Michael shrugged into his coat and bent down to Cody.
“I’m going to head out for a little while now, okay?”
But Cody wouldn’t turn to him. So he left, casting one backwards glance at the two of them, Cody and Jennie, two blond heads bent together on the bed.
Father, it seems like everything I touch, I ruin. It seems like everything I try to heal, I destroy. Silently, he shut the door and headed for his empty home.
That night, just after eight o’clock, Jennie pounded on his door. Neither spoke until he had hung up her coat and ushered her into the den. There each took up a position facing the other and squared off like prize fighters, each sorting through a welter of feelings and having no idea what to do about them.
“I didn’t know what to say to him!” He slammed his fist on the fireplace mantel. “‘Yes, son. I’ve been kissing your mom in the parking lot. What do you think about that?’”
“Well, you couldn’t be honest with him. After all—” she said tersely, repeating his words from only hours ago “—it didn’t mean anything anyway.”
“Of course it didn’t.”
“They had to call an intern and sedate him.”
“Why didn’t we see this coming? We were idiots. Why didn’t we see it?”
“There were a great many things we didn’t see coming, Michael.”
He looked at his ex-wife. He didn’t dare voice all the things he was sorry for. For Cody being so intuitive. For the way he himself questioned God. For letting his guard down. For needing Jennie.
“It was a perfectly natural assumption for Cody to make,” she said quietly. “We have been there for him. We’ve been there together.”
“I know that. We’ve misled him.”
“Have we?”
He looked directly into Jennie’s eyes. And, because he was aching inside and feeling cornered, he didn’t think to soften his reply. “I would not fall in love with you again, Jennie. My life has changed since you and I were together.”
“You’re talking about your newfound faith?” She gave a harsh laugh. “You have all the answers now, don’t you? You got me to pray, but those prayers didn’t help at all.”
Michael ignored her jab. “And we mustn’t forget your career…”
“My career was never more important than you. I waited…”
“I’m not talking about me. I’m talking about what happened with Buzz Stephens.”
“Oh.” Her spine went as straight as a stalk of Texas grain sorghum. “You’re going back to that, are you? You never did understand how important that cartoon was to me. It was one of my first really big successes.”
“Buzz was one of the nicest guys and the best doctors I’d known. Because of that cartoon, the IRS delved into his finances. He lost his practice because of your big success.”
“He did it to himself,” she reminded him.
“And you had to make certain everyone knew that,” he said.
“I’ve had enough,” she said as she advanced on him. “Did you hear me? I said I’ve had enough. I hate private practices. I hate internships. I hate med school. I hated waiting up for you all night long. I hated being in love with you and thinking I’d grow old and we’d never get to spend time together. You weren’t even there to drive me to the hospital when I went into labor with Cody…”
“I met you there,” he threw back angrily.
“After you’d finished delivering someone else’s baby. I think that’s the loneliest I’ve ever been in my life, lying in that birthing room waiting for you.”
“I know I did that to you,” he said bluntly. “I would probably do it again. I’m a doctor. And sometimes that doesn’t leave me with choices.”
“All I ever wanted…” She started to say it but then let the words trail off. It was just too personal to her now and too painful. All I ever wanted, she wanted to say, was to know that I was important to you, that there were times you might have wanted to choose me.
“I’m glad Cody forced this issue,” she said. “I’m glad he asked that question out loud so I could hear your answer. I’m not going to make the mistake of thinking anything might be different between us no matter how different you say you are. And I’m not going to let any of this hurt Cody.”
“So help me God, I do not want Cody to have any more disappointments. He’s had enough already. And heaven knows what is still to come.” They still hadn’t told Cody about the interns’ assessment of his legs. Or about the surgery they couldn’t decide on.
Her eyes asked the question. What are we going to do? “I thought we were doing it the right way….” His hands came to his face now and covered his mouth. He inhaled through his fingers and closed his eyes. “I don’t think he ought to see us together again.”
“I know that, Michael.” And when she agreed, the irony of it shook him. They had started this, begun to draw together, for Cody’s sake. And it had hurt him instead.
They stood there for the longest time, while the minutes ticked between them.
Jennie shoved her hands into her pockets, doing her best to seem nonchalant, trying to pretend that pulling away from Michael wasn’t hurting her. She turned away to look out the big window overlooking the backyard.
As Michael stood watching her, seeing everything she was trying to hide, he berated himself for past mistakes. Father, I really wasn’t there to drive her to the hospital, was I? How many times had he deserted her without being able to see?
I take you, Jennie, he’d vowed, to have and to hold, from this day forward.”
To have and to hold.
“We have to schedule our visits so we aren’t at the hospital at the same time,” she said.
He nodded, never speaking.
“He’s reading too much into our being together.”
“I know that.”
“And we’re reading too much into it, too.”
“Yes.” They were toying with something that would have been devastating to each other. They didn’t dare risk it again.
Father, help me know what to say.
