Could I Have This Dance? (42 page)

“So now you think the Bible is silly?”

Claire sighed. “I didn’t say that. I just said all my pat answers, my favorite verses,
seemed
too silly to speak to someone who has three months to live and will never see his children grow up.”

“You didn’t say that. You were talking about yourself.”

“Me, my patient, whatever! That’s what I meant.”

She shook her head. She and John had rarely raised their voices to each other. This didn’t feel good. The phone had a way of making everything more difficult. She wanted to see his face, to see his emotions, and be seen. To only hear the tension in John’s voice added to Claire’s frustration.

She fought the urge to cry. “I’d rather not argue, John. But I don’t have anyone else to dump this on.”

“Claire, I’m concerned. I don’t like how this is getting to you. You’ve always been such an optimist, so open and full of faith.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “What can I say? I’m sorry? I haven’t ever been in these circumstances before.”

He paused for a moment, then continued with his voice sober. “I’ve never heard you question God’s love.”

“Well, now you have.”

“Claire!”

“Look, I’m sorry if that upsets you, but I’m just being honest.”

“And I want you to be, it’s just—”

“Just what? If I can’t share my feelings with you, where will I go?”

“I want to know how you feel. It’s just that I want the old Claire back. The one that swept me off my feet, the one who couldn’t stop talking about how great our future was going to be.”

Claire sniffed. “I want the old Claire back too.” She looked back in the kitchen, and then at her watch. “I should let you go. It’s getting late. Let’s talk about this some other time.”

She could hear him exhale into the phone. She had frustrated him. She wanted his arms around her. She didn’t like the telephone at all. “Okay,” he responded, his voice near a whisper.

“I love you, Cerelli. Good night.”

“Night, Claire.”

She listened for more. He always said “I love you” when they ended a phone conversation. Always.

But not this time. After a click, the line went dead.

The next morning Della followed Dr. Jenkins’ nurse back down the hallway to his private office. She opened the door and pointed to a chair. “The doctor will be here in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Greta,” Della responded, trying desperately to maintain an air of nonchalance in spite of the knot of anxiety in her abdomen. “I’ll just read a magazine.”

She sat in the cluttered office and stared at the desk. She wondered when the last time was that anyone saw the color of the wood underneath the stacks of charts, magazines, and mail. After a moment, Jimmy appeared and shut the door behind him. Della didn’t stand. She merely lifted her eyes and offered him a nod. “Morning, Jimmy.”

He frowned and spoke softly. “I’m sorry about Wally.”

“I guess news around Stoney Creek travels fast.”

“You knew this one would get around. That neurologist from Brighton has asked for my records on a half dozen of my patients.” He ran his hands through his graying hair. “Claire sure has opened a can of worms.”

Della nodded. “I want you to talk to Clay.”

He raised his eyebrows and walked around his desk. He sat on the edge of his chair, partially hidden by a large stack of medical periodicals, and unwrapped a peppermint candy. “What for?” He popped the mint into his mouth.

“I want you to convince him to get genetic testing for HD.”

He clicked the mint against his front teeth. “He doesn’t need to worry, Claire.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. They are bound to find out things he won’t want to know.”

“I don’t think so. Besides, that kind of information has to be kept quiet.”

“But they have to look closely to do a mapping study for a specific gene. That has to be expensive, and I’ll bet they do a paternity screen first, just to be sure the test is necessary.”

“You don’t really know that, do you?” She crossed her legs. “I think you’re bluffing.”

“And I don’t think you or I really want to know.” He stood and came around the desk, pushed aside a stack of charts, and leaned against the desk directly in front of her. He looked down at her and spoke again. “Why in heaven’s name would you want to bring this all up again?”

“Jimmy, Clay is falling apart. He won’t listen to me. Claire seems too preoccupied to talk to him. And he definitely won’t listen to Wally. I hoped that maybe he’d listen to you. He’s always looked up to you.” She was tempted to add “God only knows why” but thought the better of it and shut up.

