Traveling with Spirits (25 page)

  He kisses her finger, continuing. “What I need to say, dear Monica, is that I love you.”

  I love you, too, she thinks. Her chest fills with desire and apprehension. She has to answer. “I love you, Ashok.”

  He slides down in the now warm bed, whispering something she can’t make out, then, “So happy. So happy.”

  She closes her eyes. “Yes.”

  Tongue on her thigh, he works his way down, licking her knee, her ankle. Then he moves back to the moist softness of her vagina.

  It’s been so long. She stops herself from counting the months. It’s not hard because he turns her into a white hot pulsing sphere. She cries out in pleasure.

  “Love,” Ashok whispers. He rolls on a condom, raises himself above her, then slowly lowers his body.

  She’s stroking his bottom.

  He enters her easily. Deeply.

  She is so ready.

  He pauses and looks for a long time. “We’re together,” he calls in wonderment.

  “Yes,” she smiles. “Finally.”

  Holding her breast with one hand, he wraps his other arm around her back and begins to rock.

  She feels herself swelling with him.

  “Oh, oh,” she cries.

  His own climax follows with a long, gratified moan.

  She closes her eyes and sees glistening snowy peaks.

  Monica wakes abruptly, enveloped by their mingled scents, by the tenderness of her formerly armored body. It’s so dark, she can see stars through the window. Not many, but a few. She wants to linger in his sleeping warmth; she wants to wake him and make love again. Instead, she slides gently out of bed.

  Her own sheets are chilly. Still, her body holds the heat of the night. She hears his words, “treasure, love.” Impossible, yes, she feels impossible happiness.

  Drifting back to consciousness at dawn, she tugs the covers closer although her bed is warm enough from the second rate heat of a single sleeping body. Happy in her own skin. She doesn’t know if this is what Father had in mind. For the moment, she does feel happy.

  For the moment.

  Leave of absence.

  Is that what Dad took, a leave of absence?

  Let go, Monica. In this astonishing moment, your glass is full. Love. Now. The stars have disappeared from a pinking sky. She hears rustling in the trees. A dove coos. Groggily, she recalls how she used to confuse the calls of doves and owls.

TWENTY-THREE

May, June, 1999, Minnesota

  The cell rings while she’s parking. Eric. He’s taken to checking in spontaneously. Sweet, she guesses. She doesn’t know how she feels.

  “Good morning, Eric.” Not his fault she worried about Mom all night.

  “Hi. Hey, I had a great idea. My friend’s sister was visiting campus, you know, Pam, the one who runs the B and B in Pepin?”

  She has to get to work. “No, I mean, yes, you mentioned her.”

  “It sounds divine and I thought we could go in June for a weekend.”

  “I don’t know, Eric. Thank you, but I might be visiting Mom in Duluth.”

  “You can’t go every weekend.”

  “I’m running late. I’ve got patients. Can we discuss this Friday?”

  “Sure,” he sounds hurt. “Let’s do that.”

  She closes the cell and knows he’s right. She can’t go every weekend even if she does want to kidnap Mom back to her good life in St. Paul. So many reasons, she can’t. And she’s taking it out on Eric. On Friday, she’ll apologize and treat him to dinner. Actually, a mini-vacation would be wonderful.

*****

  “You’re animated, today, Robert.” She strides into the exam room. “Not surprising given the blood work.”

  “Oh, yes?” His gray eyes are expectant.

  “Excellent count. Clearly you’ve been keeping up with the meds.”

  “Once I got them.” His face shifts from exasperation to gratitude. “You were heroic badgering the insurance company.”

  She flaps her hands dismissively, recalling Louise’s reprimand about exceeding professional roles. “I’m afraid I wound up shouting at the rep over the phone.”

  “Thanks to you, I’ve returned to work. My sixth graders thought they’d escaped the dreaded Mr. Welburn for the rest of the term.”

  “I can’t imagine you as the ‘dreaded’ anything,” she laughs.

  He brightens. “They did throw a welcome back party, but that was clearly to curry favor and I sternly informed them it wouldn’t work.”

  “I can picture your terrifying countenance.”

  He describes the kids’ huge illustrated card, the singing. A lovely man.

  Reluctantly, she checks the wall clock behind him. “So really, that’s it for today. Unless you have any questions.”

