Christmas parties in the first two years of medical school tend to be few and far between, or so it was in Jessie's experience. There just wasn't the time. The last week before the holidays was dedicated to exams and if you had time to party, you slept instead. It's tough and everyone knows it.
Actually being able to put on a dress or at least something other than scrubs and spend a social evening -- unless she was on-call -- with her "working family" was one of the perks Jessie loved about Maine Med. She'd gone through residency with several of her classmates and established friendships among the medical staff that she cherished. A rumor circulating about an attending position opening up once her fellowship was complete had been confirmed by the departmental director, and she was considered a shoe-in for the job. Christmas parties at Maine Med promised to be a feature in her life for years to come.
This year was going to be special for a lot of reasons, not the least of which was an occasion to formally announce her engagement to Bob. The truth is, there was scarcely a soul who didn't know already, thanks to the hospital grapevine. Good news travels like wildfire, especially when Halley Henry is the one with a match. Jessie and Bob spent the afternoon following his proposal with the twins and gave Halley the "Go" command she'd been waiting for. By the following Monday, neither one could walk the hospital hallways without running a gauntlet of congratulatory handshakes and hugs.
Fresh powder had fallen in the White Mountains off and on the week before the Saturday evening event, so Bob and Jessie drove up to Pleasant Mountain ski area near Fryeburg. Jessie skied while Bob spent the morning learning the ins and outs of snow boarding. After a few runs alone, she joined him on the beginner's slope.
"Why, if it isn't Shawn White!" she said, teasingly. "Can I have your autograph, pretty please?"
"Baby, you can have my autograph and anything else you want. I am footloose, fancy free, and all yours!"
She laughed and said, winking, "I can think of a lot of ways to take that."
"I'm sure you can, but this is the bunny slope and that means G rated. With the twins around, you better start getting used to that, Dr. and almost Mrs." he said, winking back.
"Only during the early evening hours -- after they're asleep, anything goes." she said, sidling close and raising her eyebrows.
"I think...I've created...a monster," he said, eyes wide.
"You have no idea. Now come on, you hot snow rider you, show me your stuff!"
Yogi Berra said it, this is like deja-vu all over again.
(Creative Commons image of Shawnee Peak by bobtravis via Flickr)
I love a good backstory. More than deleted scenes, it tells the tale behind the scenes, the storyline that may or may not find its way into print or onto film. Backstory means getting a glimpse of the life J.K. Rowling imagined, but didn't fully reveal, for Harry Potter between his final duel with Voldemort and the end of the story, 17 years later. Similarly, I've been taking a long look at the conversation between Dr. Bob Z. and
Jessie's father, John Livingstone, on the occasion of John's birthday, in Pink Hats 20: Untarnished and In Uncharted Territory,
and I'd like to tell a bit of their backstory.
Let's start with the basics of what we already know about them. John
has been widowed and raised three children, putting them through
medical and veterinary school, on his own. At 72, he operates a
full-time, large-animal veterinary clinic along with his son and serves part-time as an unpaid pastoral minister in his late wife's church. Bob is 62, divorced, and his father is dead. A former opthalmologist, he eventually changed direction, completed a second residency in pediatrics, and has a busy practice in Portland. This
isn't your typical confab between a young man
starting out and an older, established parent of the bride-to-be. Our characters are grown men who have experienced some of the
worst and best life has to offer.
If Bob were thirty years younger we'd naturally expect their exchange to have a somewhat different tone
as well as focus. Bob would nervously do his best to speak
convincingly of his love for Jessie and describe his prospects for the
future. John would patiently offer advice about life,
marriage, and what he himself has learned about being a good son-in-law. But that's not the case here and the conversation has to ratchet
up several notches to take this into account. Bob is a mature man and he and John are more likely to relate as peers, a subject that comes up again in A Different Drummer.
The pace of the conversation is
also different. Both are direct, get to the point, no nonsense New Englanders.
John has known marriage was on his daughter's mind since visiting with Jessie
several weeks earlier (Life is too Short for Playing it Safe), so he's had time to do some thinking. It would make sense for him to have talked it over with her siblings, too. We can presume he's been observing Bob throughout the festivities,
noting how he, Jessie, and the rest of the family interact, and no doubt, he's formed some impressions. By
the time the two of them are sitting on the front porch, I think it's
safe to say, he's already got a pretty good idea whether he's going to
bless their relationship. What he needs to hear are the reasons for
doing so in Bob's own words.
Now, unlike a younger prospective husband, Bob has clarify why he believes he should ask for Jessie's hand. I'm reminded of medical school admissions interviews and having to explain, Why do you want to undertake something of this magnitude now? It's not exactly the kind of question you're going to get if you're 22. Though John appears to casually break the ice by saying, "So, you want to marry my oldest daughter," what he's thinking is, Sooner or later Bob's going to ask, why not make it easier on us both? Bob knows he really doesn't need to ask because asking, in itself, implies a power differential that doesn't exist between peers. He wants John's blessing, however, because he understands how important her family is to Jessie. Asking, for him, is an act of love. It's undeniable proof he means it when he says, "She's
always been more important to me than I was to myself." John also knows they don't need his approval -- Jessie can make her own decisions -- but Bob's desire to seek it anyway says a great deal about the kind of man he is and the kind of man she's getting.
There is another element these men have in common, besides Jessie, that alerts us to the possibility their conversation will take us in directions we might not imagine. Both are admittedly skeptical about religion. John deals with his doubts by actively debating with his faith. Bob is more of a theologian than he
gives himself credit
for, but his theology is existential; it grows out of his experience of
living and loving. John's is, too, but it bears the marks of conscious
reflection and that enables him to help Bob make
sense of, and give expression to, the deeper implications of what he's feeling and saying.
While some relationships entail one partner secretly wishing to remake the other
into a
romantic ideal, Bob openly wishes he was more like Jessie. He admires her as much as he loves her. He tells John that he feels as though he's being changed as a consequence
of their relationship, but he's
not sure how to describe it. He feels, not "young" as we'd expect, but "new and untarnished," which is much different. John interprets Bob's experience in terms of baptism -- death and resurrection -- and points out how some relationships, such as his with Jessie's mother and now theirs, can be profoundly transforming. What Bob is describing isn't simply a metaphor; it's real and observable. In essence, he says, relationships like yours don't come along every day, but when they do, there's no mistaking them. John can see the effects in his daughter and Bob can see them in himself.
I like this conversation and I hope
I'm not alone. It reflects not only Bob's appreciation for Jessie and
her family, but also the quality of his experience of being a son, an often neglected aspect in romantic
relationships. How well we integrate our same-sex parent into our identity as adults has an enormous impact
on the kind of spouse we're capable of becoming. Bob exemplifies
someone who, despite his father's absence, maintains
their relationship through memory and demonstrates its influence in the way he
treats those he loves. His children won't know their paternal
grandfather like they'll know John, but through their father, they'll
know him just the same.
(Creative Commons image of a front porch such as the one where John and Bob have their conversation by nanetteturner via Flickr)
"If Barack Obama had yo' hair colah, the two uh you could be twins."
"Ted, I've got three inches and twenty pounds on him, not to mention the other, rather obvious differences between us. You think my hair color matters that much?" Bob asked, grinning.
"No, I mean you both have or soon will have beautiful wives and two daughters, and that's a fine comparison to make, wouldn't you agree?" asked Ted, dropping his ethnicity for emphasis.
