Fools Rush In
Page 35
“It sounds wonderful.”
The night before Career Day, I laid out my seldom-used suit and polished my shoes. Then I took an hour or so to jot a few notes on index cards, just in case Dr. Whitaker asked me to add anything to his little spiel. He was a formal, precise man, and I didn’t want to be caught unaware. Katie, too, would be speaking, representing the world of restaurant management, and several other people I knew. It might turn out to be a really fun event.
The next morning as I drove into the high-school parking lot, my heart sank. Joe’s truck was there…apparently he’d been asked to speak at Career Day, too. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since our breakup.
“Go down to the teachers’ lounge. You remember the way, don’t you, Millie?” asked the secretary, who had been at Nauset High for decades.
As I walked down the hallway, I heard an undeniably angry (if somewhat muffled) voice coming from the janitor’s supply room. The door was closed, but I could recognize the voice easily. It was Katie. My footsteps slowed.
“…in the first place!” my friend was saying. Having been on the receiving end of that iron tone, I cringed for the recipient, freezing in the horrible thrill of someone else’s reaming.
“For God’s sake,” Katie continued, “you sit there night after night, crying into your beer, and for what? You make a good living, have a lot of people who like you, Joe—”
Joe!
“—but you’re wasting your life. You screw anything with a pulse, break hearts all over the place, just float through life without thinking of anyone but yourself. I’m not surprised Millie dumped you. She’s way out of your league.”
Oh, my God.
“So there you have it, okay? You asked, I answered. Now stop whining, grow up and act your age.”
Realizing their conversation, for lack of a better word, was ending, I leaped down the hall to the teachers’ lounge and yanked open the door. Several people were already assembled: Dr. Whitaker, Maeve McFarland, an attorney; Bobby and Sue Schultz, who ran the Atlantic Winds Motel; and my dad, sultan of sewage. I scampered over to the coffeepot and smiled breathlessly.
“Millie! Good morning,” Dr. W. said.
“Hello,” I answered. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, punkin! Doc here and I were just talking about you.” My dad placed a heavy arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.
The door opened, and Katie, looking like a tourism ad for Norway, came in, her face serene and lovely, blond hair swinging in a silken curtain over her shoulders. “Hi, Millie,” she purred. “Hi, everyone.”
I went over to her side. “Why were you yelling at Joe?” I whispered.
“Oh, did you overhear that?” she asked blithely.
“Yes! I certainly did. Why, Katie?”
She smiled. “He asked for it.”
“Did he?” Was anyone so foolish as to ask for the Wrath of Katie?
“Well, he wanted to know if I knew why you broke up with him. So I told him.”
She looked as sated as if she’d just had a night of world-class sex, her cheeks slightly flushed and glowing, her eyes sparkling. “Did you have to enjoy it so much?” I asked.
“That Peter Pan routine is pathetic,” Katie murmured. “High time someone told him.” She sighed contentedly and floated away. I turned around, bumping right into Joe.
“Hi, Joe,” I said, feeling my ears grow hot. “How are you?”
He didn’t look nearly as healthy as Katie. “Fine,” he answered.
“So, um, I guess you’re here for Career Day,” I said, feeling my stomach contract with discomfort.
“Yup.” He continued to stare, unsmiling, a look that was foreign to his usually cheerful face.
“Okay! Well. Um, see you later.” I scurried away like a cockroach. Apparently, Joe hadn’t gotten around to the “no hard feelings” stage. Or he was still shell-shocked from the Katie grenade that had just been launched.
At that moment, the door opened and in came Mrs. Deveau, who’d been principal when I was a student here. “We’re all set, people, if you’ll follow me,” she said. We made our way en masse to the auditorium. A number of my former teachers still taught here, and one or two waved as we passed through the halls.
“Hey, Millie,” Sam said, appearing at my side. “Representing the medical world today, are you?” He looked handsome in his uniform, brawnier with the radio and gun clipped to his belt. Downright…well, actually, quite…
“That’s right. And you’re discussing…what is it again that you do? Dog warden?” My banter was automatic because of the strange, hot…
Sam laughed, and my innards contracted in a warm squeeze. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Actually, most kids ask me about playing football in college.” He smiled at me, his hazel eyes crinkling, and there it was again, that…that…
Okay, okay. Sam was a looker, I knew that. Sure I did. But suddenly, I seemed to be feeling…things. For my sister’s ex-husband. For the father of my nephew. Of course you love Sam, a voice in my head soothed. But only in a platonic way. Right. So why was adrenaline spurting into my bloodstream, urging me to flee? And why did he suddenly seem so…delicious? I shuddered at the mere thought. Sam, delicious? Oh, God, he was!