  “Uh, yeah,” he reddens. “Not about me. My friend Artie, he’s been seeing Dr. Jill. I know she has a last name. All I can remember is that high-pitched radio squeak.” He stops, alarmed. “Oh, dear, she’s your colleague; I’m really screwing this up.”

  “Don’t worry, Robert, go on.”

  “He doesn’t seem to be getting the same treatment as I am and…”

  “His case is probably different.”

  “Could be. Still, he can’t get in to see her. She doesn’t schedule regular blood work. He’s so shy, kind of in awe of her. I tell him to consult with someone else, but he thinks that once you’re someone’s patient, you’re enlisted for life. Or in his case, death. Sorry, I’m so mad. I was wondering, well, could you see him?”

  She sits back. Her job is helping patients, not monitoring office politics. “Ask him to schedule another visit with her. If he can’t get in, give him my direct line and we’ll work out something—at least as a temporary arrangement.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Jill has a lot of pressure. It’s hard to balance everything.”

  Robert cocks his head doubtfully. “Thanks, again, Doc.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Dread.”

  She carries a cup of mint tea to the back office. Beata has nixed coffee at work. Beata, her medical advisor. Mid-morning is best for catching Mom. Jeanne is at the bank and Mom is most lucid, even perky, early in the day.

  “Hello, there, Mickey, nice to hear your voice.”

  “How are things, Mom? Is it warm up there yet?”

  “You know Duluth is slower to thaw than St. Paul in more ways than one.”

  “Have you made a few more friends—at church, maybe?”

  “Father Olsen is so kind. He’s invited me to Bible Study Group and the Share our Harvest Committee. I’ll be meeting people soon.”

  “And the arthritis? Have you found a good doctor yet? Did you follow any of my referrals?” Monica can’t tell if she’s helping or nagging.

  “Jeanne made an appointment with, oh, I don’t know, probably someone from that useful list, dear, and I’m sure the date is coming up.”

  “OK, Mom. Is it bothering you much? Are you getting around?”

  “We all have crosses to bear. This is a small one.”

  “You need exercise, friends. You can’t stay holed up in Jeanne’s little house.”

  “It’s a lovely house, dear, with a kitchen overlooking the garden. I read my bible there. My magazines. The morning sun is lovely.”

  “Remember what Dr. Kim said about thrombosis. You have to keep moving. You don’t want a blood clot or a—”

  “I do quite a lot of moving around—cooking and cleaning. Jeanne says when the ice has fully melted, we’ll stroll along the wharf, poke in those little shops. I know you girls have your differences, but truly, I’m just fine up here with Jeannie.”

  “All right, Mom, I don’t want to bug you.” She sips the tea, summons Beata’s detachment. “Still, next time, I want a report about your doctor’s visit.”

  “And you, Mickey, how is your nice man, Ernest?”

  Eric, Ernest, does it matter. Easy to forget a name, given her parade of boyfriends in the last ten years.

  “Fine. Eric and I might take a long weekend near Lake Pepin next month.”

  “Lovely, dear. It should be pretty in August.”

  “June, you mean. Next month is June.”

  “Of course. I mustn’t keep you from patients. Say hi to Beata and Eric for me.”

  “Will do, Mom. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Mickey. More than you’ll ever know.”

  A rap on the door. Gao waits, looking sheepish.

  “Message from Louise?”

  Gao nods. “Your staff meeting started five minutes ago.”

  “Oh, god.” How one’s own memory crashes all the time.

*****

  Chilly atmosphere. She wants to throw open the window to the May sunshine. Concentrate, she tells herself, choosing a seat between Gabe and Terence, avoiding Alonso’s ironic glance. Best not to sit with him all the time.

  “As I was saying,” Louise looks at her pointedly, “Jill’s media work is valuable to all of us in raising the clinic profile.”

  “It gives us a negative profile,” Alonso persists. “She doesn’t keep up with patient care.”

  Jill sits impassively, skimming titles on the bookcase.

  Folding his hands and clearing his throat twice, Gabe intervenes. “Perhaps this is a personal matter best handled privately between Alonso and Jill.”

  Louise ignores the peacemaker. “Because of Jill, people know we do cutting edge work. The number of new patients has doubled in the last six months.”

  “What good is that if we don’t treat them properly?” Alonso demands.

  “Properly,” Louise sits straighter and opines, Monica surmises, with the authority of a fourth generation doctor, “is a relative term. All top notch clinics are streamlining patient care. Focused attention is more beneficial than folksy visiting habits.”

