Marriage of Convenience (16 page)

It was as though the emptiness spoke volumes. She could hear the silence. It hadn’t bothered her before. Now it was oppressive. He’d left without saying goodbye. Then she spotted her monogrammed sticky in the indention of the pillow. The note read: “Dinner? I think we have some plans to arrange.” It was simply signed “M.”

Caroline felt a shiver run through her. Those “plans” could mean only one thing. She could already hear the soft mewing of her newborn. Was that baby powder she smelled? She wasn’t sure why he’d left so early, but she was sure she’d see him soon.

She let her feet touch the hardwood floors. The house had been extensively renovated, but it seemed she could never get rid of the drafty floors. She’d tried telling herself over the years that it was part of the charm, a reminder of the house’s graceful ascent into history and bought slippers instead. The problem was that she could never keep track of the little things, and so she was forced to take a cold walk to the bathroom almost every morning.

She did so this morning without any thought to the draft or the slippers. By the time she was looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, every ivory tooth was visible. She laughed out loud and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. It was coming true. The most exciting event of her life. She was going to be a mother.

“Dr. Fowlkes, page 542, please. Dr. Fowlkes, 542.”

Malcolm stepped out of the examining room just as the loudspeaker delivered the message. The calm, placid voice of the operator usually belied the excitement and urgency that would be impressed upon him when he dialed the extension to the emergency room triage station.

He’d arrived at the hospital at 7:00 and had been hopping from one task to another all morning. Some doctors on staff complained about the variety of assignments that fell to them on any given day. “I didn’t go to school to do paperwork” was probably the most often voiced complaint at the weekly staff meeting. Neither had Malcolm, but he couldn’t count how many times he’d been ruminating on a case as he filled out charts or dictated information regarding one patient only to have his thoughts clarified or a problem solved for another as the information he was reading combined with other facts he’d already stored.

He didn’t mind the exercise either. When the doctors complained about running from floor to floor to see patients or having to cover for someone else in another wing, he was tickled to think that they couldn’t follow their own advice regarding exercise, which he was sure each one recommended to his patients. Doctors were the worst patients.

He walked the length of the hall to the nurses’ station and smiled to the ladies and the only male nurse on staff clustered within. At the beginning and end of a shift the nurses gathered to peruse the patient board. The board identified which patient was in which room, which nurse was assigned to which patient, what procedure was upcoming, and a current prognosis if one was available. It had used to state next of kin and a contact number, but that had been deemed too personal for public display and was instead now posted on each patient’s personal wipe board hanging on the closet next to their bed.

The nurses didn’t acknowledge his presence as he leaned over the counter and punched the speed dial button for the ER. In the center of the cluster was the lead nurse. As he waited for the ER nurse to answer the phone, he heard her say that with the overflow in the ER this early in the morning they were bound to get some of the overflow, so they’d need to exercise some flexibility as the day wore on.

Malcolm wasn’t sure what had happened to fill the ER so early, but he was considering simply running down to see for himself when a breathless nurse picked up the line.

“Dr. Fowlkes?” Her voice was high and thin.

“Speaking. What can I do?” Malcolm had gotten used to the short-matter-of-fact habits of the ER as an intern many years before. He’d considered ER medicine long ago. It was fast paced and exciting and really put a doctor to the test in both depth of knowledge and problem solving. There were many times when there simply was no time to consult either a book or another doctor. He’d known many young medical students use the ER as a way of attracting women—the “war” stories and close calls seemed to enhance their good looks and appeal. He was sure their salary had been attractive as well. But he’d determined that he could have the excitement of the ER and fulfill his passion for research by simply volunteering for call duty once a month.

He wasn’t on call today, though, so this call was unexpected. And to some degree that worried him.

She was saying something about being sorry for tracking him down. “We can’t locate Dr. Christian. He’s not off campus, but he’s not answering his pager or all call. And we need immediate assistance in room 4.”

