could rely on himself. There had to be something he could always rely on.

  He stared out the window. “But it could happen.”

  Murphy’s tone begged for an affirmation. She couldn’t give it. Shawna shook her head, denying him the lifeline he was asking for. “More likely, if you don’t have it taken care of—” Taken care of. What an inane euphemism for surgery, she thought.

  He’d always been able to face things head-on before. He was ashamed of himself for looking for another route now. “Yes?”

  “There’s a chance that you could go blind in that eye.”

  He raised his chin, as if daring her to repeat her words. “But it’s not a sure thing.”

  Why was he being so stubborn about this? This was something that could be fixed. It wasn’t as if they were contemplating a degenerative disease. This damage she could alleviate. “Murphy, don’t tell me you’re thinking of not having the surgery.”

  He turned away from her, restless, stubborn, still unwilling to accept what she was telling him. “All right, I won’t tell you.”

  “Murphy!” She raised her voice before she could think better of it. It fairly rang with the frustration and exasperation that was stirring within her.

  He turned to look at her, surprised by her tone. “Do I have to have it right away?” He needed time to assimilate this, to think it through.

  “Not this second, no.” She was thinking of performing the surgery within a week. There were still a couple of openings left in the early-morning hours. Bids for the operating rooms went quickly.

  “All right.” Murphy nodded slowly. He’d been feeling better. There’d been no more spells, no more incidents since yesterday afternoon. He’d hoped, believed that he was coming around and that there was nothing to worry about. Now he had to face the fact that there was. “Then I want to think about it.”

  Shawna had gone into medicine because she wanted to help people. It was the one outlet she had for her passion. His stubborn resistance was eroding her patience. “There’s nothing to think about. You need to have it done.”

  They’d already established that. Painfully. “And I will, but...”

  He was hedging. Maybe she had been misreading the reason behind it. Maybe it was her he felt unsure about, not the diagnosis or the procedure. The thought stung, but she could certainly live with it. The bottom line was to get him to have the surgery. Ego had no place in medicine as far as she was concerned. Only helping did.

  “If you wait a minute, I can give you a couple of referrals to other doctors.”

  Is that why she thought he was hesitating? He didn’t want another doctor. He wanted her. He just didn’t want to rush into it.

  “You didn’t let me finish,” he said sharply, stopping her before she could continue. “I want you to do the surgery. I already told you that yesterday. It’s just that I want to get comfortable about this, all right?”

  It was a reasonable request, as long as he didn’t take too long. The fact that he had faith in her felt oddly reassuring and flattering. She drew herself up. “How long do you think that’s going to take?”

  Murphy dragged his hand through his hair. How long did it take for a man to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t immortal? That things could happen to him just as easily as to everyone else? It wasn’t a matter of ego, just a case of rampant optimism. He’d never had to deal with anything like this before. It made him feel weak, as if he had no control. After his experience with Janice, he couldn’t afford not to be in control. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “I wouldn’t advise waiting too long, Counselor.”

  There was a knock on the door before he could reply.

  Jeanne stuck her head in. She smiled at Murphy before addressing Shawna. “Doctor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a call for you on line one.”

  “Take a message.” Shawna thought it odd that Jeanne hadn’t done that automatically, the way she usually did.

  The cherubic expression on Jeanne’s face was understanding and apologetic at the same time. “It’s your mother. She insists on speaking to you.”

  She might have known. Sally Rowen wasn’t accustomed to waiting, not where her daughter was concerned. Shawna frowned. “All right, I’ll take it.” She glanced at Murphy. “I’ll be right back.”

  He’d seen the momentary flash of impatience, mingled with distress. It aroused his curiosity. But he gave no indication as he spread his hands innocently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Shawna didn’t bother commenting as she hurried out. One day in town and already her mother was disrupting her life. She wasn’t feeling overly friendly as she lifted the telephone receiver.

  “Hello, Mother. I’m afraid you’re going to have to make this quick. I’m with a patient.”

  “A good-looking one, I hope.”

  Shawna could feel her patience fraying instantly. There were far more important things in the world t
han looks. If her mother had learned that, perhaps she wouldn’t be here now, lost and alone, fearfully awaiting the ghost of Christmas Future, afraid of what it had in store. “I didn’t notice.”

  There was a cluck of sympathy mingled with a dash of sorrow on the other end. “You never notice, dear. That was always the problem with you.”

  I noticed, Mother. I noticed a lot of things. But you were never there to talk to about it. “Could we hurry this along, please? Why are you calling? Is there something wrong?”

  “Not wrong, exactly.” Shawna could envision her mother pouting on the other end. “Why didn’t you wake me before you left?”

  She’d gone into the tiny bedroom to get her clothes and to take a shower. Sally had slept through it all. She had given the impression she would have slept through a train wreck even if it had occurred in the middle of the apartment.

  “You needed your sleep. We were up late last night, remember? And I had to get to work.”

  It wasn’t that Sally wasn’t proud of what Shawna had made of herself. It was just that she viewed work, all work, as an evil that was necessary, but which frequently got in the way of having a good time.

  “Why don’t you take off early and we can go shopping? I hear the mall in South Coast has built up considerably since I lived here last.”

  Shawna wouldn’t know; she hadn’t been there. There was never any time. Her mother, she knew, adored shopping. To Shawna it was one of those things that had to be endured every so often if one didn’t want to walk around in rags. She took no joy in it.

  “I’d love to, Mother, but I have a full schedule this afternoon and then I have to be at the clinic until nine tonight.”

  She was about to suggest that they have a late dinner together when her mother interrupted with a sigh. “Don’t you ever stop working?”

  Trust her mother to want to rearrange everything according to her tastes. “I like my work, Mother.”

  “I think you like hiding behind your work.” There was a measure of pity in her voice.

  She knew exactly what her mother was referring to, even though they had never discussed it. Her mother, for lack of courage, had never said anything about the accident, not even at the funeral. Because of the pain, Shawna had never managed to bring it up herself.