Evenfall (26 page)

Come back!

But the turtle won’t stop, just keeps trundling toward the woods. I chance one last encounter with it, sink beneath the layers of its outer being until I’m looking through its eyes. At first I see nothing but the grass and mud of the trail, the indistinct canopy of the trees above. I probe deeper, and the image changes, becomes blurrier. I see a shadow reaching down, its edges wavy and dark, and it takes me a moment to understand that I’m looking up through water. I see four long limbs entwined, crushing the moss beneath them. Two torsos, locked together. The printed pattern of a dress, hastily discarded. The corner of a white handkerchief, pressed into the mud. I want to look away, but of course I can’t, caught in a trap of my own making. I’m seeing with the turtle’s eyes some fifty years ago, and I hear the clacking of its gums as it shows me what I’ve tried so hard to forget: the slick of wet skin, the taste of salt, the throbbing, frenzied pulse of life.

IT’S eighty-nine degrees out and climbing, and Andie’s trying to find something to wear to the hospital. She’d like to be comfortable, which means cotton, and as little of it as possible. Unfortunately, her aunt, who appears to be working on some kind of a nervous breakdown, disagrees.

Five minutes ago, when Andie went outside in perfectly respectable black shorts and a T-shirt, Gert startled as though she’d been sleeping, although as far as Andie could tell her eyes were wide open.

“Well?” Gert snapped, as if she’d asked a question and Andie had failed to answer.

“I’m set.”

Gert eyed her outfit. “We’re not going to the supermarket, Andrea. Nor are we attending my funeral. Not yet, at
least. I’d appreciate it if you’d put on something more appropriate, preferably in a color.”

Which is why Andie is standing in front of her closet for the second time this morning, stripped to her underwear, contemplating the few choices that aren’t black. She’s having a hard time choosing something, made more difficult by the fact that Neal is circling behind her like a shark coming in for the kill. When he moves in and nuzzles her neck, she swats him away. “Quit it.”

“I don’t think your aunt likes me very much,” he says, sitting on the bed. He has the pouty look of a little boy who has just been scolded, and normally Andie would find this adorable, but today she doesn’t have time. She pulls out a blue T-shirt and slips it over her head. “Aunt Gert doesn’t like anyone these days, me included. Just don’t forget to remind the driver about the mulch and you’ll be fine,” she says, examining her image in the mirror.

The shirt has a small stain just at the neckline. She wonders what it is, and then heat floods her face as she remembers a night on the porch with Cort that involved a bottle of red wine and the slow removal of clothing. She must not have noticed the stain when she’d tossed the shirt in the washing machine. She takes it off, throws it on the bed, and starts again.

“How about if you show me how much you like me, so I feel better?” Neal says, ignoring her comment about the mulch. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her to him, so that she’s standing between his knees.

“Neal, I’m not kidding. I do not have time for this,”
Andie says. He tries to kiss her and she lets him, for a second, feels a quick frisson of excitement. But when she opens her eyes and sees the rose-covered walls, the feeling vanishes.

The problem is, it’s the kind of sex they would have had in Italy: quick and dirty, up against a wall in a bathroom or somebody else’s bedroom while the party went on just outside the door. The thrill of reapplying her lipstick, of walking out of the door on Neal’s arm to take a glass of wine from a handsome stranger made her feel both a part of something and an outsider at the same time. But she’s not that girl here, not with her aunt just below the window. She resists, pushing against his chest until he lets her go.

“You never have time anymore.”

“That’s not true.” She turns back to the closet so she won’t have to meet his eyes. She pulls out a white camisole trimmed with lace and a calf-length, shell pink skirt. It’s dotted with green flowers and is possibly the least sexy item she owns, bought on sale just in case Gert ever dragged her to church. She searches for her pearl earrings among the change, receipts, and other detritus that litters the dresser top, finds them, and puts them on. She slides on her white flip-flops, takes a final look in the mirror, and picks up her bag. At the door she turns back. Neal’s still sitting on the bed, staring moodily at his reflection.

“Look, I’ll see you when I get home,” she says.

“That assumes I’ll still be here,” he says sulkily, and she feels the familiar twist in her stomach, the cold plunging panic his moods always bring. She takes a deep breath. “Suit yourself,” she says. “But I forgot, you always do.”