Malcolm knew Christian. He frowned, indicated he was on his way, and made a mental note to follow up as soon as possible.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Malcolm bounded out of the stairwell in record time. The door opened up to a short hallway off the main emergency waiting room. In order to get back to the beds, he had to walk through the waiting room. He was shocked to see every chair filled with people standing, leaning, and sitting in just about every available space of linoleum.

He picked his way past those sitting on the floor and to the front desk.

“Looks more like Friday night instead of Friday morning,” he said to the nurse.

“You’re telling me. We haven’t had time to change shifts completely. They are not going to like the OT.” She threw a chart onto the desk top and, snapping her fingers, swung to and fro as though she’d misplaced something.

“They” was the hospital board in charge of budgeting. Everyone had received the notice last month that indicated, because of overall economic concerns, all OT had to be approved in advance. Doctors and nurses, like teachers, found such news worthless and yet disappointing. Dedicating yourself to a service profession almost guaranteed unpaid working hours. But the same light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel positive outlook that made them beacons of hope in sometimes ungrateful jobs set them up for disappointment.

“I got a call from 542.”

“She’s in the back. Room 4.”

“Anything you can tell me?”

“Gosh, Doc, where to start?” She paused in her search for the missing paperwork long enough to put her hands on her hips and give him a desperate look. Her controlled tone didn’t match her appearance or her words. Perhaps she was the automaton voice behind the loudspeaker announcements.

“A water pipe burst, flooding a building where just by chance a lot of old folks lived. The shock of the situation lead to one heart attack and several stress related heart arrhythmia patients. The same pipe caused water to back up in the passageways underground, so water was pushed up through the grates and into the street, pooling in the intersection. This caused a pile-up that involved a City bus. And a few of the responding firefighters have steam burns.” She’d ticked the damage off on her fingers as she spoke.

“So, we can use all the extra hands we can find, doctor. Go on back.”

Malcolm flexed his hands as he pushed through the swinging doors that led into the hospital’s inner halls. He scanned the charts on the wall next to the door. Each chart was next to a colored square of painter’s tape that had been applied to the white board. In the square was the room number. If there was a number assigned to the square, there was a person in the room. If there was a chart next to the number inside the square, the person was waiting to see a doctor. Malcolm scanned the charts, prioritizing the reported injuries. He wasn’t against swabbing and bandaging, but he also assumed that when someone else could do those things easily enough, he ought to apply his talents to places where others might not be as successful.

He chose one and was back and forth to the wall several times before lunch. Only a vibration from the cell phone hanging off his hip even reminded him of the outside world. Checking the screen as he took a chart off the wall, he paused. A small smile crept across his lips as he read.

Yellow cab headed your way at 6 p.m. Pack light. Don’t be late.

Pack light? Interesting. He’d suggested dinner. He had a feeling he was going to get a lot more. He loved surprises and couldn’t think of a scenario for the evening that he wouldn’t enjoy.

He typed Anything in particular?

The response was instantaneous. Nice try. See you later.

He smiled. It had been worth the try. He was glad she didn’t give in easily—he’d have something to mull over in the back of his mind as he finished up in the ER. He’d spend more quality time on it over a late lunch in his office.

He took the last chart and slipped the phone back onto his hip. He walked down the hall exchanging greetings with nurses and patients alike. At room 7 he knocked lightly on the glass door that enclosed each room. The curtain had been pulled from the inside, so he couldn’t see the woman’s condition. The chart indicated she was 77-year-old Molly Morrison, who had experienced chest pain as a result of the activity on her front stoop this morning. No heart monitoring or stress tests had been run yet, and Malcolm imagined that was where he’d start, but that was also something a PA could handle. He’d locate one once he’d seen her.

Malcolm introduced himself to Ms. Morrison and then, hearing a screaming child from down the hall, excused himself promising that an attendant would be in to take her vitals soon. She seemed content to lie in bed and rest. The Price is Right was starting, and she could barely take her eyes off the screen.

