A Summer in Sonoma (32 page)

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. Joe, I just took a little space, because
I've
felt hurt and unloved. I wasn't planning to—”

“You're planning something, you just haven't cut me in on the deal yet. Are you saying that in the two months you've been holding down the fort in your own wing, you haven't thought about what you wanted to happen next? About a divorce? Because if there was anything in the wind that said you were getting over your tantrum here, I sure didn't hear it.”

“Tantrum? Is that what you think happened? I had a tantrum?”

“Okay, okay, you had a point. I was an idiot and didn't know what kind of attention you needed. I realize I needed a kick in the ass. You got through to me. Now I'm asking you…what's next?”

She was quiet for a moment that stretched out. “Is that why you brought me out to dinner?” she finally asked. “To pin me down like this?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “This was the last
thing I thought would happen. I really thought when I asked that loaded question—do you still love me?—the answer would be on your lips so fast I'd feel like a damn fool. I already felt like an idiot for not knowing how to take care of my own wife, and I've been trying like hell to make that up to you. But something else is going on here and it's not me forgetting to hang up the goddamn towel. Feels like you're done with me. Done with us.”

The waiter cheerfully brought salads, made small talk, served them freshly ground pepper, refilled water glasses. When he was finally gone, Marty said, “I wish we didn't have to do this right now….”

Joe held his fork, but he didn't touch the salad. “I don't want to be doing this at all. You have any idea how I feel about you? I'd do anything for you, if I knew how, if I knew what. When I asked you to marry me, you think I was just looking for any warm body?” He shook his head. “I might not have been a whistling idiot every day of our marriage and, I admit, it got to me when you weren't happy, but Jesus, Marty, I never for one second thought I'd made a mistake. In fact, you scared me real good when you moved down the hall, but I still thought we'd get it back. I thought that because I've always been so damned in love with you. And I really thought you were in love with me, underneath all that anger.”

She felt the tears come into her eyes. “I thought you barely cared about me at all…. I mean, I knew you loved me, but…”

“Listen to yourself,” he said. “You knew I loved you, but you didn't think I
cared
about you? When was the
last time you let me know how much you cared about me? That you appreciated what I was willing to do for us? It's a damn nice paycheck, Marty. I ever once complain about what you felt like spending? You bitched about the toys, but you never complained when I detailed your car, painted the house, landscaped or laid brick. You're pissed I don't love to dance, but the wallpaper, leaded-glass front doors and hardwood floors didn't do a lot to blow my skirt up—it made
you
happy. Did I give you any trouble about deciding not to have those kids you'd originally said you wanted? Because since Jason, especially since Jason—who I think I do a decent job with—I wanted more kids. Or how about this—you have any trouble looking at the portfolio? It's got two names on it—yours and mine. I started that portfolio a long time before I met you, and it's gotten nice and fat. I've been known to walk into fires for that, Marty, and as far as I was concerned, it was all yours. Aw, fuck it,” he said, stabbing a piece of lettuce and bringing it angrily to his mouth.

“Please,” she said, a fat tear running down one cheek. “I appreciate what you do….”

“It just wasn't enough, was it? Well, I wanted to make it enough. I tried. I think, in the end, there was nothing I could do to make you happy. To make you love me.”

She looked away, and that's when she saw Ryan walk into the lounge with his arm around a woman's shoulders. The woman was Jill. Marty had met her a couple of years ago; they'd just moved in together. There was another couple with them and they found a table, sitting
up on high stools around it. They were laughing and having a good time and Ryan couldn't keep his hands off her. He massaged her neck under her full, bouncy hair, kept a hand on her shoulder.

She looked back at Joe, stabbing his salad.

She sucked in a sob. “I have to go,” she said very quietly. “I can't stay here. I can't eat.”

“Fine,” he said, chewing and swallowing. He reached for his wallet and shuffled through the bills, pulling out a generous number, enough to pay for a full dinner they wouldn't eat, plus a tip.

She slipped out of the booth and he followed. He put his hand on the small of her back even though right now he probably hated her. The waiter stopped them. “Is everything all right, sir?”

“With the restaurant? Great. Everything else just sucks tonight.” He jerked his head back toward the table. “You're covered for the meal. Sorry to have to leave like this.”

