The room was growing stuffy and uncomfortably warm. If he closed his eyes for any length of time, it began to spin. His stomach felt queasy, his head like modeling clay. Perhaps he had had enough to diink. Perhaps it was time to… Zack fought the unpleasant feelings, crossed to the window and opened it a slit. The cool air felt wonderful. Toby Nelms about to be shipped off to Boston… The Judge, paralyzed… The man he had chosen to treat instead, dead… He himself anathema at the hospital. Could things have possibly turned out any worse?
There are such things in this world as love and loyalty. They're allowed … Suzanne's words. He should have listened to her. He was simply too stiff, too inflexible. Connie had told him that more than once, before she had checked out of his life. Now, Suzanne was trying to tell him the same thing. Too many rules. Not enough person. He gazed out across the glistening yard, past the low thicket, to the wall of jagged rock that he had named There, hoping someone, someday, would ask him why he climbed it. The granite face, perhaps three hundred feet up and five hundred across, was the single aspect of the house that had most appealed to him when the Pine Bough realtor was first showing him around. Sloping upward at seventy-five to eighty degrees, the face crested at a broad plateau with a better than decent view of the valley.
The climb, though somewhat tricky, was one he had already made several times. But always, he suddenly realized, he had climbed in the sunlight and with equipment. Always, he had done it by the rules… He negotiated a few heel-to-toe steps without any difficulty, and stood on one foot for several seconds. The alcohol would be no problem, he decided. Probably he hadn't even drunk as much as he thought. Rules… systems… Zack strode to the hall closet, pulled on his rubber-soled climbing shoes and his windbreaker, and stuffed a small but potent flashlight into his pocket. It was time to stop being a second ehild..
.. Time to loosen up and shatter the mold… Time to break some rules … "Because it's There, " Zack cackled as he slipped out the back door and into the chilly night. "Just because it's There."
What in the hell other reason did he need?
The air held little more than a hint of the fine, black rain, but it was still cool and heavy. Several times as Zack crossed the yard and thrashed his way through the dense thicket, he swore he could see his breath. By the time he reached the base of the rock face, his climbing shoes were soaked through. Climbing alone, at night, after a few drinks, in the rain… how many more rules could he think of to break?
Perhaps, he mused, he should go up blindfolded as well. No reason to do things halfway. After a brief debate, he rejected that notion. What he was doing was quite enough for the moment-the first in a series of steps that would ultimately lead to his transformation as a person and a physician. He moved laterally through the tall grass until he located a decent starting point, and then peered upward along the ebony granite.
Above the rim, the heavily overcast sky was only slightly less black than the stone itself It was going to be a hell of a climb. And when it was over, when he had proven what he needed to prove, he would lie beneath the trees on the plateau overhead and watch as dawn floated in over the valley. The exhilaration of the adventure coursing through him, Zack reached out and pressed his palms against the damp, cool stone.
Then, with a final glance above, he was off. Five feet… ten… twenty… forty… The climb, even with the alcohol and the darkness and the rain, was a piece of cake. Fifty… sixty… seventy…
Every time he needed a sound hold, his fingers found one. He was zoned "-climbing with a beautiful smoothness and synchrony. If he had wanted to, he could have done it blindfolded. Below-now far below-he could see the candlelight flickering in the windows of his house. His street, the winding road toward the river, the occasional car, the night lights of town, with each new hold, each upward step, his vista broadened. It was a magnificent climb, he told himself… Absolutely magnificent…
Connie was right… So was Suzanne… He should have been breaking rules like this long ago… While it had been reasonable to operate on Beau Robillard-reasonable and medically sound-in the final, metaphysical analysis, perhaps it might not have been right. Ninety feet… one hundred… maybe more… Below, the steeply sloping rock had no features. Above there was only blackness. His progress was slower now, but steady still. The wind had picked up a bit, and a fine spray was, once again, spattering him through the night. Minute by minute, Zack began feeling his breath becoming shorter, his grips not quite as firm.
Foul-tasting acid started percolating into his throat and up the back of his nose. How much, exactly, had he had to drink?
