The Awakening of Dr. Brown

by Kathleen Creighton

  As if he understood that-the physician always-he withdrew from the kiss gently, holding her against him for a few moments longer and pressing short fervent kisses into her hair, almost as if in apology. She drew back from him, some sort of light remark balanced on her lips. And as the thunder of her own heartbeat receded, she heard it, too, and understood the reason for the apology. The telephone was ringing.

  “I’d better take this,” he murmured, his eyes calmly searching hers. “It rings in downstairs. There’s only a few people they put through up here.”

  She nodded and shifted to one side, a hand going casually to the tabletop to help steady her. She wondered if he’d noticed she was trembling. Of course he had. She hoped not.

  His hands slipped from her waist to her arms…rubbed lightly over her goose bumps, igniting fresh shivers. He kissed her once more, softly, on the lips, then left her. She watched him walk out of the kitchen without a trace of a wobble in his step, but it was several minutes before she trusted her own legs enough to follow.

  In the living room, Ethan located the cordless phone amongst the clutter of food containers on the coffee table and cleared his throat in an experimental sort of way before he punched the on button. “This is Dr. Brown.”

  “Hey, Ethan-honey…”

  A smile spread across his face as he answered in the Texas style, “Hey, Dixie, how’re you?”

  “Didn’t mean to call so late-I just never can remember which nights you’re home. Anyway, I won’t keep you long, and I know you can’t talk-Tom said you had company…?” He heard the eager curiosity in his stepmother’s voice, though he knew she respected his privacy too much to ask outright.

  “That’s right,” he said in a neutral voice, watching Phoenix as she came toward him, not with her patented Phoenix stride, but tentatively, as if she wasn’t certain of her welcome or her place.

  It came to him suddenly that it must be he who had robbed her of her customary self-confidence and presence, and he knew a shameful moment of pure masculine elation at the thought that he could have that kind of power over such a woman. But that feeling was followed quickly by a sense of sorrow and loss that surprised him. Because he suddenly knew that, whatever it was he was trying to accomplish with this woman, whatever it was he wanted from her, changing her in any fundamental way was not part of it.

  “I thought you’d want to know what we found out-about that information you wanted?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Well, I have to tell you, so far there isn’t much. There isn’t any history on Phoenix at all prior to when she was about fourteen. We have a date of birth, but no place, no family, no nothing.”

  “What about the other one?” Ethan’s eyes were following Phoenix’s movements as she poked in a desultory way among the cartons of Chinese food, selected a sweet and sour shrimp-one of his selections-and put it in her mouth.

  “Joanna Dunn? I’m still workin’ on that.” He heard the sigh of exhaled breath. “It would help a lot if you could narrow it down some, sugar. This is a great big ol’ country.”

  “How about here?” he said without inflection. Phoenix had wandered over to the stereo and was squatting beside the toppled stack of CDs, slowly putting them to rights, stopping to read a label now and then.

  “Here…? Oh-you mean where you… Well, sure. Okay, that’ll help. Give me a couple days-I’ve got some things on my calendar, and I have to tell you, I am not lookin’ forward to entertainin’ the Japanese prime minister and his wife. They make me go through these trainin’ sessions to make sure I get all the protocol right, but it never seems to help, I’m still bowin’ when I’m supposed to be smilin’, know what I mean?”

  “Dixie, you’ll do fine,” Ethan said, laughing. They both knew there wasn’t a soul on the planet who didn’t love the First Lady, in spite of-perhaps because of-her breezy Texas ways.

  “Well, let’s hope so. Anyway, I’ll get back to you if I find out anything, okay?”

  “Thanks, Dixie. Very much.” He paused. “Is…Dad there?”

  “’Fraid not-he’s downstairs goin’ over his ‘remarks’ for the prime minister.” There was regret in his stepmother’s voice.

  “Well, tell him I said hello. And that everything’s fine.”

  “I sure will.” There was a pause, and then, “You’d tell us if it wasn’t, right?”

