by Susan Wiggs
“So how’d it go? You okay?” Brad asked.
“Great. We’re all set for tomorrow. Brad, I want you to meet Sam McPhee. Sam, this is Bradley Lovell.”
“You’re the guy,” Brad said, his voice controlled. “The guy in the paper.” He patted the side of his Louis Vuitton flight bag, stuffed with folded newspapers. “Michelle told me all about you.”
“Yeah?” Sam looked over at her, lifting an eyebrow. “She didn’t tell me squat about you.” There was nothing—nothing—J. Crew about his looks. It was obvious he hadn’t shaved today. He had on time-worn jeans that had custom-tailored themselves to his long, lean body. A gray athletic sweatshirt and a baseball cap. And he was asking her with his eyes: What did you tell him, Michelle? Did you tell him we made love? Did you tell him you saw stars? Did you tell him you cried yourself to sleep that night?
“Michelle said you used to be… what, some sort of hired hand at her dad’s place?” Brad spoke nonchalantly, as if it really didn’t matter to him. A small muscle tensed in Sam’s jaw.
“That was years ago, Brad,” she said, breaking in. “Sam’s a physician now. I told you that, too.”
“So what are you doing here?” Brad’s gaze was blunt and challenging as he glared at Sam.
“Wondering why a guy would let Michelle go through this alone.”
The testosterone was getting thick, she thought wryly. “I’ll tell you what he’s not doing. He’s not getting into a pissing contest with you.” She scowled at Sam, then at Brad, daring them to defy her. “In case you’ve forgotten, this is about my father.”
Sam went to the door. She knew he was not retreating. It was clear on his face that he wasn’t through with her yet. “I have to get back. I’m on call this afternoon. So I guess… I’ll see Cody after school tomorrow.” He stared at her for a moment, and she felt strange soft echoes of the way he had touched her when they made love. He adjusted the bill of his baseball cap. “Your transplant team’s the best. Everything will be fine.”
Michelle felt compelled to explain to Brad, “Cody’s going to stay with Sam this week.”
Brad let out a low whistle. “More power to you. Don’t let him pull the wool over your eyes. The kid’s bad news.”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “My son is the best news I’ve ever had. See you around, Michelle.”
Brad turned to her before Sam was even out the door. “Hey, I didn’t expect a three-ring circus,” he said. His easy grin relaxed her. This was the Brad she knew, the one who charmed her clients at office parties, the one who took her out to dinner every Friday night, the one who attended swing-dancing lessons just because she asked him to.
Even as she welcomed his familiar presence, she felt Sam’s absence, a dark and gaping hole in the day. A sense of unfinished business. And the terrible, wonderful words echoing through her: I’m listening to my heart. She should have let him go on, but she hadn’t dared.
“God, what a week it’s been.” She deposited the papers and magazines on the floor.
One week. In that short span of time, the world had been transformed. Everything she used to believe was being challenged, pushed, reshaped. Everything she thought she had planned out was starting to unravel.
Even the idea of family. When she was growing up, “family” was something she and her mother lacked. When she was bringing up Cody, it was something she insisted they define for themselves. “Family” included Natalie, who was the sort of aunt every kid wanted, the sort of sister every woman should have, related by something much more potent than blood. And it was Brad, who tried to get along with Cody because of her, an effort she knew not many men would make. Cody hadn’t been making it easy for him.
Now the circle widened to encompass her father, and Sam, and even Tammi Lee, who—wonder of wonders—had spent the day with Cody yesterday. She had to fit them into her life now. She needed to.
“So did he spend the night here, or what?” Brad asked bluntly.
For a second, she was too stunned to answer. “I can’t believe you asked me that.”
“I can’t believe I showed up at your hotel room at ten in the morning and found some guy with you.”
“He’s not some guy. He’s Cody’s father.”
“Then he should be with Cody.”
“He was worried about the bullshit story in that tabloid. He wanted to talk to me about it.”