Concentrate, he begged himself Use your adrenaline, your experience, and focus in… The handholds became more slippery, smaller, and more difficult to find. He was traversing more as he searched for safe leverage, ascending less. His fingers were beginning to stiffen up.
Behind him, nestled in the gloom, was his house-so tantalizingly close, so incredibly far. Without lines, descent in the dark and the rain was simply out of the question. Then, without warning, he slipped. His foot went first, skidding off the edge of a niche he thought was safe.
Instantly, his grips gave way as well. He slid ten or fifteen feet, slamming his elbow against a small outcropping and skinning his knee and his chin. He reacted instinctively, using technique and years of practice to stem the fall. Clawing and kicking at a shallow crevice, he was able to bring himself to a stop. Then, gasping, he clung to the rock until, inch by inch, he was able to work himself to a more secure spot.
His elbow and his knee were throbbing, but not broken. His lungs were on fire. Waves of cramping pain had begun to shoot from his stomach through to his back. I He looked below him. The rock face, what little of it he could discern, seemed almost smooth. It was ascend or find some way to Strap himself in where he was, and remain there until morning. Then he remembered the flashlight. How could he have forgotten it?
He loosened his grip and gingerly reached down and patted his windbreaker pocket. The light was gone-probably lost during the fall. At that moment, searing pain knifed through his gut and he vomited, retching again and again. Foul, whiskey acid poured through his mouth and out his nose, spattering onto his clothes and shoes and cascading down the rock. For five minutes, ten, he could only hang on and struggle for breath. He was in trouble. He had broken the rules, and he was in more trouble, more danger, than he had ever been in his life. Gradually, his head began to clear, and his gasping respiration slowed. He was at least a hundred fifty feet up, he guessed, maybe more. Certainly, he was more than halfway. He could use his jacket or his belt to secure himself against the rock, but in the dark, there was no real spot he could count on. His only option was to climb, and to pray. Once again, hold by hold, inch by inch, he started upward. The rain and the wind were real factors now, making every grip more treacherous, every ledge less dependable.
The taste in his mouth and throat was abominable, the stiffness in his fingers, elbow, and knees worsening every second. Still, he climbed. It was all so stupid. He had taken on the cliff to… to what? He couldn't even remember. All that was clear was that he had taken a bad situation and made it much, much worse. He glanced behind himself. His house was a toy, a shadow, vaguely discernible against the glow of a nearby streetlight. Peering up the rock face, through the rain overhead, he could almost swear he saw the edge of the plateau. The pitch seemed steeper, the handholds even smaller. Zack scanned the rock face to his right, looking for a traverse that would set up the last segment of his climb. Damn, but he needed that light.
It had been stupid, arrogant, and careless not to have tied it on.
Stupid, arrogant, careless… That thought brought the wisp of a smile.
Before his great decision to break free of his personal constraints, he had been none of the three. One limb at a time, he worked his way across the rock, searching with his fingertips for the changes that would, once again, guide him upward. Almost there, he urged himself on… Almost there… Almost… Before he could adjust or e
ven react, his right foot missed its plant and skimmed off the rock. His arms snapped taut.
His hands, both with reasonable grips, held, but they were already stiffened and weak. Straining his head back and to one side, he looked down. His feet were dangling a foot or so below the nearest purchase. Oh God, was all he could think of at that moment. Oh God… Oh God…
Reluctant to put any additional pressure on his fingers by struggling, he lifted one foot, gingerly scraping it along the rock, searching for a ledge or a crevice. Below him, at a pitch that was almost sheer, the granite face disappeared into blackness. Oh God, please… Oh God…
His foot caught the edge of a minuscule ledge. On a dry day, the tiny space would have been a virtual platform for him-more than enough. But now, there was no way to tell. Desperate to take some of the pressure off his fingers, Zack planted the toe of his shoe on the ledge and carefully shifted his weight to the foot. Hold, damn you… Please hofor a moment, the foot felt solid. Then, as he added more of his weight, it slipped off the edge, tearing his right hand free of the rock. For five seconds, ten, his left hand held. Then, with a painful snap, his fingers gave way and he was falling, tumbling like a rag doll, over and over again down the sheer rock, screaming as he hurtled against granite outcroppings, shattering one bone after another… "Nooooo!"
