Chapter 22

Chapter

Twenty-Two

Dr. Lucas Hamilton

My head is killing me. My body aches. My ears ring as though someone has fired me from a cannon. Noise reverberates in my skull. Boom. Boom. Boom. I open my eyes to find it's only the sound of my jailor finally opening the cell door. Now perhaps I'll get that interrogation they promised me and my phone call.

I cannot believe they left me alone in the cell overnight. I had to piss in that horrid toilet. I am going to have nightmares about that In another life, I'd Yelp review them. No stars, run for your lives.

I sit up carefully, but nothing will keep my head from throbbing like a Taiko concert.

"Wakey, wakey." It's a different, yet interchangeable deputy from the one last night. "Sheriff wants to see you."

"Thank God." I stand, slide my feet into my shoes, and pick up the jacket I was using as a pillow/barrier between my face and the so-called mattress.

As I follow him out of the cell, he bumps me hard and sends me face-first into the bars. Blood runs down my upper lip.

He's a picture of dismay. "Oh, sorry. Are you all right, sir?"

He doesn't look sorry. I take out the handkerchief Sumner made sure I carried in my pocket to dab at my mouth. There are two more accidents. One shoves me into the bars again and one throws me to my knees.

"You gotta be more careful, hoss." Deputy Hardknocks grins and leads me into the office of the sheriff.

It's Sumner. He's come to save me. Kate is there, and so is Rose. She pulls me into a reassuring hug. I love her, but of the five people in the room, the one I need to touch is Sumner and we can't. He's looking at me, his face a mask of professionalism behind which I see fury.

"What has happened to this man?" Sumner demands. "These bruises are fresh. His nose is bleeding. What kind of outfit are you running here?"

"He tripped. They sometimes do. Wet floors and the like." The deputy sends a sly look to the sheriff, who doesn't return it. In fact, the sheriff's face is a mask of displeasure.

"That will be all, deputy." If the deputy seems a little hurt by his abrupt dismissal, he's visibly shocked when the sheriff adds, "We will discuss your appalling care of this prisoner later."

"But you said?—"

"You are dismissed, deputy."

The man clamps his mouth shut and abruptly leaves the room.

"I'm afraid you'll form a poor opinion of my department based on this business."

"Too late," I tell him.

"I can assure you, sir," Sheriff Johnson says, turning his attention to Sumner. "I'll find the person responsible for leaving this man in a cell without alerting me, and that man will face discipline."

Sumner ignores him. Instead, he comes to me. Gentle hands, kind eyes. He's touching me, tipping my chin back to get a clinical look at my face, but it feels like we're kissing. There's a wealth of emotion between us, unspoken, but vividly, vibrantly clear in my mind.

"Let's go home, Luke." Sumner says at last. He allows Rose and Kate to flank me as we exit. I let them pull me to the car. They put me into the back seat, and Kate slides in with me.

"Did they shine a lamp in your eyes and beat you with a rubber hose?" she asks avidly.

I shake my head. "No."

"Sheriff Johnson's mean as a snake." She clasps my hand. "But Doctor Delano almost made him cry."

Rose laughs behind her hand. I glance at the rearview mirror in which I can see the blue of Sumner's beautiful eyes.

"Hello, Eleanor," Rose says in a Sumner kind of voice. "Is Franklin within shouting distance?'

Kate takes up the joke. "No? Well, can you tell this officious pissant that we do not arrest doctors for having a drink or a bad day?"

"So," Rose says, "Dr. Delano listens over the phone for a minute and says then he says in the most pitiful voice, ‘Eleanor, he arrested my very good friend and accused him of vagrancy simply because he was wearing second-hand clothing.'"

The two women can barely keep talking, they're so excited. "Wait, wait. Then Dr. Delano holds the phone out for the sheriff." Kate's eyes are shining. "And he says, ‘It's for you'…"

They fall over laughing in their seats. Rose leans against the window, and Kate has flopped into my lap. Sumner's lips curve into a wry smile. He doesn't laugh because he probably hates to use his connections that way. I don't care who he had to call; I'm glad to be going home.

