Life Is A Foreign Language (7 page)

With that promise Nina made a commitment to the girls, and she wouldn’t disappoint them—she must convince Lillian to let them stay with her during summer break.

Later, wearing her bikini, Nina stretched out on the lounge chair, enjoying the hot sun. It was almost like a drug to her; it made her sleep better, and it helped lessen the deep icy cold she felt inside.
I’ll stay only an hour,
she promised, sighing with pleasure.

A movement caught her eye. Turning her head, she observed small lizards clinging to the outside of the lanai screens, warming their bodies in the sun. While they preyed on tiny insects, they displayed their dewlaps, those little orange pouches under their chins they blew up, like bubble gum. In a movement so quick Nina’s eye couldn’t follow, one of them flicked its tongue and caught an insect. While the lizards preyed on bugs, a bird, perching on a high wire only a few yards away, preyed on the lizards. Sometimes the bird caught a lizard, sometimes not.

Nina fell into a light slumber and woke later than she intended, the sun low on the horizon. She groaned, reluctant to move. After another five minutes she collected her things and went inside to shower.

Dressed in a cotton print, hair still damp, ankle brace in place, she was on her way to the office to work on her novel when she heard a noise on the lanai. Limping to the den she found Michael behind the glass door, a mere silhouette against the late afternoon sun.

He wiggled his fingers in a wave and slid open the door, smiling that brilliant smile. “Hi. I thought you could do with company and some food.”

She giggled, “You did?” feeling a little silly.

“Sure.” He held up a brown paper bag. “Guess what I have here.”

“No idea….Yes, a million bucks.”

He was beaming. “Better than that. Come, I’ll show you.”

Nina followed him to the kitchen and watched as he pulled out a plastic bag filled with ice, another one buried in the ice.

He removed the last bag. With a triumphant air he held it open for her to see. “Tada! Look. Jumbo shrimp. Our dinner. I’ll cook.” He looked up, a question in his eyes. “Unless you’d rather be alone or you don’t like shrimp?”

“Like it! I’d crawl to the edge of the earth for shrimp.” Her heart gave a curious thump in her chest, making her feel light-headed for a moment. “I wasn’t looking forward to an evening alone.”

“Great. I’ll just marinate these guys while we have ourselves a drink.”

“What would you like? Beer? Or there’s a bottle of white wine, if you prefer.”

“A beer would be fine,” he said.

She filled a ceramic mug with cold beer from the fridge. When she handed it to him, he raised it to eye level. Turning it in his hands, he studied the smoky grey surface of the mug with its decoration of drinkers seated around a table. “Thanks. That’s a real beer mug. ‘Stein’ they call it in Europe, don’t they?”

“Yes. I brought a few from Switzerland. They hold a lot of beer and keep it cold.” She pulled the tab on her can of Diet Coke. “Do you prefer to go outside or stay here?”

“It’s really warm right now. Let’s wait till the sun sets, listen to some music.”

Yo-Yo Ma’s “World of Tango” filled the room, its atonality exotic and enticing. She lowered the volume and sat in the love seat, which afforded her a view of the entire room with sunrays jumping off the water in the pool, making lightwaves on the carpet.

Michael settled in the recliner, sipping his beer. “Hmm. I like your choice of music.” He leaned all the way back, legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles. A stray ray of light played on his cheek.

“Brian said you’ve agreed to join us for the barbecue,” Michael said.

“Yes. They were kind to invite me. I don’t know anybody in your family apart from Samantha and Brian. And now you.” She sighed. “I’m not used to socializing on my own. In Europe my husband or a coworker always accompanied me to parties. This is a first.” She took in a deep breath. “Like so many things.”

“You’ll be all right, it’s only family. My sons and their folks.”

Plural. How many did he have? She didn’t know anything about this man who’d been kind to her, so generous with his time.

Before she could question him about his family, he leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. “What made you buy a house in Cape Coral?”

She stretched her legs on the love seat to rest her ankle. “I’ve been here on vacation several times with my husband. I love the easy-going lifestyle and the sun. The opportunity presented itself, so I bought this house.” She hesitated a moment before she asked. “Brian said you’re from Minnesota. What brought you to Florida?”

