For All Their Lives (53 page)

Casey lit a cigarette and played variations of her fantasy about their meeting. She lit a second cigarette and failed to notice when her companions left the room. Memories were wonderful sometimes, and sometimes they were terrible. She was working on the terrible ones when the telephone at her elbow rang. She listened to an airline representative tell her that her flight to Pittsburgh was canceled. They had rescheduled her for a special flight on Thanksgiving morning. Her return ticket, they said, was unchanged. She would return Thanksgiving evening.

She dialed Luke's number. He picked it up on the third ring. She could hear the delight in his voice, and found herself babbling about Izzy and her roommates. Luke laughed warmly. Casey curled her legs underneath her and settled back for a long, comforting talk. “What are you doing?”

“Reading a
JAMA
article on warts. It's amazing how we can just shoot them off with a laser. If we had half this stuff in Vietnam, we could have saved a lot more lives.”

“I don't recall seeing too many wart problems,” Casey said, hoping to lightly ward off a long, lengthy discussion about the time they'd spent in Asia. She needed to tell him about Mac and the interview, but she didn't know how to bring up the subject. Just blurt it out, she thought, get it out in the open and talk it out with him. Luke could make sense out of anything.

She told him.

There was no gap in the conversation. Neither did his comment startle her or make her feel anything but glad that she had brought it up. “Things like this are out of the realm of coincidence. I think it's a good thing for you, Casey. You can't quit. You started this phony identity thing and now you have to deal with it.

“I had an answer to one of my letters concerning Lily today,” Luke said, changing the subject. “Eric is in a French orphanage in Saigon, just a stone's throw from where Lily's parents lived. I got this from one of the economic-commercial officers at the embassy. We've been corresponding for over a year now. Eric was never taken to Thailand. I'm sorry to tell you this, but Lily's parents are dead. The story I got was they were on their way to the hospital and got caught in the cross-fire on the night it all happened, so Eric is truly an orphan. Jantzen also told me he's had other queries about Eric. He turned them over to a French nun in Saigon. Maybe Eric Savorone finally developed a conscience. Your letters I know about. You know, it makes me feel good that, in this world, three of us are trying to find Lily's son. I'm just as sure that any one of us would give that kid a wonderful home. I wonder if it will ever happen.”

“If his real father is interested in him, then we don't stand a chance. The boy should be with his real father. God, I only wish Lily were here now.”

“I've been thinking about going back,” Luke said quietly. “I'm sick of warts and psoriasis. I made up my mind when I heard from Singin that I was going to talk to him. He did two years over there. That guy made a real difference. I think he wants to go back too. What about you, Casey? Ever think about it? I know you said you never wanted to see the inside of another hospital again, but don't you
think
about it?”

Something squeezed Casey's heart. “No,” she said curtly, and a moment later, “once or twice,” her voice soft, regretful.

“Okay, don't bend yourself into a pretzel. It was a question, that's all. How cold is it in New York?”

“Pretty cold. Fur coat weather. How is it in Pittsburgh?”

“We had snow flurries today. No accumulation though.”

It was a strained conversation now, one neither one of them was comfortable with. It always ended this way, and then she cried when she hung up the phone. She wondered if Luke cried too. She was certain he did.

T
RAVELING TO
S
QUIRREL
Hill to share Thanksgiving with Luke, Singin, and Maline was like a dream, Casey thought giddily. In her wildest fantasies she never thought this would happen. But in less than thirty minutes, according to the cab driver, she would be knocking on Luke's front door. Luke had offered to pick her up, but he said the turkey demanded his full attention, since he'd never cooked anything more than Spam and scrambled eggs. She thought about the Thanksgiving dinner Maline had prepared in her honor. She'd gone to so much trouble to make that day pleasant, to bring back memories for her. They were such wonderful friends, and she was so anxious to see them and for them to see her as she looked now. She'd never known why they hadn't come to the States for their wedding in the spring. Perhaps they'd gone to Spain to see Alan. Alan had never said, although she'd asked him repeatedly in her letters.

She thought about Alan then and wondered why she hadn't heard from him lately. She'd written three letters this month asking if it was all right to journey to Spain to spend Christmas with him the way they'd planned. She had to start thinking about a suitable Christmas present too. When was she going to shop? The studio was taking up all her free time. “Catalogues,” she muttered. If she were lucky, she might be able to squeeze in a trip to Bloomingdale's. Steve had told her just yesterday that there would be no days off in December. She would be traveling to Washington, Virginia, and South Carolina. He'd also warned her that she would be spending nights at the studio preparing for the Mac Carlin interview. “I like this guy,” Steve had said. “Consider it a mandate.” She promised herself to do her best, whatever her best turned out to be. It was the real world now, with no place for memories, dreams, or would-haves, could-haves, or should-haves.

“Here we are, miss,” the taxi driver said, pulling to the curb.

Casey paid him, adding a generous tip. When she stood on the sidewalk, she was aware for the first time that it was snowing lightly. Overhead the sky was gray and swollen. More snow. The path led to more of a patio than a front porch. Huge tubs of holly stood at each side of the door. She thought it a nice touch. She rang the bell, a huge brass lion's head whose nose was the button. She wondered where the door to Luke's office was, as he practiced out of his house. “To keep down overhead,” he'd said back in Vietnam.

