by Kilby Blades
“Pupils are non-reactive,” Darby said aloud. “Monitors show no heartbeat. Stop compressions.” She felt for a pulse, looked for movement and listened for breath sounds. She found none.
“Time of death…” Her eyes flicked up to the wall clock. “12:39PM.”
The room got quiet. Darby stared down at Allison’s face and remembered the faces of her children. The EMT who had been performing CPR for six and a half minutes caught his breath. The machines continued to hum.
“The patient’s name is Allison Handler,” she said, her eyes finally swinging to Lucy. “Call CPS, and the police. If her husband doesn’t turn up, they’ll need to track him down.”
She stripped off her gloves and threw them into the trash bin without looking, as she had a hundred times before. It wasn’t until she got back to her office that she let herself cry.
It didn’t escape Darby that from a mental health perspective, her career choice had been unwise. Sub-specializing in psychopharmacology placed her in a position to help addicts. It also placed her in a position to relive the trauma of her own mother’s death on at least a weekly basis. Losing any patient was hard, but losing a mother with kids messed her up every single time. The younger the kids, the worse it destroyed her. Allison’s youngest was still in diapers.
“Hello?” she answered her phone when it rang, so out of her own mind that it didn’t occur to her not to answer. She hadn’t even looked at the caller ID.
“Darby. What’s wrong?” came Michael’s alarmed voice.
“Nothing.” They both knew it was a lie. But a sure way to set herself off again would be to actually talk about it. “What’s up?”
“Nothing that can’t wait.” He sounded annoyed. “I asked you what’s wrong.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Michael, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine.”
“Have it your way.”
And then he hung up. She stared at the phone in abject surprise for half a minute—he’d never done anything nearly so rude. Then she dissolved back into tears at the realization that she had just alienated one of the only people who gave her respite. She reached across her desk to grab a Kleenex, because things were starting to get messy. When she pulled out of the box to find it crumpled in a way that told her it was the last one, she only cried harder. Some time later—she didn’t know how long—a loud knock sounded at her door.
“Come back later, please,” she called loudly and in a normal-enough voice, sniffling quietly a second after she’d spoken.
“Open the door.”
Her crying stopped that second. That was Michael’s voice. And since she knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer, she opened the door as he requested. He let himself in and closed the door behind him quickly, surveying her the entire time. He seemed to be looking for evidence of some kind, and finding none, he asked.
“What. Happened?”
“I can’t believe you came here.”
He closed his blazing eyes in frustration, and she could see it was costing him effort not to lose his patience.
“Darby…” His tone was warning.
“I lost a patient,” she said miserably and felt a fresh round of tears threaten.
“But you’re not hurt?”
She shook her head, and only then did he look relieved.
“You can’t do that,” he commanded, and not gently. “You can’t let me think something has happened to you and not tell me you’re okay.”
“I told you I’d be okay,” she protested weakly. She bit her lip and sniffled, but it was no use. Seconds later, she sobbed into her hands.
Through her tears, she heard him curse under his breath, and then he brushed her hands away from her face and pulled her into his arms. This, of course, only made her cry harder which only made him hold her tighter.
“It’s okay,” he whispered once, then twice, before her sobs quieted.
Finally, she pulled back, sniffling. He reached into his pocket and placed a handkerchief in her hand. Her eyes flipped up to his.
“You carry a handkerchief?”
He didn’t answer, but his eyes softened even more. She lifted it to dab at her eyes and noted, even through her stuffed up nose, that it smelled like him.
He’s never getting this back.
“Things between us aren’t supposed to be complicated.” She whispered.
This made him sigh.
“We’ve had this conversation,” he reminded her gently.
She put her head back on his shoulder, letting him hold her again until she calmed down completely.
“What were you calling about anyway?”
“To ask you out to lunch.” He kissed her forehead.
“Can we get sushi?” she asked.
“We can get anything you want.”
“YOU’RE DRESSED A LITTLE TOO nice for this place,” Darby observed as she breezed into the research lab to pick up her stuff. Unlike Darby, who was dressed in their standard lab coat and scrubs, Rich wore what looked to be a very nice suit.
Darby shrugged out of her lab coat and slipped into the supply room, where she had stashed some clothes for after work.
“Headed out to an important meeting?” she asked loudly enough for him to hear. She’d kicked off her clogs and peeled off her scrubs, but he still hadn’t said a word. Peeking only her head out, since she was down to her bra and underwear, she looked to see what was the matter.
Rich wasn’t just sitting in his chair; he was staring dejectedly at a manila folder that sat upon the desk.
“Hey…are you okay?” she asked, starting to become concerned. She wondered if he even heard her.
“Not headed anywhere…” he explained, still staring at the folder. “Coming from the attorney’s office actually.”
He looked up at her then.
“We signed the papers today,” he said. “Lindsay and I are officially divorced.”