“Okay,” Mrs. Deveau said. “Why don’t we have you go first, Mr. Barnes, since you’ve done this before. Everyone gets ten minutes, give or take, and then the kids can ask questions. Are we all set?” She didn’t wait for an answer, in typical principal fashion, and led us onto the stage. The kids were already in the auditorium, shuffling and chatting, but they quieted as we filed on and sat in the chairs lined up for us.
I did not feel well. Was I sick? I wished I was! Do not feel this way, Millie. Isn’t life complicated enough? Dr. Whitaker sat on one side of me. Sam sat on the other, his leg brushing mine, causing my nerve endings to leap.
Oh, no. No. No. Sam was off-limits. Do Not Enter. No Trespassing.
My palms grew clammy, and I tried to wipe them discreetly on my skirt. Mrs. Deveau was giving the introduction. A cramp pierced my abdomen. Dr. Whitaker leaned in close to whisper something, but I only dimly heard him over the roar in my ears. “Okay, sure,” I whispered back when it seemed an answer was called for.
Oh, this was bad! My knees were humming and weak with terror, and my pulse must have been at least one hundred and twenty. Maybe more. Breathe deeply, Millie. I obeyed myself, causing Sam to glance at me.
“Nervous?” he whispered with a grin.
Oh, shit. This was not what I needed. This was awful.
“It’s not so bad,” he continued. I could smell his nice Sam smell, soap, starch from his uniform, shaving cream. Oh, please, please—
“…Howard Barnes,” Mrs. Deveau said. Dutiful applause rose from the kids.
“Hi, kids!” my father bellowed. “I’m Danny Nickerson’s grandfather, and I’m the owner of a septic service company…or, as I like to say, the King of Crap.” Warming to his fecund subject, Dad launched into a lurid tale of a pipe erupting during a storm several years ago, causing sewage to flood our fair streets. The kids were hooked.
Concentrate on Dad. My carotid artery throbbed sickly in my neck as I stared straight ahead. God, these lights were hot! Was anyone else hot? My fellow panelists looked composed and relaxed. In the audience, I spotted Danny, sitting next to Bobby Canton. There was Kyle and another boy from the Lighthouse Dance.
“Your dad is so great,” Sam whispered. I didn’t turn my head, just nodded mutely, staring at my father’s gleaming bald spot. My stomach churned with acid, and a light sweat broke out on my forehead. Beside me, Dr. Whitaker chuckled at something my father said. The kids applauded.
Joe was next. As he spoke somewhat shyly about his apprenticeship, I stared at his flannel-clad back. My mind refused to shape the words that buzzed around in my head like a swarm of mosquitoes. No. Absolutely not. Stop. Sam turned to me again, and I whirled to face Dr. Whitaker.
“Do you…um, do you talk about anything in particular?” I whispered as the kids applauded for Joe.
“Not really. You’ll be fine.” Dr. Whitaker smiled reassuringly.
I would be fine? What did he mean by that?
Now it was Sam’s turn. My heart rate accelerated even more, my pulse thudding wildly in my ears, and I closed my eyes for a moment, dizzy. This was a nightmare. In fact, the whole scene was a textbook panic dream…sitting on a stage, terror racing through my limbs, heart hammering my chest. Unfortunately, I was wide awake, and in more ways than one. Sam said something that made the kids laugh…. He turned back to smile at us grown-ups because whatever he’d said apparently involved us. His eyes stopped on me for just a second.
Oh, damn it all.
The sandbags in my brain dissolved and the river came roaring over the banks.
I was in love with Sam Nickerson.
Sam. My brother-in-law!
No! my brain hollered. It’s practically incest! Completely wrong! What about Trish? And Danny! You can’t!
But I did.