While Joe made his amends with the waiter, Marty gravitated toward the lounge. She just couldn't stop herself. She walked right up to Ryan's table. She felt Joe come up behind her and even though he must want to kill her right now, he still put a hand on her shoulder, claiming her. “Hi, Ryan, Jill,” she said pleasantly, though there had to be red rims around her eyelids, maybe tear tracks. “Nice to see you. So glad to see you two are back together….”

Jill flashed a look at Ryan, her brows furrowed. “We were apart?” she asked. And Marty noticed a good-size engagement ring on her finger.

“You remember about a year back,” Ryan said with an uncomfortable laugh. “We had that little bit of trouble….”

“Little bit of trouble?” Marty asked. “When I ran into you a couple of months ago, you said you two broke up a year ago.” She lifted a brow. “Could I have misunderstood that?”

“Apparently you did,” he said, scowling.

Jill turned her narrowed eyes toward Ryan and said, “Is that so?” And Ryan squirmed visibly.

“Have you ever met my husband, Joe? Joe, this is Ryan and Jill. Ryan and I went to high school together. God, that was a long time ago.” Joe didn't extend his hand, which really wasn't like him at all. She could feel him frowning. “We have to get going. I just wanted to say hi. Nice seeing you both.”

Marty knew before she even spoke to Ryan. The second she saw him walk in tonight, she knew everything. There was no guy from work staying with him. He took her call on his cell phone and told Jill something—probably meeting one of the guys for a quick beer. He'd have left his fiancée at home and booked a hotel room with Marty, and he wouldn't have thought twice about it. If they'd started an affair, he would have eventually told her about Jill, and he would've said, ‘But you're married!' That's what he was after—what he'd always been after—a lot of women. He just wasn't a one-woman man. Period. And he wouldn't have any trouble convincing Jill that Marty was just some nutcase, that he'd
never
said they'd split up. He was a master manipulator and liar.

When they got to the car Joe started the engine, but didn't drive. Looking straight ahead he asked, “That him?”

“Who?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“The guy. The one who has you all fucked up and living down the hall?”

She shook her head and laughed, though tears were actually smarting in her eyes. “He's just someone I knew in high school.”

He yanked the gearshift into drive and she could tell he didn't believe that for a second. And Joe, so tall and strong and masculine, would wonder what a woman could see in a pretty boy like Ryan. And right now, tears streaming down her cheeks, she was asking herself the same question. I'm such a fool, she thought.

Even worse, she had a husband problem she barely understood. She thought it was the messy house, the nasty gym shorts, but that was nothing. They didn't know anything about each other. He couldn't understand what she wanted until she moved out of the bedroom and she had no idea how deep his feelings ran, how far he would go to make her happy. When had they stopped talking? Stopped understanding each other? The other thing between them when they were dating, besides his courting and compromise, was that they
knew
each other. She wasn't sure which one of them entered the marriage with expectations set in stone that were never discussed or negotiated. Possibly it was her. It was at least both of them and not just Joe.

But she cried. All the way home she sniveled, and it was so hard to know if it was because Ryan let her
down or because Joe wanted to give her everything and she had closed him out completely. Joe said nothing; he didn't even ask her what was wrong. He didn't try to comfort her. When they got to her mother's house, he said, “Stay here. I'll get Jason.” A few minutes later he carried their sleeping son to the car, slipping him into the car seat. When they were home, Joe lifted him out and took him to his bed.

Marty went to her solitary bedroom, lay down in her clothes and sobbed into the pillow. She left Joe to put Jason to bed, something he wouldn't mind doing at all and of which he was completely capable. She wasn't surprised that he just left her alone there, though he knew she was all shook up and crying. He'd finally had enough. He knew he was fighting a losing battle and had given up on her. It was only eight-thirty when they got home, but she cried for a couple of hours. Besides her tears over Beth, she hadn't cried at all since dividing their home into His and Hers.

During this whole time, she would have expected to hear the TV from the family room, the familiar backdrop of sports that seemed to punctuate her life with Joe. The house was eerily quiet for such an early hour. Finally she got off the bed, washed her face and brushed her teeth, put on her robe and left her room. All was dark and still.