  Alonso throws up his hands.

  Louise glances at her notes.

  Robert Welburn could take lessons in dreadly behavior from her.

  “Well, Alonso, here’s an item to warm your liberal heart,” Louise moves on.

  Monica shoots him a warning glance.

  “After last week’s tight, but decisive vote by the physician team, I have notified pharmaceutical reps that we’ll end their free holiday buffets for the staff.”

  “Go Monica!” Alonso says under his breath.

  Louise adds coolly, “Apparently we’re one of the few clinics to be so, as the reps put it, ‘super sensitive’ to possible conflicts of interest.”

  Monica studies her cuticles.

  Louise adds dryly, “The staff was disappointed, but professional in response.”

  “Did you tell them that Alonso, Terrence and I plan to provide Friday buffets?” Monica speaks louder than she intends. “We’re rotating each week.”

  “We’d have to vote on that,” Jill says. “We don’t want the appearance of a rift in the physician team.”

 
Inane, high-pitched little voice
. Robert’s words. Not hers.

  Terrence shrugs.

  Another battle lost, Monica thinks. What a ridiculous battleground.

  Knocking on the door.

  Louise consults her watch. “Time’s up for today.”

  May is a surprising, abundant month. As Eric feared, they have one more snowfall, but it lasts half a day. The next week daffodils appear. Then lilacs and hydrangea. Monica watches the maple in her back garden grow greener each morning. Hundreds of people walk and cycle and skate around Lake Calhoun.

  Saturday afternoon with Mom in Duluth is blessedly warm, too. They stroll along the lake side.

  She’s grown so stiff.

  “I’m fine. Don’t fret.”

  “You know, seventy-four is young these days,” Monica says uneasily. “You need to get out more. Have you tried the exercise classes or the bridge games at the Senior Center?”

  “Mickey, I’m ready for a quieter life.”

  Maybe she is pushing too hard. Still, there’s something in her mother’s voice, her face. A broken spirit.

  The next day, she phones Jeanne while Mom is at church. Too early in the morning, she hopes, for her sister to be drinking.

  “Yes, yes, an appointment in two weeks.” She sounds more than usually annoyed.

  Since the pastoral committee picks Mom up for church, maybe she woke Jeanne. “Sorry, if you’re still in bed, just call me back.”

  “Bed, I’ve been up for hours, cleaning after Mom.”

   Her heart races. “After what?”

  “She has these accidents.”

  “She’s incontinent?”

  “She pisses in bed if that’s what you’re asking. I change sheets two or three times a week.”

  “Jeannie, the doctor needs to know about this. Things can be done to—”

  “Obviously. I’m not an imbecile.”

  “I don’t want to be pushy, but why has it taken so long to get an appointment?”

  “Some deal about the Medicaid forms. Red tape.”

  “But I’m paying for Mom’s supplemental insurance.”

  “I decided to let that go. She agreed. It’s an unnecessary expense.”

  “My expense,” she raises her voice, quickly backs off. “I want to do that for her.”

  “What you could do, Big Sister, is visit her more often.”

  Monica counts to twenty, glancing out at the luxuriant back garden. She never wanted her mother living two hours away. Jeanne knows how often she visits.

  “I’ll be back in mid-June. A couple of weeks. Eric and I have a longstanding plan to go out of town.”

  “You have lots of distractions. I knew it would be better for Mom in Duluth.”

  “Jeannie, I appreciate all you’re doing for Mom. She appreciates it too. When I ask about medical care, I’m trying to contribute.”

  “I know.”

  A softening? Regardless, she feels braver. “Will you call me after the doctor’s appointment? Let me know how things went?”

  “Right, I’ll call Saturday afternoon.”

  “Actually, I’m at the Free Clinic then. What if I ring you Saturday night?”

  “Darts at the Tav on Saturdays, my one escape during the week now.”

  “Next Sunday, then?”

  “It’ll be a nice break from the laundry.”

*****

  Crab apples. Shoots of hosta. Oak branches hidden by a canopy of fragile green leaves. Bicycling to work, she considers how she loves the impetuousness of spring/summer in Minnesota. It makes her feel great leaps are possible.

  Good spirits are infectious.

  Louise appears, a minute after she walks in, with a huge bouquet of irises for the reception desk. She’s humming (humming!) under her breath.