The Repeat Year (22 page)

And still there was something between them. A hidden, illicit past that Olive wanted to repress and Alex seemed to want to uncover. It was like there were magnetic forces at play: Olive repelling, Alex attracting. He mentioned nights he and his friends would be at the little French bar or Concerts on the Square with a picnic blanket and bottles of wine and suggested she drop by. She never did. After some of their overnight shifts, he proposed they go out for coffee and pancakes. She pleaded fatigue. Still he refused to get the picture.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he said.

“You didn’t.” She stopped just outside her other patient’s room.

“Does alcoholism run in your family?” he asked. He was standing close, too close. She could see the day-old stubble, like a smattering of cinnamon and sugar, sprinkled across his face. She could smell his laundry detergent, an almost citrusy scent.

“What? No, but—” She stopped herself and took an awkward step backward.

“I’m sorry. That’s a really personal question. I shouldn’t have asked. I just thought, judging by your reaction, that someone you love might have a drinking problem. But it’s clearly none of my business.” He folded his stethoscope in half and slid it into his white coat pocket. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “You can see why I’m not in family practice, though. I could never deal with all the noncompliance issues. People refusing to lose weight, quit smoking, or take care of themselves in general.”

Olive understood. But she also understood that knowing what was good for you and following through were two totally different things. She turned around and took a step toward her patient’s room, on the threshold now.

“You remember my friend Anoop?” Alex asked, willfully ignoring her efforts to escape. “The internal medicine second-year?”

She grudgingly turned her head toward him. Yes, she did. The kind, thoughtful one. The non-nump.

“Well, he might be dropping out of his residency here for similar reasons. The arguing with the patients, seeing them slowly kill themselves . . . I think he’s going to apply for a dermatology residency next year.”

“Can you do that?” Olive asked. The whole med school–residency–licensing exams pathway seemed so strict and narrow to her, allowing no divergences or last-minute changes of heart.

“Well, it’s not recommended, of course,” Alex said. “And he’s going to take a lot of flack for it. But this is his life, his career. And if he chose the wrong one, better to suck it up now than live his whole life doing something he hates.”

Olive tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tightened her ponytail holder. “That’s very brave of him.”

Alex nodded. “You should talk to him about it. I’m having a little cookout at my parents’ lake house for Labor Day, and Anoop will definitely be there. You should come.”

“Thanks, but I already promised my mom I’d come to her picnic.” God bless her mom for giving her a ready alibi.

“Too bad. Well, some other time, then. They live on Nagawicka Lake in Delafield, and they have a pontoon boat and—”

“Watson!” Tina called. “You have a visitor!”

Olive had never been more grateful to hear Tina’s bossy voice. She looked from Alex to her patient’s room quickly, held up one finger, and then hurried to the nurses’ station.

She was surprised to see Phil. She’d been expecting her mom or maybe even Sherry. He looked out of place under the fluorescent lights, like an actor who had wandered onto the wrong set. Phil rarely visited her at work. He didn’t like hospitals. He couldn’t bear to be around the ICU patients, who to him all seemed to be on their death beds. The proximity of all that pain and illness suffocated him. He didn’t understand how she could endure it.

“He brought us burritos,” Tina said, holding up a white paper bag. “He even brought me a vegetarian one.”

Olive knew Phil had included Tina in his generosity because he wanted to keep her impressed. Tina thought Phil was a phenomenal catch. She always referred to him as a “hunk” or a “hottie.” The irony of his ostensibly geeky job teaching high school physics tickled her, and whenever Olive recounted Phil’s romantic surprises, Tina would remark, “My ex-husband never did that mushy stuff for me even when we first met, and you guys have been together for ages. He’s a keeper, all right.”

“Aw, thank you,” Olive said and hugged him. He smelled like his usual woodsy soap with a hint of fresh cilantro. “That was very thoughtful.” It felt surreal for him to be here; it was like her personal life and work life, two very separate and distinct spheres, were suddenly merging.

“Did I come at a bad time?” Phil asked. He was looking over her shoulder. Olive turned to see Alex walking toward them. Her heart stopped.

“It’s never a bad time for burritos,” Tina said, unwrapping hers.