Marty walked down the hall to her old bedroom. She entered quietly, softly, and stood beside the bed looking down at him. After a long moment, he pulled the covers back and slid over, and she lay down next to him, her head on his arm, and cried a little bit more.

He ran a hand through her hair, holding her. “Did you fuck him, Marty?” he asked her.

She lifted her head and looked into his eyes. She shook her head and said, “I swear to God, Joe—no.”

She heard him let out a sigh of relief. Then he pulled her closer. “You wanna try to make this work? Us? Or do we just admit we can't make each other happy and give it up before it gets even more nasty?”

She put a hand against his cheek and said, “I want us to work on it, Joe. I think we need some help. I don't know why, but we just don't know each other. Didn't we used to know each other?”

“I thought so.”

“I'll try if you will,” she said with a sniff. “Joe, I think if I lost you now, I'd lose the best person I've ever had in my life. Don't leave me, Joe. Please?”

He kissed her forehead. “I made a promise,” he said. “I meant it.”

B
eth told her girlfriends and coworkers that Dr. Paterson was taking very attentive care of her during her chemotherapy because they were colleagues who had become friends. That was as much as she wanted anyone to know. But after a few months they were friends who had become much better friends.

He called almost daily, just checking in, asking about her health first but then quickly moving the conversation on to other things. The ordinary stuff a couple getting acquainted talked about—his practice, his daughters and the mundane, from weather to sitting on the condo association board in his neighborhood. She had likewise been eased into relaxed conversation with him—about the day's work, her girlfriends and their dramas, everything and anything. On the two appointments she'd kept with him in San Francisco, he'd taken
her out for a bite to eat afterward and, for what should have been a third appointment, he came to Sacramento and took her out to dinner. He glanced at her lab work over the menu and said, “Good, good and good. Just what I expected.”

“You're becoming very obvious,” she told him.

“Thank God,” he said with a smile. “I thought you were going to string me along forever.”

“I'm not going to string you along at all—you've clearly lost your mind. Or you have a demented attraction to sick people.”

“Funny, I don't think of you as sick,” he said. “I probably should. You're going through an awful lot for a healthy person. It was a dirty trick and the joke was on me. The second I met you, I was attracted and I tried reminding myself it would be unfair to put you in that position. But then I lost my head.”

“It's very unprofessional.”

“Aw, depends on your perspective. If you weren't a patient, I wouldn't have wasted a minute getting to know you. And I did think about suggesting you see a different doctor, but you wanted me. I doubt another oncologist would change the course of treatment, anyway. I think I'm being terrifically objective. What do you think?”

“How many patients have you pursued? Dated?”

“None,” he said. “I was married a long time, for one thing. And the majority of my patients aren't young, beautiful physicians.” He grinned. “I've been a gentleman, I think.”

“My hair is starting to fall out,” she told him.

“It'll come back,” he said. “Beth, after what I've seen, you can't scare me off with cancer.”

“What if I become dependent on you?” she asked.

“I could probably find a way to deal with that, but to be honest, one of the things that attracted me most was your bullheaded insistence you wouldn't be dependent on anyone. You're going to be fine, you know. Complete the chemo, grow your hair back, get on with your life. There are still a lot of things to enjoy. Maybe I should caution you against being attracted to a fifty-year-old man?”

“What makes you think I am?”

“I'm gaining ground, that's what. The next couple of months could be tougher,” he said, growing serious. “You might want to cut your schedule back, even consider a short leave. But after that, we're done and you can concentrate on renewing your strength. Early in the new year, you'll begin to feel like your old self.”

“I hope so,” she said, taking a long sip of water. “I breezed right through the first couple of months, but I can feel it wearing me down. I haven't been sick, but I've been so depleted. Exhausted.”

“I'm sorry about that. The hardest part for me, Beth, is I want to stop all of it and watch you flower. But that would be a mistake. We're going in the right direction, I really believe that. Maybe we should think about a trip in the spring. Something relaxing. A cruise or the Caribbean beaches. What do you think of that idea?”

She just shook her head. “What are you getting yourself into?”

“You wouldn't be thinking I'm getting the bad end
of the deal, would you? You'd be wrong. You have a treatable condition, but I don't.”

“What's your condition?”