My mouth was tacky, my throat coated in sawdust. My intestines rolled, my face practically shimmered with heat waves. I opened my dry mouth with an audible clack and sucked in a shuddering breath. Dr. Whitaker looked at me oddly. I stretched my mouth into a smile and blinked stupidly.
“…time to hear from Dr. Barnes.”
Dr. Barnes. That was me. Sam walked back toward me. Could he tell? Did he know? Why was he looking at me like that? Oh, God, he knew—
“It’s your turn, kiddo,” he whispered. “Knock ’em dead.”
My turn? My—oh, Christ. “You want me to do this?” I whispered to Dr. Whitaker.
“Is that all right?” he asked, his bushy gray eyebrows coming together in concern.
“Sure! Just…sure!”
Clenching my jaw against the urge to throw up, I smiled wildly again at Dr. Whitaker and wobbled to the podium. I glanced at Joe, who was staring at the floor. Poor Joe. Don’t look at Sam, I warned myself as my eyes found him. He winked at me, and my stomach clenched as a wave of warmth rolled over me.
“Hi.” My voice came out as a slight gasp. I looked at the kids, squinting against the stage lights. “Uh…I’m, um…I’m Millie. Millie Barnes. A doctor.” A doctor with shaking legs, about to puke on you. I giggled, but it morphed into a slight dry heave. “Sorry. I think I have a little stage fright.” I gripped the podium, my palms slick, and swallowed. Stage fright. Better than looking at Danny and blurting out the truth—I’m in love with your dad! I gave a slightly hysterical laugh.
Dr. Whitaker is sitting behind you, Millie, a rational voice in my brain called against the internal din. I swallowed again. “Okay. Down to business.” I cleared my throat. “I’m a doctor, which I just told you. Um, I work at the clinic in Wellfleet…but pretty soon, I’ll be working for Dr. Whitaker there.”
What else was I supposed to say? They all knew what doctors did! Everyone knew! What was the big mystery? Why did they want a doctor for their stupid Career Day? And where were those stupid note cards? In my stupid pocketbook, under my stupid chair, next to Sa—
“Well, in medicine, there are a lot of fields…um…like uh, orthopedics, which treats…um…uh, it’s from the Greek, ortho, meaning—” What did it mean? Ortho, ortho…My mind was empty. Oh, Sam. “Okay, and there’s, um, well, gynecology…no, let’s not talk about that one. How about pathology? Pathology’s fun. That’s the one with dead people. Autopsies. Cause of death. Stuff like that. It’s fun. Well, not fun…I meant interesting. It’s…interesting.”
This wasn’t going well. “Okay, lots of fields. You choose what you want in med school. Any questions?”
The students were supposed to save their questions for the end, but I couldn’t go on like this. Thankfully, a girl raised her hand.
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“Me? Oh. I’m a family practitioner. I treat everybody, kids, adults, you know. But if you have a real problem, like heart disease or something really bad, we send you to someone else.” Well, that made us sound completely incompetent! “We’re the family doctor,” I backpedaled. “You get strep, you come to us. Um, need to lose weight, we’ll tell you.” I glanced at the audience, searching for inspiration. “Acne? We can help.”
Jesus, deliver me from this stage. “Next question?”
Danny took pity on me. “Millie, why did you become a family practitioner?”
Gazing at my nephew, I felt my terror ebb a bit. I took a deep breath. “Well, um, as you know, Danny, it’s because I—I guess I really want to get to know my patients. Sometimes, when people go to their doctor, it’s just routine stuff, like earaches or rashes or fevers. But patients let their family doctor into their lives, you know? They trust us to help them. There’s medicine out there that’s probably more exciting, like reconstructive surgery or emergency medicine, but in this field, I get to help you in your everyday life. And that’s what I always wanted to do.”
Danny’s smile affirmed that I had—finally—constructed a sensible sentence. Danny, you’re such a good person, I thought.
Just like your dad.
DESPITE HOW IT FELT, Career Day did finally end. I fled as quickly as possible, grateful that I had to be at work to cover the late shift. I squashed my thoughts of Sam and concentrated on the several patients who came in, taking as long with them as possible, trying to avoid any downtime. When I finally got home around ten, I grabbed Digger’s leash and walked with him to Nauset Light Beach. There, listening to the roar and shush of the waves, I gave in.
