“And the trees,” Carlynn said. She studied the milky horizon, where the overcast sky and frothy sea met in an indistinct line. “I was thinking before,” she said. “Thinking about the perennials.”
“The perennials?” Mary asked.
Carlynn nodded. “I realized this was probably the last year I’d ever see them.”
“Oh, Carlynn.” Mary gently touched her shoulder.
“Don’t feel bad,” Carlynn said. “I don’t. But it was just a shock to realize that. I wish I’d paid better attention to them over the summer.”
Neither of them spoke for a moment. “I know Alan’s worried about you,” Mary said finally. “He doesn’t think you should be going to that nursing home, seeing that brain-damaged girl.”
“Well, he’s wrong about that,” Carlynn said.
“How is she doing? The girl with the brain damage?”
Carlynn smiled to herself. “She’s at peace,” she said. “Smiles all the time. She’s not the one who needs healing.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s Joelle and Liam who need to be healed, though they don’t realize it yet.”
“Who’s Liam?” Mary asked.
Carlynn watched a pelican fly through her cypress-framed view of the ocean. “He’s a man who’s forgotten how to make music in his life,” she said. “And he’s also the man Joelle is in love with.” She looked squarely at Mary. “And he’s the husband of Mara, the brain-damaged woman.”
“Oh,” Mary said with a knowing nod, and Carlynn heard the understanding in that simple word. Mary knew all about forbidden love, love that must remain hidden.
Just as she did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
San Francisco, 1962
Carlynn stepped into the hospital room, where the little boy lay in the bed nearest the window. The room was dark, except for a low-wattage lamp on the boy’s night table, and his mother sat in a chair near his bed. Carlynn did not know this child or his mother, but she’d received a call early that morning from the doctor treating the seven-year-old boy, asking for a consult. Carlynn had a reputation as a gifted pediatrician. No one, save Alan, understood the depth of that gift, but she was called on regularly by her colleagues to see their patients who were difficult to diagnose and harder still to treat.
She and Alan shared a practice in their office on Sutter Street, where Carlynn specialized in children, while Alan saw adults. There was crossover, of course. A great deal of it, actually, because Alan often called her in to “meet” one of his patients, in the hope that such a meeting would lead him to a better course of treatment through Carlynn’s intuitive sense of the patient. It was gratifying work, something she seemed born to do. Still, she was not completely happy. All day, every day, she treated the children of other people, when what she longed for was a child of her own.
A year ago, Alan had learned he was sterile. They would never be able to have children unless they adopted, and neither of them was ready or willing to take that step. Carlynn had wondered briefly if she might be able to use her healing skills to make Alan fertile again, but she didn’t want to subject him to being a guinea pig, and he did not offer.
The news that they would remain childless had thrown Carlynn into a mild depression, which she’d attempted to mask so that Alan would feel no worse than he already did. What kept her going, what still brought her joy, was her continued fascination with the nature of her gift. She spent her days pouring her energy into her patients, but at night she was exhausted and often went to bed early, and she knew that Alan worried about her.
“Mrs. Rozak?” Carlynn spoke softly to the woman in the little boy’s room.
“Yes.” The woman stood up to greet her.
“I’m Dr. Shire,” Carlynn said. “Dr. Zieman asked me to see your son.”
“I didn’t expect a woman,” Mrs. Rozak said, obviously disappointed.
“No, I’m often a surprise.” Carlynn smiled.
“Isn’t there another Dr. Shire? A man?”
“That’s my husband,” Carlynn said. “But he treats adults. I’m the pediatrician in the family.”
“Well…” The woman looked at her son, whose eyes were open, but who had not moved or made a sound since Carlynn had walked into the room. “Dr. Zieman said that if anyone could help him, you could.” She spoke in a near whisper, as though not wanting her child to hear her. Her small gray eyes were wet, her face red from days of crying, and Carlynn moved closer to touch her hand.
“Let me see him,” she said.
The woman nodded, stepping back to allow Carlynn to move past her.
