Confucius Jane (35 page)

The epiphany struck like a rattlesnake. Beneath the sudden roar that filled her ears, Sutton could feel the tremor in her legs and the color leaching from her face. The skit. She saw it again in her mind's eye—the thick plumes of smoke that had wreathed “her” head, blocking out the sight of her father's infidelities. Eastern medicine. Opium. That was the rumor. It may have been started by a sensationalist reporter, but he would never have come up with it if she hadn't agreed to be filmed for that news feature. In trying to help, all she had done was to set in motion the chain of events that had led to this—this tower of garbage bags, this glass-salted stretch of sidewalk, this loss of property and inventory and precious time.

Sutton looked between the shattered window and the curb, feeling as though an invisible pair of hands was trying to strangle her. She should never have come here. Not today, and not all those months ago, back when she needed a quiet place to escape the scrutiny of her friends. The watchful eyes had followed her, and their gaze had turned sinister. She should never have come. She didn't belong. She had to leave. Now.

“I wish I could stay and help,” she said, not quite meeting Giancarlo's eyes, “but I have to get back to the hospital. Can you drop these off for me? Mei gave them to me when I stopped by. They're for everyone.” Realizing she was babbling, Sutton pushed the larger of the bags into his hands.

“Of course. But don't you want to see—”

“Sutton!”

Minetta's unmistakable soprano felt like a knife to the chest. In the next instant, she was nearly knocked to the ground by the force of Min's embrace.

“You're back! We were so worried! How's your mom? We wanted to do something to help but no one could figure out what.” Suddenly, she let go, visibly censuring her public display. Smiling sheepishly, she finished with a meek, “Are you all right?”

“I'm all right,” Sutton lied. She wasn't all right at all. Her skin felt too tight, and if she had to stay for even one more minute, she thought she might shatter into a million pieces. But she couldn't just turn her back on Min and walk away without so much as an explanation.

“Okay. That's good. Jane is going to be so happy to see you!” Min rolled her eyes. “Ever since you've been gone, she's been a huge pain in the ass.”

As Giancarlo chuckled indulgently, Sutton forced her lips into a crude approximation of a smile. The only thing she knew for certain was that she couldn't face Jane. Not right now, not like this. “I wish I could stay,” she managed, “but I'm due at the hospital. Will you tell her…”

The words crowded her throat, choking off her speech.
Tell her I miss her. Tell her I want her. Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I lo—

“Sutton?” Min was looking at her apprehensively. Giancarlo's expression was troubled.

“Tell her thanks. For being so sweet about my mother.”

Before their kind, earnest faces changed her mind, she fled. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a wild animal demanding freedom. Moisture flooded her eyes but she dashed it away with one sleeve. She was doing the right thing. She was. She was a surgeon. When she found a problem, she cut it out. When she was the problem, she cut herself out. Her leaving was the best possible thing for this community. All she had to offer them was chaos. All she had to offer Jane was sadness.

But the closer she got to the border of Chinatown, the harder it became to move forward. Crossing Canal felt like fighting against a buffeting headwind. Every step up Baxter was like a slog through sucking mud. Tears slid down her tingling cheeks, but she refused to acknowledge them now. Why was this so hard? Losing a patient on the operating table was hard. Standing at Dr. Buehler's side while he delivered bad news to a family member was hard. Watching her mother go into seizures had been hard. Turning her back on a month-long romance shouldn't be hard. She had no right to feel like this. None. None at all.

By the time she arrived at the hospital, her eyes were dry. Hopefully, her colleagues would attribute their puffiness to lack of sleep. While out on Long Island, she had occasionally wondered what they were saying about her, but now, as she slid into the rhythm of the revolving door, she found no room in her thoughts for self-consciousness. Heartache had made her numb. They could say whatever they liked. She wouldn't feel a thing.

