A Shattered Wife (8 page)

"You look fit as a fiddle this morning," Bill said
as he wheeled onto the porch.

"I feel fit as a fiddle," Paul said lightly,
straightening, and then broke into a smile when he noticed Bill’s beard, tinged
with gray. "I like it," he said rubbing casually at his own furry
chin.

The old man’s hand went to his own chin and he was surprised
when his fingers touched a short beard. It suddenly dawned on him that he
hadn’t shaved since Father’s Day, but he carefully hid his reaction. "It’s
a little uncomfortable but I’ll get used to it. I get damn tired of shaving
every day."

Paul sat down on the end of the porch near Bill’s feet. "Just
be careful when you trim. One slip and it’s all over."

Bill nodded.

"You know, my offer to build that ramp to the porch for
you still holds," Paul said.

Bill waved the words aside. "I don’t need it. I’m not
going anywhere."

"You could sit out in the yard."

"With my luck, I’d probably fall into another groundhog
hole and paralyze the rest of me. No thanks!"

Paul felt especially good today and his laughter came
easily. He had good news for Bill.

Martha knew she looked bad. Lack of sleep had left dark
circles under eyes and she was always on the verge of tears. Whether the tears
were caused by exhaustion, nervousness or just plain fear she wasn’t sure.
Whatever the cause, her eyes were swollen and red. Her hair continued to slip
from its confining bun and the fine silvery strands hung limply against her neck.

Listening to the men talking and laughing on the porch, she
thought about how close they had become - almost like father and son. The
thought intensified her anger toward Bill and even brought on an unreasonable
surge of anger toward Paul. While setting the table, she came to a decision.
Today she would tell Paul about Bill’s recent behavior as soon as the
opportunity presented itself. As Bill’s doctor, he especially needed to know
about the incident with William.

After they had eaten, Martha jumped up from the table and
followed him outside. He was returning to the house, medical bag in hand, when
she reached him. "I have to talk to you." Her whisper sounded
desperate to her own ears.

A frown flicked across his face. "What is it?"

She looked around to make sure Bill had not followed her. "Bill’s
been doing some pretty strange things. I thought you should know."

"Like what?"

"He can’t sleep for one thing."

"I’ll ask him about it and give him a prescription,"
Paul said off-handedly and started toward the house again.

"No," Martha shook her head and put a hand on his
arm. "He mustn’t know I’ve talked to you."

Paul frowned again and then he looked toward the house.

"He made a chart."

"A sleep chart?"

"A chart to keep track of the animals he kills. Didn’t
you see it hanging on the wall?" Martha’s hands flitted to smooth her
apron.

"He’s just trying to stay busy," Paul patted her
arm reassuringly and took another step toward the house.

Martha’s frustration mounted. How could he have not noticed
the chart? "That’s not all."

"What else?"

"Our son came to visit last Sunday."

Paul felt a stab of jealousy. William had no idea what a
wonderful family he had. If Bill was his father he would be out here every day.
He was someone to admire; someone to laugh and talk with.

"Bill attacked him."

"What?" Paul thought he’d heard her wrong, then
almost immediately wondered if she was overreacting.

"If you could have seen his face…" Martha broke
off and shook her head. "I was never so scared in all my life. I was glad
when he passed out."

"Passed out! Why didn’t you call me?" Paul
demanded.

She finally had his attention. "I tried to, but Bill
came to and wouldn’t let me."

Paul paused to consider her last statement and then said. "You
should have called me anyway. Promise me you will if it ever happens again."

Martha nodded feeling tired, drugged. "There’s
something wrong. I know it!"

Paul studied her closely and realized how tired and frail
she looked. "Look, I think you’re blowing this whole thing out of
proportion. I’m going to give you a sedative to help you get some rest."

Martha could hardly believe what she was hearing. She shook
her head. "No…"

"If you don’t feel better in a few days, come in to the
office to see me."

"But, Bill…he…"

But Paul was moving, taking long strides toward the house
again, leaving her behind.