"I would, indeed, though as much as I admire him, I wouldn't trade jobs for love nor money. Difficult as mine is now and then, I'd rather be in hell with a fractured spine than have his. Though I suspect he'd say the same."
"Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes I think he'd like to be a healer, but some of his 'patients' are recalcitrant-prone."
"Mine only have tantrums."
"So do his," Ted said, with a wink and a nod, "especially the ones in Congress."
"You know what a tantrum is, don't you?"
"After four kids, not including yours, and nine grandkids, I'd say I have a fair idea."
"It's what he must feel like having when he wishes he could lay a few of them across his knee and apply the hand of cooperation to the seat of partisanship. And that's why I wouldn't want his job. You can make kids stand in the corner, but senators and congressmen?"
"Besides that," said Jessie, handing each of them mugs of steaming peppermint hot chocolate from a tray Halley was holding, "the only 'White House' I want to live in is the one we're buying. Any political aspirations will have to wait until all our children are grown and I'm tired of having you underfoot." She leaned over and kissed him sweetly. "Don't count on that happening anytime in your lifetime -- or mine, understand?"
"Oh, yes, ma'am, I do," Bob said, solemnly. He turned toward Ted, "I'm practicing saying that, both 'yes, ma'am,' and 'I do.'" Ted roared with laughter.
They were relaxing in the Green Granite Inn's lounge at Cranmore Mountain Resort in North Conway after a day of skiing punctuated by Bob's first snowboarding lesson. He and Jessie had taken turns with Halley and Ted, babysitting and occasionally pulling the girls round the lift area in a miniature sleigh Jessie and Halley purchased on a recent shopping outing. It was the same day Jessie also found a navy blue wool sweater woven with a reindeer across the back for one of Bob's presents. "He loves reindeer," she confided to Halley.
The Holiday was a week away and the Inn had been transformed with wreaths on every door, pine bows, poinsettias, a traditional solitary New England candle in each window and a huge Balsam Fir, wrapped entirely in star-blue lights brushing the ceiling, near an equally huge stone fireplace. After all that had gone on in the past few weeks, the couples decided a day and a night away was certainly what any doctor with a healthy dose of common sense would order. Jen and Chuck, fast becoming an item after meeting two weeks earlier at Bull Feeney's, offered to take care of Sam.
"So, did you decide on the giraffe, Bob?" asked Halley.
"Shh, make sure the twins are still asleep, first."
"They aren't going to understand you, not yet at least," she responded, drawing the blankets back from each of the unconscious pair in their carriers, "Yes, they are, now did you?"
"Come Christmas morning, Sam is definitely going to have a surprise waiting next to the tree, and the girls? Well, I know it will be a few years before they can really appreciate it, but one look and I couldn't resist." He was referring to a five foot tall stuffed giraffe he and Jessie had seen at Tree Top Toys in the Old Port. Far too big for anything but occupying space at the moment, it grabbed his attention when they walked in and he couldn't leave without it.
"They say having children is a chance to re-experience our own childhood, do you believe that, Bob?" asked Ted.
"I don't think it's our own so much as it is seeing the world as an adult through the eyes of our children, but in either case, it's something I've missed, I know that much. And, I'll tell you this, I'm deeply grateful life doesn't hold grudges when we don't get everything right the first time."
Jessie reached up and stroked his hair. "I got an email from my dad this week and he said something I think you'll appreciate. He said relationships like ours do far more than simply give us second chances. They give us the ones we've never had. You could say -- and I'm definitely saying it -- this is our first, at long last, and I'm going to make sure neither of us misses a single minute of it."
"Like Arrowsmith? You don't want to miss a thing?"
"Just like Arrowsmith."
(Photos copyright 2011 by the author)
Evenly yoked, that's how my friend and fellow blogger from Australia, Crystal Mary Lindsey, puts it, referring to an ideal romantic relationship. Her image is of two oxen paired in a yoke, pulling together instead of pulling apart. Matching them is the challenge, finding two of similar strength and temperament that permits placing them side by side to achieve a common task. Since Crystal's comment is related to the fictional characters, Dr. Bob Z and Dr. Jessie Livingstone from Pink Hats and a Mack Truck, I've been thinking it might be a good idea to take a look at their relationship and see what makes it exemplary of being "evenly yoked."
The first thing that comes to mind, for me, is the freedom they experienced from the very beginning. Jessie described it as something that allowed her to feel like a woman. She never got the sense Bob needed her to be a girl or mother figure. This is important because we often take on roles in a relationship that we unconsciously perceive the other person needs or wishes us to fulfill. Her faculty adviser explained how Bob was obviously comfortable with Jessie being herself and for Jessie, this meant feeling like a mature equal. It was present in their first contact, when she laid her hand on his arm and suggested he try Splenda instead of sugar in his coffee.
Bob describes their freedom as the permission to be genuine and spontaneous, and it's exemplified by his almost flirtatious, "Hi there, Splenda gal," when they ran into each other the following day in the parking lot. He wasn't flirting, he was simply being ingenuous and very much himself. He didn't know her name as yet, but he was willing to be friendly and open with her and she felt, once again, like a woman. Freedom is contagious -- one has it and another catches it. With Bob and Jessie, however, it seems they felt it at the same time. But she demonstrated it first and he couldn't help but follow her lead.
They also have "chemistry," that vague and difficult-to-describe attraction that makes some relationships go romantic and others remain friendships or merely acquaintances. It's like sodium and chloride. There's a quality to these elements that makes salt whenever they're in close proximity to each other. Put sodium nitrate in a solution with potassium chloride and water (don't try this at home -- inorganic chemistry was never my strong suit and for all I know, the combination may be explosive), and darned if the sodium and chloride don't find each other, making salt once again. They can't help themselves. That's how it's been with Bob and Jessie.
Chemistry is what makes their relationship interesting. We're drawn to them because they're drawn to each other in ways we'd like to think we might be drawn to someone. There is respect, admiration, and playfulness -- they aren't simply in love, they truly like each other, and liking is as important as loving. Liking reflects chemistry and it's hard to imagine stable, dependable, energizing romantic love without a healthy dose of it.
And then there is the matter of the twins. This is a huge issue for Jessie although she doesn't seem to make as much of it as we might imagine. In part, this is because she's already dealt with the issue of Bob's age. The freedom she's experienced enables her to trust her own judgment and view him as a whole person, inclusive of the age differential, and decide whether she's willing to engage or back off. That she chose to pursue him, so to speak, is based on several factors, including her highly positive relationship with her father and her desire to be with a man who possesses a considerable measure of maturity. She knows being with him will likely entail becoming a mother right off and her decision to go ahead draws, not only on her love for the twins, but also upon her knowledge that he is going to be a package deal, period. If she wants him, she has to adjust her expectations to include Hannah and Clara. As Chuck says of her, she really is a remarkable young woman and honestly, I admire her courage and integrity tremendously.
What I've noticed about Bob and Jessie is how their relationship has developed with ease. A friend of mine and regular reader of this blog once told me "easiness" is an irreplaceable quality. While I didn't quite understand her at the time, I have come to appreciate the subtleties of her comment far more in recent years and I believe she was exactly right. Relationships like the one between Bob and Jessie aren't like trying to fit a size 13 foot into a size 12 shoe. Oh, it can be done all right, and maybe the shoe feels okay in the store, but once you walk around a bit, your toes start to rub and it's time to bite the bullet and go back for the right size.