“I just need a few minutes to finish up with a patient, and then I’ll have more time,” Olive said. She left her hand on his arm, worried that if she moved it, he would somehow disappear.

Alex had a large smile on his face as he strode to the nurses’ station, and she felt sick to her stomach. She tried to relax, act casual. After all, she and Alex were guilty of nothing. This year. Still, she didn’t want Phil anywhere near Alex. She didn’t want him to have to unknowingly shake the hand of someone with whom she had betrayed him. She felt like such a hideous person.

“Phil, I don’t think you’ve met Dr. Carpenter. He’s one of our new residents this year. Alex, this is my boyfriend, Phil.” She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded. The ease with which she deceived them appalled her.

Phil smiled his charming smile and shook Alex’s hand. Tina stopped eating and watched with interest. The two men sized each other up but not in an unfriendly way. Alex was slightly taller than Phil, but Phil had a more muscular build.

“It’s nice to meet you, Phil,” Alex said, and then swiftly turned his attention to Tina. “Did those X-rays come back on Mrs. Litschke yet?”

“Do you think I’m hiding them in my pants?” Tina asked. “You’ll be the first to know when they arrive. I promise.” She took a large bite of her burrito.

So that was his cover story for coming over here. He was curious about her boyfriend, but he didn’t want to seem curious. He glowered at Tina and then avoided looking at Olive and Phil as he self-importantly dashed off.

Phil raised his eyebrow at Olive. She didn’t know how to interpret this. Was it in reference to Olive working with a young, handsome doctor who she’d never mentioned? Or in reference to Alex’s obvious slight to him? Or maybe he was simply amused by Tina’s irreverence?

She tried to smile at him. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “Wait right here.”

The air felt very close and thin. Phil and Alex in the same space together, and Frank Dodge on his way back to the ICU any minute now. She entered the room of her other patient—Irma Vanderburgh, an elderly woman with congestive heart failure—and tried to match her breathing to the slow, steady whooshes of the ventilator. The old woman’s powdery, brittle-looking skin and bony forehead reminded her of Betty Gardner. And Betty Gardner reminded her of Alex. And the Family Room.

Olive easily encircled her patient’s delicate wrist with her fingers and counted her pulse. Soft like the beating wings of a sparrow. How could she have ever thought moving in with Phil would make it easier to tell him the truth? It would
never
be easy to tell him.
But was it really necessary?
a small voice asked her. She had set up these rigid rules for herself, but this wasn’t a rigid, rule-following universe she was living in now, was it?

“Hang in there, Mrs. Vanderburgh,” she murmured as she tucked the blanket around her emaciated form.

Phil was leaning against the counter, paging through a packet when she returned. His white golf shirt nicely contrasted with his lingering tan.
Weren’t some things left better unsaid?
she pleaded with her conscience. Weren’t little white lies sometimes necessary to make a relationship work? Maybe not white lies exactly, but pale gray lies. Lies of omission when the situation was the furthest thing from black and white.

“What is that?” she asked him, feeling paranoid.

He had a gleam in his eye. His face was so open, so earnest. There were no secrets or doubts there. He completely trusted her. He suspected nothing. This was almost more painful than if he’d narrowed his eyebrows at her and sneered,
Is there something going on between you and that doctor?

“I found the perfect place for us,” he said. “I don’t know how we missed it before. Two bedrooms, a full bath and a half bath, a two-car garage, a full-size washer and dryer, a gas fireplace, vaulted ceilings in the living room, tons of closet space, a pool, tennis courts, and a gym,
and
it’s in our price range.” He handed her the packet. “I printed this from their website.”

“What’s the catch?” she asked with a smile. She looked down at the paperwork. High Pointe Hills Condominiums. It was where she had lived last year. In their preliminary searching, she had intentionally kept it off their list. How could she possibly start somewhere fresh with Phil in a place like this? In a place where she and Alex had been together? In a place where she’d dallied and messed up her life last year?

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “We can’t live here.”

“Why not? It fills all your requirements. It goes above and beyond your requirements. And if you think it’s too much, it’s not. Look at the last page. We could make those numbers work with our budget.”