The night before Career Day, I laid out my seldom-used suit and polished my shoes. Then I took an hour or so to jot a few notes on index cards, just in case Dr. Whitaker asked me to add anything to his little spiel. He was a formal, precise man, and I didn’t want to be caught unaware. Katie, too, would be speaking, representing the world of restaurant management, and several other people I knew. It might turn out to be a really fun event.
The next morning as I drove into the high-school parking lot, my heart sank. Joe’s truck was there…apparently he’d been asked to speak at Career Day, too. I hadn’t seen or spoken to him since our breakup.
“Go down to the teachers’ lounge. You remember the way, don’t you, Millie?” asked the secretary, who had been at Nauset High for decades.
As I walked down the hallway, I heard an undeniably angry (if somewhat muffled) voice coming from the janitor’s supply room. The door was closed, but I could recognize the voice easily. It was Katie. My footsteps slowed.
“…in the first place!” my friend was saying. Having been on the receiving end of that iron tone, I cringed for the recipient, freezing in the horrible thrill of someone else’s reaming.
“For God’s sake,” Katie continued, “you sit there night after night, crying into your beer, and for what? You make a good living, have a lot of people who like you, Joe—”
Joe!
“—but you’re wasting your life. You screw anything with a pulse, break hearts all over the place, just float through life without thinking of anyone but yourself. I’m not surprised Millie dumped you. She’s way out of your league.”
Oh, my God.
“So there you have it, okay? You asked, I answered. Now stop whining, grow up and act your age.”
Realizing their conversation, for lack of a better word, was ending, I leaped down the hall to the teachers’ lounge and yanked open the door. Several people were already assembled: Dr. Whitaker, Maeve McFarland, an attorney; Bobby and Sue Schultz, who ran the Atlantic Winds Motel; and my dad, sultan of sewage. I scampered over to the coffeepot and smiled breathlessly.
“Millie! Good morning,” Dr. W. said.
“Hello,” I answered. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, punkin! Doc here and I were just talking about you.” My dad placed a heavy arm around my shoulder and gave me a squeeze.
The door opened, and Katie, looking like a tourism ad for Norway, came in, her face serene and lovely, blond hair swinging in a silken curtain over her shoulders. “Hi, Millie,” she purred. “Hi, everyone.”
I went over to her side. “Why were you yelling at Joe?” I whispered.
“Oh, did you overhear that?” she asked blithely.
“Yes! I certainly did. Why, Katie?”
She smiled. “He asked for it.”
“Did he?” Was anyone so foolish as to ask for the Wrath of Katie?
“Well, he wanted to know if I knew why you broke up with him. So I told him.”
She looked as sated as if she’d just had a night of world-class sex, her cheeks slightly flushed and glowing, her eyes sparkling. “Did you have to enjoy it so much?” I asked.
“That Peter Pan routine is pathetic,” Katie murmured. “High time someone told him.” She sighed contentedly and floated away. I turned around, bumping right into Joe.
“Hi, Joe,” I said, feeling my ears grow hot. “How are you?”
He didn’t look nearly as healthy as Katie. “Fine,” he answered.
“So, um, I guess you’re here for Career Day,” I said, feeling my stomach contract with discomfort.
“Yup.” He continued to stare, unsmiling, a look that was foreign to his usually cheerful face.
“Okay! Well. Um, see you later.” I scurried away like a cockroach. Apparently, Joe hadn’t gotten around to the “no hard feelings” stage. Or he was still shell-shocked from the Katie grenade that had just been launched.
At that moment, the door opened and in came Mrs. Deveau, who’d been principal when I was a student here. “We’re all set, people, if you’ll follow me,” she said. We made our way en masse to the auditorium. A number of my former teachers still taught here, and one or two waved as we passed through the halls.
“Hey, Millie,” Sam said, appearing at my side. “Representing the medical world today, are you?” He looked handsome in his uniform, brawnier with the radio and gun clipped to his belt. Downright…well, actually, quite…
“That’s right. And you’re discussing…what is it again that you do? Dog warden?” My banter was automatic because of the strange, hot…
Sam laughed, and my innards contracted in a warm squeeze. “That doesn’t sound too bad. Actually, most kids ask me about playing football in college.” He smiled at me, his hazel eyes crinkling, and there it was again, that…that…
Okay, okay. Sam was a looker, I knew that. Sure I did. But suddenly, I seemed to be feeling…things. For my sister’s ex-husband. For the father of my nephew. Of course you love Sam, a voice in my head soothed. But only in a platonic way. Right. So why was adrenaline spurting into my bloodstream, urging me to flee? And why did he suddenly seem so…delicious? I shuddered at the mere thought. Sam, delicious? Oh, God, he was!
