9. Claire
CHAPTER 9
CLAIRE
I met up with Joelle on my way to work, at the boba place we’d discovered our first day as residents.
“So, he had no idea.” Joelle stirred her drink. “We thought the whole time he knew and just… flaked. Are we sure he didn’t?”
“I think so,” I said. I sipped my tea. “You should’ve seen his face when I let him have it. Total confusion, like what the heck? And you know how he is, world’s worst liar.”
“He hid his match well enough.”
“I was distracted.”
“Sam’ll be relieved if this ends up being true. He’s been stressing over how to put him off for six weeks, what excuse he could give not to see him at all.” Joelle slurped up boba. “So, how about you? What are you going to do about him and Oli?”
I pressed my palms to my temples to ward off a headache. “He wants to step up. Mom says I should let him. She thinks Oli should meet him, but I don’t know.”
“It’s not up to her,” Joelle said. “She’s your mom, but you’re Oli’s. It’s up to you, who’s part of his life.”
“Or up to a judge, if he takes it that way.” That would be just what I needed right now, some court battle eating up my time with Oli. Bad enough I was working intern’s hours, without endless meetings with lawyers, social workers.
“No way he’d do that.” Joelle squeezed my arm. “I mean, he’ll be leaving in less than six weeks. His whole life is off on the other side of the world. What would he gain from going to court?”
“That’s true,” I said, unclenching a little. “But, at the same time, you make a good point. He does live abroad, so how does that look for Oli? He meets his dad, falls in love with him, and he’s gone just like that? I know how that feels. I don’t want it for Oli.”
“I guess there’s no chance he’d transfer back here.”
“I wouldn’t stake Oli’s heart on it.” I bit back a sigh. “How does that saying go? When someone shows you who they are, you ought to believe them. Well, Blake puts his career first. That’s who he is. And Oli has me, and he has his grandparents. I don’t know. It’s a lot. What do I do?”
“Nothing,” said Joelle. “Not till you’re sure.”
I closed my eyes and just breathed. Joelle was right. Oli had gone his whole life without Blake. A few days to think wouldn’t make any difference. Well, maybe to Blake it would, but Oli came first. Any half-decent father would understand that.
“I should go,” I said. “I’m on Muller’s service.”
Joelle laughed at that, and we both did “the face” — squinting, lips pinched, like Dr. Muller. Being late on a Monday would get me “the face.” Mondays in the ER were slammed without fail, folks tired from their weekends driving to work, plus workplace mishaps and a lot of flu bugs. They’d get sick on Friday and sleep all weekend, then wake up on Monday too drained for work. Then they’d come coughing everywhere, spreading their bugs.
Today was no exception, a typical Monday. Muller let me examine a barfy toddler, no doubt so I’d get sprayed if he blew on the table. He didn’t, and Muller diagnosed too much cake. He’d had his third birthday and stuffed his face at the party, and his little tummy needed to settle.
“Keep him hydrated,” I told his mom. “No fizzy drinks, though, and nothing too sweet. Electrolyte drinks will be best, if you’ve got them, a few sips at first till he keeps them down.”
After that came a flurry of workplace disasters, a hand slammed in a kitchen door, a sliced-up finger. I practiced my stitching on that, while Muller looked on.
“You did well in there,” she said, when we’d finished. “Your stitches could be cleaner. You’re pulling too much. But you kept that man calm, and you kept him distracted. You’ll learn with experience how essential that is. Let them dwell on what’s happening, and that’s when they’ll faint on you, or puke in your lap, or pee their pants. And I don’t just mean kids. I’ve seen grown men do it.”
“What, faint on you? Or pee their pants?”
“Yes.” Muller grimaced. “Okay, let’s move on.”
Our next patient was a ten-year-old brought in from school. He’d climbed up a drainpipe and crashed down on asphalt, and his arm was broken. He looked up.
“Where’s my dad?”
“On his way,” I said, while Muller went for his arm. “No, don’t look at her. Look over here. You see those letters behind me?”
“You mean the eye chart?” He jerked as Muller touched him and screamed out in pain.
“I won’t hurt you,” she said. “But you need to stay still.”
“I can’t,” wailed the boy. “It hurts. Where’s my dad?”
I glanced at Muller, unsure what to say. One of the nurses had called his dad’s work, but he was a delivery driver out on his rounds. It was anyone’s guess if he’d got the message, and if he had, how far out he was.
“Listen,” said Muller, “how about I show you on Dr. Everett? I’ll show you on her arm how I’ll check yours, and then you can tell me if that’s okay.”
The boy hitched a huge breath and let it out in a howl. I knelt down in front of him.
“Hey, it’s all right. She’ll be quick, I swear.”
