Splintered Heart (28 page)

"Well, there's... Victor." Marian remembered Elena saying she was going to be working with Victor...

"Yes. Victor — " Mrs. Miller was waiting for the last name.

...
Alexy, Dennis and Chang, the friends without last names, Charles' stories, dates, times and places — the fragments that never quite made sense...
 
Her mind was rebelling at the questions, at the fact that she was being forced to review what she knew and didn't know about Elena.

Mrs. Miller was waiting.
 
...Why am I here, trying to help Elena, why should I help her after what she's done to me...?

Mrs. Miller was tapping her pencil.

"Please, could I get some water or something?" Marian asked.

Mrs. Miller immediately gathered up the folder. "You've had a little shock, haven't you? There's a staff lounge right around the corner, I'm sure we can find you some coffee."

++++++++++

Chapter 42

As he entered the lounge, Dr. Mac's glasses were in his hand. He was waving them, arguing with some unseen opponent. His other hand was twitching in his white coat pocket, about to rip the pocket again. It had to be re-sewed every few weeks. He was the kind of man who took frustrations out on his clothes.

"Oh dear, the Doctor's upset again," Mrs. Miller whispered. She hurried to the sink, and rinsed a coffee mug. "Dr. Mac, can I be of any help?"

"Hell yes, get me my two dozen
 
Hi-lo tables
, I asked for them more than a month ago, and that's not all you can do — we need about two dozen more beds, two dozen more nurses. Shall I go on? You still want to help?" He chuckled — Mrs. Miller looked so anxious. "Don't you know it was a full moon last night, Miller? The MacGregors always howl when there's a full moon!"

"I forgot," Mrs. Miller dimpled. Her entire demeanor changed when Mac was around. "Now Mac, be careful, that coffee is very hot," she said, handing the Doctor his coffee.

Dr. MacGregor took a very large gulp. Nurses and aides were always giving him maternal advice that he delighted in ignoring. He peered at Marian. "Who in Hell is that lady?" He'd noticed the lady outside room 101. She was attractive. She reminded him of an old girl friend.

"Dr. Mac please, she'll hear you!" Mrs. Miller whispered. "That's Mrs. Marian Cooper, she's identified the Jane Doe in 101. Mrs. Cooper wasn't feeling well, I didn't think you'd mind my giving the poor lady some coffee."

"Miller, you damn well know she belongs in the visitors lounge, not here!"

"Mrs. Cooper?"

"Yes?" Marian looked up. The Doctor was standing above her. He had his glasses in his hand, was peering at her through them as if she were a microbe.

"Marian Melnik?"

"Yes, how did you — " She couldn't quite put it together — the white coat, the beard, his presence in the lounge of St. Ann's. "Stephen?"

He plopped himself down on the couch, "I'll be damned."

He took the coffee cup out of Marian's hands, kissed her heartily on the lips. "This is one hell of a surprise!"

Marian was blushing. Mrs. Miller was red-faced. "I didn't realize Mrs. Cooper was a personal friend." She put down her mug. "I'll look into the
 
Hi-Lo tables
, Dr. Mac." No longer crisp, dimpling or bustling, Mrs. Miller zigzagged toward the exit, returned hastily to get her unfinished forms, "We'll finish this later, Mrs. Cooper, at your convenience!"

"Stephen, I can't believe it's you," Marian said.

"You mean because I've got a beard?"

"So many things have happened — it's been — "

"Fourteen years. You look great! You've gotten better with age."

"So have you. I didn't recognize you..." She was remembering how she'd thought him too ordinary, too typical — 'Mr. Stubby' with his budget clothes, his sport's announcer's slang.

"I never was your Prince charming type. I can't believe we're standing here." He took her hands. "Yes I can."

"If you hadn't needed coffee — "

"Hell, I never come here for coffee. I always knew you were a magic lady, but I never expected to bump into you in my hospital."

"But what about —?"

