“I
T’S
a lovely blue!” Jenna exclaimed, as Frank adjusted the bed rails. “How did you know that blue was my favorite color?”
Max beamed. “I guessed. But I almost thought it was purple.”
“Well, since purple is my second favorite color, I would have loved having a purple bed, too.”
“And I’d have had a purple barn,” Frank said, laughing. He scooted the bedframe back into the corner of the room then stood back to appraise his handiwork. “Well, that should do it. I’ll have Dermott help me carry the mattress up and you’ll have a proper bed tonight instead of that old rollaway you’ve been using.”
“I haven’t seen him yet today,” Jenna said. She hadn’t seen him last night, either. In fact, it had been a long, lonely night all by herself. She’d gone back to the diner for dinner, taken a walk then retired to…well, nothing. To be honest, she wasn’t used to such a lack of activity or stimulation, and that nursing journal she’d buried herself in, while informative, wasn’t stimulating. “He hasn’t come into the office.” And hadn’t told her why, but she had an idea it had something to do with the residual effects of last night. She’d hit a very raw nerve, and she did feel bad about that because Dermott seemed to be juggling so many things, including a fair share of guilt. She really didn’t want to make it worse for him.
“He’s having a rough time of it now,” Frank said, then immediately glanced at Max, who’d climbed into the middle of the empty bedframe and was getting ready to roll one of his toy cars from one end to the other. Bending to pick up his tools, Frank huffed out an impatient sigh, but didn’t finish what he was saying.
“We used to be friends,” she said, not sure why she felt compelled to. “Years ago.”
“He mentioned that. Said you were a competent nurse, which is why he wanted you here.” He stood up and gave her a long, thoughtful appraisal. “Dermott’s life is his own business, Miss Lawson. I don’t interfere, I don’t express opinions. But let me tell you this much. He’s a good man. Most people wouldn’t let us have the involvement Dermott lets us have with Max, and my wife and I owe him a lot for what he’s done to keep the boy in our lives. But Dermott is dealing with a difficult situation, and he doesn’t need any more pressure than he’s already got on him.”
“You think I’d do that? Cause him more pressure?”
“Maybe not intentionally. But things aren’t normal for him, the way they used to be before my daughter…” He paused, swallowed hard. “All I’m saying is, whatever it is you’re expecting to find here may not be what’s really here. See it for what it is, Miss Lawson. Not for what you want it to be and it’ll work out for both of you—however you want it to work out.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant. Was it a warning for her to keep away from Dermott, or a blessing to get involved with him? “What I want is a job I love. That’s why I came here.”
“Is it?”
That was a question she couldn’t answer because, the truth be told, she probably wouldn’t have accepted the position, such as it was, from a stranger. Which meant Dermott’s father-in-law was one very perceptive man. “I love being a nurse, and that’s always my first priority. I’m not trying to step in and take your daughter’s place, if that’s what you think I’m doing.”
“Except that you’re doing her job, living in her building, having a relationship with her husband
and
her son.”
“
Professional
relationship.” Jenna glanced over at Max, who was so caught up in racing his little cars that he didn’t even know anybody else was in the room with him. Or did he? He was a perceptive little boy. An observer, Dermott had called him. So, how much had he observed when no one was noticing, when the adults around him underestimated how much a young child was taking in?
Like Frank was doing right now.
“Dermott and I had a good working relationship years ago, and that’s what I’m trying to re-establish right now.
All
I’m trying to re-establish.” She felt sorry for Frank. It had to be so difficult seeing another woman in all the places he was used to seeing his daughter. “I appreciate you setting up the bed,” she said. Then to Max, “And you couldn’t have picked a better color. In fact, it’s the best blue bed I’ve ever seen.”
“I’m going to ask the big guy if I can paint my bed blue, too. Maybe blue
and
purple! Can I use your paint, Grandpa?”
Frank chuckled. “I think that’s a project I’ll let your dad help you with.”