His final scream, the howl of an animal, echoed in his mind, and then blended with another sound… a voice… Suzanne's voice. "Zack? For God's sake, Zack, can you hear me?"
He felt a cool, wet towel sweep across his face. Slowly, he opened his eyes. A cannon was exploding in his head. He was on the living room floor, soaked in fetid vomit. The lights were on. Suzanne was kneeling over him, concern darkening her eyes. Nearby, resting on its side, was an empty bottle of Wild Turkey. Across the room, watching intently, sat Cheap dog. "NEVER AGAIN. I swear it. Not a drop. Not ever."
Over the span of two and a half hours, with Suzanne as guide, Zack had wandered from the terror of his alcohol-induced hallucination, through a valley of tearful self-deprecation, across a brief stretch of cheery self-deprecation, and finally into an abysmal hangover. "Never again?" she asked. "Do you want me to put that in writing? You can sign it and hang it on the wall."
Zack pressed against his temples. "Write whatever you want, " he said,
"as long as the pen doesn't scratch too loudly on the paper. I just hope you can tell that I'm a total amateur at abusing my body like this."
"Oh, I can tell." He did not clearly remember the shower, or the shampoo, or the first sips of tea, but he knew that Suzanne had taken him through each. Now, although his head still transposed each heartbeat into mortar fire, his thoughts had cleared enough at least to carry on a workable conversation. He risked a deeper swallow of tea, and nearly wept with the realization that it was going to stay down. "You've done an amazing job of putting me back together again, " he said. "Thanks."
She smiled sadly. "No big deal. Unfortunately, my ex-husband gave me a lot of practice."
"Great. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It was bad, but like everything else, it came to pass…"
"Have you been up all night?"
"Uh-huh. Helene's with Jen." She handed him a cool washcloth. "Here, wipe your face off with this. You want some aspirin?"
"Soon. How are things at the hospital?"
"No real change-at least as of half an hour ago. Toby's still in coma.
His temp's around 102. Walsh thinks he'll have a bed for him at either Hitchcock or Children's by noon."
"And my father?"
"No change either, as far as I know. I think that neurosurgeon from Concord-what's his name?"
"Burris. John Burris."
"Yes, well, I think John Burris is planning to have him transferred later today as well."
"What a mess."
Suzanne pulled back the curtain. Across the backyard, the first hint of dawn was washing over the face of There. "So, " she said, motioning toward the granite escarpment, "the dreaded scene of your midnight climb."
"That's not so funny, Suzanne. I died on that rock. I really did."
"Well, I certainly hope so. Because from what I've been able to extract from your babble these past two hours, I don't think I would have much liked the guy who crawled up there in the first place. Confused, self-loathing, arrogant, the perennial victim-too close to Paul Cole for my taste."
"Hey, come on. I was just seeing things the way they are. There wasn't a single person in that hospital who had one encouraging word for me.
Fifty thousand Frenchmen and all that… Well, those particular fifty thousand Frenchmen were saying that I screwed up. And don't forget, you were one of them."
"I know. I'm sorry for that. "Don't apologize. You were right-all of you were right. I did screw up. By the time I got home, I couldn't stand who I was. And hallucination or not, when I went up on that cliff back there, I was honestly trying to break free of myself, to… to become more, I don't know, more flexible, more human in my approach to medicine. And to everything else, for that matter."
"I understand that."
"And?"
"And I was wrong for saying the things I did. Zachary, you have no reason to change. You're an excellent surgeon, a decent, caring son, and a wonderful friend to me. And I had no right to insinuate that you were otherwise. It was selfish and cruel of me. And it was wrong-very wrong.
That's why I called in the first place-to tell you that. I felt so guilty for what I said to you at the hospital-for leaving the way I did that I couldn't sit still. Then, when you didn't answer, I got frightened. That's why I drove out here."