Bob and Jessie have never had to try to fit together, they just do. As a consequence, they work out the details of life with a mutuality and obvious intentionality that places each other first. Notice how, again and again, Bob becomes concerned about one thing or another and Jessie reminds him they'll figure out a solution, as long as their relationship is their first consideration. And so, like Crystal Mary's oxen, they pull together, not apart. They're evenly and equally yoked. Call it fiction if you like, it really isn't. It certainly doesn't have to be, anyway.
(Public Domain of Splenda package via Wikipedia)
Image via WikipediaIf you were to ask, Jessie would say she strongly suspected Harper Lee of being a neighbor when she was growing up because Atticus Finch was so like her father, the resemblance couldn't be coincidental. It just seemed that way when she saw Gregory Peck in To Kill a Mockingbird on television as a teenager and checked the book out of the school library the next day. It wasn't a physical resemblance, though both Peck and her father were tall and parted their hair on the right. It was his way with his children, Scout and Jem. That, coupled with the fact it was one of her father's favorite novels and he was fond of quoting it.
"Courage isn't a man with a gun in his hand," he said, often enough that she knew the words by heart long before she found out Atticus had said them first, "It's knowing you're licked before you begin but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what. You rarely win, but sometimes you do." It must have been courage, she thought, that saw him through raising a son and two daughters alone. They had aunts and uncles and some lived close by, but for the most part, as with most families most of the time, it was him and the children.
He wasn't perfect -- no one is, not even Atticus Finch -- but he raised his children respecting them and he taught them to respect themselves. She loved the hymn, Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hid myself in thee, her mother sang as a lullaby, and after she was gone, Jessie imagined it was written about her father. Stable sprang to mind when she thought about him. He was firm and level and reliable when our world was rocked to the core. He showed us how to survive our grief.
She felt the same way about Bob. He was solid, too, solid and stable. He'd come through his own grief without bitterness and he loved so freely. As she got to know his friends, some going back to medical school, she saw reflected in their faces a man who'd rather die than let any of them down. One, a member of the hospital janitorial staff, said of him, "He doesn't think he's better than anyone else." And it was true, he didn't. She knew he would be there for the twins and their own children, as would she, and they'd be there for each other. Theirs was a relationship between equals.
She was watching him, asleep next to her on the couch, his collar unbuttoned, his tie loosened and straying off to his side. He'd thrown one arm over his eyes and draped the other around her. Now and then he'd release a soft, low snore, and she smiled. Her thoughts wandered back to dinner, his proposal, walking along the streets at night, the drive home, falling asleep together with Sam. There was a quality of serenity about it all, a peacefulness she'd felt around people who were right for each other. And we have it, too.
She sighed and reached over, undoing a button midway down his chest and slid her hand beneath his shirt, feeling his heart beat. "You have such a good heart, mister," she whispered, "it's why I love you so much. Your heart." She sighed again and he opened his eyes.
"Good Morning, Sunshine," she said.
(Public Domain image of Gregory Peck in the role of Atticus Finch via Wikipedia)
Unlike many, when Bob received his membership card in the Newly-Divorced Club, he resisted diving head-first into the singles scene. Singles bars had never been his cup of anything, even when he was younger. He had opportunities to date and even Halley had offered to fix him up with a friend of hers who was a social worker and former Miss Maine. But by then, it was too late, he'd already met Jessie. After that morning in the Alfond coffee bar, there would never be anyone else. Not for him.
She had fallen asleep beside him on the couch in front of the fire, with Sam curled up next to her. Halley's comment about getting a room might have its appeal, but not tonight. This was an evening for romance. Besides, they'd already settled the other question. It was the Friday evening they'd watched Avatar when Jessie broached the subject.
"Do you know how attractive you are to me?" He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, not certain how to answer. "I put my hand on your arm that day in Alfond because it seemed the most natural thing to do. It's...our chemistry. You could have taken me in your arms and swept me away and I'd have gone willingly."
He ran his fingers through her hair. "I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to do that since."
She smiled and said, "I know, me, too. But there's something else I want for us. I want to wait. Not because I enjoy waiting or because I have reservations -- I don't. It's ...if we were to marry, like we've talked about...I want that to be the most wonderful night of our lives. And with you, I've never felt like I had to hurry."
"I've been thinking the same thing. I know it's probably not what couples usually do and yet, I feel like it's right for us..."
After toasting their engagement with champagne and receiving congratulations from nearly every table at Twenty Milk, they gathered their coats and walked outside into the night air, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist. There's just something about kissing the woman you love on a cold and snowy night, he thought, as they stopped at a corner and he kissed Jessie beneath a dimly shining antique street lamp and brushed flakes from her hair. He said he'd never seen her more beautiful.
They drove to her apartment, announced the news to Sam who responded by leaping onto his hind legs and licking both of them, then lit a fire and snuggled next to one another, sipping Grand Marnier from a pair of crystal snifters she'd inherited from her grandmother. A few moments later, she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He took the snifter from her hand before it nearly fell to the floor. She smiled in her sleep and softly murmured his name. We've been so easy, so 'natural,' like she said. Maybe John was right, maybe we were meant to be.
He thought about all those times he went home alone, having seen her at a residency seminar or following a quick, innocent lunch in the hospital cafeteria. That piece of it had been hard. There were occasions he nearly slammed on the brakes and turned his car around to race back for her. Those were the hardest. When they were finally free to spend time together, he imagined it would be impossible to keep his feelings under wraps any longer and allow their relationship to unfold on its own. It wasn't though, and instead, it felt to him like falling in love with her all over again.
He set down his snifter, stretched his long legs toward the fire, and drew her close. He hadn't intended to fall asleep but the next thing he knew, her face was next to his, and she was smiling at him. "Good morning, Sunshine. Sleep well?"
He noticed the light streaming in the windows, looked at his watch and back at her. "Like I haven't in years, if ever -- so much for our 'first night' together."
She stroked the ring on her finger and kissed him. "It's not going to be our last."
(Photo of winter sunrise on Sabego Lake, copyright 2011, by the author)
Ordering an engagement ring from Boulder's Cronin Jewelers the Monday after Thanksgiving was easy. A phone call with a Visa card number and ring size was followed by the promise UPS would deliver it by next-day air. Bob wished the rest of his life was as simple.
Attending group education classes as part of the adoption process added an evening complication to his already busy schedule, though Jessie joined him when her's permitted. Since he was going to be, at least initially, the legal entity in the process, he was the one who had to show up for these meetings without fail. But he was surprised at how much he was learning about blended families, helping children who eventually wish to know their biological parents, and so forth. The things they don't teach you in medical school, he thought.
Following the Monday evening group, he was at Halley's, seeing the girls."So, are you finally going to turn me loose on the hospital gossips or what?" she asked. "I still keep up with my sources and they've been chomping at the bit since I retired to take care of Hannah and Clara." Bob and Jessie had decided to name the twins Clara, after her mother, and Hannah, after his.
"Wait a few more days, okay? I haven't proposed and it's always possible Jessie could fool me and run, not walk, as fast and as far away as she can get."
"Oh, come on! You know that's never going to happen. You're more likely to get cold feet than she is."
"I know, I know." He said, chuckling. He looked down at the baby in his arms and said, "It won't be long before we'll be rocking away every night in your very own room." He stroked her palm gently and she wrapped tiny fingers reflexively around his.
Halley watched them, father and almost-daughter. "Little did we know, that afternoon in the ER."
"Nope. Chuck called them a 'Mack Truck' heading my way. It was the best auto-pedestrian encounter I've been involved in."
