14. Blake
CHAPTER 14
BLAKE
I couldn’t get over how smart Oli was.
I guessed I must’ve been smart at his age, but nowhere near that smart. The kid was amazing. He could read like a pro, even the big words, like concentrate on his juice box. He wanted to know why his juice had to concentrate, and all I could think was how’s he so smart? How was he so smart and cool and amazing, and good with his hands, and sweet as pie?
“He must get it from you,” I said, when Oli ran off. “His brains, I mean.”
Claire shook her head, but I could see she was proud. “I see my dad in him sometimes, his artistic side.”
“He’s artistic as well?” My heart swelled with pride. “He should be in one of those programs, those schools, you know? A baby genius academy.”
Claire laughed at that. “All parents think that about their own kids.”
“But Oli’s, like, special. What three-year-old can read concentrate all by himself?”
“I could, for one. Mom’s a great teacher.”
“Still, I don’t know. He’s just so… so…”
Oli came charging back with a Scrabble Junior set. “Mom! Can we play?”
Claire covered a yawn. “Sure. But one game, okay? Mommy’s brain’s fried.”
Oli set out the board and shook up the pieces. We all drew our starter tiles and Oli took his turn. Claire went next, still yawning, and dabbed at her eyes. She was yawning so hard it was making her cry, and I wondered when she’d last had a good sleep. First year was rough on any resident, not just the hours, but the pressure. The stakes. My first surgery, all I did was hold a retractor, and I still nearly puked from the adrenaline crash. I had a full sobbing meltdown in the on-call room, then I spent six hours stitching up pig feet. The only thought in my head was, I wasn’t ready. They’d let me out of med school unfinished. Untrained. Unprepared for the grind of the trauma OR. I nearly caved from the stress, and I was just me. Claire had Oli to think about, his life in her hands. His whole life, as well, every peak, every valley. Not just a few hours in the OR.
“Mom went to sleep,” said Oli. “Mommy? Wake up.”
Claire did a cute half-snore, but didn’t wake up. Oli reached out to poke her, but I caught his hand.
“How about we let her sleep? We can play our game later.”
Oli’s face fell. “Can’t you and me just play? We only just started.”
I glanced over at Claire and tried to think how she’d handle this. At the aquarium, she’d offered him choices, penguins or Playland. A snack or the gift shop.
“Your mom says you’re an artist,” I said, feeling awkward. “Do you want to draw, maybe? Or make paper planes?”
“We can’t make paper planes,” he said. “Miss P says they’re dangerous.”
I wasn’t sure who Miss P was — some teacher, maybe — but she had a point. No paper planes. “So, would you draw me a picture?”
“A picture of what?”
“I don’t know, uh…” I tried to think. “The coolest thing you can think of. Something awesome.”
Oli frowned for a moment, then he jumped up. He ran off to wherever he kept his toys, then came charging back with a huge box of crayons.
“We have to go in the kitchen,” he said. “Because, wax in the carpet.”
“Good thinking.” I stood, careful not to disturb Claire. Oli was already setting up at the table, arranging his crayons around a fresh sheet of paper.
“These ones are new,” he said, and held up a green one. “Sparkle crayons. If they go in the wash, they make all your clothes sparkle.”
I winced at the thought of how he’d figured that out, then snickered at the thought of Claire dressed all sparkly. We’d got glitter-bombed once at some downmarket club, collateral damage from a bachelorette bash. I’d buzzed my head and showered off the glitter, but Claire had been shedding sparkles for weeks. It had stuck in her hair like stars in the night — pretty, I thought, but she couldn’t stand it.
“I know what to draw.” Oli lined up his crayons, red, peach, and gray, and I gave him the thumbs-up.
“Can’t wait to see.”
I watched, fascinated, as Oli launched in. He drew a gray triangle, then a gray square, then a gray stick man with a round, moon-like face. Then he added a face to his gray triangle, with two big round eyes and a shock of black hair. He added arms and legs, then he grabbed his red crayon.
“Your favorite color?”
“Yeah,” Oli said, but he didn’t look up. He bit his lip and his brow furrowed like he was debating some question. Then he went in hard with the red, scribbling it everywhere, big swoops and whirls.
“What’s all that red, bud?”
“That’s all the guts.”
I did a buh face. “What?”
“The guts. Just a minute.” Oli drew a red heart, then he drew another. Then he held up his paper. “Pretty cool, right?”
“Awesome,” I said. “Uh, what’s, uh…” Would it be rude to ask what it was? And why those two stick figures were all draped in guts? Had he somehow snuck into an R-rated movie? Was this something Claire should be worried about?
“It’s you and Mom,” he said. “See, that’s the table, and that’s the patient, and those are his guts, and you’re fixing his heart.”