“I’ve needed someone during all this, Jen. Someone who understood how much I loved Cody.” And I had no right to want you to be the one…because there were so many times when you needed me and I wasn’t there for you.
“We’ve shared our lives…” She trailed off again.
“No,” he said. “Not really. We shared a bed. I don’t know that we ever shared our lives.”
She looked at him solemnly, as if she had just lost something very important. “You’re right. We didn’t.”
She picked her purse up and tucked it under one arm.
He stood and held the door for her. There was nothing left for either of them to say.
“Goodbye, Michael,” she said as she stood close.
“Goodbye, Jennie,” he said.
She was wearing the winter white wool coat she’d arrived in, her gold hair fanning out in ribbons around her shoulders. He’d never seen her look so lost as she did standing on his porch beneath the floodlight.
Chapter Ten
Andy Kendall sat with Michael and Jennie the next day, face-to-face, and told them exactly how much Cody’s emotional outburst had cost him. “It’s a physical setback for him,” she said. “He’s exhausted today. Our staff has decided it would be best to let him rest. We’ll start his therapy again in several days…when he’s ready.”
Michael slumped against the wall, his arms crossed, his head bowed, trying not to appear as defeated as he felt. “You tell us what you think would be best, Andy.” How he was beginning to hate these diplomatic words. What would be best…give it a try…read the assessment.
“I have something else to discuss with you,” Andy added. “Something that might not be as easy to accept.”
“We want to do everything we can,” Jennie said, her hands together in her lap.
“Tell us,” Michael agreed.
“I’ve had a long discussion with the child-life psychologist here a
t the hospital. We both agree that you need to begin thinking about Cody and his home life when he leaves the hospital. His world will need to be kept very, very stable.”
“He has a stable home,” Michael said too quickly. “In fact, he has two of them.”
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” Andy answered. “The psychologist and I think the two of you need to decide to keep Cody in one home for a while. At least until he’s stronger. We both believe it would be for the best.”
For the best. That phrase again.
Michael felt as if every bit of his power was being stripped away. And somehow, even though the woman sitting beside him had no more control over the situation than he did, he felt as if Jennie was winning a round. What Andy was suggesting undermined their joint custody agreement.
“This is what you think he needs?” he asked, feeling trapped. “How do you know what’s best for him? We’ve given him everything we know to give him.”
Father, please, don’t add this, too.
Jennie, too, could not remain silent. “We’ve tried to be careful,” she said. “We’ve tried to set things up so we could all three live with them.” She had known all those years ago that they couldn’t make this decision alone.
It had taken the lawyers months to come up with the original joint custody arrangement.
“We wanted Cody to have everything,” Michael said, his voice gravelly with emotion.
And yet, Michael reminded himself, Cody never had everything he needed since the divorce. He never had both of us.
Each time Jennie stopped in to see Cody, Cody talked about Michael.
“Dad came to see me last night,” he said from his pillow. Jennie always suspected he was studying her face to see her reaction.
“That’s nice.”
“He had a talk with Mason.”
“Oh?”
“He said he’d come to see Mason again this afternoon about two.”
“I’m glad.” She had to be back at the Times-Sentinel then. “How are you feeling today?”
A toothy grin this time. “Fine. Andy’s been telling me about the swim team again. She says I’m getting closer.”
“Great. That’s my Bear!” She tousled his hair. “I can’t wait. I promise you right now I’ll buy you a new bathing suit.”
“Yeech.” He made a face. “Do I have to go to the store and try it on?”
“No.” She laughed at him. He was a lot like Michael, he hated shopping for anything. “I wouldn’t dare put you through that torture.”
“Good.”
She started on his therapy and worked with him until after one forty-five, desperate to make a difference in his leg muscles. Michael was due back any minute and she had to get back to the paper. “See you later, darling.” She bent and kissed him. “Have a good visit with Dad.”
This time, when Jennie left him, she felt the same as all the times before. She felt as if she hadn’t done nearly enough for her son.
“Did you see that request from the San Antonio Sun?” Art Sanderson asked her when she got back to the office. “They want to run some of your statewide stuff.”
“I saw the request.”
“We may consider putting you into syndication,” he said casually. “I’ll bet we could get several of the biggest dailies in Texas to pick you up. It would be a step up in your career, Jennie. And a coup for the Times-Sentinel because we have you.”
“It looked interesting.”
“You don’t sound as excited as I thought you’d be.”
“My mind’s just been on other things, Art.”
The phone rang on her desk. She picked it up. “Stratton here.”
“Jennie? Andy Kendall from the hospital is on line three.”
When was her heart going to stop pounding every time a call came from the hospital? “Thanks.” She heard the line switch and she immediately pounced on Andy. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” Andy said. “I needed to talk to you and I didn’t have a chance today at the hospital. I don’t want to discuss these things in front of Cody.”
“What things? What is it?” Then, she heard herself. “Oh, Andy. I’m so sorry. I’m just at the office and I—”
“It’s okay,” Andy said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just need to bring you up to speed. One more of these ‘you may not agree with me but I have to tell you anyway’ things.”