She cast him a sympathetic look, the best she could do given her current state of undress, then disappeared back into the supply room to finish dressing. She pulled on her dark skinny jeans and stylish brown boots, and slipped a pretty silk green blouse over her head. When she emerged, he hadn’t moved.
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Going home to my shitty little flat. Getting pissed. Regretting my life choices,” he said miserably.
“No you’re not,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him up out of his chair. “You’re coming to the bar and getting drunk with me and Anne.”
Half an hour later, he was, indeed on his way to getting drunk. Darby and Anne were barely halfway through their first drinks, and he was ordering his third. She couldn’t blame him. Today would surely rank as one of the worst days of his life. Love was a messy business. Sometimes getting shit-faced was the only thing left to do.
“I was so sure about everything,” he lamented, as close to crying as she had ever seen him. “Until I walked into the room. I went through with it…obviously, but—” he sighed heavily. “I think I might have made a huge mistake.”
“Maybe you did,” Anne murmured darkly, and Darby shot her a look. Her friend was still bitter over her own girlfriend leaving her even though by then it had been months.
“It’s not supposed to feel good,” Darby said, turning her attention back to Rich. “Breakups never do. And since you were married, this will probably be the biggest breakup of your life. If you didn’t feel ambiguous about it, that would be even worse. It would mean you never should have been together to begin with.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, still looking distraught. He seemed relieved when the waiter arrived then and set another beer in front of him. He took a huge gulp, and trained his eyes back on Darby.
“Why aren’t you married, Darbs?” he asked so bluntly that she knew he must already be drunk.
“Marriage isn’t for everyone,” she said simply, prepared to repeat the s
peech she’d already given him, if needed. “It’s just not a priority for me.”
“But don’t you want someone to love you? To take care of you?” he implored.
“I have friends for that,” she replied simply.
“That’s not the kind of love I’m talking about,” he said seriously.
“I have friends for that, too,” she revealed, taking a long sip of her sidecar.
When she looked back up at him, she saw that his eyes had widened. “I knew it,” he nearly accused.
She threw up her hands then. “Fine…you caught me,” she said. “I have amazing sex with someone who will never be my boyfriend or my husband. You say it like it’s something dirty but there’s nothing wrong with it. If you want to know the truth, it’s the best relationship I’ve ever been in.”
It was true. And she’d known it for a while.
“Except it’s not a relationship,” Rich countered. Anne watched their verbal volley with interest.
“All a relationship is, is two consenting adults who have agreed on the rules,” Darby returned easily. “The rules aren’t the same for everyone. And why should they be?”
She didn’t mention that her relationship was turning out better than both Anne’s or Rich’s had. While they had hung their hopes on forever, she had always known that her relationship with Michael would come to an end.
“But isn’t it empty?” Rich asked, a bit sadly. “Sex isn’t love.”
She shook her head in agreement.
“No,” she admitted. “It isn’t. But sex doesn’t have to be empty. It can be rich and wonderful. It can fulfill deep needs and serve a purpose in your life without being tied to how long you plan to be together, and under what circumstances.”
She thought of “Before Sunrise” then, of the one-night stand that never stood a chance to become a real relationship, but that still meant something important to the characters who lived it.
“Sex can give love, even if that love doesn’t culminate in a traditional relationship,” she continued. “The act of long-term commitment isn’t the important part—the love is,” she finished softly.
By then, both Anne and Rich were looking at her, taking in what she realized must sound like a passionate plea for understanding. It was also her first out loud confession that whatever she was caught up in was more than just sex. And it made her heartbeat quicken.
“What happens when it ends?” Anne wanted to know then, talking outside the realm of what Rich knew.
“I walk away,” she said, looking at her friend in earnest, “and feel gratitude for having had something so good.”
Anne nodded, the look in her eyes changing, and in that moment, Darby knew that her friend finally got it. Just because she and Michael meant something to one another didn’t mean that what they had was meant to last.
“I envy you,” Anne said softly, when Rich’s three beers had finally caught up to his bladder. When she said it, his retreating form was headed to the bathroom. “Do I ever get to meet this guy?”
Darby smiled wanly and nodded. “Soon.”
DARBY SAT ON HER BED dumbly. She hadn’t moved since she got home. She was still shocked by the events that had transpired at work. Today had been her performance review. Only once before in her career had Darby ever received a bad review from her boss, but this report from Huck was worse than bad—it was scathing.
She hadn’t exactly expected Huck to be charitable in his assessment of her. He rarely took proactive opportunities to praise her, but her research work was promising and she had always excelled in clinical care. Everybody knew it and Huck wasn’t known for saying anything different in his reviews. But there was a first time for everything. The review had been so bad that he’d given her an official warning, which was considered by HR to be the first step in transitioning employees out, fancy talk for getting fired.