  “Of course,” he murmured, and wondered if it was true. He could tell by his stepmother’s exhalation that she wondered, too.

  “Well, okay, sugar, I’ll say bye-bye then. You have fun, and take care now.”

  “I will, Dixie.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Phoenix didn’t look up when he placed the phone back on the coffee table. She’d put a CD on the stereo, the volume turned so low he couldn’t tell which one it was until he walked over to stand behind her, close enough to touch her but not doing so.

  “The Parish Family-good choice,” he murmured, faintly surprised. His eyes had begun to follow the path of the braid he’d woven into her hair…thick and loose between her shoulder blades…tapering to the knot she’d tied, bumping now against the place a bra strap would cross if she’d been wearing one…the loose end curling slightly as it brushed the strip of tiger print material at her waist. He thought how close he’d been just a few minutes ago to loosing that knot…unraveling his own handiwork and filling his hands with the vibrant mass…his nostrils with the scent of it. He still could. The knowledge made his stomach churn.

  She threw him a look, a sardonic little smile, over her shoulder. “Dinner interruptus?”

  His laughter felt uncomfortable and no doubt sounded as false as he felt. “There seems to be plenty of food. Would you care to join me?”

  She shook her head and looked away, the corners of her mouth pinching with the strain of maintaining the smile. “I seem to have lost my appetite.” Along with the moment, she thought. Because she’d seen by the quietness in his eyes that they weren’t going to be picking up where they’d left off in the kitchen. Obviously, the doc had come to his senses, and she was damned if she’d be the one to bring it up. Desire was one thing; pride was another. Phoenix did not beg.

  She snatched at a breath as she moved away from him, like a diver coming up for air. “It’s getting late. Maybe we’d better see if Mr. Tall Dark and Dangerous down there has worked out those logistics yet.”

  “Sure.” She watched him retrieve the cordless phone from the coffee table mess and press a single button. He mumbled into the phone for a few moments, then punched the button and put the phone back among the cartons. He looked at her and said in a neutral voice, “Any time you’re ready.”

  She lifted her hands and shoulders together-an elaborate “couldn’t care less” gesture. “I’m ready.”

  Propelled by some sort of flight instinct, she crossed the room in a few effortless strides. Even so, they got to the door at the same time and she barely managed to snatch her hand away in time to avoid making contact with his when he reached to open it for her. Frozen, heart knocking, she said in a muffled voice, “You don’t have to come.”

  “Yeah,” he said, quietly wry, “I do. Tom won’t leave me here unguarded.”

  She glanced at him…then looked a longer moment, and saw what she’d somehow missed before. Behind the quietness…acknowledgment, and deep regret. She felt something warm and soften inside her, and the jittery coldness of wounded pride give way to a trembling, yearning ache. Slowly she reached out and touched two fingers to his lips. Her fingers warmed instantly, as if they remembered…

  “Bye Bye Leroy Brown,” she whispered.

  His lips curved under her fingertips; his breath blew soft sweet memories of his taste and warmth against her skin. “Bye bye, Joanna…”

  She gave a little hiccup of laughter. “At the stroke of midnight the scullery maid turns back into a princess…”

  “…And the bad boy into First Son.”

  “Cinderel
la in reverse.” How was it that she could still laugh, when the trembling ache had become a shudder of longing? “Now it’s back to the real world…”

  Once again he’d taken her hand in both of his, enfolding it as though it were a precious treasure he wanted to protect. For a moment, just a moment, while his lips hovered between a word and a kiss, she allowed herself to think…to hope… But then he slowly lowered her hand. “I had a good time tonight.”

  “Yeah, me, too.” And oh, how proud she was that her voice was light and no more scratchy than normal.

  Why, tell me, why…is it so hard to say goodbye?

  The lyric blew through her mind like a train whistle in the night, and she felt her entire being shudder with the suddenness of understanding, as if rocked by the gust of the train’s passing. Doveman, you were right-goodbye is hard, and it’s what comes between hello and goodbye that matters.