Four hours later, still without lunch, Malcolm made his way slowly back up the stairs he’d bounded down earlier. The screaming baby had turned out to be two-year-old Turner Johnson who had come in with a fever. After diagnosing a double ear infection related to a cold the child had suffered through a week before, he’d prescribed an antibiotic and suggested an over the counter acetaminophen for the fever. He’d spent more time soothing Turner’s mother than he had treating the child. Once mom was calm, the baby settled quickly. He gave the baby a dose of both medicines, and he was dozing before they checked out of the hospital.

Malcolm wouldn’t say he was exhausted. He’d definitely had worse days. But he was hungry and still hadn’t completed his own rounds upstairs. He’d stop for a quick bite and then continue on. He’d set his watch alarm for 4:30. That would give him time to go home, shower, and pack before 6:00. He hadn’t had time to consider what to pack or why he was packing, but he didn’t care. He’d be with Caroline, and that made whatever they were doing just fine.

He stopped mid-step and considered the meaning of this last thought. He leaned on the railing and appeared to be studying it intently. Four days ago he’d been very hesitant about meeting anyone. Five days ago he hadn’t been thinking about his love life at all. He’d been completely content to work and spend time with friends, traveling and reading. Now his inner voice was telling him he didn’t need anything but to be with Caroline. Was it possible to be betrayed by your own self?

Taking a step, he stopped again. His life was going to change after tomorrow. He’d have to consider someone else’s feelings, wants, and needs forever. He’d be bound to someone else. This would be the last person he’d sleep with. The last one he’d kiss romantically. He didn’t feel the slightest twinge of fear.

Taking another step, he thought about this lack of fear. Well, it made sense, didn’t it? If you found the person who was right for you, there shouldn’t be fear, should there? She’d share your interests, support your work, partake in your adventures, and the life you’d build would be healthy for both. Fear would indicate something was not quite right, wouldn’t it?

Satisfied with his logic, he took the next flight of stairs two at a time, a new energy to his step.

Unless you’re seeing only what she wants you to see and not the reality of what things will be once the vows have been exchanged. Malcolm almost tripped as the words tumbled around his brain. He stood still on the landing. Where had those words come from? Did he really feel that? He didn’t think so. Gloria wouldn’t have a friend like that, and she wouldn’t have introduced them if she thought Caroline was simply trying to take advantage of him. He was certain of that. So from where then? His father.

Of course. The person who had precipitated this adventure was now back to cast doubt on the results. Perhaps that was his father’s plan all along: wave the prize in front of his face, touting its wonderful benefits, only to yank it back when he’d finally shown interest, saying its negative impact would outweigh any positive benefits. That would be just like his father. Focusing on the negative, negating the positives. Never trusting anyone else, especially a woman. His father had been skeptical and calculating, playing everything close to his chest.

Shaking his head again, Malcolm reaffirmed his determination not be like his father. He reached his hand out to grasp the door knob and stopped again. But he was taking a risk. And, a softer voice inside his head piped up, isn’t anything that’s really worth having worth fighting over? Worth worrying about a little bit? A risk is healthy, keeps you on your toes.

Again, not his own self. No, his mother. In those nights when his father had stepped out or simply never came home, his mother had tucked him in. She’d read to him, talked to him about his day. When he could see she was upset, she’d talk about her day. She was always very positive, even when he questioned her decisions or her logic. “It all works out in the end,” she’d say. “I have you, don’t I?” She’d kiss him and say she loved him most in the world and then turn out the light. If it was a particularly bad night, he’d hear her sobbing in the next room. She never went to sleep until she heard his father’s key hit the door. Then she’d quickly shut out the light. She could never explain her love for his father, but he’d supposed that was just the way it was.

It wasn’t until he was an adult that he thought he understood why she stayed. It would have been infinitely harder to raise him herself, if she could get custody of him. Money went a long way, and she had none on her own. His father had found her, young and fancy-free when she was working for his company. He’d left her aged and sickly.