Carlynn sat on the edge of the boy’s bed. His name was Brian, she remembered, and he was awake but silent, his glassy-eyed gaze following her movements. She could almost see the fever burning inside him. Touching his forehead, her hand recoiled from the heat.
“Nothing’s brought the fever down,” his mother said from the other side of the bed.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Carlynn said softly to the boy. “Can you hear me?”
The boy gave a barely perceptible nod.
“He can hear,” the mother said.
“It hurts even to nod?” Carlynn asked him, and he nodded again.
She thought of asking the mother to leave, but decided against it, as long as she could get her to be quiet. Ordinarily, she preferred not to have family members present, since her style of work tended to alarm them because of her lack of action. They wondered why she had been called in to see their sick children, when she appeared to do absolutely nothing to help them. This particular woman was very anxious, though, and if Carlynn could keep her in the room while she worked, it would probably help both mother and son.
“Back here?” She touched the back of Brian’s neck. “Is this where it hurts?”
The boy whispered a word and she leaned closer to hear it. “Everywhere,” he said, and she studied him in sympathy.
Standing up, she smiled briefly at his mother, then lifted Brian’s chart from the end of the bed, leafing through the pages. They’d ruled out rheumatic fever and meningitis and all the other probable causes for his symptoms, as well as those that might not be so obvious. He had an infection somewhere in his body—his blood work showed that much—but the cause had not been determined. Frankly, she didn’t care what was causing his symptoms as long as the logical culprits had been ruled out. It only helped her to know the cause if it was something that could be removed or repaired. Fever caused by a ruptured appendix had one obvious solution, for example, but when a child presented this way, with intense, hard-to-control fever and pain everywhere, and the usual suspects had been ruled out, learning the cause was no longer on Carlynn’s agenda.
“No one can figure out what’s wrong with him,” Mrs. Rozak said.
Glancing through his chart again, she assured herself that every treatment her physician’s mind could imagine had already been attempted. The treatment she would now give the boy would have little to do with her mind and everything to do with her heart. Sitting down once more on the edge of Brian’s bed, she looked up at his mother.
“I’m going to ask you to be quiet for a while, Mrs. Rozak, all right?” she asked. “It’s very important, so no matter how much you want to say something to me, please save it until I tell you it’s okay. I’d like to give Brian my undivided attention.”
The woman nodded again and walked across the room to sit on the edge of the empty second bed.
Carlynn spoke to Brian in a soft voice, holding his small hand in both of hers.
“Nothing I do will hurt you,” she said. “I’m going to talk to you, but you don’t need to talk back to me,” she said. “I’m not going to ask you any questions, so you don’t have to worry about answering me. I’m just going to talk for a while and hope I don’t bore you too much.” She smiled at him.
She talked about the weather, about the Yankees winning the World Series, about the way the blond in his hair sparkled in the soft light from the lamp.
She talked about Halloween coming up and about the new movie The Miracle Worker, and how strong and tough and smart Helen Keller had been as a child. She talked until she knew his gaze was locked tight to hers. Then she gently lowered the blanket and sheet to his waist.
“I’m going to touch you very gently now,” she said. “I won’t hurt you a bit.”
Through his hospital gown, she rested one hand on his hot rib cage and leaned forward so that she could slip her other hand beneath his back.
“I’m going to be quiet for a few minutes now, Brian. I’ll close my eyes, and you can close yours, too, if you like.”
Shutting her eyes, she did what had become second nature to her. She allowed everything inside her, all her thoughts and hopes and loving feelings, to pour from her into him. She could feel the energy slipping through his body, from one of her hands to the other. Sometimes, healing came easily to her, and tonight, with this particular child, was one of those times.
“There’s a light inside you, Brian,” she said softly, her hands still on his small, hot body. “It’s not a hot light, like a lightbulb. It’s cool, like the water in a cool lake, reflecting the sun off its surface. I can feel it passing into your body from my hands.” There was no need for her to speak—this was not hypnosis—but talking sometimes helped, and with this boy she thought it might. She opened her eyes to see that his were closed, a small crease in the space between his delicate, little-boy eyebrows as he listened hard to her words.