“Convincing Clay to have a genetic test isn’t the answer. It’s expensive, he’s at low risk, and he—”

“Jimmy, he isn’t able to handle being at risk for HD. Yesterday, he drank himself silly and climbed to the top of the water tower on Adam Hill Road. He made it all the way to the top before a county deputy arrived. It took him an hour to talk Clay into coming down. He sat up there swearing like a sailor, threatened to jump, then broke down and cried like a baby.” She reached out and took Jimmy’s hand. “I’m afraid for my son. He’s got to know the truth. He’s convinced he’s destined to end up like Wally. He doesn’t even see the value of the test.”

“He’s acting like Wally.” He smirked. “Drunk in public. A chip off the old block, I’d say.”

Della quelled the urge to slap him. She dropped his hand and tried a different tactic. “Jimmy. I’m afraid for
our
son.”

Jimmy’s eyes darted to the closed door. “Don’t say that, Della. You don’t really know.”

“Stop playing games, Jimmy. Maybe it’s time I threw this secret into the town’s rumor mill myself.”

He blanched. “You wouldn’t! We decided a long time ago that this wouldn’t do anyone any good. If people found this out, my reputation would—”

“Who cares? I care about helping my son.” She stood up. “In fact, maybe I should just tell Clay myself. I don’t guess he’d go spreading it around.” She shrugged. “Not that I have much of a reputation to protect anyway, being the wife of a drunk!”

“Della!”

She stepped toward the door. He grabbed her arm. “Don’t do this. Think it through.”

She pulled free. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help Clay.”

“And do you think Elizabeth is going to let the McCall money slip into the hands of anyone who isn’t really her blood at all?”

“I don’t care about money. I care about saving my son.” She locked eyes with her former lover and fought back the tears. Tears were to be plan three, if her bravado failed.

He exhaled sharply. “Okay,” he replied, shifting his eyes to the floor.

“Okay, what?”

“I’ll talk to him. I’ll try to convince him to go to Brighton. Maybe talking to the genetics counselor will do him some good.”

Della took a deep breath. A deep, cleansing breath. “Thanks.” She took a step to the door and pulled it open before speaking again. “I had a feeling this would come back to haunt me.”

With that, she let herself out, walking down the hall, then out through the waiting room crowded with people. She recognized Mrs. Miller, Amy Johnson, Keith Summers and his boy, Jake. Barb Grable and Bonnie Bratton were holding their new babies. Glen Atkins, one of Apple Valley’s oldest fiddle players, hacked into a Kleenex, sounding all the world like he had a death rattle. Linwood Weaver sat next to the door and tipped his hat as she passed. For once in her life, she wished she wasn’t so recognizable.

“Morning, Mr. Weaver,” she spoke softly as she passed.

“How’s Wally?”

He’s going downhill fast. He can’t seem to control his legs. I need to find a wheelchair with some good Velcro straps to hold him in. He choked on breakfast. Again.

She forced a smile, then looked away before her eyes could betray her.

“Fine.”

You can’t hide your troubles in a small town.

Claire hurried through her daily notes, turning her attention on the twenty-two cancer patients on the oncology service. The service was made up of mainly postoperative patients, people who’d been operated on for breast, colon, esophageal, pancreatic, and thyroid cancers. Each one had a different story to tell, and Claire spent hours listening to their tears, rejoicing with their small triumphs, and encouraging them in the battles they waged together. It helped to focus on someone else’s problems. It helped her keep perspective, and kept her from being overwhelmed by her own circumstances.

But when she hit a work lull, her mind inevitably returned to her concerns about her own personal genetic makeup. To get tested, or not to get tested? The question swirled with a thousand little variations. Claire imagined them all. Get tested, find out she’s negative, and stop thinking about it. Get tested, be positive, and risk being discriminated against, lose her job, and give up her dream. On the other hand, if she found out she was positive, she could make appropriate plans for the future. She and John could decide together about bearing children. That assumed, of course, that John would even want to follow through on the wedding if he knew his bride might someday dance like Wally. That thought, particularly in light of their last strained conversation, scared Claire even more.

Don’t get tested, and face the daily anxiety of the unknown. But at least she wouldn’t have to face the horror of a positive test. And what good was predicting the future if you couldn’t do anything to change it, anyway?