“Okay,” Mrs. Deveau said. “Why don’t we have you go first, Mr. Barnes, since you’ve done this before. Everyone gets ten minutes, give or take, and then the kids can ask questions. Are we all set?” She didn’t wait for an answer, in typical principal fashion, and led us onto the stage. The kids were already in the auditorium, shuffling and chatting, but they quieted as we filed on and sat in the chairs lined up for us.
I did not feel well. Was I sick? I wished I was! Do not feel this way, Millie. Isn’t life complicated enough? Dr. Whitaker sat on one side of me. Sam sat on the other, his leg brushing mine, causing my nerve endings to leap.
Oh, no. No. No. Sam was off-limits. Do Not Enter. No Trespassing.
My palms grew clammy, and I tried to wipe them discreetly on my skirt. Mrs. Deveau was giving the introduction. A cramp pierced my abdomen. Dr. Whitaker leaned in close to whisper something, but I only dimly heard him over the roar in my ears. “Okay, sure,” I whispered back when it seemed an answer was called for.
Oh, this was bad! My knees were humming and weak with terror, and my pulse must have been at least one hundred and twenty. Maybe more. Breathe deeply, Millie. I obeyed myself, causing Sam to glance at me.
“Nervous?” he whispered with a grin.
Oh, shit. This was not what I needed. This was awful.
“It’s not so bad,” he continued. I could smell his nice Sam smell, soap, starch from his uniform, shaving cream. Oh, please, please—
“…Howard Barnes,” Mrs. Deveau said. Dutiful applause rose from the kids.
“Hi, kids!” my father bellowed. “I’m Danny Nickerson’s grandfather, and I’m the owner of a septic service company…or, as I like to say, the King of Crap.” Warming to his fecund subject, Dad launched into a lurid tale of a pipe erupting during a storm several years ago, causing sewage to flood our fair streets. The kids were hooked.
Concentrate on Dad. My carotid artery throbbed sickly in my neck as I stared straight ahead. God, these lights were hot! Was anyone else hot? My fellow panelists looked composed and relaxed. In the audience, I spotted Danny, sitting next to Bobby Canton. There was Kyle and another boy from the Lighthouse Dance.
“Your dad is so great,” Sam whispered. I didn’t turn my head, just nodded mutely, staring at my father’s gleaming bald spot. My stomach churned with acid, and a light sweat broke out on my forehead. Beside me, Dr. Whitaker chuckled at something my father said. The kids applauded.
Joe was next. As he spoke somewhat shyly about his apprenticeship, I stared at his flannel-clad back. My mind refused to shape the words that buzzed around in my head like a swarm of mosquitoes. No. Absolutely not. Stop. Sam turned to me again, and I whirled to face Dr. Whitaker.
“Do you…um, do you talk about anything in particular?” I whispered as the kids applauded for Joe.
“Not really. You’ll be fine.” Dr. Whitaker smiled reassuringly.
I would be fine? What did he mean by that?
Now it was Sam’s turn. My heart rate accelerated even more, my pulse thudding wildly in my ears, and I closed my eyes for a moment, dizzy. This was a nightmare. In fact, the whole scene was a textbook panic dream…sitting on a stage, terror racing through my limbs, heart hammering my chest. Unfortunately, I was wide awake, and in more ways than one. Sam said something that made the kids laugh…. He turned back to smile at us grown-ups because whatever he’d said apparently involved us. His eyes stopped on me for just a second.
Oh, damn it all.
The sandbags in my brain dissolved and the river came roaring over the banks.
I was in love with Sam Nickerson.
Sam. My brother-in-law!
No! my brain hollered. It’s practically incest! Completely wrong! What about Trish? And Danny! You can’t!
But I did.
