“Nurse Snyder, are you busy?”
Lynne smiled at Renee, who always referred to Lynne by that title when both wore starched dresses and those ridiculously rigid white caps. Renee thought they looked like nuns, albeit in much shorter skirts, and of course the uniforms didn’t chafe their necks. But while doctors roamed the hospital’s hallways in serviceable white jackets, they didn’t have to wear hats. Renee loathed hats, but she loved nursing, and she was fond of Lynne, whom was usually called by her given name of Caroline, unless a doctor was asking for her. “Nurse Snyder, please,” Renee giggled, as Lynne stepped behind the nurses’ station.
Lynne took a deep breath, then smiled. “Yes, Nurse Ahern?”
“Are you and Mr. Snyder busy for dinner on Friday?”
Lynne rolled her eyes, then shrugged. “Depends on if he finishes what he’s been working on all week. And what you’re cooking,” she added with a grin.
“I won’t be cooking, let’s get that straight.” As Renee stood, only the top of her cap reached Lynne’s shoulder. “Sam’s got a new chicken recipe he’s dying to try and….”
Lynne and Renee were fast friends in part from their similarities, although not in looks. Renee was short, plump, and red-haired, and the only physical link was the many freckles that graced her face and arms. But their husbands didn’t have regular jobs, and both women loved their profession. Renee was often kept busy in the maternity ward, which didn’t bother her, even though she and Sam weren’t able to have a baby. Sam had been wounded in Korea, and while the women didn’t speak of it openly, Lynne knew it was sheer luck that Samuel Ahern had come home alive, much less walking. Renee chalked that up to their Catholic faith, while many nieces and nephews made up for offspring the couple wasn’t able to produce. Renee and Sam had decided not to adopt children, too much for Sam to cope with. Renee laughed that she was enough of a firecracker, and her good humor was a plus in the labor ward. When she helped out with the new mothers, Lynne felt a gaping hole on their floor, but better for Renee to fill in. Lynne was never asked, the head nurses aware that while Nurse Ahern didn’t lament her predicament, Nurse Snyder was more sensitive.
At work it was the only subject over which Lynne brooded. None of her colleagues had any inkling about Eric, other than he was a painter, and quite good at it too. Some had attended his recent exhibit, in a nearby large city, and a few of those women had later commented to Lynne that while they loved Eric’s work, the canvases had been too costly for them to consider. Lynne had smiled graciously, for she kept a low profile within the hospital, unlike Renee, who chatted at length, steering just clear of being a gossip. Many of the nurses were Catholic, and they were a tight bunch. Renee was the only one without children, but it was never an issue. It wasn’t like she and Sam had a choice in the matter.
Neither did Lynne and Eric, but they hadn’t exhibited any obvious reason why a baby wasn’t conceived. It had nothing to do with Eric’s mangled left foot, only that some couples didn’t have children, similar to how some men hadn’t come home from the war, and those who did weren’t always in the best of shape. But Renee often spoke of how blessed she was, that Sam was mostly fine, all she would say about his injury. When the subject did arise, Renee kept the more intimate notions under wraps; Lynne had no idea if the couple could even make love. Samuel had suffered debilitating damage, and his existence was indeed most precious. Some men carried great sorrows that no one could see. Lynne was married to such a man, and if they never had a baby, at least Eric loved her, was a good husband, and had his art to fulfill his non-marital passions.
And he got along well with Sam Ahern, although they too were mismatched in frame. Sam was barely Lynne’s height, and he was portly, although Renee said it was because he did all the cooking. He was balding, but had twinkling blue eyes that seemed to radiate the knowledge that his life was a treasure, mostly due to the woman he had wed. That was the feeling Lynne always got from Samuel Ahern; he was a better man for having married Renee.
Or perhaps she noted it in that manner, because Eric often said that about her. Lynne felt that was erroneous; he couldn’t help it, he had no control over it, he…. She smiled, then squeezed Renee’s shoulder. “I’ll check with Eric, but Friday should be fine. What can we bring?”