“Don't just stand there,” Luke barked. “Come in, come in. My God, it's snowing!” He hugged her, and craned his head to see down the street. “It's sticking too. I bet you're going to be snowed in.” He leered down at the little bag she was carrying.

“Not on your life.” Casey laughed. “If I'm not in the studio tomorrow morning, I won't have a job. I'll walk back if I have to. Oooh, what's that delicious smell?”

“A culinary, gastronomical delight known as turkey with stuffing. I personally like the stuffing better than the turkey, as long as you slop giblet gravy all over it. I made extra,” he said happily.

“I thought you couldn't cook,” Casey said, taking off her coat.

“Hell, I thought so too. I'm following a recipe in a book. To the letter. No improvisations the way my mother does. She goes by the pinch-dab method. I prefer half a spoon, an eighth of a spoon, whatever. How about you?”

Casey laughed. “I'm no good in the kitchen, Luke, so don't expect any help from me.”

“I wouldn't think of it,” Luke said, his face a mix of horror and frustration. “I
am
a little worried about the gravy, though. I hate lumps. My mother always has lumps in her gravy. In her mashed potatoes too. My sister's is worse.” He was fretting and shuffling his feet. “My pie-crust shell came away from the sides of the pan and it's cracked on the bottom.”

“I wouldn't worry about it.” Casey laughed. “A word of advice, Luke. Never confess your misdeeds in the kitchen and no one will notice.”

“Advice noted. Okay. Get settled. How about a glass of wine? Listen, would you mind getting it yourself? It's right over there under the bar. Set out the glasses. Singin and Maline will be here pretty soon. I have to cut the vegetables for the salad. No, no, I don't want your help,” he muttered.

“That's good, Luke, because I wasn't going to offer any. I'll just look around. Are your parents and sister coming for dinner?”

“God, no! My parents go to Florida for the winter every first of November, and my sister is skiing in Colorado. Look around. If you don't like the way I keep house, keep it to yourself, okay?”

“Sure. I never criticize. I like your apron.” Casey giggled.

“Smartass,” Luke mumbled as the door to the kitchen closed behind him.

It was a small, comfortable house. A bachelor's house done in muted earth tones. The chairs were low, deep, and comfortable. Ottomans added extra sitting space. The sofa, which she estimated to be a good seven feet long, was the color of fresh-cooked chocolate pudding before the top glazed over. Each table held a book, a newspaper, and cigarettes. Obviously, Luke read constantly. The den was small, with a free-standing, black-as-coal fireplace. A fire burned slowly. One entire wall was filled with bookshelves. Medical magazines and books were crammed into each shelf. They all looked worn and well-read. His desk was a nightmare, with papers everywhere. A morris chair in deep burgundy filled a corner. Next to it stood a square table with a lamp and a pile of medical books. Only one chair. That must have meant that this was Luke's room and not to be shared. She felt like an intruder. She backed up a step and turned around. If she'd continued to back out of the room, she would have missed
the wall.
The entire wall, from floor to ceiling, was filled with framed snapshots of Vietnam and the Fourth of July picnic. She felt a lump form in her throat. It must have taken Luke months to find all these frames. She started at the top. Tears formed in her eyes when she spotted the flowers she'd planted alongside the mean-looking huts everyone had lived in. The tears spilled down her cheeks at the sight of so many of Lily's namesake flowers in each row. She was tracing Mac's likeness with her index finger when she felt Luke's presence.

“I guess you can call this the Luke Farrell Memorial to Vietnam,” he said quietly. “I chose this wall deliberately so I can see it when I sit at my desk. As much as I want to forget Vietnam, that's how much I don't want to forget it. We made a difference, Casey. All of us.” His voice was so tortured, Casey felt her tears start anew.

“Now look what you've done. My makeup is smeared. Oh, Luke, you should go back. You'll never be happy unless you do.”

“I know. I'm leaving January third. I have to spend Christmas with my family in Florida. I need to refer my patients to other doctors. Close up my house, take care of a few things, do some Christmas shopping, watch Guy Lombardo on New Year's Eve. You know, all that stuff you don't get to do while you're over there.”

“I'll miss you.”

“Yeah, well . . . Listen, you'd better go fix your face,” Luke said quietly. “Our Asian guests will be here in a few minutes.”

“You're a good person, Luke. They don't come any better than you.” Casey reached up to kiss Luke on the cheek.

“I love you, Casey,” Luke said. Even though his voice was light, almost teasing, Casey thought she'd never seen such misery in a person's eyes.

“Don't love me, Luke, please don't,” she cried, and ran from the room. She was by the front door, grappling with her overnight bag, when the doorbell rang.

“Go, go,” Luke urged. He waited until she was out of sight, taking her bag with her, before he opened the door to admit Singin and Maline Vinh.

“I wish we were here for other reasons,” Singin said wearily after their initial greetings. “We planned this trip for so long, looked forward to it. We had such wonderful plans, and now . . . there is a cloud over our happiness.”

