I mean. Don’t you? I mean, it figures, with what you do for a living, you’d be pretty suspicious of marriage. Bitter about it.”
Oh boy, this was only getting worse. Bitter? Like a dagger. “Stephanie, I have a call on another line. Can we talk about this later?”
“Oh, God, now you’re mad. Mom, look, I can understand why you’d want your kind of life, and it’s right for you and everything, but that doesn’t mean that I—”
“Steph, I’m sorry, honey. I have to go! I’ll talk to you later.”
As she clicked off the line, she felt the rare prickle of tears sting her eyes.
Charlene needed something to shift her emotions back to the stable side, and Dennis came to mind. She decided to surprise him by showing up at his E.R. for lunch, something she made time for only rarely. It was not the nastiness of the Samuelsons that had jolted her—she was used to that sorry business. But Stephanie’s remark about her life—or the lack thereof—threatened to ruin her day. What could she have meant? That Charlene didn’t need anyone? That was entirely untrue. She needed a lot of people, mostly Stephanie, even when she was the worst brat. And her mother, Lois, who had named herself Peaches for her only grandchild. And of course, Dennis, the most dependable man in the world. In thinking about it, the only thing she didn’t have in her life was a marriage. And in the presence of all that she did have, she didn’t need that.
It was true that Charlene was secure as a single woman, had taken to living alone quite easily and felt no desire to have a man’s rowing machine stored under her bed. But did that make her bitter about marriage? No! Certainly not!
The best way to drive out any plaguing doubt was to see her man, her Dennis, to feel his arm around her shoulders, to look into his warm, reassuring brown eyes and have him tell her for the millionth time that she was an incredible woman.
It was really Dennis who was incredible. Almost too incredible to be believed.
When Charlene had reached forty, after twenty years of backbreaking labor as a studying and then working single mother, she had met Dennis—the perfect man. While hiking along the American River she had twisted her ankle and was rescued by the tall, handsome physician’s assistant. His hands on her sprain were gentle, his smile comforting. He helped her to his car and took her to the emergency room in which he worked, where he had her ankle X-rayed. Then he wrapped it himself. Then he took her to dinner. The whole thing had brought about a belief in fate once more, for who could have predicted that she would meet a man so in tune to her every whim. They shared similar tastes in music, in food, in leisure activities. They had both been married once when much younger, though Dennis had no children.
Even though Charlene had declined Dennis’s proposals of marriage, she had not done so because of any doubt about their ability to remain perfect partners, but rather out of the common sense of a family law practitioner. “I don’t want to screw up a really good thing by overindulgence,” she had told him. “Let’s not mess with it, especially since it works absolutely perfectly.”
And Dennis always said, “You must be right, because I have nothing to complain about. I just thought we could check and see if it could get more perfect.”
During their five years together, Charlene and Dennis had set a kind of schedule for their relationship, something that appealed to a woman as strictly organized as Charlene. One night a week they had dinner at her house and Dennis would usually stay over. One night a week they dined at his house, but she rarely stayed the night because she loved her little house in the suburbs. Saturday nights they went out, Sunday mornings they had brunch, and the rest of the time they checked in by phone. They had both togetherness and plenty of time to catch up on work, family, or fulfill other social obligations—he for the hospital, she for the legal community and professional women’s groups. Or, they simply spent time alone, something middle-aged professionals who lived demanding, hectic lives needed.
Dennis was, above all, a treasured friend…and when life threw a few curves at Charlene, he was the one for whom she reached.
Charlene was already feeling more secure just thinking about Dennis and their flawless relationship as she pulled into the St. Rose’s E.R. parking lot. She was soon distracted by evidence of a recent commotion. A Sacramento Fire Department engine was just departing and a paramedic van was still parked outside. A couple of firefighters in full turnout gear stood talking outside the E.R. doors, and the ambulance was backed up to the dock, doors open, a serious cleaning-up going on.
On a couple of occasions she had gone to the E.R. when Dennis was in the throes of triage, and she had been mesmerized by his commanding nature, his confidence and skill. He was impressive to watch.
But today it appeared the chaos was past. There were a few people in the lobby waiting to be seen, all the curtains were drawn around treatment cubicles and there was a grim hush that lay over the room. It seemed things were under control. She saw Dennis standing outside one of the exam rooms, chart in hand, listening raptly and scribbling quickly as a young doctor spoke to him. A young woman.
She seemed awfully young to be a doctor, Charlene observed, but she had to be if Dennis was writing orders; if she wasn’t an M.D., he’d be giving them. She looked about twenty-one and she was very tall. She could look Dennis right in the eye. Charlene, at five foot four, fought down the temptation to feel dumpy. She straightened her spine. She was petite…almost a foot shy of meeting Dennis’s gaze. But this one, with her long legs and long auburn hair…
Dennis stopped writing suddenly to make eye contact with the young woman. She looked down as if shaken by something. He put aside the chart and pen and reached out to touch her upper arm. He gave her a gentle squeeze. Charlene saw that Dennis spoke to her softly but intensely. The doctor leaned forward, rested her head on his shoulder. His arm encircled her, stroking her back, and he murmured to her all the while. Charlene could read his lips: “It’s okay, okay.” The young woman was draped against him, soaking up what Charlene had come for. She wasn’t sobbing or crying, but still obviously upset…and Charlene’s fiancé held her close and secure. For a long time. Charlene made a U-turn and migrated back to the front of the E.R. before Dennis let the young woman go.
Hmm, she thought. She had never before referred to him as her fiancé. Even mentally.
“Hi, Charlene,” Barbara Benn, the E.R. clerk, greeted. “Does Denny know you’re here?”
No, she thought, he didn’t see me because he was busy caressing a beautiful and obviously brilliant fifteen-year-old doctor. “Ah…I don’t think so. You have an exciting morning?”
Barbara leaned over the counter. “Bad accident,” she whispered. “We had a couple of fatalities. Very yucko ones.” Barbara, early twenties with a slight purple tinge to her overly black hair, cracked her gum and rolled her eyes for emphasis. “Denny worked on one for about forty-five minutes. Awful. Just a kid. I bet he’s completely bummed. He’ll be glad to see you. Maybe you can get him out of here for a while.”
At that precise moment, Dennis, who she never called Denny, was there, beside her. He dropped his arm casually around her shoulders, but his gaze drifted down the hall toward the departing frame of the young woman he’d just been holding. “Hi, honey,” he said absently. “I can’t get away. I’m sorry. It’s a zoo.” His lips fell to the top of her head in a perfunctory kiss before he let her go and followed the young doctor. Charlene was filled with a sense of emptiness that was underscored by her earlier conversation with Stephanie.
There will be an explanation later, she told herself. But as hard as she tried,