 

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

S
UTTON CLUTCHED HER STYROFOAM
cup and shuffled forward in line. She kept her gaze trained on the steam rising like mist from dark lake of her coffee. Through the haze of her fatigue, she wondered whether it, like the incense in her childhood church, would carry prayers to heaven. She had stopped praying a long time ago, but maybe it was time to start again.

Her life was a waking nightmare. Since returning to the hospital, she had been alternately ignored or teased by the majority of her colleagues. Dismayed to find herself less numb than she had hoped, Sutton poured every ounce of her energy into work in an effort to escape. The hours blended together into a dizzying collage of patient charts and paperwork. Worse still, the uproar over her father had yet to die down. After a few close calls with the press, she had taken to wearing a Yankees hat and sneaking into the hospital through side entrances. At home, alone in the bed that now reminded her of Jane, she had barely slept for days.

Jane. Sutton took a deep breath against the flutter of panic that filled her chest every time Jane's face appeared in her thoughts. She had answered only one of her increasingly anxious texts: the first one, sent less than an hour after her encounter with Min and Giancarlo.

Just heard you're back in the city. Can I see u 2night?

At first, Sutton had planned on not replying at all. But as the evening dragged on, pain and guilt had eaten away at both her resolve and her focus. Finally, she had locked herself in a bathroom stall and laboriously tapped out a reply.

I'm sorry. I'm so overwhelmed right now. I can't.

Solicitous as usual, Jane had texted back immediately, and then again the next day, and the next. Each time, Sutton made no reply. People who broke up with someone via text message were selfish cowards, and now she was one of them. Maybe the whispers in the hallways were right. Maybe the apple hadn't fallen far from her father's tree. Not an hour passed when she didn't want to break the silence she had imposed, but what good would it do? Anything she said would only invite discussion, and discussion was pointless. Entering into that relationship had been a terrible idea. She had known the only possible outcome: that she would be the one to hurt Jane. The part she hadn't bargained for was how much pain she would cause herself in the process.

The cashier snapped her out of her reverie, and Sutton mustered the dregs of a smile as she handed over her money. But when she turned toward the locker room, she came face-to-face with Travis McPhearson. Once her father's most ardent sycophant, Travis was now his loudest detractor. His perfect smile broadened as he approached, and once he was close enough, he threw one arm around her shoulders.

“Dr. St. James!” he said, drawing the attention of a cluster of nearby interns. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hello, Travis.” She tried to keep walking, but his grip was too strong.

“Where are you off to in such a rush? Your opium den?” He looked around with a smirk.

Sutton fought the urge to throw her coffee in his face. Setting her jaw, she shifted her stance. “If you don't let go of me, Travis,” she said, too softly for anyone else to hear, “I'll make you.”

His jaw thrust forward stubbornly, and for a moment, it seemed he might test her threat. Sutton's skin tingled with the desire to lash out, and when he finally backed off, her disappointment was stronger than her relief. What on earth was happening to her? What kind of person was she turning into? Shoving down her self-castigation, she walked away. As much as she wanted to blow up in his face, any hint of instability would feed into the image of her constructed by the media. Ice. She had to be like ice. It was the only way to rebuild her professional reputation.

After putting on her “disguise,” she hurried into the subway, slouching beneath the prominent brim of her hat. As luck would have it, a corner seat was free in the next train, and she curled up into it facing the wall. Despite her recent influx of caffeine, she almost drifted off on her way downtown.

Climbing the stairs to Spring Street felt like tackling Everest. When she finally gained the summit, a warm breeze tugged at the brim of her cap, bringing with it the faint scent of roasting chestnuts from a nearby street vendor. For a moment, she closed her eyes, basking in the unlooked-for caress. At least Mother Nature was treating her kindly.

She couldn't go on like this much longer. Maybe it was time to start taking sleeping pills, or at least something for the anxiety. Weighing her options, she turned the corner toward her apartment complex.

“Hi.”

Jane.