The phone downstairs rang just as the bell over the door jingled, and Jenna dashed down the stairs ahead of Frank and Max, pulling on Dermott’s oversized white coat as she did so. Waving at the young woman standing in the waiting room, she got to the phone on the fourth ring. It was a woman named Barbara who wanted to know if Jenna could have a look at her daughter. The child had a sore throat, no fever, and Barbara thought that since it didn’t seem serious maybe Jenna could do the exam. Not a good situation, but Jenna asked Barbara to bring her daughter in. Then she turned her attention to the young woman in the waiting room. “May I help you?”
“My grandmother…” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea.
“Does she need to see a doctor?” Jenna prompted.
The woman first nodded, then shook her head. “I’m not sure what she needs. She’s been down for a few days now, and she doesn’t have the energy to get up and do much. She’s losing weight, too, but I’m not sure she’s really sick. She says she feels well enough, but…”
“These are recent changes?”
“Yes. Until a few days ago, she walked a couple of kilometers a day, still rode her bicycle a few times a week. Then she took to her bed and she won’t let me call a doctor.
Refuses
to let me call one, actually. So you can see what kind of problem I’m having. On top of that, I can’t stay here much longer. My husband and children need me at home. So, I thought that since you’re not a doctor…I mean, I know it’s sneaky, but I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Will she be needing a house call, or do you think she could make it into the office?”
“At home, I think. She’s staying close to the bed.”
In the end, Jenna promised to drop in on Leona Hazelwood after she’d had a look at Barbara Moorehouse’s daughter, Emily, whom she was seeing immediately after she assisted Dermott with their ten o’clock appointment with Tom Parker’s mysterious rash.
“I understand that the famous blue bed has arrived,” Dermott said from his office a while later, as Jenna busied herself for the first appointment of the day.
“And a nice blue bed it is.” He was sitting at his desk, looking rather fetching in his white coat. Smiling, but the smile was strained, a little unsure. It was an attempt, though, and she appreciated it.
“I heard rumors that there might be a blue bed in
my
future.”
“That’s between the painter of the blue bed and his father.”
“I’m sorry about yesterday, Jenna. Sorry that I wasn’t honest with you about Nancy, too. It’s easier
not
talking about her, and sometimes I feel cornered when I have to.”
Living life a few steps away from the reality of it. Well, if anybody understood how it felt to be cornered by reality, she did. But she didn’t have anybody so connected to her that
her
avoidance of anything made a difference. Dermott did, and in some way, deep down, it had to make a real difference knowing that the avoidances had a purpose. “You know, I really don’t want to get into the middle of this. With what I’ve been through I don’t need another person’s problems, but, like it or not, I’m getting dragged in and you’re not being helpful about it. And I don’t even get the impression that you care what’s going on.”
“I care,” he said, his voice as brittle as ice. “That’s the problem. Because if I didn’t care I’d get the hell out of here so fast…” Dermott paused for a moment, shut his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath. When he’d exhaled it, he opened his eyes again. “My marriage was hell, Jenna. In so many ways. I jumped in too soon, didn’t know her well enough. Probably had residual feelings left over for someone else.”
Her? Thinking that she might have been the one he’d had feelings for caused her pulse to quicken a little.
“And when things started changing, there was no one to turn to. I was married to the town’s fair-haired child who was changing more and more every day. She needed drugs to wake her up in the morning, drugs to help her sleep, drugs to make her feel better during the day. Nancy did so many good things, but she had such a dark side to her that I simply couldn’t deal with because no one believed it was there.” He shrugged. “Sometimes the obvious isn’t easy to see, especially when you don’t want to, and nobody wanted to. Including me.”
“I’m so sorry, Dermott. I had no idea how bad it was. When you said she had a drug dependence…”
“That’s a nice way to put it, JJ. She was addicted. It changed her personality. Pitted people against each other, which she enjoyed doing. Like she enjoyed hiding it until the point when she couldn’t any longer.”
“Some drug addicts are very good at hiding it.” Like some alcoholics. Like her father.
“You’d think a doctor would notice, though, wouldn’t you? Or a husband?”
“Except you weren’t seeing her as a doctor. And I expect that when your marriage started going bad, you weren’t seeing
anything
very clearly.” At least now she understood why he was spending so much time with Max. Dermott felt guilty for spending so little time with his wife and he blamed himself for what had happened to her. “She was an educated woman, Dermott. A nurse. She knew what she was doing when she took those drugs…knew better than most people.”