Nothing. The kid squinched his eyes and screamed louder. I slapped a smile on and tried again.
“Y’know, when your dad comes, he can sign your cast. You can pick out the color pink, green, or blue. Or the regular white one, but blech, right? That’s boring.” I kept my voice low so he’d have to quit screaming, at least if he wanted to hear what I said. As I’d hoped, the part about Dad caught his ear.
“You promise he’s coming?”
“We called his work.” That wasn’t a promise, but the kid seemed to buy it. He sniffed, wiped his nose, and scowled up at Muller.
“Can’t she do like the dentist and put my arm to sleep?”
I smiled. “Not exactly. But you’ll feel better soon. Once you get your cast on, it won’t feel as bad, and we’ll give you some medicine to take the edge off. What’s your name, hon?”
He sniffed again. “Eddie.”
“Okay, well, Eddie, you’re doing great. Dr. Muller’s just going to check out your arm, so why don’t you tell me about, uh, your dad? What do you guys do when he’s not at work?”
“We play ball,” said Eddie. “We— ow! ”
“You’re okay.”
“We go on hikes sometimes, and he makes us s’mores. And he taught me to fish last year, and we caught a marlin.”
“A marlin! That’s huge! And… hey, hey! You’re done. The nurse’ll come take you to do some X-rays.”
Eddie’s lip wobbled, but he didn’t cry. He grabbed my hand. “Is Dad on his way?”
“I’m sure he is, but I’ll have someone check.” Eddie’s dad sounded great from the way he described him, and how he lit up when he talked about their trips. But what if his boss hadn’t passed on the news? Or decided to wait till he finished his shift? “Actually, you know what? I’ll check that myself.”
Muller wasn’t best pleased when I did just that, took my break to go off and call the man’s work. But all I could think was, what if that was Oli, alone in the ER, crying for me? He’d want to know I was on my way. Which, as it turned out, Eddie’s dad was. He ran up and caught me on my way to the phones.
“Excuse me, uh, sorry, I think my kid’s here? Eddie Morris? Fell down at school?”
I pointed him to radiology to catch up with Eddie, and went to the machine to grab a coffee for Muller. She wasn’t the type of doctor who made her first years run errands, but I’d found a fresh coffee softened her up. I was fixing it for her — two coffees, two creams — when a strained conversation rose over the chatter, two people trying hard not to shout.
“She’s just a kid. She’ll be hurting for months.”
“But if we wait, it’ll only get worse.”
“ Maybe , the surgeon said. It’ll maybe get worse.”
I clapped the lid on Muller’s coffee and hurried away, not wanting to eavesdrop on a family’s private pain. I’d overheard dozens of conversations like that one, families at odds over how to help a loved one, but it always felt harder when it was a kid. An adult, at least, could speak up for themselves. A kid was at the mercy of their parents’ decisions, and the weight of those choices, I couldn’t imagine.
“She’s already in pain!” The shout rose behind me.
“Don’t yell. I can’t think.”
“Don’t yell, yourself!”
I couldn’t think either, when it came to Oli — to let him meet Blake or close that door on him. If they met, then Blake left, would Oli’s heart break? Or would it be like when his great-gramps would visit — fun while it lasted, and he’d miss him for a while, but his going home wasn’t the end of the world? But Gramps always came back. What if Blake didn’t? He had years of experience dropping folks from his life, all his old teachers and classmates and friends, foster brothers and sisters, his moms and dads.
I pushed through my shift, but I was distracted. I kept thinking of how Eddie looked up to his dad. Blake was a man a kid could look up to. He was a soldier. A surgeon. He cooked. I didn’t know if he fished or he’d ever gone hiking, but I bet if he hadn’t, he’d try it for Oli. He’d make him some s’mores and catch him a marlin. He’d be Oli’s hero, but for how long?
That night in the on-call room, I couldn’t sleep. I lay on my hard cot and stared at the ceiling, at the network of cracks across the concrete. Call Blake or block him? Let him in? Shut him out? I texted him at three a.m., not expecting an answer: Do you want to meet Oli or be in his life?
The dots popped up instantly, then his response: BE IN HIS LIFE AS MUCH AS YOU’LL LET ME.
I rolled my eyes. I’d forgotten his old-man texts — all caps, no emojis, no text speak ever. I realized I was smiling and bit my lip hard.
I don’t want to lie to him, or to confuse him. If you two meet, he’ll know you’re his father. If that’s not what you want, I need to know now.
I WANT THAT, said Blake. SO CAN WE MEET?
I took a breath, let it out, and made my choice.
Tomorrow at three, we’ll be at the park. I’ll tell him you’re coming, so don’t let him down.
I closed my eyes, praying I’d picked the right path.