“I'm fifty. When my hair goes, it's not coming back. And other things will follow suit.”

“I haven't told anyone, you know. There's no getting around it—what we're doing could be considered dating.”

“Could be? You're out of practice—this
is
dating. I don't care who knows.” He shrugged. “I've been wondering something—has there been a serious relationship since your fiancé?”

“No. I was reluctant to allow anyone close after that.”

He shook his head. “Very curious to me that he could let you go. I wonder what was going through his head….”

“He was young,” she said. “I'm sure he was scared. Afraid of committing to someone who'd be chronically ill, unable to have children, that sort of thing.”

Jerod seemed to think about that for a moment. “Maybe he thought he was being cautious. That can be very shortsighted in the end. You can end up with what appears to be a perfect specimen and lose her another way. Accidental death, divorce, a lot of variables… Well,” he said, shaking his head. “You don't have to protect me from anything. Unless, of course, you're planning to sue me,” he added with a smile.

“I was thinking of letting you kiss me good-night. My last good-night kiss came from a very dull, unimaginative internist, and I'm still trying to get over it.”

“I'll be happy to help with that.”

“And I was thinking—now here's where I'm going nuts—I was thinking of bringing you out of the closet.” She smiled at his raised eyebrows. “My girlfriends are having an intimate little party. My friend Cassie, the nurse, is going to finally spring her new guy on the group. She's been dating him quietly for months, keeping a tight lid on the whole thing.”

“Why?”

“Well, as she tells it, he's very different from what we're used to. He's some big, burly biker with tattoos. She's planning to toss him out and see if he sinks or swims. I thought it might be kind of shocking and fun to throw you into the mix. ‘Yes, that's right, I'm having an illicit affair with my physician.'”

He chuckled. “It's not illicit, it's not an affair and it's not even intimate—yet. Not for a while yet, not until you get some energy back. Your kiss proposition—that even surprises me….”

“You aren't fantasizing about my flat, scarred chest and bald head, are you? It would be like making love to an alien.”

He smiled. “I've been fantasizing about your shoulders, the small of your back, your long legs and your butt. Oh, and your neck and lips. Other things, too. Like holding your hand on a beach somewhere. Sailing with you. Laughing—God, I love that you like to laugh, and you're such a smart-ass. Normally I don't enjoy the company of other doctors that much—they can be so dull. But even our phone conversations are entertaining.
I've never had any interest in OB until now. You make it sound fascinating. Is that just infatuation, or are you fascinating, Beth?”

She smiled at him. “I'm fascinating,” she said quickly. “It's next weekend. Saturday night. Do you have daughter obligations?”

“Everything's negotiable. I'll be here.”

“Would you like my guest room? There won't be sex. There won't even be cuddling.”

“That's very nice of you. I'll take you out to breakfast in return.”

“As far as the evidence shows, we really are just friends,” she said.

“Hmm. Good friends. With lots of potential.”

 

It briefly crossed Cassie's mind to ask Walt to trim or dress up for his first appearance with her friends, but she was quick to dismiss the thought. I'm such a dope, she thought. I've been bringing around rude, insensitive jackasses for years, thinking that because they looked the part, they'd fit in. So when Walt asked her what he should wear, she just said, “It's casual.” And when he asked if she'd like to go on the bike or in the truck, she said, “Whatever you feel like. If you'd like to take the bike, I'll just drive over with my contributions to dinner a little earlier. Just let me know.”

“What are you bringing?” he asked.

“A big salad, bread, a six-pack of good beer and a bottle of wine.”

“Can I bring something?”

“Well, it's your party, honey,” she said. “You can just show up and be the star.”

“I bet they'd like it if I brought something that'll save. We'll take the truck.”

For the first time in a very long time, they were meeting at Julie and Billy's for a real dinner—things were going well enough for them to play host. They would provide the meat and dessert and everyone else would pitch in for the rest.

It wasn't just the prospect of meeting Walt that had Julie all keyed up. She was thrilled to feel as though she and Billy were among the living again, actually having people over and contributing more than a loaf of day-old French bread, a few dollars' worth of salad or a six-pack and two-dollar bottle of wine. She was able to spend thirty dollars on meat and made two nice, thick, fattening cheesecakes. It wasn't that much, but it put Julie in a fever of excitement. “We haven't had a good steak in ages,” she had whispered to Cassie. “Billy's thrilled!”