“My wife and I came here on vacation close to twenty years ago. I liked the place and the climate, so I went back to Minnesota, sold both the house and the practice, and moved to Cape Coral with my wife, Cindy, and our three sons.”

“I suppose your sons are adults now.”

“Yes, they’re all grown, with families of their own. I have three and a half grandchildren.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Three and a half? Oh, Samantha’s baby is the half, you mean?”

He laughed. “Right, Samantha’s baby, and three grandsons. So far, this family only has boys. Who knows, the fourth grandchild may be the exception.”

She chuckled. “Do you hope for a girl this time?”

“A girl would certainly be nice, but I hope for a healthy child. Cindy, my ex-wife, is really excited about this. She’s coming from Minnesota to be with Samantha before and after the birth.”

Nina was reluctant to hear him talk about his wife … they had shared years together, had three children and grandchildren. It was logical to assume that he cared about Cindy, but he’d become something of a habit with Nina and she hoped he could spare some time for her during Cindy’s visit.

“Yes, Brian mentioned her visit the other day,” she said.

He nodded, then talked about his early days in Florida. “In my profession it wasn’t difficult to get work here. I’ve never regretted the move.” He looked at her intently. She wondered what she saw in his eyes.

“After a while, Cindy became homesick for the cold winters and her family, so without too many hard feelings we divorced, and she moved back north.” He was quiet for a while.

Earlier she’d noticed that he was silent for minutes at a time, as if he were listening to a voice inside. A surprising and interesting habit. Most people were uncomfortable with silence, feeling they had to prattle to fill in the empty spaces. She didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, content to look and absorb with her senses. The quiet observation gave her insight about him, more so than words.

Their eyes met, smiling at each other.

Michael stood and glanced through the lanai door. “The sun’s almost past the treetops. Are you very hungry?”

“Not yet.”

Rounding the counter into the kitchen he took plates and flatware from the cupboard. “Then let’s give it another half hour or so.”

“What can I do to help?”

“Keep me company. And please stay off that ankle.”

Michael carried a stack of tableware to the lanai.

“Do you have a private practice or do you work in a hospital?” she asked when he returned.

“I manage a walk-in clinic for the underprivileged. It’s in the seedier section of town. Work is very busy and rewarding.”

“Sounds interesting. Tell me more. Do you only treat children?”

“Not at all. We do general medicine and gynecology, as well.”

“Is treatment free?”

“The patients’ insurance pays, if they have one. Otherwise a private founda-tion—the Family Hamilton Foundation—takes care of their bills.”

“As a loan?”

“No. Our patients are unemployed—some are unemployable for various reasons. Because they can’t repay a loan, their medical bills are paid in full. The foundation was set up for these poor, desperate people.”

“How is it funded?”

“Through the usual fund raisers. Some money comes from investments and some from private donations.”

Nina had a million questions, but the ringing of the phone interrupted her.

She grabbed the cordless. “I have to take this one,” she said. “It might be Lillian, my daughter.”

The male voice was one she couldn’t place. “This is Martin Helman with Nicholson Publishing House.”

“Yes,” she said. Both her books were published by Nicholson. Both did well in sales, mainly to institutions and corporations.

After ascertaining that she was indeed Nina Brochard, he came straight to the point.

“We’d like to commission a book from you on the heredity of chemical dependence. There’s been a comparative study on whether the condition … “

“Disease, you mean,” she said, unable to resist the temptation to put him right on this point.

“Naturally. As I was saying … we’d like you to write a book that considers both the environmental factors and genetic predisposition.”

“I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Helman. You see, I no longer write non-fiction.”

“Not even this once? We’d make the offer very interesting.”

“I’m sorry, but no. I’m busy doing other things.”

“Have you given up writing entirely?”

“Not at all,” she said firmly. “I’ve turned to fiction, I’m writing a novel.”

“You are? Would you care to send me an outline? If it fits our list and is up to your usual quality, we’d be interested in discussing possible publication.”