My mouth was tacky, my throat coated in sawdust. My intestines rolled, my face practically shimmered with heat waves. I opened my dry mouth with an audible clack and sucked in a shuddering breath. Dr. Whitaker looked at me oddly. I stretched my mouth into a smile and blinked stupidly.
“…time to hear from Dr. Barnes.”
Dr. Barnes. That was me. Sam walked back toward me. Could he tell? Did he know? Why was he looking at me like that? Oh, God, he knew—
“It’s your turn, kiddo,” he whispered. “Knock ’em dead.”
My turn? My—oh, Christ. “You want me to do this?” I whispered to Dr. Whitaker.
“Is that all right?” he asked, his bushy gray eyebrows coming together in concern.
“Sure! Just…sure!”
Clenching my jaw against the urge to throw up, I smiled wildly again at Dr. Whitaker and wobbled to the podium. I glanced at Joe, who was staring at the floor. Poor Joe. Don’t look at Sam, I warned myself as my eyes found him. He winked at me, and my stomach clenched as a wave of warmth rolled over me.
“Hi.” My voice came out as a slight gasp. I looked at the kids, squinting against the stage lights. “Uh…I’m, um…I’m Millie. Millie Barnes. A doctor.” A doctor with shaking legs, about to puke on you. I giggled, but it morphed into a slight dry heave. “Sorry. I think I have a little stage fright.” I gripped the podium, my palms slick, and swallowed. Stage fright. Better than looking at Danny and blurting out the truth—I’m in love with your dad! I gave a slightly hysterical laugh.
Dr. Whitaker is sitting behind you, Millie, a rational voice in my brain called against the internal din. I swallowed again. “Okay. Down to business.” I cleared my throat. “I’m a doctor, which I just told you. Um, I work at the clinic in Wellfleet…but pretty soon, I’ll be working for Dr. Whitaker there.”
What else was I supposed to say? They all knew what doctors did! Everyone knew! What was the big mystery? Why did they want a doctor for their stupid Career Day? And where were those stupid note cards? In my stupid pocketbook, under my stupid chair, next to Sa—
“Well, in medicine, there are a lot of fields…um…like uh, orthopedics, which treats…um…uh, it’s from the Greek, ortho, meaning—” What did it mean? Ortho, ortho…My mind was empty. Oh, Sam. “Okay, and there’s, um, well, gynecology…no, let’s not talk about that one. How about pathology? Pathology’s fun. That’s the one with dead people. Autopsies. Cause of death. Stuff like that. It’s fun. Well, not fun…I meant interesting. It’s…interesting.”
This wasn’t going well. “Okay, lots of fields. You choose what you want in med school. Any questions?”
The students were supposed to save their questions for the end, but I couldn’t go on like this. Thankfully, a girl raised her hand.
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“Me? Oh. I’m a family practitioner. I treat everybody, kids, adults, you know. But if you have a real problem, like heart disease or something really bad, we send you to someone else.” Well, that made us sound completely incompetent! “We’re the family doctor,” I backpedaled. “You get strep, you come to us. Um, need to lose weight, we’ll tell you.” I glanced at the audience, searching for inspiration. “Acne? We can help.”
Jesus, deliver me from this stage. “Next question?”
Danny took pity on me. “Millie, why did you become a family practitioner?”
Gazing at my nephew, I felt my terror ebb a bit. I took a deep breath. “Well, um, as you know, Danny, it’s because I—I guess I really want to get to know my patients. Sometimes, when people go to their doctor, it’s just routine stuff, like earaches or rashes or fevers. But patients let their family doctor into their lives, you know? They trust us to help them. There’s medicine out there that’s probably more exciting, like reconstructive surgery or emergency medicine, but in this field, I get to help you in your everyday life. And that’s what I always wanted to do.”
Danny’s smile affirmed that I had—finally—constructed a sensible sentence. Danny, you’re such a good person, I thought.
Just like your dad.
DESPITE HOW IT FELT, Career Day did finally end. I fled as quickly as possible, grateful that I had to be at work to cover the late shift. I squashed my thoughts of Sam and concentrated on the several patients who came in, taking as long with them as possible, trying to avoid any downtime. When I finally got home around ten, I grabbed Digger’s leash and walked with him to Nauset Light Beach. There, listening to the roar and shush of the waves, I gave in.