"I'm married, the proud papa of — "

"Three babies, you always said you wanted three, and a pots-and-pans wife!"

"Right on the nose! Pots and pans is what I wanted and what I got — suburbs, lots of bills to pay — "

Ten years earlier, they'd continually interrupted each other, and they were doing it again — conversing with half-finished sentences.

"But Stephen, that's why you wanted to be an Analyst, you said it paid — "

"Not well enough honey. You'd be amazed at how much dough it takes to support Mrs. Pots and Pans and three young ones... God, you're forty-four-years-old. I'm one year and one month older than you — I can't get over what a knockout you are!"

"Oh Stephen..." Marian couldn't speak. So many bad luck things had been happening. This sweet good man was making her feel so light and warm, lifting off the lie for a minute.

Then Marian was laughing and crying all over Stephen's white Doctor's coat, while he was hugging her, handing her tissues.

Marian told Stephen about Ferris, not the problems, just the rosy optimistic things about his new corporation and new client.

Stephen took out a snapshot of his wife Irene, Joey, Cherry, and Robbie, age nine, seven, and five. "They have my brains and Irene's curly dark hair!"

Marian told him about her work being fund-raising.

Stephen told Marian about the offer he'd just received to take over as Chief of the hospital.

"Sounds very important."

"It's a lot of dough but a Doc should take care of people, not papers."

"How does Irene feel about it?"

"Irene wants me to take the job. What about your husband, how does he feel about your job?"

Neither spoke for a moment. Each was thinking about what the future had in store for them. As was her habit, Marian was brushing wisps of hair though there wasn't a hair out of place.

"Hey what's the matter? Did I say something?"

"I was just thinking about the office." She was realizing that she was going to have to make the trip to California.

Stephen kissed Marian again, this time on the cheek. "Your husband's a very lucky man."

"Is he?" Ferris' shoe box was still sitting where she'd left it. ...
Other letters, more names to deal with — Connie, Susanne, Betts...

"You look like you're going to cry, honey. I'll bet you've been working too hard." Stephen's fingers brushed her forehead. "Three wrinkles! You know what that means to a Psychoanalyst don't you? Three wrinkles means you've got to take more time off!"

"Not very likely." Marian said it softly.

"Busy lady! I'm the guy you didn't have room for, on your busy schedule, remember?"

"I remember." She watched his lips as he pursed them with the corners slightly up because he was teasing her. She was remembering the hundred kisses, wondering if he remembered, if he had counted.

"I'm going to give you some Doctor's orders, lady."

"What?"

"I want you to make a list — "

"I'm always making lists — "

"Another kind of list. Put down all the things you wish you'd done — put down all the old ambitions that are
 
still
 
on that private list of dreams."

"Might be a long list."

"That's a very serious symptom you know." He was gently teasing.

"Oh Stephen, life is slipping by so quickly."

"Is it slipping by you, Marian?"

"I asked you first — is it slipping by you, Stephen?"

"I sure don't have all the things I dreamed of. But I'm still trying."

"Still trying," she echoed. But she knew that she hadn't been trying for her dreams — she'd been trying to be successful in business and as a wife.

The beeper in Stephen's pocket went off. "Whoops, gotta go!"

"Before you run, the injured woman in room 101 — "

"Marian, quit worrying about your friend. There's no point in anticipating trouble. Just go one step at a time!" Stephen kissed Marian once more, this time on the forehead where he'd been erasing the three wrinkles. He donned his glasses, gave a tug to his coat. The pocket ripped audibly. He laughed. He put up a warning finger like a good Doctor reminding his patient to take her pills. "Fun things only!"

With the feeling of Stephen's three kisses — one on her lips, one on her cheek, the third on her forehead, Marian took the good Doctor's words with her as she went out into the hospital corridor. Stubby Stephen wasn't stubby any more, but he was still persuasive. The "Mamma List" popped into Marian's mind — the hospital supplies, cot for the nurse, how to organize it so that home wouldn't become like the hallway with the flapping curtains through which she was passing on her way to the exit.