“Yeah, he looked real worried to me.” Brad took a tin of Altoids out of his shirt pocket and offered her one. She shook her head, and he said, “You didn’t answer me, Michelle.”
“Answer what?”
“Did you sleep with him or not?”
Sleep? She could safely deny that. No sleeping had taken place. “I had a surgical procedure yesterday. I ordered a tuna sandwich from room service and watched HBO last night.” She folded her arms defensively in front of her. “Why did you show up without calling first?”
“I wanted to surprise you. Wanted to do something spontaneous.”
“You’ve never done a spontaneous thing in your life.”
“Okay, so maybe that tabloid thing made me curious.”
As he lowered himself to the bed and put his arms around her, she realized she had a lot of things to explain to Brad. A huge confusion swirled through her. She knew she should confess, but she had no idea how to begin.
“Have you had breakfast yet?” she asked him, chickening out.
“A cold bagel and weak coffee on the early flight.”
“We could join Cody and my father downstairs, or maybe call for room service.”
“Room service sounds good.” He went over to the desk, picked up the hotel guide with the menus in it.
While he was reading off the selections, the divider door to the adjoining room opened. Natalie, who had driven down to be with Michelle during yesterday’s procedure, waltzed in. Her bright hair was damp from a shower, her skirts and shawl shimmering around her. “Beat you to it, buddy.” She crossed the room to give Brad a kiss on the cheek. “I already ordered breakfast.” Her smile was full of mischief as she winked at him. “But I’ll let you buy it, okay?”
“God, it is a circus,” he said, standing back to look at Natalie. “We’ve got the tattooed lady and everything.”
She touched a spot just above her left breast. “You’re not supposed to know about my tattoo.”
“You weren’t supposed to go topless in my hot tub, either,” he reminded her, laughing.
Michelle laughed, too, remembering that night last summer. Natalie had come over, weeping because she’d just dumped her current boyfriend, a timpani player named Stan. A few tequila slammers later, they had stripped down and jumped, giggling, into the hot tub on Brad’s deck. Michelle hadn’t realized back then that he’d noticed the tattoo.
Natalie stuck her tongue out at him and came bounding over to the bed, sitting on the end. “Okay, so give me a report.”
“I’m fine. Had a great night,” Michelle told her.
“Really?”
“Really. I’m dying for a shower.”
“I thought you weren’t supposed to get that incision wet.”
Brad rifled around in his bag. “I’m way ahead of you, babe.” He brought out a packet of DermaSeal, something from the pharmacy to keep wounds dry during bathing.
“You’re a lifesaver.” She hiked up the hem of her nightgown. “Have at it.”
“This is too kinky for me,” Natalie declared, hurrying to the window and looking out.
In the shower, Michelle took longer than she should, standing in the steamy tub, feeling the water needle down on her neck, shoulders, back. After a long time and plenty of soap, she got out of the shower and put on leggings and a loose sweater, wrapped a towel around her head. When she walked out to the bedroom, there was Natalie in the lotus position on the floor, her eyes closed and her lips moving soundlessly. It was a bizarre start to a day that promised only to get more bizarre.
Beginning with the breakfast Natalie had ordered—ch
eese blintzes, fruit compote, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, and a pot of herb tea. Michelle sat on the edge of the bed, nibbling a croissant, and it hit her. Brad had barely mentioned Cody. The kid had just found the father he never knew, and Brad hadn’t even asked about what the experience had been like for Cody.
She wondered why. Was it because he felt threatened?
“So I was talking to the concierge, and he gave me a list of recommendations for tonight.” Natalie passed her a folder with the hotel logo on it.
“What’s tonight?” Brad asked.
“The night before the big event, numb-nuts.” She sampled a spiced apple from the fruit compote. “I decided we need a party.”
“A party? You can’t just have a party—”
“Watch me.” She rolled her eyes. “God, Mr. Wet Blanket, can’t you for once in your life be spontaneous? I bet you schedule your bowel movements.”
“You’re a real charmer, Natalie. You really are.”