Jennie steeled herself with a deep breath. “Let’s have it.”
“The orthopedic surgeon examined Cody again today. His left leg is worse. If we’re going to fight against the surgery, Cody needs more therapy time. I discussed it with Michael, too. I can only give him so much. I have other patients to work with, too.”
Jennie’s heart stopped for a moment. “What did Michael say?”
“He’s willing to devote more time if you are. But he probably doesn’t see the urgency of this matter the way you do. He told me he thinks surgery is the best answer.”
“I know that.” She stared at the scattered piles of memos and letters and cartoons on her desk. She stared at the full calendar that hung on the wall beside her phone. All she could think of, as she stared at it, was that things on this calendar did not go away. When she pushed them back, just as she’d been doing these past weeks, they piled up and up on top of each other until they threatened to make the entire twelve months fall off the wall.
How could she do more than she was already doing? “Maybe if I came in at night. That way I could spend another two hours with him.” She already gave him therapy for an hour each morning and another one every day after lunch. Art had been wonderful to help her work it into her schedule. “But Cody’s always tired then.” The logistics of it all were staggering. Add to that an eight-hour workday that sometimes spilled over into a ten-hour one. And, despite her crazy schedule, she was lonelier than she’d ever been in her life.
She laughed, a tired little chuckle that betrayed how defeated she felt. “Maybe if I gave up sleeping, I’d have time to do everything I need to do.”
“We’ve got to come up with some workable answer. I’ll try to get in to work with him a third time this evening. I don’t want him to lose what he’s gained. I thought he was doing so well.”
“Andy.” Jennie sat down in her desk chair. “Thank you. For everything. I know how hard you’re trying, too.”
After Jennie hung up the phone, she stared at it. Who am I? she asked herself while she sat glaring at the receiver, thinking of Cody lying in the bed needing her. “How much further can I stretch myself?” she asked aloud.
“What’s that?” Art asked, walking toward her. “Do you remember the meeting in my office? We’ve been waiting for you for ten minutes in there.”
“Oh, Art. I forgot!” She jumped from her desk, banging the drawer with her knees, and went flying into his office. But as she sat and listened to everyone’s comments, all she could think of was Cody. Staff members talked about problems they were having and things that had changed and cartoon opportunities the paper had missed while she had been gone. She somberly authorized Art to send some of her work on to the San Antonio Sun.
After the meeting closed, Art cornered her. “Jennie? Is there a way you can rearrange your schedule to be here at noon tomorrow? I’ve got a photographer setting up to do some group shots of the staff. I thought we’d do some of you alone, too, and send them on to the Sun. That works for everyone else.”
“I can’t do it, Art. I can’t be here at noon. That’s when I give Cody his therapy.”
“You can’t change it? You can’t do it another time?”
“No. I already go once in the morning.” She was on the defensive now and she hated it. She felt guilty about it all, but she could only stretch so far. “I can’t go after two because Michael—” She stopped. She couldn’t explain it. It was just too complicated for anyone else to understand.
“I wish you could work this out for me,” Art said.
“I
do, too. But I can’t.”
In the end, Jennie took her frustrations out on a piece of pen-and-ink paper, shading in a cartoon she’d already designed. She didn’t like it when she finished. She started all over again.
BELOVED, CALL ON ME.
It didn’t matter that she never had time to sit down and read a book or write to a friend. She didn’t care that she didn’t have time to putter in the garden or run or go out to lunch with friends. All she cared about was Cody.
I SENT MY SON TO DIE THAT YOU MIGHT LIVE.
She didn’t know for certain whether Michael’s words made everything seem clearer today…or if today gave her new perspective on his words.
I had forgotten about what happened with Buzz Stephens, how that hurt Michael.
She did not hear the voice prompting her to open her own heart. Instead, she heard her own questions. Have I done that? she asked herself. Have I closed people out, did I close Michael out, because I was afraid to make myself vulnerable to him again? And did I use the Times-Sentinel to do it?
She didn’t have any answers. She only knew she owed it to herself to ask. I’m losing control of everything else and Cody’s going downhill, too. Cody needs me. More of me. All of me.
She buried her face in her hands and scrubbed her palms against her scalp, frighteningly close to tears. She didn’t know what choice she would have made four, five, even ten years ago. But she knew what she would choose today.
Three minutes later, she stood in front of Art’s office, trying to appear casual. “You got a minute, Art? We need to talk.”
He held the door open for her then. He leaned back in his creaky chair with a slight frown. “What is it?”
“I’d like a leave of absence, Art. I need time away from this.”
“No. You can’t do that right now. Not with this offer of syndication from the Texas dailies. Take my word for it. This is not the time to disappear.”
“There’s never a good time to disappear.”
“We could go national in a year. I’m talking Washington, D.C. You could be the Anna Quindlen of cartoons.”
Family Matters Page 9