“But was she trying to get my attention? Is that why she was doing it? Or was that always in her and I simply didn’t know it when we married?”
“Don’t make it that personal. With addiction, it’s not about the other person. It’s about what the addict wants. They may lay the blame somewhere else, because that’s the easiest way to justify what they’re doing, but if you’re the one having the blame thrown at you, you have to fight your way through the guilt to realize that another person’s addiction is their choice, not your fault.” And so sad for everyone involved.
“You sound like someone who has some experience.”
She hadn’t meant to do this, but she had to. After so many years, there were no more avoidances for this, because Dermott needed to hear it. He needed her honesty. “I do. My father was an alcoholic. There was never a day he was sober, and I did get help through a program when I went to live with my grandparents.” Until she’d quit and run away.
“Then you know why I have to protect Max the way I do. What his mother did, he doesn’t need that brought down on him again. He needs someone to keep it all away from him.”
“Have you ever thought that you over-protect him?”
“Maybe I do.”
She smiled. “Of course you do. That’s who you are.” The old Dermott. She was glad he was still there. Damaged and discouraged, but there in all the ways that mattered.
His eyes went soft for a moment, soft and distant, and she could see the pain. It was profound and raw. At that moment she could feel his pain as surely as if it were hers. She didn’t understand it fully yet, but she knew its depths, knew how hard it was for him to talk about it. As hard as it was for her to talk about her pain, and her father’s addiction. No, she hadn’t told him everything. But it was a start and, surprisingly, she didn’t feel too bad for it. Maybe because it was for Dermott’s sake. And for Max. Or maybe because Dermott simply made things easier for her.
“So, we’ve got a rash to deal with,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. A little emotion spent went a long way, and she was emotionally exhausted. The look on Dermott’s eyes told her he was, too.
He sighed, visibly grateful to be back to the topic of medicine. “Ah, yes. Contact dermatitis. Weed poisoning. He doesn’t like to wear socks and yet he likes to walk out in the wilds. Gets him every time, right around the ankles. Red rash, tiny pinprick-sized bumps, itchy, dry. He scratches, it gets worse, until he needs a shot of cortisone and some pills for follow-up.”
“Impressive. You know your patients well. So tell me about Leona Hazelwood. She’s my house call who refuses to see a doctor.”
“She refuses because the doctor knows she’s not ill. It’s loneliness. Physically, she’ll be fine. Heartier than most seventy-year-olds. But her family gets busy, they forget to call for a while, don’t make that two-hour drive in to see her as often as they should, and she gets sick. Classic symptoms—she’s weak, just doesn’t feel well, loses a pound or two because she refuses to eat, even though she has a stash of chocolate hidden in her bedroom. It brings one of her daughters or granddaughters running and two or three days later Leona has a miracle cure. She’s up and back to normal.”
Jenna laughed. “No wonder she refuses to see you. So what do you advise I do for her?”
“Give her a good check-up. At her age, it doesn’t hurt. Then a nice little shot of vitamin B12. I’ll prescribe it, you’ll give it.”
Jenna laughed. “B12? It’s just a vitamin, doesn’t cure anything.”
“On the contrary, it cures a plethora of ills. Just not any medical ones.” He smiled. “She’ll be up and out of bed by this evening, eating a fairly normal meal again, and tomorrow morning she’ll feel like taking a short walk. After her granddaughter leaves town, she’ll be happy for weeks.”
“Does Leona know she’s faking?”
“Probably. Although I haven’t told her so. Why spoil a good round of sympathy and attention with something so unnecessary? But she’s smart, and while I don’t think she exactly plans her sick spells, I’m pretty sure she’s onto them, which is why she doesn’t want a doctor taking a look and calling her a hypochondriac. I like to think of it as being manipulative in a sweet little granny way.”
“And if a sweet little granny can’t be manipulative, who can?”
“You go take care of the granny, I’ll take care of the rash, and maybe we can have lunch together afterwards? We’ve got a new jar of grape jelly.”
“Could we stop at the grocery for some strawberry?”