Precious child, she thought, closing her eyes again.
After another moment or so, she slowly drew her hands away from him. He was asleep, she noticed, the crease gone from between his eyebrows, and she knew he would get well. She didn’t always have that sense of certainty; in fact, it was rare that she did. Right now, though, the feeling inside her was strong.
Standing up, she pressed her finger to her lips so that Mrs. Rozak would not say anything that might wake her son.
Carlynn leaned forward to hold her wristwatch into the circle of light from the night-table lamp. She’d been in the room an hour. It had seemed like fifteen minutes to her.
Walking toward the hallway, she motioned Mrs. Rozak to follow her.
“What do you think?” the woman asked as soon as they’d reached the intrusive bright light of the corridor. The poor woman had to be thoroughly confused by what she had just witnessed, and Carlynn thought she’d probably made a mistake in allowing her to stay. She hadn’t realized how long she would be working with Brian.
“I think Brian will get well,” she said.
“But what’s wrong with him?”
“I’m not certain,” Carlynn said honestly. “But I believe he will turn the corner very quickly.”
“How can you say that?” The woman looked frantic, wiping a tear from her cheek with a trembling hand. “You didn’t even examine him.”
It was true. She hadn’t listened to his heart or his lungs or looked into his ears or his throat, and perhaps she should have allowed that ruse, but she had gotten out of the habit of pretending to do something she was not. It stole her energy from the task at hand.
She smiled at Mrs. Rozak. “I examined him in my own way,” she said. “And I feel very strongly that he will be just fine. Back playing with his friends in a week. Maybe sooner.”
She didn’t want to answer any more questions. She couldn’t. A dizziness washed over her that she knew would drop her to the floor if she didn’t escape quickly. Excusing herself from the bewildered woman, she walked down the hall to the ladies’ room.
Inside the rest room, she washed her hands in cold water, shaking them out at her sides, then splashed water on her face, trying to regain some of the energy she had just given away. God, she would love a nap! Once or twice, she’d given in to that temptation by closing herself into one of the stalls, sitting fully clothed on the toilet and resting her head against the wall while she dozed. But there was no time for that tonight.
She left the rest room and walked to the nurses’ station, where she made a call to the physician, Ralph Zieman, who had referred the boy to her.
“I saw Brian Rozak,” she told the pediatrician. She was never sure what to say in these situations. How could she explain that she had no new diagnosis to offer, no concrete treatment to suggest? The doctors talked about her, she knew, some of them scoffing at the idea that this female doctor could do something they could not. But there were a few physicians, and Ralph Zieman was one of them, who were beginning to understand and accept that what she did was outside the norm. “I spent about an hour with him,” she said. “Like you, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I think you’ll find him improved in the morning.”
Ralph Zieman hesitated a moment before answering. “If that’s true, Carlynn, you’d better be prepared to open your own medical school, with me as your first student.”
She laughed. “Just let me know what you find when you do your rounds in the morning, okay?” she asked.
It was two months later when Carlynn realized her decision to allow Brian Rozak’s mother to remain in his room while she treated him would change her life. She was walking in the door of the row house she shared with Alan when the phone rang. It was Lisbeth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lisbeth nearly shouted.
“Tell you what?” Carlynn frowned.
“About Life Magazine, you secretive little thing.”
It had been a very long day, and Carlynn creased her forehead as she tried to discern the meaning in her sister’s words. Finally she gave up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.
“Are you kidding me?”
Carlynn was beginning to feel annoyed. “No, I have no idea.”
“Gabe and I just got our new issue of Life, the one with the Cuban Missile Crisis on the cover, and there you are! A great big fat article! It’s called ‘The Real Miracle Worker,’ and it’s all about you, Carly.”
Carlynn sat down, her mouth open. “I…That doesn’t make any sense. I knew nothing about it.”