"Let me show you the chart. It’s hideous," Martha
said, hurrying after him. Managing to get to the door first, she clutched his
arm tightly when they got inside. "He keeps it hanging right there."
Closing the back door, she turned her head and pointed. "I can’t even
stand to look at it."

There was nothing there but a blank wall. Paul shook his
head and gently patted her shoulder. "There’s nothing there."

"What!" she whirled around. The wall was empty.
Even the nails that held the chart in place were gone. Martha stared at the
blank space, blinking, not trusting her own eyes. Had it been there during
lunch? Where could it be?

"You’re so tired," Paul said, smoothing back her
hair, a gentle and caring smile on his face. "Tomorrow I want to see you
in my office. I’m going to give you a thorough examination and some pills to
help you sleep."

Martha shook her head violently and found her voice. "I
don’t need to go to sleep. I don’t need an examination. It was here this
morning."

"Okay, if you say it was here, it was. It’s gone now!"
Paul pushed two capsules into her hand and left her standing in the kitchen
alone. Martha ran outside to her rose garden. There she sank to her knees and
wept. What was happening? Bill had always been so strong and sure; she could
always trust him. Now she wasn’t even sure she could trust herself.

***

"That didn’t take long," Bill said, buttoning his
shirt across his hairy chest.

Paul was returning instruments to his bag. "I told you
there were only a few things I wanted to check. You’re in very good shape."

"Sure. I’ve never felt better."

"How are you sleeping?"

"Great." Another lie.

The doctor took a deep breath and looked at Bill closely. "You’re
really amazing. Your recovery is unbelievable."

"That’s good to hear, Doc. Will I ever tap dance again?"

Paul laughed aloud at the old joke. "I have some
wonderful news."

Bill looked suspicious. "What news?"

"I want to tell you and Martha at the same time. Come on."

Wheeling his chair behind Paul, Bill frowned. He didn’t like
surprises.

Martha was still in her rose garden, concentrating on their
beauty in order to calm herself, when she saw the two men come outside. Her
tears were gone but inside she was screaming for help. Motioning for her to
join them, Paul insisted that she sit in a chair next to Bill. He perched
lightly on the porch railing in front of them, his long legs dangling. The late
afternoon cast long shadows on the lawn.

Bill had picked up the shotgun and was scanning the
driveway.

"What is this all about?" Martha asked, looking
from the young man to the older one and back again. Had he told Bill what she
had said? But Paul was smiling happily and Bill wasn’t paying attention to
either of them.

"Our patient is doing just fine," he said finally.

At this Bill reluctantly looked away from the driveway. He
was tired of playing games and wished Paul would leave.

Martha’s wary expression did not change. Sure, she thought,
you didn’t check inside his head.

"The examination I did today was for a special reason.
There were a few things I had to check." Paul wished he could stop
grinning. He didn’t want to sound too encouraging. "There’s an
experimental operation that might enable you to walk again.

Martha’s sudden, swift intake of breath made both men look
at her. "Are you sure?"

"One hundred percent sure?" Bill asked, not at all
convinced.

Paul shook his head. "Nothing is that sure."

A dozen conflicting emotions hit Martha at once.

"What are my chances?"

"I’m not sure. I’d have to talk with the specialists,"
Paul said, shrugging lean shoulders and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I’d
say at least 50/50."

"I’m not a gambling man," Bill said shortly and
returned his gaze to the rhododendron bushes that border the driveway.

A thick silence hung over them.

Finally, Paul picked up his bag. "Why don’t you two
talk it over? I’ll see you next week. By that time I’ll have more information and
can give you a better picture."

"We’ll do that," Martha said from her seat. She
did not trust her legs to hold her.

Paul turned and looked at Bill. "I hear your son paid
you a visit." Again, just saying the words brought a pang of jealousy.

Martha froze, horrified.

"Yeah," Bill said without taking his eyes off the
driveway. "We had a real nice time."

"Good. You might want to discuss this with him. You
know, get his opinion."

"We might do that," Bill’s voice came across
amiable and easy-going. It sounded almost as if he meant what he said.