“Well, how about some of that delicious pie you made last time?”
Lynne fought a giggle; she had just harvested boysenberries from their garden, and Renee had begged to keep the leftovers for her and Sam. Lynne had several quarts of frozen berries in the bottom of her deep freezer, and while they were Eric’s favorite fruit, a few could be spared. “I’ll bring the pie, if Sam makes that vanilla custard again.”
“It’s a deal.” Renee smiled, then stretched. “All right, back to work. Otherwise a doctor’ll think we’re loafing.”
Lynne nodded, then gazed at the corridor. Several men in white coats were going in and out of patients’ rooms, and it didn’t behoove nurses even as capable as herself and Renee to stand idle. The women strode around the open end of the station, then headed down different sections of the hallway, waiting for their names to be called.
That evening, during dinner, Lynne broached Renee’s invitation. Eric nodded, wiped his mouth with a napkin, then sat back. “Sounds good. I should be done by then.” Then he smiled. “She wants us to bring dessert, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, but I said that Sam had to make that custard. I should get the recipe from him, it’s really the best accompaniment for boysenberry pie.”
“Well, good luck. That man holds onto recipes like they’re state secrets.” Eric stood, then picked up his empty plate. “Are you done?” he asked his wife.
“Oh yes, thanks.” Lynne had nearly finished, a few bites remaining. Eric had cooked, just Swiss steak and egg noodles. Their meals weren’t as elaborate as the Aherns’, although Lynne did enjoy a fancy sweet now and again. They had planted the boysenberry vines, the only flora added to the sprawling array of fruit trees. Eric maintained a large vegetable garden, which Lynne tended when she wasn’t working. Eric didn’t paint all day, waiting until the best light to step into the studio. Early in the mornings, he poked around the backyard, weeding or harvesting. Even on days when Lynne didn’t work, Eric was usually up first, although sometimes they didn’t rise until the middle of the morning. But he preferred being outdoors, why he hadn’t altered the studio, needing that much natural light. Stanford wondered how Eric didn’t roast in the summers, or freeze in the winters. Lynne knew why, but never set the record straight. Stanford wouldn’t have believed her anyway.
While Lynne blamed herself for the couple’s childless state, other issues within their marriage rested on Eric’s shoulders. He took off at a moment’s notice, but not in the middle of completing a painting, or when Lynne occasionally fell ill. Yet she couldn’t put a schedule on his absences, which didn’t conform to her monthly cycles, or to the seasons or holidays or any other time frame. Just that every few months Eric fled their home, usually for no more than three or four days. Three years back, after she had recovered from the flu, he had shown signs of needing to leave, but he’d waited until Lynne was well on her feet. Then he had departed, not returning for nearly a week. They didn’t speak much about it, other than his copious apologies for the length of his sojourn. She wondered if he had been away for those extra days because he had needed to leave sooner, and had resisted because of her questionable health. He didn’t know, but hadn’t wanted to dwell on it. Then they didn’t talk about it again, and a few months later he once more left their home, that time for just two days. Lynne recalled those outings with clarity, his longest, then shortest, absences to date.
Normally he was gone for three days. If it stretched into four, she didn’t worry, the memory of that week’s departure still in both of their minds. And he always came home so contrite, as if he had control over these episodes. She did speak to that, telling him he had no way to stop what occurred, he never had. She’d married him fully aware of this
issue, had never expected it to change, or to end. Change was rife within their home, but Lynne didn’t think it would ever cease.
When her period arrived, she consoled herself that it was for the best. How could they raise a child with his frequent absences? She never worried that a baby might be compromised, that was more than she could fathom. Only that it would be so difficult to explain why Daddy came and went so suddenly. And if the reason for his departures was noted…. Lynne shivered, as Eric came up behind her, gently squeezing her shoulders. “You all right?” he asked.