Without flipping through it, Olive handed the packet back. “No, it’s not that. I’ve heard really bad things about this place. I knew someone who lived there. She said it was . . . awful.”

“Really? What was so bad about it?” Phil was clearly disappointed.

“Oh, lots of things.” She struggled to think of her own complaints about the condo, but they were very limited. It had actually been a very nice place to live. “There were all these hidden condo association fees that nobody told her about. And the neighbors were really unfriendly.” Phil didn’t look persuaded yet, so she continued with something she knew would concern him. “She said after she’d been living there for a while, everything started falling apart. Really shoddy materials and workmanship.”

Phil rolled the packet into a tube. “Would you at least check it out with me? Maybe it was just this girl’s experience with her unit. It looks really nice to me.”

“I think it would be a waste of time, but if you really want to . . .”

His excitement had dissipated. She now understood why he’d come to visit. To bring her dinner, yes, but also to share his good news and enthusiasm with her. He thought he’d found the ideal condo for them, and she’d just dashed his hopes. She had let him down, but there was no way of remedying this. She couldn’t live at High Pointe Hills again.

“Back to the drawing board, then,” he said, tightening the tube in his hands.

“I’m sorry, honey.”

“It’s okay. Well, I should probably get going. I know you’re busy. I hadn’t planned on sticking around this long.”

She wished she could tell him to stay, but she had patients she was neglecting, and his presence in the ICU was really throwing her off.

“Thanks so much for visiting. I’m really looking forward to eating that burrito when I get a free moment.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. “Have a good night.”

“Phil?” she called after him. “We’re going to find something soon. Something even better than that place. I promise.”

He gave her a halfhearted grin.

Frank Dodge was stumbling through the doors as Phil headed out. Phil stopped in his tracks and turned to watch Frank’s weaving progress. Instead of going to the waiting room, it appeared that Frank had decided to spend his time drinking at a bar. His face was red and sweaty, and it looked like he was going to collapse into a heap at any moment.

“I’m back. You can’t throw me out now!” he crowed. He leaned across the counter so that his face was only inches from Olive’s. The stench of his breath was overpowering. “I’m within my rights. Visiting hours.”

“Hey now,” Phil said, and strode to the nurses’ station. “Why don’t you back up a step there, buddy?”

Frank spun crazily to face him. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m within my rights.”

“It’s okay, Phil. He’s harmless. He’s here to see a patient,” Olive quietly explained.

“I don’t like how he’s treating you. And it’s clear he’s drunk. How do you know he’s harmless?” Phil put himself between Frank and Olive at her desk.

“Don’t you call me a drunk. I have my rights just like anyone,” Frank slurred. He raised one of his fists and shook it at Phil.

Phil’s eyes widened. He threw up his hands at Olive. “This is harmless? You want me to leave you alone with this man?”

“Phil, you’re making things worse. Just go. Nothing’s going to happen. But even if anything did happen, I can call security.”

“Don’t you goddamn call security,” Frank said. “I’m within my rights. The gal said to come back at eight o’clock.”

“Nobody’s calling security, Mr. Dodge,” Olive said soothingly. “Do you want to see your brother now? Calm down, and I’ll take you to him.”

Phil looked betrayed. He scrutinized Frank’s every move as if the drunk man might strike Olive at any moment. She knew he wasn’t seeing Frank. He was seeing his father.

Olive led Frank around the nurses’ station to his brother’s room. She looked back and gave Phil a reassuring wave. He crossed his arms.

“Aw, Ed, you look like hell,” Frank said when they entered the room. He shuffled to the bedside and then seemed too scared to touch his brother, who was covered from head to toe with wires and tubes. Now that he was finally in the room, he didn’t seem to know what to do. He clutched the guardrail of the bed.

“Would you like to sit down, Mr. Dodge?” she asked, and gestured toward a chair next to the bed.

Once he was seated, all the fire died out of him. His imposing body folded inward on itself.

“Do you have any questions about your brother’s health?” she asked.

“I know that it’s his liver and the drink that done it. Is he going to make it?” he whispered hoarsely, as if he didn’t want Ed to hear him.