  And this, she was all at once determined, would not be goodbye. If Phoenix had anything to say about it-and she sure as hell did-there was going to be a whole lot more “between” to come before she and Dr. Ethan Brown said goodbye.

  “By the way,” she purred as he was reaching across to open the door for her, “if you still want that report on those apartment buildings…” He paused; she heard a soft but unmistakable catch in his breathing, and felt a nice little glow of triumph at the thought that she might actually have made him forget his precious agenda, for even a little while. “I should have it by tomorrow, if you want to stop by.”

  “Can’t tomorrow.” He gave a smile and shrug of apology as he turned the knob and pushed the door open. “My ride-along night.”

  “Oh-right.” She went ahead of him onto the landing, quelling small twinges of annoyance. Phoenix was not accustomed to having to bend her schedule around someone else’s. “Saturday, then.”

  “Uh…can’t Saturday, either.” He closed the door with a tug and a click, then paused with his hand still on the doorknob. She turned to look at him and caught the shadow of evasion in his eyes. “I have plans…sorry.”

  “Ah. I see.” Both her nice little glow and the annoyance abruptly faded and were replaced by a cold green greasy lump she had no trouble recognizing as jealousy. Phoenix-jealous? The thought was appalling.

  Even more so was her mortification when his eyes softened with understanding. And his smile…oh, how she resented his confidence, especially since she seemed to have so little of it herself, lately.

  “Nothing like that. I promised…someone…I’d take him to the park on Saturday. I really can’t cancel on him. Sunday, maybe?”

  What could she say to that? The regret in his eyes was real. “Maybe,” she said lightly, turning toward the stairs. And then, trying hard to sound amused, “The park…sounds like so much fun. Especially for your bodyguards. Where is it? Somewhere around here?” The beginnings of an idea were forming in her mind.

  The doc looked startled, then frowned. “What? No-over near the clinic, I think.” He gave her a crooked smile. “To tell you the truth, I forgot to ask-how many parks can there be?”

  “Right…” Phoenix purred.

  They went down the stairs together, side by side but carefully not touching, both very much aware that ever-vigilant Secret Service Agent Tom Applegate was waiting for them at the bottom.

  They rode home in the back seat of the SUV, mostly in silence, with Tom driving. And when they left each other, what they both said was not goodbye, but simply, “Good night.”

  Piano music greeted Phoenix as she made her way through the darkened studio, the notes floating down from above as if they were a gift come straight from Heaven. Partly she thought that because to her the person making the music had indeed been a gift, whether from God or Fate or some other power she had no way of knowing; and partly because the music itself was so lovely, she thought it might very well have been divinely inspired. Listening to it made her swell inside with an unutterable sadness.

  And so, of course, she was smiling as she stepped out of the cage.

  “Hey, Doveman-you’re up late.” She crossed to the piano and gave his bony shoulders a squeeze as she dropped a quick kiss onto the bare spot on top of his head. “You shouldn’t have waited for me. I’m a big girl.”

  The old piano man chuckled as he shifted on the bench to make room for her the way he always did. “Now, you know ol’ Doveman don’t close his eyes ’til he knows his chick is back safe and sound in her nest.”

  Phoenix was silent for a moment, rocking her body slightly to the rhythm of the music. Then she said softly, “You were right-it needed the minor key.”

  Doveman nodded, watching his fingers work their magic. “Ain’t nothing harder or sadder than sayin’ goodbye. And it don’t matter how many times you do it, it don’t get any easier. I think maybe it’s even harder when you get old…”

  Old… Doveman is old.

  Fear came unexpectedly, clutched at her stomach and turned her body cold. Doveman. He’d been both mother and father to her for most of her life. She couldn’t imagine how she would ever do without him. Panic-stricken, she wanted to throw her arms around him and hold on to him so tightly that nothing-not even Death-would dare to take him from her. At the very least, she wanted to put her arm across his shoulders, kiss his white-stubbled cheek. Tell him she loved him.