Nina’s heart beat faster as the words sank in. This was a real windfall. She knew it was extremely difficult for a first-time novelist to get published. She made up her mind quickly. “I’ll e-mail you a synopsis.”

She jotted down the address, and after a few polite words they hung up. She was flattered to be asked to write another documentary. At the same time, she was relieved to be in a position where she could choose what she wrote. More than anything she was delighted to have a foot in the door to possible publication of her novel.

Standing by the sink in the kitchen, Michael glanced at her.

Wanting to dance and shout from joy she put down the phone and turned to him. “That was my publisher. He may be interested in my novel.” Her voice trembled. “Wanted to commission another documentary, but I’ve lost the motivation. I want to work in the field of chemical dependence, not lecture or write about it. It’s been years since I’ve done clinical work.”

“Wonderful news about your novel! I’m pleased for you.” He beamed from delight on her behalf. “I’ve read about half of your book on alcoholism and mental disorders. I’m impressed. It’s very interesting, and written in terms practically everybody can understand. I didn’t realize you have a reputation as an expert both in France and internationally. Mind telling me about your job?”

“That’s a big question, but I’ll summarize. I worked at Eastman & Merrill, with plants and offices in most European countries, the mother company in the U.S. I served as liaise between the dysfunctional employee and management. My main responsibility was to identify a troubled employee before the onset of performance problems, suggest a method of treatment, and be persuasive enough to make the employee accept my suggestion. That’s what I meant when I said I hadn’t done clinical work in a long time. In my job with Eastman I was more of an administrator.”

“You’ve had an interesting career.”

She nodded, watching him wash salad greens. He seemed at ease—the kind of relaxed, self-assuredness that comes from knowledge and acceptance of oneself without reservations. Intuitively, she knew he’d found answers for himself that she was just beginning to look for. Perhaps she could learn from him. Given the opportunity, she would ask a few discreet questions, hoping he’d tell her the secret formula, if there was one.

Chapter 8
 

Michael set the table on the lanai. Dinner was delicious; the shrimp crunchy and succulent. He had another beer, while Nina settled for ice water instead of the wine she would have preferred, but she’d taken the last of the pills for the ankle today.

“By the way, did you go back to see Rick Bradbury about your ankle?”

“Who? Oh, the doctor. Yes, I did.”

“Did you drive yourself? You could have asked me, you know.”

“Thanks, Michael. It isn’t far, and driving was all right.”

“How is your ankle?”

“He said I’m in great shape. The inflammation is about gone, no more crutches. And he said to tell you Hi.”

Michael chuckled. “You must be pleased to leave that behind you.”

“Oh yes. I went straight away to sign up at the gym and worked out for an hour. Got the heart pumping and recharged the batteries.”

He smiled. “Good for you. How often do you work out?”

“Most every day, unless something gets in the way.”

The sun was rapidly disappearing behind the treetops. Darkness descended quickly. Not bothering with the unpleasant yellow bug lamps, Nina lit the candles on the table, replacing the glass cover to keep them from flickering. Their glow created an oasis, enclosing them, secluded and distant from the world around.

The touch of his hand on her arm startled her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

She shook her head. “You didn’t. Candlelight fascinates me.” Now that she had created the intimacy, she wasn’t sure she liked it. With him so close she felt vulnerable, but wished he wouldn’t catch on. She crossed her arms.

To break the growing silence she said, “Earlier, before my publisher called, you were telling me about your clinic. I’d like to hear more.”

He glanced at her, smiling, the candlelight reflected in his eyes. “Sure. We have a GP, an ob-gyn, a family doctor and four medical assistants. Counting me, we’re eight in all. We see between fifty and sixty patients a day, so you can imagine we’re understaffed.”

“That’s a heavy case load. How do you manage?”

“We handle what we can, and make referrals to other medical centers and the local hospital as often as possible.”

She held the water glass between both hands, leaning on the table. “Sounds interesting and different from what we have in France.” She thought for a moment. “I’d like to visit your clinic.”

“I’ll be happy to give you a tour, but don’t expect too much. It’s a simple walkin clinic, but we practice good medicine. When would you like to come?”