Walt picked Cassie up at six and she smiled as she observed he was looking just so much like himself. He had shaved around those sideburns and such, but that could have as much to do with not wanting to chafe her later—he was so wonderfully protective of her. He wore the leather vest complete with some chains, and of course boots and jeans. His short sleeves ensured the naked lady was exposing herself. In the backseat of his extended cab truck was a very large basket in cellophane. “What's that?” Cassie asked.

“I took a run over to one of our favorite restaurants in Sonoma—I think it was our first one. They put together a basket for me. It's real nice. You think they'll like it?”

“Walt, is it full of hundred-dollar bottles of wine?” she asked, frowning.

“No!” he protested. “There's a couple of nice bottles in there, but I was after some good beef and salmon they can freeze.” Then he grinned. “If I pass the test, Billy can invite me back and grill it up.”

“You're such a suck-up,” she laughed. “Well, I just hope you like them. Except for Marty's husband, Joe, they've all been my best friends since I was a kid.”

“I like 'em already, honey. They gotta be real decent people to put up with you all these years.” And then he grinned at her.

They entered with arms laden—Walt with his basket, Cassie with her dinner offerings. Joe and Marty were already there, helping to put out some snacks. There were quick introductions and Walt insisted Julie get into the basket. She pulled out a big tenderloin and large salmon filet along with four bottles of wine. “Oh, my God,” she said.

Walt leaned toward her ear. “I thought it would freeze nice, for the next time you have company over. With any luck, me.”

“This is just too much,” she said.

“This is my debut. I might've gotten a little showy.”

“Ya think?” she said. “Well, I like your style, but you can't keep that up with this crowd. We gather, we eat and drink. You'll go broke in no time.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said. “Where are the kids?” he asked, looking around.

“They're at my mom's for an overnight, so I can concentrate on grilling you.”

“Cassie said you were grilling steaks,” he said with a smile.

“Steaks and you,” she said. “You're off to a very nice start.”

“That's what I wanted to hear.”

The men urged Walt outside where Billy had put a Duraflame in a small patio fire pit. When they were out of earshot, Cassie said to Julie, “Tuck the wine away in a special place. He has a habit of buying really expensive stuff.”

Julie picked up a bottle and studied it while Marty picked up another one, reading the label. “Shouldn't I serve it?”

“You can if you want to, or you can save it for a special occasion. He's been bringing hundred-dollar bottles of wine to my house for months. I can't break him of it.”

“How can he do that?”

“He hasn't had a serious girlfriend since seventh grade,” she said with a shrug. “No one to spend his money on, I guess. It makes him happy. Makes me crazy. You know I have trouble with that kind of spending. I'd be so happy with a cheap little bottle.”

“We'll put it on the table,” Julie said.

“Walt hardly drinks,” Cassie said. “Billy and Joe don't know the difference. Don't waste the good stuff.”

But then the front door opened and Beth came in with a man in tow.

“Hi,” she said. “I'd like you to meet Jerod Paterson. My doctor. And, I guess, my date.”

All their mouths dropped open in surprise, making both Beth and Jerod laugh. After the hellos, Cassie whispered to Julie, “Okay, go ahead and pour some of the good stuff.”

 

As was typical of one of these get-togethers, the women stayed in the kitchen fixing food and gossiping while the men stood around outside, each holding a beer. They were an odd lot—a couple of firefighters, a physician and a biker, spanning twenty years in age. But what they had in common were their women.

Walt and Jerod particularly wanted to know what it was like growing up with them, something Billy knew only too well. Joe was able to chime in when it came to knowing all of them as adults; he'd been around them about six years and could speak to the bond that had never weakened for a moment. “They're thicker than thieves,” he informed Walt and Jerod. “They know things about us we don't know about each other. It's scary sometimes.”

But talking about women didn't hold their interest very long; they moved on to Billy and Joe being asked about their jobs. After some firefighting and paramedic stories, they talked about Walt's rides, including the one that lasted more than a year. That held them for a good long while, and finally it was Walt who asked Jerod about his work.