The sound of her voice burned and soothed in a dizzying riot of emotion. Adrenaline lit up Sutton's every cell at the sight of her standing near the entrance to her building. Washed-out jeans hung loosely from her hips, and on her faded blue T-shirt, the Tootsie Roll owl sat on top of a rainbow. The text beneath the image, of course, was H
OW
M
ANY
L
ICKS?
and for one precarious instant, hysterical laughter threatened to burst from Sutton's throat. But if she started laughing, she would also start crying, and if she started to cry she might never stop. Jane would offer her comfort, as she always did, and Sutton would selfishly accept.

No. Ice. She had to be ice.

With a Herculean effort, she forced herself to remain still. “Hi.”

Jane was looking at her intently. As though she could sense Sutton's internal conflict, she kept her distance. “How's your mom?”

“She's in good hands. They're working on getting her back into remission.” Sutton clutched her coffee tightly. “How is Sue?”

“She's hanging in there.” Jane cleared her throat. “I've been worried about you.”

Her voice held a hint of accusation, but Sutton couldn't blame her. As she struggled to find the right words, Jane took one step closer. Her gaze felt like a spotlight. The bustling activity around them seemed suddenly to grow less distinct, and for one insane moment, it felt as though they were the only inhabitants of the city. Dropping her eyes to Jane's feet, Sutton saw them rocking back and forth against the pavement—a clear display of nerves.

“I needed to see you.” Jane raised one hand but let it fall just as quickly. “I hope you're not angry.”

Sutton swallowed against the pressure of all the unsaid words sticking in her throat. Never had she seen Jane so uncertain, and she hated knowing she was the cause. All she could do was to shake her head.

Jane took another step closer, her expression softening. “How are you?” she asked. “Really.”

“Exhausted.” It was the first word that came to mind.

“I can only imagine.” Suddenly, her face brightened. “Oh! I though you might be hungry.” She extended a small paper bag. “Mei's dumplings. She sends her regards.”

Sutton was careful not to touch Jane's fingers as she accepted the food. A distant part of her brain wondered whether this had been Min's idea. It smacked of her influence. “Thanks.”

Silence descended between them, awkward and suffocating. Now that she was over her initial shock, Sutton began to notice details she had missed. Jane was thinner than she had been, and the shadows under her eyes were almost as deep as the ones Sutton saw every day in the mirror. “You must be exhausted, too.”

“A different kind, I think.” Jane's hands hung loosely at her thighs, fingers twitching. “I … it's not just me. Everyone has been really worried. About you.”

“So I've heard. Thank you.” The longer this conversation went, the more stilted it became. Claustrophobia rose into her throat, making it difficult to swallow.

She needed to tell Jane the reasons behind her lack of communication. Her apartment would be empty, but she couldn't do it there. As though it had already happened, Sutton could picture that future unfolding. The moment they were alone together, she would forget her resolve and push Jane gently against the door, frantic kisses replacing the words she needed to say. She would lose herself, let the heat of Jane's body catch her up in a conflagration that would burn away reason and logic. And then, once the fire had shivered down to embers, her guilt would be unbearable.

“Can we walk a little?” she asked. “Find a place to talk?”

Wariness stole over Jane's features, narrowing her eyes and compressing her mouth. “Sure.” After a second's hesitation, she turned south toward Chinatown. A block passed in silence while Sutton struggled to find her courage. Finally, Jane spoke first.

“So … what brought you back to the city?”

“My father had my mother transferred to New York Presbyterian. He's taking over her treatment.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don't know. I mean, I believe he wants to help her, of course. And I'm glad she's at one of the best hospitals in the world. But I worry that her seeing him every day might be stressful. The more stressed she is, the more likely it is that she'll get worse.”

“Have you talked to him?”

“Briefly. He … he asked me to stay in New York. To take the internship at Columbia instead of going abroad.” Sutton purposefully skipped the rest of what he'd said. Telling Jane about her father's homophobic comments would only make this more difficult.

“He did what?” Jane sounded affronted. “How can he ask that of you? You're not going to do it, are you?”