We stop at the church to drop Kate off and pick up my things. While we're there, I give myself a quick wash—decontamination—and change into the suit trousers and button down shirt Mrs. Andersen procured for me. Afton greets me with robust hugs and painful pats on the back. The others express how glad they are that I'm all right and how sorry they are to see me go. It's only been two days, but we're all comrades in arms. We've gotten as close as late-night drinkers on a long Amtrak run.

The three of us wave to the others as we leave the inevitable blowing dust in our wake.

Rose shifts to peer into the back seat. "Do you remember what happened?"

Do I ever. I rub my forehead, but it doesn't stop the drums. "Honestly, it was just like they said. I drank a lot. My situation made me laugh. I guess I was loud. It's not like me, but this week has been trying."

"Oh, Luke." Rose's face falls. "I'm sorry you had to go through any of that."

"I guess having five dollars proves you're not a vagrant. I'd spent some on liquor, so I didn't have that much. I probably made things worse. I'm a petty drunk."

"None of that is an actual crime," Sumner points out.

I think about my old life. "It is if you don't have privilege."

Sumner must know what I mean, but he doesn't comment. After all, his first response was to have the Eleanor Roosevelt call Sheriff Johnson—what a fucking dick, there I said it—on the carpet. I wish she could have given the deputies an earful, too. That would have been pure buttercream frosting on top of my have-a-crappy-day cake.

I doze on and off during the drive home. Rose wakes me a while later.

"Are you up to going to Alice's funeral?"

"Is that today?" I scrub my face with both hands. "All right."

"We won't have time to go home, I'm afraid," Sumner says. "We'll just make it there in time as it is."

"Do I look decent?"

Rose hands me a comb from her bag. "Comb your hair and put your jacket and tie on."

I say, "Yes ma'am."

This makes her laugh. "What am I going to do with you?"

Since I don't have an answer, I wisely shut up. A few minutes later, we park near a cemetery. I get out and walk around to stretch my legs. Rose catches me to fuss with my hair and my tie, and then she gives up.

Sumner maintains a polite distance for propriety's sake. I feel physically awful and emotionally void, but I try to hide it. I should be glad. My knight in shining silver hair used his connection to Flotus to rescue me, so why do I feel so demoralized?

I know why. Alice's death hit me hard and I contracted like a scared hedgehog afterward. It's hard to explain why one unfavorable outcome gets to me out of the many any surgeon has. Why a particular patient's death can crush me.

It's not that I don't care about the others, but the ones that make me feel this raw own me. Alice took a bit of my soul with her. Mr. Hobbs is a friend I will miss. The profound experience of looking after him over the hours he had took something from me and gave me something new.

I walk over to brush Sumner's shoulder with mine. I want him to say all the things— I'm here, I understand, I feel for you, lean on me —but words would break whatever travel-stained magic is holding me upright.

A child's death is unspeakable. It's painful. All that potential gone. All that promise vanished. No matter how many times it happens in my career, I will never be prepared for it.

We stand on the periphery of Alice's family and friends. They're gathered to bury their child. At times like this, it should only be gloomy. Instead, we've placed our masks on because the wind is picking up. Nature is malevolent and now she's just showing off.

After, we meet for condolences and refreshments in Pastor Andersen's church auditorium. There are no hospital beds here, yet now, when I see a space like this, I will always think of listening to Mr. Hobbs talk about his very good boy, Roscoe.

Sumner and I are attached by a spiderweb of care. Wherever we move in this place, I'm aware of him, and I sense he's aware of me. His attention is palpable. It's invisible fingers, stroking my heart. Our gazes meet when we're in proximity. It's nothing like lust; there is no eye fucking and no lingering glance as a signal to wait for him in the toilets. It's much more basic and elemental than that. It's simply gravity, I think. The way his body or soul or whatever calls to me. It's the push and pull of people bound together in time and existence and worry and love.

We should never have met, and we wouldn't have except for an accident that modified the laws of time and space. I can't regret it. I really can't. Not now, when he's watching me with eyes so vibrant a blue I can feel their warmth from here.

I make polite small talk until it's time to leave.

Instead of going home, we drive to the boarding house for an early supper. Aware that we've been through a traumatic day, Mrs. McKenzie has put out what she calls a cold collation. The light meal includes bread, ham, cheese, canned fruit, and a chicken-and-vegetables mélange in aspic.