Halley smiled and nodded in agreement. "Have you thought about where you're going to propose? You have to plan this, you know."
"I've made reservations at Twenty Milk Street in the Portland Regency for Friday evening. Ted took you there for your anniversary last year, didn't he? Seems to me he said he did." She nodded in assent. "It's all done up for the holidays and I'm thinking drinks in the Armory Lounge and then dinner. You remember the fireplace at Twenty Milk, right? I've arranged for one of the tables next to it and champagne to be served at my signal -- if all goes well, that is. With snow in the forecast, the Old Port should be magical, like it always is at Christmastime, and we can walk the streets afterward."
"Or get a room?" Halley said, with an arched eyebrow.
"Use your imagination," he said, "it's active enough for both of us."
WGME's chief weather meteorologist did not disappoint when, five nights later, the Old Port resembled the North Pole, replete with decorations and a light snowfall adding to the accumulation that had been piled along the edges of the sidewalks, turning them into corridors in front of the shops. Bob and Jessie had foregone the valet parking in favor of a walk, arm in arm, along Fore Street, and were now deep into New York Sirloins by the fire at Twenty Milk.
"I've been thinking more and more about your 'house,' Bob said, "The real estate broker called this week, apparently the owners liked us and suggested they might be willing to deal. I told him I'd like to sell my place first and when I mentioned the location, he said he might actually have a buyer. He wants to bring them by for a look sometime next week. If all goes well, we could be moving after the first of the year."
Her fork halted in mid-air. "Are you serious? Oh, Bob..."
"Serious as a heart attack, Babe. Eventually we'd have to add a bedroom or two, but right now, there's plenty of space, as we saw when we toured it, and I really do like the idea of living in the country again."
"So do I," she said, and reached across the table, laying a hand on his. "It would be a dream come true."
After dessert of Pumpkin Bread Pudding with pecan pralines and cream, they sipped coffee and let the nearby conversations drift away.
"There's something I'd like to talk to you about," he said, taking a deep breath, "and honestly, I'm not entirely sure how to begin."
She set down her cup as this time, he reached across the table, taking her hands in his.
"Ever since we met, though I didn't fully realize it at the time, my life has been different. I know I keep saying that, but it's true. The next day, when we ran into each other in the parking lot, I could tell."
She smiled, remembering. Hi there, Splenda gal.
"The funny thing is, when class was over and I got into my car to head back to Portland, I knew exactly what I wanted to say to you, and of course, I couldn't and wouldn't for reasons you already know. But I knew it anyway. I've thought about how to say this, over and over, tried to imagine being more eloquent, and all I can come up with is this."
He let loose of her hands and she watched him slowly stand, then kneel down on one knee in front of her. "Jessie," he took another deep breath, "my sweet, sweet Jessie, I love you like I've never, ever loved. You're all I want, you're all I could want if I lived forever. Will you," his voice trembled and he swallowed, "will you please marry me?" Her eyes swam, but before she could answer, he reached into his jacket pocket and took out a small velvet-covered box, opened it, and set it down in front of her. Inside was a diamond ring with the Flatirons carved along either side of the stone.
The room had been growing quieter and quieter and all eyes were turned toward a couple near the fire where one knelt before the other. A waiter serving food stopped as if frozen. A dropping pin would have made more noise. Jessie took the ring, slipped it on her finger, and looked at it for a second that seemed to him like hours. Then she framed his face in her hands and kissed him.
"Yes," was all she said.
(Photo of Portland's Regency Park Hotel copyright 2011 by the author)
Holidays at the Livingstone House were a crowded, cacophonous intermingling of three generations, at least one dog, and abundant good food. This year, the din was periodically disrupted by squeals coming from the twins, "on loan" from their foster parents, who already had a house filled with their own children and grandchildren. Together, it made for the happiest Thanksgiving Bob could remember in a long, long time.
Following dinner, he drew Jessie's younger sister, Jennifer, aside on the pretext of discussing her family medicine residency at Central Maine Medical Center. "Jen, I need your help," he said, whispering and glancing at Jessie to make sure she couldn't overhear, "I'd like order an engagement ring for your sister, but I have no idea what size. Do you know what she wears?"
Jen, nearly a carbon-copy of her sister with the exception of auburn hair instead of Jessie's blond, said, "Of course, the same as me. We've always exchanged clothes and jewelry. I wear a six -- this is so much fun! When are you going to ask her?"
"Soon. There's a jeweler in Colorado -- I visited his store last year while attending a conference -- who has a design with filigreed mountains along the sides of the ring that I'd like to get for her. Let me show you." He took out his iphone, opened Safari, and turned to the page he'd marked. "What do you think? Too modern? Not traditional enough?"
"Bob, it's perfect! Jessie will be thrilled -- she's loved Colorado ever since she spent a summer out there working at a camp near Estes Park while she was in high school. You've got to get this for her!"
"She mentioned that but I never made the connection. I called this past week and they have sixes and sevens in stock -- so, anyway, we can count on you for family medicine, right?" He changed the subject as Jessie approached.
"What's the confab, you two? You look like you're acting out a scene from Conspiracy Theory," she said, taking a seat next to Bob and pulling him close.
"Shh. We're plotting to take over the medical school," he replied, with a wicked gleam, "by loading the clinical faculty with friends and family. I'm sure Chuck would love to get his hands on psychiatry, so that makes four of us and Halley makes five." She looked at him quizzically. "Someone has to run the place, can you think of anyone better?"
She covered her mouth, laughing, and shook her head as Jen looked from one to the other, asking, "Who's Chuck?"
"Oh, he was a student of mine during his first rotation. We're becoming friends over time. He's two years behind you -- "
"-- and he's single, good looking, and," glancing at Bob for his confirmation, "distinguished," said Jessie.
"Mm, 'distinguished.' By that do you mean 'older'?"
"Older than some, younger than others," Jessie said, with a playful but tantalizing tone. She's circling the bait, she thought.
"Older like, um, Bob?" Jen persisted, giving him a deliberate and appreciative appraisal. Now she's smelling it.
"Close but not quite," he said. "Honestly, I never asked his age, if you can believe it. I guess it's something guys don't think about. I'd say he's a few years younger than me." Then he added, "He did ask me if, uh, Jessie had a sister..." He ducked his head sheepishly and blushed.
"I see," she said, straightening in her chair and squaring her shoulders as though she was an elementary school teacher preparing to scold a misbehaving student. "Well. If he's anything like you, it sounds like you'd better tell him she does and she's interested." Aha! I've got you now!
"I don't know how much he and I are alike, but we are becoming friends, like I said, and I already did, the first part, that is."
"Then will somebody please tell him the second part while he's still interested!" she said, exaggerating for effect.
"Why, certainly," said Jessie, assuming a prim and proper demeanor, also for effect, "I'll get right on it. Now, what were you two really talking about?"
This time Jen came to the rescue. "Christmas presents, if you must know, now drop it before Santa puts you on the Naughty List!"
(Creative Commons image by alvy via Flickr)
After-hours coffee and Danish from the Nook and Cranny had the earmarks of becoming a ritual between friends. Despite his pediatrics rotation having been complete around mid-September, Chuck continued drop by Bob's office throughout the first of his two required six-week internal medicine rotations and now an elective two weeks in radiology. On the other side of four more in OB/GYN lay psychiatry, at last. What he didn't expect was the residual effect of his initial month with Bob, Jessie, and the twins on his future.