And what did God think about finding out in advance a course that he had predestined by a genetic code?

Claire pushed herself away from the counter, having finished her last note. She glanced at her watch and considered her options. She had an hour before attending rounds. She could join the upper-level residents in the OR, read, or gather the med students for a teaching session. Instead, she decided to slip away to talk to Dot Freedman, the genetics counselor she’d met back before she knew her father really had HD. Perhaps she
could shed some light on Claire’s confusion. It was definitely time to get an outsider’s perspective on her family secret.

She found Dot wearing the same gray business suit she’d seen her in last. Her white hair was perfect. Claire guessed her age at fifty-five and found herself wondering if she’d be as fortunate to maintain her figure like Dot had.
If I live past midlife.

Claire rapped softly on the door frame. “Can I interrupt you for a few minutes?”

Dot looked up and smiled. “Sure.” She looked puzzled.

“Claire McCall,” the intern responded. “I’m a first-year surgery resident. I spoke to you a few months ago.”

“Of course. I remember.” She pointed to a chair. “Have a seat.”

Before beginning, Claire looked up at a picture of an eastern bluebird. “I took your advice. I did some digging into the history around Stoney Creek.”

“Stoney Creek.” Her face brightened, and a fine spray of wrinkles extended from the corners of Dot’s blue eyes. “I saw four different woodpecker species there in one afternoon.”

Claire nodded. “Is everything I say to you in strict confidence?”

Dot leaned forward, her smile evaporating. “Of course.”

Claire took a deep breath. “My father has Huntington’s disease.”

Dot seemed to be studying Claire’s face. She just looked without talking. It was a look that seemed to bore right through her outer coverings down into her soul.

There. She had admitted it. For the first time, other than to John, Claire had revealed the mystery of the Stoney Creek curse.

She looked at her trembling hands and twisted her diamond in a small orbit around her ring finger. She felt like crying. She closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. She hadn’t anticipated this sudden urge to fall apart. As a surgery resident, she prided herself in being cool under fire. Now, simply with the admission that her father had HD, she found herself choking up.

Dot nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Claire sniffed and looked back at the kind face which was still focused on hers. “I haven’t told anyone else. Except my fiance.”

“How has he taken it?”

“I’m not sure.” Claire dropped her eyes to the floor. “He’s back in Virginia, so I’ve only talked to him on the phone. He’s been supportive all during the time I told him I suspected HD might be in my family. He always encouraged me to trust God that everything would be okay. But that was before he saw how bad my father has gotten.” She paused. “And before he realized there was a fifty-fifty chance that I might get the disease.”

“And now?”

“He wants me to get tested. He says he has a right to know, because he’s going to be my husband. I’m not sure he understands.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Claire pressed the side of her index finger to her top lip. “Scared. The idea of testing positive scares me to death.”

“How are you with not knowing?”

She shrugged. “Not so good. I worry about it all the time. The only way I’ve gotten along is by keeping myself busy with my work.” She released a nervous giggle. “Fortunately, as an intern, that isn’t difficult.”

“Do you have brothers or sisters? Anyone you can talk to?”

“One brother, my twin. I haven’t even spoken to him since we found out. We haven’t really been close since I left home as a teenager.” Claire shook her head. “My mom says he’s certain he’s going to get it. Everyone has always said that he’s a chip off the old block.”

“Hmmm.” Dot brushed back her white bangs.

“He’s pretty freaked out about it. He’s doing all the risky things he’s talked about doing for a long time. Skydiving, motorcycle racing. I guess he thinks, ‘What the heck? I’m going to die young anyway.’”

“It’s really not that uncommon a reaction. I’ve seen it before.”

“Really?” Claire nodded, relieved to see that Dot seemed to understand. “I have a sister, too. Her husband left as soon as he heard about the diagnosis. She has three girls. She wants to get tested. She’s in the process, getting some counseling down at Brighton University.”

“Can you talk to her?”

“Not really. She’s pretty upset with me. She blames me for discovering all this.”

Dot nodded. “That won’t last. I’ll bet she comes around. Sisters usually do.”