Since their duty is done for the day. Rose and Beryl leave for a few minutes. When they join us in the dining room, they're wearing everyday women's clothing. I still smell vaguely like cigarettes and alcohol and prison, but Sumner never suggests we go home to bathe and change.

I'm too subdued to ask why, so perhaps he's too subdued to think of it.

Dinner is served buffet-style, so we get our food, sit where we like, and nibble sandwiches off Mrs. McKenzie's fine china.

After dinner, I drift toward the piano. No one seems to mind when I sit down and play a few chords. Sumner watches me. The weight of his gaze pins me to this place and this time, yet today calls for something personal to me.

Either my fingers decide for me or it's simple muscle memory that makes "Mad World" come out of the piano. It's slow and plaintive, and I sing the lyrics. This is what I'm feeling.

It's a mad world…

Silence crystalizes around me when I'm finished. Beryl wraps her arms around Rose, who cries silently.

Sumner stands. "We should go."

I close the lid over the keys and push the stool underneath. My knees feel weak. Between getting virtually no sleep and attending a child's funeral I've used up all the resilience I have.

I mutter, "I need to sleep."

"So you should." Mrs. McKenzie kisses my cheek. "Take care of him Doctor Delano."

"I promise I will," he tells her.

After we leave, it occurs to me that no one mentioned Marie the entire evening. I ask Sumner about it.

His expression doesn't give much away. "I don't think Marie made friends here."

"What about you? Are you all right?" I keep to the shadows as we walk in the empty street out of concern for his reputation. Since our unpleasant exchange with Marie, I'm hyper-aware of everything I do around him. He tells me Marie is gone.

"I'm still disappointed by the way she and I parted," he admits. "I don't enjoy conflict. If there was something I could have said or done to defuse the situation, I couldn't find it."

"She was in love with you," I point out. "That's not your problem to fix."

"She thought she was, but she's never met the real me. She wanted a fantasy."

"I couldn't stop loving you overnight." Maybe I should cut Marie some slack. "Do you think we asked too much of her?"

"You wouldn't destroy something important to me."

"You don't know that." I lift my eyebrows. "If you told me you love someone else, I might burn your house down around you."

He bumps me with his shoulder. "It is not in you to hurt someone you love."

"Guess not." I sigh theatrically. "I'd only pine in an isolated cabin on top of a mountain for as long as I live."

"You won't have to worry about that, because I am a swan," he says with pride.

"A swan?"

"I mate for life." He looks heavenward.

"Er. Philip?" I haven't forgotten he had a mate before me. I don't begrudge him that. For his sake I wish Philip had lived.

He sighs. "For years, I thought my heart died with Philip, but it didn't."

"I suppose you're looking to mate again." My heart seems to flutter anxiously.

"Mmhmm." He looks down, but he's wearing a shy smile.

"Do you have a swan mating ritual to woo me with?"

"I'll think of something. But first, you need a bath." He pivots and walks backward. "You stink, dearest. I say that with love."

I float the rest of the way to the clinic. Once we're there, I gather a towel and fresh clothing and head downstairs to take a shower. I stay under the flow until the water runs cold. My mind goes in a hundred different directions.

What should I do?

I've kept a tenuous grasp on my heart in case I'm drawn back to the world I belong in. I didn't make the choice to leave Sophie. What if I'm forced to leave Sumner now that I've let every doubt about us go? What if I give him everything I am, and I never see him again?

I could make a list of pros and cons. I could balance my conscience and my sense of responsibility against the slim possibility of happiness. I could formulate a plan, but I'm not in control. I've never been in control.

Heaven or heartbreak. Sumner or Sophie.

I've lived with the illusion of control, because I never relinquished that last little bit of fear. I don't know if I can.

Once I get upstairs Sumner welcomes me into bed. Warmth suffuses my whole body. He nuzzled me gently, with unhurried kisses. He shows patience and the kind of intensity that leads to making love instead of fucking. I want him.

I want to give up my fears and my doubts. I want to…

It doesn't matter what I want. Life has a way of taking over.

Before we get to the good stuff, I drift off to sleep.

In my dreams, Sumner is every bit as sexy as I knew he could be.