"I keep thinking about that child-adolescent fellowship and it's all your fault," he said, hanging his head and faking misery.
"I've been blamed for a lot of things," Bob replied, ruefully, "including a baby when I was seventeen that I had absolutely nothing to do with -- and couldn't have even if I'd wanted to because I was on a Scouting trip during conception -- but this is a new one. Tell me."
They were sitting in Bob's office with their feet propped up on opposite sides of a massive roll top desk he'd inherited ten years ago from his pediatrics instructor who, at 80, decided it was a good time to retire and sail around the world. He made it, by the way, and now, he and his wife were trekking in Nepal, in celebration of his 90th birthday.
"Well, I thought I had everything planned out. Adult psychiatry was my bailiwick. Sure, I loved kids, just like you, but I enjoyed psychotherapy so much it was hard to see myself in another role. Then you came along -- and Jessie -- and the twins -- and the next thing you know, I couldn't get enough of pediatrics. Especially the kids with ADHD and parents who're going nuts trying to cope, the occasional bipolar disorder we've seen, and the substance-abusing teens. And frankly, I miss them. I feel like saying, along with the prophet Isaiah, 'Woe is me, for I am undone.'"
Bob pursed his lips and nodded, as though he had anticipated the news. "I had a feeling we were going to be a bad influence. It's even worse when the kids like you, and clearly, they do -- that's a trap waiting to be set. Top it off, when you can get teenagers talking -- well, all I can say is, you are in way wicked trouble, my friend." He broke into an appreciative smile.
"Looks like it. I don't know all the details yet, but I've got plenty of time -- see? You can't get rid of me, can you? Now, about the dream you mentioned a couple of days ago in passing, the one you had on the way home from Concord --"
"-- yeah, what did you think of that?" Bob asked, interrupting.
"It was a good one, especially coming on the heals of meeting Jessie's father."
"You're saying a dream's timing is as important as its content?"
"From the perspective of interpretation, yes. Dreams are one thing, the way we view them afterward, is another. My impression is, this one is suggesting you have your own rhythm. Kind of like Thoreau's comment, 'If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it's because he hears a different drummer.' In your dream, the bass drum was a stethoscope -- you're maintaining the 'beat' of the music all right, but in your way. Timing enters the picture because, from what you've told me about Jessie's dad, it sounds like he's inclined to do similarly. It's probably another one of the benefits of you being older, allowing the two of you to establish a more mature connection."
"I agree, but that didn't make it any easier. Sure, we were more likely to develop a peer-type relationship than would have been possible if I was nearer Jessie's age, but he's still her father and truthfully? I felt like I was 22 once again, sweaty palms included. I guess none of us are as 'together' as we'd like to believe."
"That holds true for me, I'll tell you. One thing you can definitely count on is your relationship with her father making life a great deal easier for Jessie."
Bob was in mid-bite on his Danish. He stopped, put it down, and said, "I would assume that's a 'given.'"
"It is, but there's more. It tells her she doesn't have to love one of you at the expense of the other. It gives her a deep, abiding sense of security about two of the most important relationships a woman can have with men. And a woman like Jessie, who clearly wants someone with more maturity than a guy closer to her own age might possess, has the unspoken expectation that whoever she brings home, should be someone her father can respect as well as one who respects him. You already know this, but she's really an extraordinary woman -- I hope I get half as lucky." With a gleam in his eye he added, "Wait a minute. Didn't you tell me she has a sister? Anyhow, looks to me like you hit this one out of the ballpark. When are you going to pop the question?"
Bob laughed, "One at a time. First, yes I did and she's available, but I think it would look better if Jessie played matchmaker. A professor setting up a date might appear as unfair advantage. As to the second, I haven't quite decided, but I'm thinking around Christmas. It's our favorite time of year and even a romantic moron like me can pick the right place. I need to find a ring and I haven't figured out how to get her size without coming out and asking. I could do that, I suppose, but then the cat would be out of the bag and I'd like this to be a surprise. Not that we haven't talked or at least alluded to it. I just want very badly for her to have the 'fairy tale,' you know?"
"Yes, I do, and she'll love you for it."
(Creative Commons image by Allie's Dad via Flickr)
"Have you forgotten, this is like, you know, the 21st century, for Chrysler's sake?" asked Jessie's roommate, a "broad-beamed and buxom babe," as she called herself, from North Carolina. A true "Southern Belle," she was careful of her language; using "Chrysler" in vain was as close as she ever came to profanity.
"I know the date as well as where we are and who I am," Jessie responded, "and I don't need to reenact the sexual revolution in order to feel like a woman. Bob will ask when he's ready."
"And if he doesn't?"
"If he doesn't, then my name is Josephine, his is Napoleon, and you can forget about this being the 21st century. He'll ask. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he's going to and when he does, I'll say 'yes.'"
"And in the meantime...?"
"In the meantime, I've got an Foundations of Doctoring practical tomorrow and a date to see The Incredibles Saturday afternoon, so shut up and let me listen to your heart."
That was six years ago. We were only talking about going out. I can imagine what she'd say to me now, Jessie mused on the drive home from Concord, ask him about the conversation with your father. Did he approve or didn't he? It was early evening and Bob was dozing in the passenger seat while she took a turn at the wheel. She liked the Escape's audio system and found an alternative rock station on Sirius playing the instrumental version of Linkin Park's The New Divide. The difference between Jessie and her roommate was, Jessie insisted relational freedom was reciprocal. When he's ready, he'll tell me.
"If I had it to do over, I'd be their drummer."
"I thought you were asleep." She glanced at him briefly.
"I was, and dreaming about playing with Linkin Park. We were in concert at Madison Square Garden and instead of a bass drum, I had a giant stethescope that snaked around the stage with the diaphragm for a drum head."
"Sounds like the 'rhythm of medicine,'" she said, smiling at the image. "What do you think it means?"
"I should ask Chuck next week. I suppose it has something to do with being creative about life or putting things together in new ways." He lowered the seat back and stretched his long frame, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and changed the subject. "Your father is quite a guy."
"That's what he said about you, just as we were leaving. He really likes you -- so does everyone else."
"I enjoyed them all tremendously," he said, "they're warm and friendly. It was like spending an afternoon with my cousins out West. I especially liked how your father is unafraid to voice his doubts about what he believes -- it came up in our conversation on the porch. I didn't ask, it didn't seem polite, but how did he ever manage to become a deacon? I'd have assumed one would have to toe the party line for that sort of thing and he strikes me as someone who makes up his own rules."
"He does and he doesn't," she said. "He believes in the core principles -- you'll have to ask him what he means by that -- but everything else is up for grabs, as he puts it. He says faith is a living thing and has to be worked out continuously in the sweat and stress of daily life. If we'd pay closer attention, he says, we'd hear the voice of God in each other, but mostly we're too busy looking for burning bushes to notice."
"I like that," Bob said, thoughtfully. "And you're right, he still loves your mother."
"He told you?"
"In so many words. He said whatever she found lovable about him, it's something he tries to live up to, even now. It was the way he said it, almost reverently. I think 'true love' for him has religious significance. He used the term 'sacramental,' and while I didn't entirely follow him, I have an idea he means it's transcendent, rather like we were talking the other night. He said it changed him and I know it's changing me."
She looked over at him in the darkness of the November new moon and thought, If I live to be 100, Bob Z., I'll never cease to be surprised by you. When she turned back toward the road, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and gently kneaded the muscles at the base of her neck. She sighed and said, "Me, too."