She can hear him calling after her as she walks down the stairs. She doesn’t turn around, just walks through the front door and closes it carefully behind her.

Gert is waiting in the driver’s seat, the air-conditioning on and the windows up, and the cold air seems to have revived her. She gives Andie the once-over, but mercifully all she says is, “About time. Though I must say, you look quite nice.”

“Yeah, well, glad you approve,” Andie says, and then is horrified by how fast she’s regressed to her teenage self. To make amends, she offers to drive.

“No, thank you,” Gert says. “Perhaps on the way back.”

Her voice is so calm, so unlike this morning, that Andie wonders if she imagined it. She sneaks a sideways glance as she fastens her seatbelt. Gert’s color isn’t great, it’s true, but she’s always been on the pale side. She looks tired, a bit hollow around the eyes, and Andie realizes she has no idea how her aunt has been spending her days lately. Just because she hasn’t been helping to empty out Evenfall doesn’t mean she’s been taking it easy. Knowing Aunt Gert, she could be working right alongside Cort on this crazy home improvement project of hers, but getting her to admit it is something else, and the only other person who would know is Cort himself. The coffee from this morning bubbles like acid in her stomach when she remembers their last meeting. The thought of calling him, even to talk about Gert, makes it worse, so she resolves to wait until after the doctor’s appointment to decide. The dilemma must show on her face, though, because Gert lets go of the steering wheel long enough to pat her hand.

“Goodness, Andrea, cheer up,” she says. “I can’t promise, but I’m fairly certain I’m not going to die before we get to the doctor’s office.”

“That would be good. Especially since you’re driving.”

“I assume my well-being is the reason for the long face?”

Andie’s not about to get sucked into that conversation, not when she’s Gert’s captive for the next twenty minutes. “Of course,” she says, then flicks on the radio and fiddles with the dial. The college station from New London is playing some unintelligible world music, but the drums drown out any chance for conversation, so Andie leaves it on.

When they pull into the hospital parking lot, they have to circle twice around before they find a free space. “Mondays,” Gert says, shaking her head before she carefully backs the station wagon into the spot. “Everyone always waits until after the weekend to be seen.”

On the walk from the parking lot, the hospital looms over them, a brick and glass structure that casts a cool shadow. The doctor’s office is attached to the main building, so they walk through the lobby on their way. They’re almost at the elevators when quick, rubber-soled footsteps echo faintly off the walls. Gert glances back just as a nurse turns the corner, a wide smile stretched across her face.

“Gert? Gert Murphy? I knew it was you!” the woman exclaims, wrapping Gert in a hug.

“Doris, such a nice surprise,” Gert says, gently disentangling herself.

“Surprise my foot. Where else would I be?” The woman
eyes Andie expectantly, so Gert makes the introductions, adding “Doris is the charge nurse here.”

“Thanks to you.” The woman turns to Andie. “If it weren’t for your aunt, I’d still be a nurse’s aide.”

“You would have done just fine on your own,” Gert says. “Besides, that was all a very long time ago.”

“I can still hear her voice in my head sometimes,” Doris says to Andie. “I think everybody was a little afraid of her, but boy, did we learn.”

“I know what you mean,” Andie says. It is likely that she’s met Doris before, although her face isn’t familiar. As a child, Andie spent plenty of time visiting Gert at work at the hospital. Clara would bring her over at lunchtime, and as a treat they’d usually make a meal of the sloppy joes and red Jell-O the cafeteria served. There was almost always a group of serious young women clustered around Gert, speaking in hushed tones about stomas and amputations and other unappetizing conditions. Her aunt, graced with a natural authority, also had the distinction of working during the school term at a teaching hospital in upstate New York, where she saw more emergencies in a weekend than Hartman encountered all year. Summers, the administration was more than happy to have the illustrious Gert Murphy fill in for vacationing staff.

“Not much of the old crowd is left,” Doris is saying. “Mary’s still down in neonatal, and Anne works as a floater during the school year, but that’s about it. You should have called me, I would have gotten everybody together for lunch.”

“Yes, well, perhaps next time,” Gert says, and takes a step closer to the elevator.