I grinned, relieved. “We’re doing an operation together?”
“Yeah. You’re making him better. You said draw the coolest thing, and that’s saving someone.”
I kind of doubted that, with that many guts. But it made sense now, and it was pretty cute. Pretty flattering too, that he thought I was cool.
“Should this go on the fridge? You got a spare magnet?”
“Uh-uh,” said Oli. “This one’s for you.”
“You mean, I can keep it?”
“You can put it on your fridge. That way, you’ll see it whenever you eat.”
My fridge back in Munich was the built-in kind, made to look like a cabinet with a wooden door. But I guessed I could tape it up, or, hell, get a frame. My kid thought I was cool. How awesome was that?
“Are you famous?” said Oli.
I chuckled. “No.”
“Mom’s boss is famous. She discovered, uh… cardi… uh… cardio… A new kind of medicine? It’s for your heart. Mom’s gonna be famous like her one day.”
I glanced over at Claire sprawled out on the couch, head thrown back, mouth open wide. “You proud of your mom?”
“Yeah. She’s the best.” Oli turned over a new page and started to doodle, yellow suns this time, and little red flowers. “How long are you staying here?”
“Another few weeks.”
Oli’s crayon was blunt, and he picked a new, sharp one. “And after that, when will you come back?”
“Well, I’m not sure. A few months, maybe?”
“Will you come for Christmas? Or Christmas and my birthday? They’re close together, so you could come for both.”
I took a sheet of paper, stalling for time. Winter was our busy time, lots of car crash traffic, overflow from the civilian trauma centers. Getting leave in December, my first year out of residency, I didn’t much like my chances of that.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But I’ll send presents for sure.”
Oli’s face fell, then just as quickly, he brightened. “How about after that? For winter break? Gramps says this year, we’re all going skiing. Do you like to ski? You could come with us.”
I’d never skied in my life, but I grinned anyway. “Yeah, I love skiing. I could try and make that.”
“Do you have to go back?” Oli studied his drawing. “My friend Mike lived in Georgia, and now he lives here. Couldn’t you move here too, and we could play all the time?”
I doodled a smiley face, trying to think what to say. I hadn’t thought about moving back, but maybe I could? I could apply for a fellowship, something back here. Hospitals loved to hire military fellows — Uncle Sam paid their salaries, so they were good business. But I’d been offered an attending spot back in Munich, and I loved it there, loved the work, loved my team. I even loved Munich, with its red-roofed streets.
“Dad? Couldn’t you?”
Claire sighed and sat up. “Did I doze off again?”
“Yeah, Mom. Come see what I drew!”
I swallowed hard, relieved to be off the hook. But Oli might ask again, and what could I say? What did I want, even? This was happening too fast.
“Aw, flowers, so pretty!” Claire held up Oli’s drawing. Oli pulled a face.
“That one’s just doodles. Look at the other one I drew for Dad.”
I turned Oli’s drawing so Claire could see. She smiled.
“Me at work again?”
“With lots of guts.”
“Those stay on the inside, if I do my job right.” Claire pointed at the stick man. “And who’s this?”
“That’s Dad. He’s helping you save someone’s life. And there’s two hearts, because you’re in love.”
Claire made a sound at that, a sort of half-gasp. I felt my face burn and knew I was blushing.
“Interesting,” said Claire. Her voice had gone thin. “And what’s this, uh, this circle up here?”
“That’s the big light,” said Oli. “Like at the dentist.”
“The dentist,” I said, for something to say. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, Claire standing stiff, back ramrod straight. She glanced at me and our eyes met, and she looked away. Would she even want me here, if I came home? Or was she looking at this as a visit, something to tolerate for Oli’s sake?
Oli smiled, oblivious. “Could I be a dentist?”
“If you study hard,” said Claire. “And if you like teeth.”
“Do dogs have dentists?”
“I, uh… I don’t know.” Claire whistled, and Buster came bounding in. He snuffled at Claire, then he snuffled me, then he jammed his big head in Oli’s lap. Oli pushed him off, laughing, and I wanted to stay. I wanted more of these moments, Oli’s laughter. His smile. The three of us all together, hanging out. Playing games. Claire had put me behind her, that much was clear, but did that have to mean we couldn’t have this? We could still be a family without being together. We could live our own lives, but raise Oli together. Would Claire want that? Would she consider it?
“Dad’s taking my drawing to put on his fridge.”
“That’s great,” said Claire. “He cooks a lot, so he’ll see it whenever he’s home.” She gave me a look I couldn’t decipher, sad, kind of wistful, a little pissed. We’d have to talk soon, just her and me. Figure out what we wanted our family to be.