She nodded, blinking away tears. Near the end of that day’s shift, Renee had been called to the labor ward. There always seemed to be a shortage of nurses to tend to mothers and new babies, and Lynne didn’t understand why. It was the happiest part of the hospital, even she understood that. Rare were the awful cases of an infant or maternal death; modern medicine had eliminated many previous mishaps, not that new techniques could do anything for Lynne’s husband. Not even a psychiatrist could ease Eric’s woes. Lynne expected that during her career, she would witness great strides in health care, she’d already seen amazing advances, like the recent polio vaccine trials. According to Dr. Keller, the chief of staff, polio would be completely eradicated within Lynne’s lifetime. The older physician smiled when saying it, during a conversation they had shared a few months back. He was close to retirement, but expected magnificent developments would improve the way human beings lived. Life expectancies would rise, he claimed, even cancer would one day be cured. He was serious during their chats, and Renee usually wasn’t included, for she would have added unnecessary humor to the subject. Lynne was better suited for these discussions, even if she disagreed with one facet of Dr. Keller’s observations. Not every malady had a remedy waiting to be discovered.
“Honey, what is it?” Eric spoke softly, still caressing her shoulders. “Lynne?”
She had been christened Caroline, after her mother, but her father had always called her Lynne, and she preferred her nickname. Caroline was stuffy, not that her mother had been snooty, just that Lynne liked the simplicity of her father’s pet name for her. And she loved how it slipped from Eric’s tongue, which now teased her earlobe, as he murmured Lynne in a seductive tone.
She closed her eyes, not thinking about her deceased parents, Dr. Keller, or even Renee and Samuel. Eric moved his hands from her shoulders to her chest, and Lynne only wished to revel in this pleasure, which had calmed her fears after Eric told her about…. She pushed that away, as a moan escaped her lips. He didn’t stop touching her, but now called her name in a more forceful voice.
Within minutes, she stood, as he stepped back, giving her enough room to slip from her chair. Then she was in his arms, mouths engaged, arms clutching the other. He was grabby, which she appreciated, then he was removing her clothing, which she didn’t fight. While she wouldn’t make love with him in the studio, somehow sex in their living room, even if the curtains weren’t drawn, was permitted.
The difference, she realized, as they went to the floor, was that the lights were low, and that it was dark out, no one would come knocking now. And that Eric maneuvered most of her under the dining table, so at least she was concealed. But he wasn’t, and as he removed his trousers, he didn’t seem to care. Lynne didn’t ponder why that was, too consumed with the warmth of his skin, the tenderness of his kisses, the feel of him atop her. Then he was one with her, and nothing else mattered.
Until he spoke. “It’s happening, I can feel it.”
He wasn’t talking about lovemaking. It was what invariably occurred a few times a year, fueling his art, but driving him…. “Oh Eric, no, not now.”
He nodded, still laying directly on her, stretching out his limbs, as if their bodies could become one frame. But he was longer-limbed than she was, he was different in so many ways. “Lynne, I don’t know about dinner on Friday. I might not….”
She kissed him, not wishing to make an excuse, but if it was necessary…. Perhaps she could claim he was coming down with a cold, the painting wasn’t ready, or that they had another activity scheduled for that evening. Yet Lynne had a hard time lying, and Renee could worm secrets from all she knew. For the last few years, Lynne had managed to keep this from Renee, but one day, might something slip? “Eric, please, can’t you delay it until….”
He nodded, but his eyes were cloudy. Then Lynne’s filled with tears, recalling when he had waited too long; when he finally returned, he hadn’t been well. This was why Lynne didn’t rue her infertility, for he was so unpredictable, and there was nothing either of them could do to change it. Polio and cancer might one day be wiped from Earth, but what Eric suffered from had no explanation or cure. As he came, he cried out, but not in bliss. Lynne tried to soothe him, but his tremors were overwhelming. He moved away from her, then as quickly as his bad foot allowed, he fled the room, leaving his clothing right where it had been discarded.
Chapter 3
The Hawk: Part One Page 2