  So, of course, she got up from the piano bench and walked away from him. She went toward the windows, silently rubbing her arms.

  Behind her she heard Doveman say softly, “Well, I’ll be goin’ on to bed now.”

  She nodded without turning. “’Night… And thanks…for waiting.”

  His chuckle was lost in the clanking and groaning of the cage as it sank slowly from view.

  Oh, but it’s so hard…hard…hard to say goodbye.

  Phoenix stood alone looking out on the spangled city, with the song playing in her mind, at last complete, lyrics a perfect blend with the music…absolutely right. She should have felt a sense of elation. Instead she just felt frightened and lonely.

  How could she ever say goodbye to Doveman? When the time came, would she somehow find the strength? The courage? She’d never had to do so hard a thing before.

  She hadn’t said goodbye to her mother. She’d never had the chance.

  Beyond the window the city lights wavered and blurred. Tears spilled over and ran warm down her cheeks. “Doveman,” she whispered, though she knew he’d long since gone, “I can’t remember my momma’s face.”

  Chapter 10

  Children’s voices drifted upward into the heat-hazy sky along with a golden cloud of dust.

  “Hey, battah-battah-battah…”

  “Throw it here, throw it here!”

  “Throw it-No, throw it to first, throw it to first!”

  “Go, go, GO!”

  “Way to go, man, way to go.”

  “Oh, man…”

  “That’s okay, we’ll get the next one… Hey, battah-battah…”

  “What about it?” Ethan said. “Want to stay and watch awhile?”

  Beside him, Michael shook his head and restlessly joggled the basketball he carried in his arms. His face wore a look of disdain.

  “You know,” Ethan pointed out, “Michael Jordan played baseball, too.”

  Michael threw him a startled look but recovered in time to say with a sniff and a carefully offhand shrug, “Yeah, but he stunk at it.” Still, he lifted one arm and pointed. “Basketball court’s over thataway.”

  “Right…” Ethan sighed inwardly. He’d figured he could probably hold his own when it came to baseball, but basketball…that was another story.

  As they crossed the grassy verge that separated the baseball diamonds from the jogging path, inspiration struck. “Hey, Tom,” he called to the tall black man who happened to be coming along the path just then, “you ever play any basketball?”

  The Secret Service agent was wearing jogging shorts, a loose-fitting tank that neatly hid his weapon, a towel around his neck and a shine of hon
est-to-God sweat. He paused to wipe some of the sweat from his face with one end of the towel before he said without any discernible signs of amusement, “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”

  White, liberal, awash in chagrin, Ethan stammered, “Well, uh…I mean, I just thought-”

  “I’m six foot seven and black-what do you think?” Tom Applegate looked down at Michael, who was gazing up at him in utter awe, and winked. “North Carolina Tar Heels-NCAA champs my senior year.”

  Not one to allow himself to be intimidated for very long, Michael put a hand on his hip and stuck out his jaw, aiming it upward in the general direction of the Secret Service agent’s altitude. “Hey-you know Michael Jordan?”

  Ethan shrugged Tom an apology; forget those Tar Heels, man-this was the only test that mattered. He didn’t know who was more surprised-him or Michael-when Tom nodded and said, “Sure I know Michael. Played basketball with him, too. We went to high school together.”

  Michael’s mouth was hanging open. He didn’t have to close it to say, “Uh-uh!”

  He looked for verification to Ethan, who again shrugged his shoulders. “Hey-if Tom says so, it must be true. Secret Service agents never lie.”

  Michael slanted Tom a suspicious look with one eye closed. “What’s a… S-Secret Service agent? Is that like some kind of cop?”

  “Sort of.” Tom plucked the basketball from Michael’s arms. “So, you want to go shoot some hoops, or not?”

  He gave Ethan a look, and as they began to move along the jogging path together, Michael sandwiched between them, muttered under his breath, “Sir…straight ahead, about…ten o’clock? Just to the left of that tree…”