Pushing open the heavy glass door, starting down the steps, she remembered the good Doctor's prescription: "Fun things only!"

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Chapter 43

Aunt Paula was sitting in the lobby, waiting for Marian.

"You poor dear. Poor darling girl!"

Marian wasn't a tall woman. Her aunt was about five-feet two. Being kissed, poor-darling crushed to Paula's fur bosom was enough to make Marian, even in a normal frame of mind, feel as if she was being smothered.

"I'm
 
not
 
a poor dear girl, what's happened?"

"Oh child," Aunt Paula sighed. With eyes downcast she began to pluck off her kid gloves. It was Aunty's usual fastidious undressing process, her way of making sure her audience was eagerly awaiting every pearly pearl of wisdom, every tangy tidbit of gossip or news. Paula did it to them all — husband, sister Hannah, children, grandchildren and Marian — they all had to stand at attention, pay attention, hold their breaths and wait.

"I wish your husband were here," Aunt Paula began. "Dr. DeLisio's the best heart specialist in the country. He not optimistic about Ralph, dear." Paula had tears in her eyes. "My poor sister … "

Marian handed Aunt Paula a Kleenex.

"She'll never be the same!" Paula blew her nose delicately.

"Lets go upstairs, Aunty. I'll make you a cup of tea."

"I've got a car waiting, I'm going to take the little ones to the Zoo."

"Ah yes, to the zoo." Marian sat down on the bench next to her Aunt, waiting for Aunt Paula's customary dig.

"Poor Hannah — no zoo, no grandchildren!" Paula said, right on schedule, with a little sob.

"Aunt Paula, what did Dr. DeLisio say about Ralph?"

Paula blotted her tears. "Hannah would
 
never
 
give permission."

"You mean, for surgery?"

"It's a
 
very
 
serious
 
operation." Aunt Paula blew her nose as if to punctuate the pronouncement. "It's a fifty-fifty chance."

"Fifty percent of the patients die?"

"My poor sister — she'd rather have her boy alive in a wheelchair than cold in the ground. We can not go against her wishes!" Paula took a moment to check out the fox tails on her jacket to be sure they were all neatly hanging. "Milton says you're her daughter,
 
you
 
should decide. But I couldn't put that burden on you, my dear." Paula patted Marian's hand.

"I better phone Dr. DeLisio and talk it over with him."

"Oh, you don't have to Marian dear, I told the Doctor I was speaking for the family. The decision's been made."

Aunt Paula looked for a place to put the tissue. Because there was no basket immediately available, she put it very carefully down on the farthest corner of the marble bench, with a heavy sigh, "I know we've done the right thing. Your father would have agreed. It's better to have poor Ralph the way he is, then take chances with surgery."

Marian picked up the tissue and crossed over to the cuspidor that was near the elevator. The decision had been made, it was a relief to have it off her shoulders. But she kept hearing a faint piping voice — "Is it better to have poor Ralph the way he is?"

Aunt Paula's goodbye was unusually tender. "We have to stick together, you and I. We'll devote ourselves to poor dear Hannah when she moves in, Ferris is a saint, Milton would never give up his study."

"But Mamma's going to be staying in
 
my
 
study, Aunty."

"Nurse Arlene has got to sleep somewhere — all that therapy equipment, bedpan, walker, medicines, change of linen — you'll need every inch of space." Aunt Paula kissed Marian. "Don't worry darling, you'll have me here, every single day to help."

It was not a comforting thought.

As she entered her foyer, she felt very alone. "Welcome home, Miss Cresset-Marian," she said to the mirror. The smell of Aunty Paula's perfume was with Marian as if it had been daubed behind her own ears and wrists. The dictatorship of femininity! Like so many women who used too much perfume, Aunty controlled the smell of the air long after she'd gone.