“Just listen, okay? Tomorrow, Michelle and her dad are going to make a miracle. Don’t you think it would be good karma to mark the occasion in some way?”
Michelle expected him to argue, but instead he softened. “A kidney party. It would be a first for me.”
“Wait till you see the menu,” Michelle warned him, giving Natalie a hug.
Monday
Chapter 31
Michelle stared at the glowing red digits of the hotel-room clock: 4:45 A.M. She was supposed to be asleep, resting up for the big event that loomed only hours away.
The truth was, she had barely slept at all. Natalie’s party had been as strange and wonderful as Natalie herself. The group, consisting of Gavin, Brad, Cody, Natalie, and Michelle, had occupied a corner of the restaurant. Somehow, Natalie had managed to get Dr. Kehr, Donna Roberts, both surgeons, and Dr. Temple to show up. Natalie and Cody hung up balloon people with incisions drawn on them. Some of the balloons bore terse instructions: Please close carefully after opening. Did you leave anything behind? Please check in the overhead compartment for personal belongings. Lave los manos.
The laughter and toasts ranged from silly to sentimental. Her family, Michelle had thought, regarding them with a powerful surge of affection. They were not exactly a Norman Rockwell painting, but they were hers, and her love for them burned strong and steady. The doctors, acting officious, broke up the party by eight o’clock, sending Gavin to sterile isolation and advising everyone to get a good night’s sleep. Michelle wanted to feel grateful for Brad’s closeness, for the familiar feel of his arms around her as they lay in the dark of the hotel room. But it felt awkward being with Brad again. In Seattle, she had become accustomed to a predictable schedule, making plans together, letting herself in and out of his house at will, confident of her place in his life. Now she didn’t know anything at all.
She moved restlessly in the bed. Brad awakened, squinting at the clock. “Hey, stranger.”
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said.
“I sure wouldn’t mind making love to you,” he whispered.
She froze, her throat locking shut. Dear God.
“But we need to watch that incision.” Brad’s pronouncement rescued her from having to answer. “Besides, I bet that’s the last thing on your mind.”
Had he always done that? Made up her mind for her? Idiot, she told herself. He was a stable, responsible man who knew her well. Most women would kill to have that.
He turned over, mumbling, “Go back to sleep, Michelle.”
Sleep. He was telling her to sleep when she needed him to listen. Really listen—to her fears and apprehensions about the surgery, her guilt and confusion about Sam. She sat up in bed, looped her arms around her drawn-up knees, moving gingerly to protect the incision. “Brad?”
A long-suffering sigh. “Yeah?”
“If something goes wrong with this surgery—”
“Hold on,” he said, reaching over and snapping on the lamp. “We’ve discussed this. As a donor, your risk is completely within reasonable limits.”
“Of course,” she agreed. “But I thought you should know. If anything happens to me, I’m leaving Cody in the custody of Sam. I had the papers redrafted yesterday.”
“Makes sense, since he’s the kid’s father. But it’s a moot point. You’re not in any danger. You’ll be home before you know it, and all this will be behind you.”
“No.” She barely spoke above a whisper. “I don’t think it’s going to turn out like that.”
“So do you want me to stay?” he asked.
She knew he’d wait through the surgery if she asked him to. But was that what she had been doing with Brad the past couple of years?
Making him stick around?
“No,” she said. “Everything is going to be fine. You don’t need to stay.”
He was quiet for a long time. Then, with a small, curious smile on his lips, he got out of bed and slowly, deliberately got dressed.
She got up, feeling ill at ease. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Michelle.” His voice was quiet, firm. “I know what you’re going to say.”
It had been a long, strange week, she was an emotional wreck and a ball of anxiety, but she got it. She finally got it. They’d had a good run, she and Brad, three years of a relationship that went no deeper than the epidermis. And they didn’t even have to discuss this. Just by watching his face, she could see that they had come to the same conclusion independently. But it was time to move on. He deserved more. She deserved more. Sam hadn’t made her any promises yesterday, but she didn’t need promises. She simply needed to be free.