She didn’t—couldn’t—dwell on the sheer injustice of it all. If she focused on how much of her heart she poured into her work, and how much it hurt not to have that remotely recognized, she’d start to cry again. A terrible review had never factored into her plans. It would raise eyebrows in the executive suite, could ruin her research funding and could submarine her if she decided to pursue a position someplace else, something she’d only just begun to consider.
To make matters worse, Huck wasn’t up for promotion for another three months, which meant he would have input around her mid-year performance review. Her research fellowship was up for additional funding review in April. By then, she could be fired. Getting fired by Huck would be disastrous—it would send a signal that one of the most respected psychopharmacologists in the world didn’t think she was up to standard. It would cancel her research funding. Professionally, it would leave her with absolutely nothing.
The doorbell roused her from her thoughts, and as she became aware of her surroundings again, she realized that it was already dark outside. Having no idea who could be at the door, but hearing it ring a second time, she moved to descend the stairs and answer.
“Michael…” she breathed, closing her eyes and wiping her hand over her face shamefully. “I’m so sorry. I completely forgot.”
She shook her head, moving aside to let him in. She had forgotten that they had plans to hang out before he headed out of town the next day.
“Just give me ten minutes to take a shower, alright? I’m dirty from my shift, but it would be good to blow off some steam.”
He pushed inside and closed the door, looking stern as he spoke his next words.
“ I don’t have sex with people who are too upset to remember plans with me. But I’m not leaving either, not until you tell me what’s wrong.”
She sniffled. She found it endearing that he was refusing to sleep with her. As she thought more about it, she realized he was right. Angry sex was a bad idea.
“Huck threw me under the bus in my performance review,” she said miserably, moving aside so that Michael could come in farther.
The frown remained on his face. Over the past few months, he had said more than a few things to remind Darby that he had a sister and a niece. He’d been raised by a single mother, understood a fair bit about what girls went through, and had no respect for people who mistreated women. He had gleaned from what little Darby had told him that Huck had some kind of problem with women—the more he learned about this, the more Michael disliked Huck.
“When was the last time you ate?” he asked.
She thought for a minute but honestly couldn’t remember. He set down his messenger bag and hung his jacket in the front closet, by then completely at ease in her house.
“I’m making you dinner,” he said. “And while I do, I want you to tell me everything.”
So she did. Not just starting with the performance review that day, she told him about how it had been with Huck from the beginning. She gave him examples of ways in which Huck had treated her differently, how he’d worked to discredit her in subtle and subversive ways, but how this—which could be considered nothing less than a blatant attack on her—had been unprecedented.
As she spoke, he moved around her kitchen easily. She hadn’t been grocery shopping in a while, but somehow Michael assembled ingredients from her cabinet and her freezer into a meal far superior to anything that she had ever cooked. By the time she’d finished venting, he had defrosted chicken from the freezer, cut, breaded and butter-sautéed it and whipped up a sauce using lemon juice from her refrigerator and capers he’d found in her cabinets. While the chicken finished cooking in the oven, he defrosted some frozen dinner rolls she had lying around and used fresh garlic and dried herbs to make special butter. Darby had a double oven that she’d never used, but for the first time she saw how it might be useful. Michael used the second one to brown the tops of what smelled as if it would be very tasty garlic bread.
All the while, she had been sitting on a barstool in her kitchen, sipping a glass of wine she knew she could only nurse slowly given her empty stomach, but
one that felt good to drink all the same. Michael touched his own wine for the first time only after he had set two steaming plates down before them. He had rolled up his sleeves to cook, and he hadn’t gotten a drop of oil or speck of flour on him as he’d made their amazing meal.
“Eat, please,” he said gently, but with a bit of urgency in his voice. He didn’t like it when she went hours without having something in her stomach, even though he did the same thing.
“This is amazing,” she said around the first bite, and it really was. When Darby looked inside her cabinets, she saw a whole lot of nothing to eat. When Michael looked inside her cabinets, apparently he knew how to make magic. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said smiling a bit, pausing to acknowledge her appreciation before getting back to business. He took a sip of his wine but left his food untouched as he looked back at her with serious eyes.
“I wasn’t kidding about the private investigator.”
She took another bite, chewing slowly.
“I know you weren’t.”
“It’s time you fight back. He’s trying to ruin your career.”
She knew Michael was right.
“But, why?” Tears stung her eyes. The injustice of it all was still fresh.
“ Why doesn’t matter. All we’re looking for is something we can use as leverage to get him to back off.”
“It’s more complicated than that. Even if we find something on him, what am I going to do? Blackmail him? Walk into HR with some sort of dossier?”
“No.” His voice was calm. “You’re going to stay as far away from it as possible and let me do it. The less you’re involved, the better.”
She went quiet, not liking this idea at all.
“What you will do is cover your ass. Build allies. Go through the proper channels. How’s the rest of your HR file?”
Darby thought about it.
“Well, I never get patient complaints. All the people who are closest to my work only have good things to say about me.”