“Want me to read it to you?”
“Yes, definitely.”
Lisbeth began to read, and it all started to fall into place. Brian Rozak’s mother was a writer for Life Magazine, and she had come to the conclusion that Brian’s miraculous recovery from his strange fever could only be attributable to the magical work of the young woman doctor, Carlynn Shire. Mrs. Rozak had done some sleuthing after Brian’s recovery. She’d spoken to a few doctors, some of whom trusted Carlynn’s skills and others who found them suspect, and somehow she’d managed to track down several patients who Carlynn had helped over the years. The article made Carlynn sound like equal parts saint, genius, fruitcake and charlatan.
But the Bay Area was full of people who were full of hope, and the next day the office she shared with Alan was crammed with walk-ins. The phone rang continuously, and they had to call in a temporary worker in the middle of the day to give the receptionist they shared a break. Carlynn worked until ten that night and until midnight the following night, and when she failed to wake up with the alarm on the third morning after the appearance of the Life article, she knew she could not continue this way. She could not see everyone who wanted to see her. The work drained her, both mentally and physically. Yet, how could she turn people away? Even more distressing to her was that she was not able to help all of those people she did treat, and she didn’t understand why that was the case.
Some people, like Brian Rozak, were relatively simple for her to heal. With others, she didn’t know where to begin. It was as though her intuition left her when she sat in a room with certain people. Why did one approach succeed with a particular patient and not with another? Why did talking sometimes help and other times hinder? She simply didn’t know the answers to her own questions, and the more patients clamored to see her, the more her lack of knowledge disturbed her. Sometimes she felt alone. She was the only person who could do this. Invaluable. Irreplaceable. And that scared her more than it h
onored her.
Alan both supported and envied his wife. He pleaded with her to teach him everything she knew about her method of healing, but no matter how long Alan spent with a patient, no matter how intently he spoke to them, looked into their eyes, held their hands, he made no difference in their physical condition.
Carlynn knew he was proud of her, though. Proud and thrilled by the newfound fame that brought them more patients than they could handle. He tried to protect her from overdoing it by putting an end to the walk-in appointments and by hiring nurses to screen the patients so that she would see only those in the greatest need. Some, she turned away herself, knowing from talking with them on the phone or in person that she could not help them. She just knew. There was something in their voice, or in the words they used, that told her. And it was nothing she could explain to anyone who asked, not even her husband.
Her own mother was one of those people.
She tried to visit her mother every month, sometimes with Alan, sometimes alone. Delora never asked Carlynn about Lisbeth, and if Carlynn offered any information about her sister, Delora feigned deafness in addition to her failing eyesight and arthritis. Once, Carlynn overheard an interviewer ask Delora the question, “How many children do you have?” and her mother replied, “One” without a moment’s hesitation.
Carlynn had felt guilty at first, continuing to see their mother, but Lisbeth insisted that she did. Someone needed to be sure Delora was all right and getting her eyes checked regularly, Lisbeth said. So she encouraged Carlynn’s contact with their mother, and Carlynn was relieved. No matter how horrid one’s parents were, she thought, it was the duty of the family to look after them.
Her mother had grown rather famous in Monterey County, not that she’d truly ever been an unknown. But now that word had spread about Carlynn’s healing powers, newspapers and magazines were always after Delora for an interview. Sometimes they tried to contact her to see if she might be able to get them an appointment with her daughter to treat their cancer or their ulcers. It annoyed Delora tremendously that she, herself, wasn’t a better advertisement for her daughter’s skills. Carlynn had been unable to heal her arthritis or the macular degeneration that was stealing her vision. Not for want of trying, certainly, and with every visit she tried again, sending her energy into her mother’s body until she was drained and had to sleep for hours. But nothing worked, and Carlynn was never surprised. Her mother was one of those people she would turn away from her office, knowing that no matter what she did, this woman would not get better. Not her eyesight nor her knees. Not her narcissism. And certainly not her cruelty toward her unwanted second daughter.
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