(Creative Commons image by tortipede via Flickr)
The Livingstone House, as the parishioners of Grace Episcopal Church fondly referred to it, wasn't exactly in Concord, though its mailing address claimed otherwise. About a mile outside the town limits, Bob swung his Escape onto a country lane lined on both sides with white flat-board fences declaring the acreage within to be horse pasture. At alternating intervals, first right then left, between the fence posts, were rows of not quite leafless maple, chestnut, and birch trees, creating a scene that would have made Norman Rockwell envious.
It was the first weekend in November and the previous month's Halloween was one he and Jessie would retell until their children knew it by heart. The two of them, along with Halley and Ted, dressed up like Harry Potter characters -- Bob as Ron, Jessie as Hermione, Halley was Delores Umbridge, and Ted made a very passable Rubeus Hagrid. They took the twins, each wearing a miniature peaked black witch's hat, trick or treating, and passed out candy to the children they met. Halley enshrouded the baby carriage built for two with black satin, like a hearse, and they took turns at the helm. If it takes a village to raise a child, as Hillary Clinton said, the twins were well on their way.
The lane curved deeply into a stream-fed, thickly wooded glen, and they drove through a small but classic New England covered bridge. Another bend to the right, a quick one to the left, and if they weren't careful, they'd have overshot the driveway marked by orange reflectors and a large, white wooden mailbox decorated with painted yellow daisies and the name "Livingstone" on the side in dark blue script. The reflectors were the small, round variety perched on twisted metal stems extending from ground level, informing nighttime drivers of the existence of an entry onto the lane. There were no street lamps this far into the country.
Bob parked next to a dual-axle Chevy truck with the words, "Southern New Hampshire Large Animal Clinic" lettered on the door with a phone number. "My brother's," said Jessie, as she held her door open for Sam. He bounded out and ran to join a game of frisbee between father, daughter, daughter-in-law, son, and two grandchildren. "Johnny -- we call him that to distinguish him and my dad -- Johnny married Julie, his high school sweetheart," she explained, "and the kids came along while they were in college. They're eight and ten. Julie's the clinic office manager, bookkeeper, and sometime vet tech." Recalling his difficulty remembering names, she winked and said. "Don't worry, we're easy to remember -- think 'J' and you'll feel like you're back in medical school."
Moments later, they were surrounded by her family and a flurry of hugs and handshakes ensued, welcoming Bob as though he was a long, lost cousin. "Thank God Jessie had the good sense to find someone who's name begins with something besides a J," her father said. "We need some variety in this family!"
"Well, I could go by my middle," Bob said, smiling, "James." They laughed at the synchronicity while John herded the group into the house and stood, holding the front door. Bob was about to enter last when John laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "I hope we'll have time for a chat later on, just you and me."
"Yes, sir, I'd like that very much."
"Sir. Did you hear that Jessie?" he shouted, "Bob called me 'sir.' Looks like I'm finally going to get the respect around here I so richly deserve!" He adopted a regal stance, hands on his hips, and gazing about as if surveying his kingdom. The household erupted into laughter as he turned to Bob and said, "I appreciate the compliment, but the truth is, too many 'sirs' and I start looking around to see if my father's risen from the grave." He rolled his eyes for emphasis.
Lunch at the Livingstone House was loud and lively, drowning out the Opus 3 Handel Concerti Grossi playing in the background. Jessie leaned over and whispered, "Don't be afraid to reach for something or to interrupt. Even when my mother was alive, formality at dinner meant you used a napkin instead of your sleeve. Which we all did, but you know what I mean."
"Do you come from a large family, Bob?" asked Johnny. "More gravy?"
"No, I'm afraid, I don't -- yes, thanks -- I'm an only child, but my parents and I were close and I had lots of friends growing up, so I wasn't lonely."
"Me too," said Julie, "Would someone pass the salad, please? When Johnny and I married, I suddenly found I had 'sisters' and it's been wonderful."
It continued like that for a couple of hours, Bob's impression being, these people genuinely like each other. After the birthday cake had been cut and eaten and presents opened, the two kids insisted on more frisbee and were joined by everyone except Bob and John, both of whom settled into wicker chairs on the front porch.
"If I had cigars, I'd offer you one, but since I don't and never smoked them anyway, I guess it's a moot point," John said, with a twinkle. "So, you want to marry my oldest daughter."
"You don't waste any time, do you?" asked Bob, at which the eldest of the two chuckled. "Well, I won't either, but pardon me if I use the word 'sir.' This is one time I feel like I ought to, and yes, sir, I do."
"Don't worry about it. It's never easy talking to the 'father of the bride.' I practically wet my trousers when I asked for her mother's hand. You're doing a little better than that, I presume?"
"My hands are sweating, how's that?"
"It's good -- don't laugh, I'm serious," he said, "Well, not entirely, but if a fellow wasn't nervous, I'd think there was something wrong, and I am serious about that. No matter how well we knew each other, if he wasn't scared to death I might withhold my approval, I'd wonder if he really loved my daughter."
"You don't have to be concerned about that, not today at least," Bob said, wiping his hands on his pants. "It isn't that I'm afraid Jessie would refuse to marry me without your blessing, it's because she's so important to me that I want us to have the support of her family and, especially, you."
"I can appreciate that," said John.
"I realize I'm incredibly fortunate. Jessie is the most...I don't know how to say it without sounding like I'm putting her on a pedestal, which I'm not. She's amazing. I've never known anyone who was so natural, unselfconscious, kind and generous with herself, and yet, incredibly daring at the same time. I've often thought, if I could only be more like her --"
"-- I felt the same about her mother. She was reasonable when I was hard-headed, thoughtful when I couldn't care less -- and she was daring, too, probably where Jessie gets it. I thought marrying me was risky, but not her. She saw something in me worth loving and it made me want to live up to whatever that was." He paused and said, quietly, "I still try to do that."
Bob noticed the change and hesitated a respectful few seconds before continuing. "I fell in love with your daughter before I even knew it. I'm sure she's told you why I waited before saying anything." John nodded. "She's always mattered more to me than I did to myself and I don't think I've ever felt quite that way before. I thought I did, I said I did, and I meant it. But with her," he sighed and shook his head, "everything is...different. I'm probably not explaining this well and I'm not sure I can. It's as though the person I used to be has been washed away and she's getting me completely new and untarnished."
John looked down at his lap and was quiet. "You're talking about baptism, whether you realize it or not. Baptism is a sacrament, an outward symbol of an inward grace. Am I losing you? Sorry, let me try again. Your relationship with Jessie is taking you into uncharted territory and you're being changed for the better because of it. What you're describing isn't a metaphor; it's real."
He waited before going on. "If you were coming to me for premarital counseling, I'd say you've found the one you were meant to find." He leaned forward in his chair and said, "Listen, there are women a man can marry and have things work out fine. But when he finds 'the one,' it's much more than that. She makes him feel like his whole life, up to meeting her, has been, for want of a better word, preparation. It's as though he's been getting ready for her, and now the stage is set for his real life, the one for which he was born, to begin. And it's the same with her. How that's going to unfold, depends on them. There are no road maps. We discover it as we go."
It was Bob's turn to be silent and he was for a long minute. "You keep using the term, 'meant.' Do you think it was fate that brought us together?"