“You know Dr. Thompson retired last year, right?” Doris says, moving right along with her. Gert nods. Andie remembers Thompson as a bear of a man with a delicate touch. For years, even after he was promoted to chief, he did her back-to-school checkups as a favor to Gert. “The guy they found to replace him is okay. They brought him in from New York, and he has all these big ideas about how a hospital should be run. I tell you, I’m counting the days until retirement. The fun’s gone out of it for me.”

“You’re a very capable administrator, Doris. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.” Gert pats her on the shoulder, then steals a glance at her watch.

“Yeah, well, enough about me,” Doris says, looking pleased. “What about you? Not here for anything serious, I hope?”

“When you get to be my age, everything is serious,” Gert says. She reaches the elevator call button and pushes it. “But no, just a routine checkup.”

“Well, I hope you get a good report. Who are you seeing?”

“Dr. Littleman,” says Gert. The elevator dings and the doors open.

“Littleman? He’s not a GP,” Doris says, then looks at Andie.

“I hate to rush, but I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry,” Gert says, stepping into the elevator. She holds the door open for Andie, who has no choice but to follow. “It was wonderful to see you again, Doris.”

“You, too. Stop by the nurse’s station on the way out if you get a chance,” Doris calls as the doors slide shut.

Andie waits until the elevator has started its ascent before she turns to her aunt. “What did she mean, Littleman isn’t a GP? I thought this was just a checkup.”

“It is, of a sort. Dr. Littleman is a cardiologist,” Gert says. She gives an odd little smile. A grimace, really. “It appears, Andrea, that there’s something wrong with my heart.”

GETTING to Dr. Littleman’s office requires wandering through the internal maze of the hospital. Andie follows her aunt to the third floor, across the glass-filled, sunlit bridge to the new building, where doctors have their private practices, and down again to the warren of individual rooms on the lower level.

At last they reach their destination, the second to last door on a nondescript corridor in the bottom of the building. Gert pushes it open. The waiting room has half a dozen plastic chairs, two round tables filled with magazines, and a poster illustrating the inner workings of the heart.

While Gert checks in with the receptionist, Andie finds two vacant seats together and sits down. She picks up a women’s magazine and leafs through it. “How to Tell If He’s Cheating—Again!” blares the headline. She turns the page. “Sex Secrets Younger Men Know” is the next story. She’s reading, openmouthed, when Gert plops into the seat next to her.

“Ridiculous—the amount of time it takes simply to check in these days,” her aunt grumbles.

“Un-huh,” Andie says without looking up.

“Interesting article?” Gert asks, leaning over to see. Andie hastily flips the page.

“‘Why Comfort Foods Are Making a Comeback,’” Gert reads aloud. “Nothing wrong with meat loaf and mashed potatoes, is what I’ve always said.”

“Here, take it, I’m done,” Andie says. She thrusts the magazine at her aunt and takes the next magazine on the pile. It’s about financial planning, and she spends the next forty-five minutes reading about index funds, stock options, and IRAs, which allows her to worry about the fact that she has virtually no savings, no income, and no job on the immediate horizon. It’s enough to distract her, mostly, from memories of what she’s found young men to be particularly adept at. That doesn’t keep her from noticing that when Gert’s name is finally called, it’s with reluctance that her aunt puts down her magazine.

“About time,” Gert grumbles as an aide leads them down the hall and into a small examining room painted seafoam green. Andie parks herself on a chair in the corner.

“Please strip to your underpants and put on the gown,” the woman says. “The doctor will be in to see you in a minute.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence after the door closes. Andie’s not sure she’s ever seen her aunt naked before. She averts her eyes, but when Gert asks for help tying the strings on her gown she can’t help but look. Her aunt’s back is smooth, surprisingly unwrinkled. There are age spots freckled across her shoulders. Andie ties the gown at waist and
neck, and when she accidentally brushes the skin there Gert reaches up and squeezes her hand. Her fingers are cold. Andie squeezes back, and they stand that way, holding hands, until there’s a light rap on the door.

“All set?” a male voice calls. The door opens and the doctor bustles in before they can respond. He’s not much taller than Andie, with dark-rimmed glasses and a head of full, curly hair. He’s clutching a manila folder in one hand.