“I feel like crying,” she admitted.
“I hate when you cry.”
“I know.” A very slow smile formed on her lips. “That’s why I never do it around you.” She sat quietly on the bed while he finished packing and phoned to check on the early commuter flight to Seattle. A brief, awkward peck on the cheek, a wish for luck, and then he was gone.
After Brad left, she crossed to the glass doors that led out onto a second-story balcony. The heavy drapes were shut, but she could hear the sounds of the road outside, trucks’ air brakes hissing, the scrape of snowplow and sander.
There was a table in front of the window, and on the table was a telephone. She could take it outside, sit in the cold predawn, and call Sam on the pretext of last-minute instructions about Cody.
She hated it that she wanted to call him.
Fighting the impulse, she stared at a narrow gap in the curtains. The sky was getting lighter. And something started to happen in her head. She couldn’t look away from that space. Almond-shaped, it framed nothing but the sky, yet her mind transformed what she was seeing. The slender gap in the drapes became a round, ripe, pregnant shape. Or an eye. Or a raindrop. Or the space between two praying hands.
It was a space that she suddenly wanted—needed—to fill.
On the table lay the flat folio box with the art supplies Natalie had brought from Seattle. Almost without thinking, Michelle grabbed a pencil and began drawing in the half-light, her heart guiding her hand. Something inside her had come unstopped, and it gushed over the paper, and she filled page after page, her hand barely able to match the speed with which the images and emotions overtook her.
By the time the sun tinged the sky with a pink blush, she sat at the table with tears streaming down her cheeks. Maybe it was only for a moment, maybe it wouldn’t last, but for the past hour she had glowed with an inner light she thought had burned out. She didn’t know what had sparked the change; it was probably a combination of everything that was happening: being back in Montana, saying good-bye to Brad, facing the surgery, finding Sam again.
With shaking hands, she looked at what she had done. She had no judgment. Trash or treasure, she couldn’t tell. But the work was hers. She knew where it came from, and it was a place more honest, more deep, than anything she had recognized in herself in more years than she could count.
She felt a certain
quiet reverence as she gathered up the drawings and slipped them into the zipper compartment of her suitcase. And for the first time as she faced the surgery, she thought, I can do this. I can do this.
When the radio clicked on at precisely 6:00 A.M., she was ready.
As ready as anyone could be for an organ transplant.
* * *
The final preparations felt almost surreal. Forms being checked and double-checked. Signatures in triplicate. Meetings, IV drips, paper gowns and caps. Cody and Natalie hovering, chattering nervously. Michelle looked in on her father and found him waiting with a patience and a stillness that broke her heart. When an orderly came to take her away to her private room, Gavin turned to her.
Neither of them said anything. Gavin put his hand on his heart. She did the same, afraid to speak, afraid she might cry. What do I do? she wondered. If she said her good-byes, did that mean she was afraid something would go wrong, that she’d never see him again? If she said nothing, what would they have to hang on to if something did go wrong?
In silence, with all the unsaid things screaming inside her, she walked away, following the orderly to her room.
She hovered wildly between acting like this was the most mundane of procedures and feeling convinced, as Natalie was, that it was a spiritual event. Natalie and Cody came in. Each bent to kiss her, to murmur “I love you,” and to hear her whispered echo of the phrase. Cody looked pale, unable for once to cover his apprehension with attitude. She hadn’t said much about Brad—just that he’d taken the early flight to Seattle. Explanations would come later.
She was glad Cody was starting school. He needed the distraction. Rather than pacing the halls during the procedure, Natalie would be driving him back to Crystal City in time for first bell.
“It’s going to be all right, Cody,” she said from her hospital bed.
“What if it’s not?” he asked, his voice breaking as it sometimes still did.
“You have to believe it’ll be all right.” Michelle watched his face, loving him with all the fullness of her heart. “For months the doctors have been telling us that attitude is everything. That includes your attitude.”