"Well, fate, the will of God, the benevolence of the universe, I don't know. Jessie probably told you I have more than my share of doubts about the things I believe. All I know with certainty is what I've experienced, and on that basis, I think it's safe to say some relationships -- like the one I had with her mother -- are so unique, so distinct, it takes more faith than I have to presume they resulted merely from the luck of the draw. Remember your Shakespeare? 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreampt of in your philosophy.' It helps to keep an open mind."
"I've said that very thing many times in other contexts," Bob said, referencing John's last statement. "And I have doubts as well, but if there is anything to what you believe, and I mean that respectfully, then loving and being loved by Jessie is the proof of it." Shifting his gaze to Jessie, who was about to leap for an awesome catch, he said simply, "She's the love of my life."
"I know," said John, following his gaze, "and you're hers. That's why you don't have to worry about my approval."
"I don't? Does that mean you...?"
"It does."
(Creative Commons image by Aelle via Flickr)
"I's sorry to disappoint you, Ladies, but ah don' know no John Denver lullabies 'r anythin' else. He is or he was, ah should say, mighty fine, but all ah know is good ole Gospel, so thas' what you gonna get. It's eye-ronic fer him to die flyin' and you two pert near doin' likewise. Maybe there's somethin' in dat, but t'ain't fer me ta figure. Tha' Lord, he knows dese kinda tings and I leave 'm in his capable hands. Meantime, les' try us some Amazin' Grace."
Of course, little did they know, the Saturday morning while Bob and Jessie were driving to New Hampshire for her father's birthday, their foster father had sung in one church choir or another, most of his life. Halley was raised attending what is called in New England, a United Baptist Church, affiliated with the American Baptist Convention. Baptist history is a like a stew made with a little bit of everything in the spice cabinet thrown in for good measure. English Baptists were the first to actually use the name, but once they got to the New World, all hell broke loose, as Bob would say. What was once a fairly unified body ended up with more branches than Medusa's head.
Ted was a Baptist, too, but as tends not to be the case in most predominantly White Baptist Churches, Halley discovered worship in a Black congregation meant hand-clapping, amen-shouting, and a minister who preached while pacing back and forth, only stopping when it was time to pray and go home. She liked faith being treated as though it was something worth getting excited about for a change and fit in nicely.
Jessie and Bob left early, having decided to take the scenic route west along route 4, the Old Portland Road, through Sanford and the Berwicks, over the state line to Concord. They had just pulled into a parking space in front of the Donut Hole Cafe in East Buxton for refills and homemade pastries, when Bob said, "I've been thinking about living space. Mine. Yours. Now the twins'. Mine wasn't a house built with a family in mind and neither was your apartment. Mine would do short-term, but honestly, I haven't felt 'at home' there for years."
She looked over at him as if pondering whether to finally tell him the truth, there really was a Santa Claus and she'd met him personally, or to keep him guessing. Finally, she said, "Let's get some coffee. I want you to see something."
A few minutes later, she directed him down a long road in the direction of Salmon Falls on the Buxton side of the Saco River. "Drive slowly," she said, "the property starts...here," indicating the corner of a cedar-rail fence line, "there, that's it." She pointed to a large white two-story Cape Cod with an attached barn at the crest of a long, well-kept grassy slope. He slowed the Escape to a stop and she said with a deep, longing sigh, "Isn't it beautiful? I've adored this place for years. I saw it the first time while taking a drive in the country the week after we met."
"Beautiful is right. Is this all there is? The house, barn, and the field we passed?"
"Oh, no, there's a total of 90 acres, most of it pasture that includes, are you ready for this? A cross-country course -- you said you wanted horses again. And there's a grandmother's cottage, two more smaller barns, and almost a mile of river bank." Her voice got higher as she became more animated. "It was built in 1779 and has four bedrooms -- three upstairs including the master, one over the barn -- a great room, a library, a huge kitchen, and three fireplaces, one of which is in the master bedroom. And it has a garden."
He gave her an amused look and said, "You missed your calling. You should have become a realtor."
"Don't get me started. I love old historic houses, but it wasn't until I saw this one that --"
" -- you knew you'd found your dream home." At the unspoken question on her face, he said, "It's your expression, describing it. You've already got your name on the mailbox." He smiled at her and asked, "I don't see a sign, is it on the market?"
"It is," she said, slowly, "but it's not inexpensive." She told him the asking price and he suggested calling Monday for an appointment to see the interior.
"You aren't concerned about the cost?"
"Not that much. I never touched my weekend salary; I put all of it away thinking someday I may want to move or fund college education for the children I didn't have. The house in Stroudwater is paid for, so it should bring a healthy sum. Off hand, I'd say there's enough to set aside money for the twins, two or three more, and still make a substantial down payment."
"And even with my student loans, together we could make the monthly." Together, she thought, that has a lovely ring to it.
"Together," he said, reflectively. "Mm, that has a nice sound to it. Maybe we should talk about that, too, sometime?"
"Oh-kay," she said, a smile slowly forming at the corners of her mouth.
(Photo by the author, copyright 2010, all rights reserved)
Although some researchers suggest the development of short-term memory begins as early as the third trimester, the twins would probably never recall the wild ride along a country road culminating in their first flight and potentially fatal first landing. Being cuddled against a chest resonating with a male baritone softly singing slightly off-key renditions of Annie's Song and Poems, Prayers, and Promises, in lieu of Brahm's lullaby, was something else again. In the weeks they'd been residents at Hotel Maine Med, the twins had begun recognizing primary caregivers, especially Mr. Baritone and a certain Ms. Soprano, who sometimes came to see them alone, though more often, with him. It was the highlight of their day.
Being removed from the comfort and familiarity of the "Hotel," probably came as a bit of a shock, but they recovered nicely. Under Halley's supervision, and recalling his rudimentary attempts at parenting their own newborns, her husband, Ted, had transformed their guest room into an acceptable semblance of a nursery, complete with cribs, mobiles, and teddy bears, a lot of teddy bears. He admitted he'd overdone it at Toys R Us, but he had a good time and, besides, "Kids need lots of teddy bears," he said.
The project itself came about when Halley, cooing in his ear as if she was making him the kind of offer the manufacturers of Cialis dream about, explained, "DHHS has gotten involved with the twins." After letting the impact of her statement as well as it's tone, sink in, she continued, "Ordinarily, foster parenting -- close your mouth, big guy, before you hyperventilate -- requires six months of training, but someone, a very well-placed someone I'm told, in the hospital hierarchy intervened and we'll be allowed to foster the twins under supervision the first six months. So, we're golden, if you're willing, that is...mm?" She punctuated her question by gently nuzzling his ear and following it with a suggestive wink. What Halley wanted, she usually got, and he was generally the happier for it. When her requests were framed like this one, he had no complaints whatsoever.
And he was happy, watching his new tenants drift off to sleep. "Ladies, you gonna love it here. Th' food's good, th' cook's pretty, and th' waitah, tha's me, he don' take no tips. Wheah you gonna find it bettah den dat? Doctahs Jessie and Bob'll be by to see you and life is gonna get real in-ter-estin' sooner'n you know." Ted was African-American but said of himself, "I'm a Black man from th' South Side of Chicago -- bein' Black was good enough in th' Hood and if folks don' think it's politically correct enough, tha's jes the way it is." He had a Master's Degree in English Literature from the University of Maine but prided himself in his ability to resort to ethnicity at will.