Martha held her breath.

"Just remember, with this operation and some therapy,
there’s a chance you could be a free man again," Paul said finally, and
went to his car whistling.

For the rest of the afternoon Martha stayed away from her
husband, not only wondering when he was going to reprimand her for talking to
Paul about William’s visit but what she thought about what his operation could
mean to him - to them.

At dinner, she could no longer avoid him and she had kept
quiet for as long as she could. Finally, she asked, "Well, what do you
think?"

"Great cornbread," he said flatly without looking
up.

"I’m talking about what Paul told us today."

"Oh, that."

Silence.

Martha let out an exasperated sigh. "Well?"

Bill knew what she wanted to talk about, but it had nothing
to do with her. He would have to think hard about it before making a decision. "He
didn’t sound very promising," Bill said after a while.

"Any chance at all is…"

"Look, this is my life we’re playing with here, not
yours." Bill punctuated his words by stabbing a fork into his meatloaf. "If
I decide to do it I will. If not, I won’t."

"Let’s talk…"

Bill interrupted her again. "The final choice is mine
alone to make. It doesn’t concern you."

Martha looked away, her gaze colliding suddenly with the
chart hanging behind the door, glaring back at her menacingly. With the news of
the operation, she had forgotten about its mysterious disappearance.

"For one thing, you don’t know what you’re talking
about," Bill continued. "You don’t sit in this chair day after day. I
do!"

Martha continued to stare mutely at the chart.

"If they make a mistake and I’m paralyzed from the neck
down, then nothing will have been achieved. When a change takes place in my
condition, I want it to be final - one way or another." If Bill could have
walked he would have been pacing the kitchen floor. Instead he was clenching
and unclenching his fists; his anger directed at the plate of food.

After a few more minutes of uncomfortable silence, he went
back outside. The shotgun roared and then he yelled, "Mark down one more
for today!"

Martha performed the task mechanically, her mind numb. Maybe
Paul was right. Maybe she was the one in need of help.

Grocery shopping was an easy task. Martha had been doing it
all her life, but this time she hurried through her shopping, hardly aware of
what she bought. Parking the pick-up in the small shopping plaza, she made a
quick stop at the bank. After leaving the bank, she hurried to a small drug
store nearby that carried the special shampoo, containing vitamin E, she used.
She did not notice the tall young man and petite red-haired woman crossing the
street holding hands.

"Were you going to leave town without stopping to see
me?" Paul asked quietly as he followed Martha into the pharmacy.

Startled at the sound of his voice, Martha whirled around,
nearly dropping her purse. She had completely forgotten about his orders to
come to his office for an examination.

His clear, blue-gray eyes remained steadily on hers,
questioning.

"Well," Martha stammered, "I’m feeling much
better today."

"Did you take the medication I gave you yesterday to
help you get some rest?"

She nodded.

"I thought so. You look a little better. No adverse
reaction?"

"No," Martha answered, trying to control her
trembling. Then she saw the woman standing close to Paul.

"Martha, this is Katie Albertson. Katie, this is Martha
Landry." Paul made the introductions. Then with a proud smile he said, "Martha
is my foster mother."

"It’s so nice to meet you!" Katie’s smile was
pleasant and she extended a tiny, well-shaped hand.

Martha took the hand, which felt smooth in her own work -
roughened one, managed a weak smile and nodded. "Paul is bringing you out
to our place next week for lunch. We’re looking forward to it."

"Paul talks about your home constantly and I’m anxious
to see it. I understand that it’s quite beautiful." Katie’s friendly, warm
manner was sincere.

"I’m glad you two had a chance to meet but…" Paul
was steering Martha toward the pharmacist with a firm hand on her arm. "I’ve
got rounds to make and I want to give you some more of those sleeping capsules."

"What do you think?" Paul asked after he and Katie
were several blocks away from the drug store.

"She seems like a very nice lady," Katie said
softly. She did not mention that there was something about Martha, something in
her eyes she had seen before.