“Where is she?” Maline asked anxiously.

Luke shrugged. “Doing whatever you women do in a bathroom, curling her eyelashes, combing her hair. Tell me, have you seen any—”

“Not one. I think Alan wanted to surprise us. I didn't know about his surgery until August. He did send one letter to me before he entered the hospital, saying he had to renege on his offer to hold our wedding here in the spring. We thought at the time he was on another urgent case. When his letter arrived from Spain, I called him. He knew he was on borrowed time, even then. I didn't expect . . . what I mean is I wasn't prepared . . .” Singin's eyes fell on his bulky attaché case. “I said I would take care of things. There's a will, and Alan said his last wishes are chronicled. The service is Friday morning in New York, after which we're flying out to California and then Seattle.”

It was all said so breathlessly that Luke felt dizzy. Poor Casey.

“You do think Lily will be able to handle it, don't you?” Maline asked quietly.

Lily.
They were still thinking of Casey as Lily. He felt even dizzier, his hand reaching out to the closest table for support. Obviously, Alan hadn't seen fit to confide in either Singin or Maline when he cut Casey loose.

“Lily who?” Casey asked brightly, entering the room.

“Lily you, that's who. It sounds like a song, doesn't it?” Maline said, stretching out her arms to embrace Casey, her face wreathed in a smile. A moment later she stood back. “Let us look at you. Oh, Singin, look, she's beautiful.”

Singin stepped closer, elbowing his wife gently out of the way. He too embraced and kissed Casey. “Very beautiful,” he murmured, studying her face critically. “I couldn't have done it any better.” He beamed. “You are happy, yes?”

“Very happy. It's like a miracle,” Casey said.

“Come, sit here by me so we can talk,” Maline said. “Better yet, let us go for a walk in this beautiful snow while these men prepare
our
dinner. Oh, so much room.” Maline sighed. “Remember my tiny apartment? Singin and I
both
live in it now. If he leaves his toothbrush on the sink, the bathroom is cluttered. Hurry, hurry, I wish to make a snowball.”

Luke and Singin watched from the window, huge smiles on their faces.

“Is that love I see shining in your eyes, old friend?” Singin prodded.

“You don't know
everything,
Singin,” Luke bristled.

“Of course I do. We Thais are extraordinarily intuitive. So, it is love. Remarkable. I approve,” he said, reaching for a celery stick filled with pimiento cheese. “Very good. I approve of this also. Tell me more. Tell me how best to break the news to Lily.”

Damn, there was that Lily business again. “You just tell her, but not till after dinner.”

Seeing the troubled look on Luke's face, Singin changed the subject. “Your apron is very amusing. I myself would never wear one. What does that mean, the saying on your apron?” Singin smirked.

“It means, in Yiddish, ‘I know how to cook.' I picked it up at a garage sale. Well, actually my mother picked it up.”

“Is she in love with you?”

“I'm sorry to say she isn't. She likes me a lot, but love, no. I think her heart belongs to someone else. We don't talk about it. Oh, hell, I do, but she doesn't respond. I mean she doesn't say she loves me back, that kind of thing. Anyway, I'm going back to Vietnam in January. I need to go.”

“Yes, I myself feel the same way. Your medical people treated me wonderfully while I was there. They wanted me to stay. I too would go back, but Maline wishes to have a baby, and she can't do that alone. Perhaps you and Lily could put in a good word for me,” he said slyly, his eyes on the filled celery sticks, wondering if he dared snatch another and ruin Luke's arrangement of vegetables.

“You know, Sing, I don't think I ever really thanked you for . . . you know, giving up your practice and going to Vietnam to help out. There were days when the rest of us didn't know how to handle it. I mean the deformities. I get pissed to the teeth when I see all these demonstrations going on. One of these days I'm going to blow up. I'm on the edge and I know it, that's why I have to go back. I want to be there, trying to make it a little better for our guys. We'd make a hell of a team, Sing.”

“Yes, we would, old friend. But what about Lily?”

“Ah, yes, Lily,” he said bitterly. “Did you ever see a dermatologist cry?”

“You're a surgeon. Dermatology is your elective,” Singin sputtered.

“You're right. If I see another case of acne, I'm going to puke. You wanna hear something about my early days in surgical practice? As a favor to a colleague, I took over his practice for a week so he could take his first vacation in three years. His wife had threatened to divorce him if he didn't take the time off. I didn't want that on my conscience, so I said I would fill in for him. He said no problems, none of his patients needed anything but a little hand holding, that kind of thing. Hrumph,” Luke snorted. “The first day, a forty-four-year-old man came to see me. He couldn't get out of the car. I had to examine him in the front seat. I called an ambulance and operated on him within an hour. He had a ruptured appendix. Three hours later he fucking died on me. Whatcha think of that? Here I am in this modern facility with every medical drug known to man, a sterile operating room, my expertise, and he fucking dies. I couldn't handle it. I came home here and fell apart.”

Singin wrapped his arms around Luke. “It happens to all of us at one time or another. You aren't God and you can't save the world,” he said quietly.