Ted was just out of high school when Uncle Sam decided it was time for him to do some serious growing up. He had been "in country" almost his entire tour before he and Halley were introduced one evening during the 1968 Tet Offensive, by an NVA bullet that entered his thigh along with 23 fragments of grenade shrapnel in various other places. She was working in a mobile surgical hospital and nearing the end of her first and only tour as well. They shipped out for the States together, him wearing a Purple Heart and Bronze Star, and she, his wedding ring. Their parents were upset -- it was 1968, after all, and racial tensions in America were running high. A mixed marriage between a White woman and a Black man would not be easily overlooked, but they threw caution to the wind and let love decide.
The way Halley put it to Ted, their approval as the twin's foster parents was a walk in the park. The truth was, the girls were dangerously close to being placed with strangers, reliable and trustworthy no doubt, but strangers nonetheless and Bob had very much hoped to keep things "in the family." Jessie got wind of their pending discharge first and sent Bob a page with the numbers 911 appended to it, which meant, drop everything and call me now.
He, in turn, once he'd gotten the 411 from Jessie, immediately paged the medical chief of staff and she arranged a STAT meeting between the two of them and the hospital CEO. After detailing Bob's plan to adopt, they reminded him of the generous public attention the hospital had received since the whole affair began. Local television stations covered the story, photos taken by the PR director regularly appeared in The Portland Press Herald, and even Barbara Bush, "W's" mother, had dropped by and had her picture taken with Bob, Jessie, and the twins -- as well as the CEO -- during a recent visit to the Barbara Bush Children's Hospital. A framed and autographed copy was sitting prominently on the his desk.
For his part, the CEO wasted no time in contacting DHHS; the results of the conversation were not especially satisfying. However, his next call to Kennebunkport, followed by Barbara's to Maine's Governor Baldacci, and then his to the Director of the Department of Health and Human Services, was, for some odd reason, more productive, and Halley and Ted received prompt approval. In addition, the adoption process, they were assured, while it must follow certain protocols, would go smoothly with absolutely no delays.
That same evening, following the twins' arrival at their new digs, Jessie and Bob came over to see them. "The way you looked at me, Bob, when ah took the girls from you, ah thought I's a goner," Ted said, joking.
"He's just a protective daddy-to-be," said Jessie, who was sitting in the rocker with one twin, and smiling affectionately at Bob, who was holding the other.
"Well, tha's all well an' good, cuz gals as purty as these two are gonna need lots o' protection when they hit sweet 16."
"And that's why he's got me," Jessie said, "to make sure the shotgun stays locked in the closet when boys come over!"
Bob smiled and said nothing, prompting Jessie to ask, "What is it, honey?"
"Oh, I was thinking about Barbara -- Barbara Bush to the rescue. She didn't have to go to bat for us, but she did and then insisted we send photos at Christmastime. She's quite a woman. I'm really touched."
"I feel the same way, but I've got a feeling something else is on your mind."
He was quiet for a second or two and said, ducking the teddy bear she playfully threw at his head, "Well...if only she was a Democrat."
(Creative Commons image by esther1616 via Flickr)
"The days are all blurring into one..."
"You got that right, Jake," Bob said wearily, addressing the character Jake Sully, in the DVD of Avatar Jessie and he were watching. "Whoever coined the phrase 'Friday night, date night,' was obviously not a doctor."
"No, they weren't, but I'm not complaining" Jessie said, "I couldn't do this in a theater." She snuggled closer to him, draping her right leg over both of his.
He slid his arm around her and said, wryly, "Not unless you want to get arrested."
They were sitting -- lounging is more accurate -- on his over-sized chair-for-two with their legs stretched onto the matching ottoman. The past two weeks, since his conversation about adoption with Chuck, Bob and Jessie had been so busy, their contact was limited to text messages saying, "I love you," and sleepy, late night phone calls. They'd been able to grab a couple of quick lunches together, in her office or his, and on a couple of occasions, one seeing the other passing in the hall, they'd slip into a vacant room, like two teenagers, for a quick kiss and hug. First one would leave and a few seconds later, the other.
That morning, Jessie arrived at the hospital and found a mixed bouquet of flowers leaning against her office door with a note that read, "Pizza and a movie, my place, 8 pm tonight? xoxo, B." She responded with a text, "C U then. xoxo." To an outsider, their courtship might have seemed less than ideal, but the reality of medicine is such that it becomes the silent partner in any relationship. Something Bob and Jessie knew going in.
"My favorite poet is Rich Berlin," Bob said, punching the pause button, leaving Jake asleep in his cinematic bunk. "He's a psychiatrist out in Lenox and we met at a conference on medical journalism a few years ago. Anyhow, he wrote this poem called 'Our Medical Marriage,' about him and his wife, and there's a line I'd like to read to you." He reached his free arm across the chair and picked up a thin paperback off the end table and opened it to a dog-eared page.
'One hushed June evening in mid-life
scented rose and thick with fireflies,
the phone steals her.
I sit with my half-filled glass
and the life we knew we were choosing,
our marriage a joining of two strains
of mint, planted close, cross-pollinated
to form a single type, the small, unfailing
flowers arrayed in purple spikes
I can see most clearly
when I'm down on my knees.'
"Mm," she whispered, "I love that. Especially the line about two strains, cross-pollinated to form a single type."
"Me, too, and also the evidence of it, the small flowers, that he's able to see best when on his knees. I assume he's referring to his garden -- I've never asked him about it, I should -- but I'd also like to think it refers to a sense of humility he feels in the presence of their marriage. It's the kind of thing I feel when I think about us."
She laid her chin on his shoulder and said, "Tell me more."
"What I mean is, when I think about the way we met and all the time in between, and how you make me feel as though anything and everything is possible -- I've never been particularly religious, though my parents were -- but about you and me, I feel like I'm in the presence of something...for want of a better word, something transcendent. I'm so much in awe of you."
He'd turned his face toward her as he said this and she traced her finger around his lips before kissing them lightly. "You, sir, are utterly amazing. It is a gift, what we have, and one I never thought would feel quite like this. I'm not certain I can describe it, but it feels deeper, more 'alive' -- it makes me want to take chances and go exploring, to see what's out there beyond the boundaries of my life. And what makes it wonderful is we were both going in that direction, individually, and now we're going together."
"It's kind of like Jake, here," he said, gesturing toward the television. "he's slowly losing his connection with the person he was before he landed on Pandora and is taking on the identity of his Avatar and all that it means. Who he is on the inside is becoming a more accurate reflection of who he is on the outside. I feel like that's happening with me, and you and the twins are inescapably essential pieces of my puzzle. And you're the biggest and most important piece of all."
She smiled. "I like what's happening. To both of us. How we're finding a way that's ours. It's a good thing. You haven't brought up adoption this evening, but I want to because it's time you knew where I stand. I want my own children and if we decide we want them to be 'our children,' there is no doubt in my mind, I want that, too. But I also love the twins and I'm absolutely with you in any decision you make."
"It's a huge step, Jess. It means we're going to be a family from the outset. I hadn't planned on things developing quite like this when we first met, but they have and --"
" -- neither of us could have planned it and that's the beauty of it, sweetie. This is out of our hands, in a sense, and I like that. We're being led in directions we wouldn't have thought of and couldn't have anticipated, and as long as we're always together, it doesn't really matter to me which of those directions we take. First and always, you're who I want. The rest is frosting."
He shook his head. "I am so lucky, God, I'm so lucky."
"Yes, you are," she said, kissing his cheek, "and so am I."
(Creative Commons image by Sifu Renka via Flickr; Our Medical Marriage from How JFK Killed My Father by Richard M. Berlin, MD, Pearl Editions Publishers, copyright 2004)