"I'm glad you did, " he said. "But there was no need to feel guilty. You were right."
"I was wrong, dammit!
Stop saying that… She took a deep breath to calm herself and rubbed at the shadowy strain that enveloped her eyes. "Zachary, as I told you, Paul was… a very sad, very sick man, totally lacking in any center to his life, any perspective. He never, ever put me or Jen ahead of himself, or his booze, or his drugs, or his other women. Never.
I still have trouble believing that I could have misjudged anyone so badly. That's why I've been so reluctant to get involved with you.
But those things I said in the hospital last night-about loyalty, about what if it was me lying there-what I didn't appreciate until after you left was that I was really saying them to a man I was trying not to fall in love with, not to another doc with a terrible decision on his hands.
I was punishing you for being the first man since Paul that I wanted to trust. I was wrong, and I'm sorry." Zack stared down at his hands.
"Thanks, " he said. "But you weren't wrong. The truth of the matter is that my father is crippled, and I probably could have prevented it."
"Zack, the truth of the matter is that you did what you thought was right. You didn't cripple your father, an automobile accident and a piece of metal did. Can't you see that? You did all you ever will be able to do. You did your best."
Zack could only shake his head. Hadn't he once said precisely the same thing to Wil Marshfield? Why couldn't he believe it now, hearing from her? "… Doing what we do for a living isn't easy," Suzanne was saying. "Nobody ever promised us it would be. Nobody ever told us that everyone we took care of would get better, or that every decision we made was going to turn out to be the right one. Medicine isn't a board game with a set number of cards and answers. Every situation is different."
Zack looked over at her glumly. "How in the hell am I ever supposed to trust my own medical judgment again? " he asked. "Can you answer that for me?"
"God, " she groaned. "Listen, Zachary. Have another cup of tea. Then try a cold shower. Then, if you want to continue to castigate yourself, maybe you can try really climbing that wall out there. Do it with your hands tied behind your back, though. Put razor blades in your shoes. No sense in making it easy for yourself."
"Hey, there's no reason to snap at me like that."
"Yes, there is, " she said, soundi
ng close to tears. "There are plenty of them." She snatched up her jacket and purse. "I came over to make sure you were all right, to tell you I was sorry, and to let you know that I was falling in love with you. I've done all that. It hurts too much to stick around and watch you sink out of sight in your own little bog of selfpity. So if you'll excuse me "Wait."
She turned back to him. Her eyes were dark and filmy, and as drawn and sad as he had ever seen them. "What is it? " she asked wearily. "I. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize to me, Zack, " she said. "What you're doing, you're doing to yourself. You've got nothing to apologize to anyone else for.
"I'm sorry for not listening to what you're trying to say. How's that?"
"Whatever."
"Suzanne, you don't understand."
"Don't I? You forget that I was married to the master of melancholy.
Unfortunately for you-for us-I understand too well.
I feel terrible about what happened to your father. I would no matter who he was. And I don't blame you for being upset-but it should be at the situation, Zack, not at yourself… at the vagaries of life and of medicine, not at the fact that you're not perfect. I'm sorry, but after all those years of Paul, I have no patience for this kind of talk.
Life's too short. I simply have no patience for this at all."
She headed for the door. "Suzanne, please. Don't go." He crossed to confront her. "I don't like the way I've been sounding, either. Really I don't. But I've never had anything backfire on me like this before, and "And what? " She was keeping her distance. "And… nothing. I understand what you're saying. Let's leave it at that. It's all beginning to sink in. And… and I'm going to be okay. Really I am…
Could you stay? Just for a bit?
" She eyed him warily. And then, for the first time all morning, she smiled. It was a tired, five A. M. smile, but it was vintage Suzanne Cole. "Sure, Doc, " she said. "I can stay for a bit if you want me to.
You know, what goes around comes around. That definition of friend you once wrote for me cuts both ways, the one who helps you find the tools when you can't seem to find them for yourself."
Flashback Page 32
