Darlene Graham - The Pull Of The Moon

Danni rolled her eyes. Would her mother never give up? Wesley Fuerborne. Danni hadn’t seen him since college. Their relationship had seemed to please all of Tulsa society—everybody but Danni. What was it about Wesley? Well, for one thing the sex had been terrible. Awkward and juvenile. Had that been her fault or his? Didn’t matter. It certainly hadn’t been good enough to offset Danni’s irrational fear of becoming pregnant every time their relationship had gotten physical, despite the precautions she’d insisted on.

Her mother’s voice was going on brightly. “Such a nice young man. He wants to see you while he’s here, and I was thinking maybe you two could join me for the Tulsa Performing Arts Gala.”

Pearl and Smoky had positioned themselves on their haunches at Danni’s feet, staring expectantly upward. She tossed them each a chunk of cheese and said, “Go lie down!” in a stern voice that the dogs ignored.

“Call me soon, sweetheart. We’ll drop by tomorrow.” Beep.

Danni rolled her eyes again and focused on the food. She passed on the sensible tuna-and-pasta salad, and grabbed a grilled pork chop. She stood at the kitchen island and devoured it without benefit of silverware as she stared out at her moonlit backyard.

That moon.

Silent. Waiting. Calling.

How far the moon was from Earth, yet how intimately close it felt. How compelling. And how she hated the haunting sight of it.

Danni wasn’t even aware of her movements as she wandered around the island and dropped onto the leather couch facing the southern windows. She keeled to her side and lay there, watching the moon float high over the trees.

She was so, so tired.

She wanted to sleep, not visit her old, sad memories; not think about all that she had seen tonight. “Sometimes I hate this job,” she murmured to the moon, and closed her eyes, willing that last scene at the hospital—especially that one—away.

The things a doctor saw—birth and death and everything in between—were frequently heartrending, but sometimes they actually marked your soul. That was the risk.

By three o’clock this morning, Labor and Delivery had slowed down enough for Danni to dash out to Postpartum to check on the burn victim. The patient was stable, Carol had called in the social worker and the chaplain to counsel and console, and there had been little else they could do. But Danni had wanted to make sure the woman’s sedatives were working. As she’d approached the patient’s door she’d heard her, quietly sobbing.

Danni turned to go back to the nurses’ station to get more sedative when she heard the firefighter’s deep voice. “I’ll stay here as long as you need me.”

Danni frowned and crept back to the doorjamb and looked in. He was standing by the mother’s bed, holding her hand, with his back to Danni. He had put his fire pants back on under the hospital gown, and now wore paper hospital shoes.

“I’m so afraid,” Danni heard the mother say.

“They’re doing everything they can. You just have to be strong,” his deep voice answered.

The mother broke into fresh sobs and Danni watched him bend forward and wrap his uninjured arm around her in a protective hug, causing the hospital gown to gape open, exposing his tanned back.

“Th-thank you for saving my babies!” the woman sobbed, and clung to his bare skin.

“I only wish I could have gotten them out sooner, ma’am.” Danni heard a tightness in his voice. Was he crying? She turned to go, thinking she shouldn’t eavesdrop, when something the mother said stopped her.

“Do you pray?” the woman asked.

For some reason Danni wanted to know. Did he?

He straightened and took the mother’s hand again. “Yes, ma’am. I started praying about four years ago. It helps a lot.”

“Would you pray for my babies?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He got down on one knee, and still holding the mother’s hand, began to pray so quietly, so reverently, that Danni had to strain to hear the words.

“Lord, we’re coming to you now to ask you to help this mother and her babies. We ask only that—”

He stopped as if he had to consider what, exactly, to ask in these dire circumstances. Danni leaned forward.

“We ask that you take the babies into your care. We’re turning them over to you, Lord. We trust in you and your will. Please give this mother the strength she needs... And give her peace. Amen.”

Danni backed away from the door and went down the hall to get the sedatives, knowing that she could not match what this fireman had offered through his presence and his prayers.

Now, the memory of that scene caused tears to spring into Danni’s eyes as she lay on her couch.

That poor, poor woman, Danni thought. She’d needed Matthew Creed’s company and support tonight. Danni hoped there were people in the woman’s life who would give her the strength she was going to need. We all need people, Danni thought, suddenly feeling more lonely than she ever had in her life.

She burrowed her cheek against the couch and allowed a single tear to slide onto the soft leather. “Why can’t I find someone?” she whispered to the moon’s mocking face. But the moon, so silent, had no answer.

Carol had guessed right, at least partially. Danni had been running scared for most of her life—running from what had happened to Lisa. Now that Danni had made it as a doctor, there was nowhere else to go, nothing else to distract her from the emptiness of her personal life; from that old, old pain that she thought she’d successfully sealed off so many years ago.

“Oh, sissy, I’m so scared,” she whispered. Now—in her own home—she should be able to cry, if she wanted to; to sob and scream and break things, if she wanted to. But she’d trained herself for so long to hold her emotions in. She squeezed her eyes shut and, before long, sank into a bottomless sleep, where from deep recesses, disturbing dreams surfaced.

Not the usual dreams of Lisa, still alive.

These were feverish dreams. Dreams of a strong man, carrying her through flames, laying her under a cool moon, making fierce love to her, over and over. Dreams in which her longing and her pain and her loneliness at last melted away.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE SMELL OF HAM FRYING and the glaring intrusion of sunlight woke Danni. The pillow under her head and the woven throw tucked around her meant that Jackie was home, up to her usual ministrations.

Danni had originally hired nineteen-year-old Jackie Smith to work as a medical assistant, but had quickly noticed that Jackie had a habit of cleaning and straightening the office without being told. The hefty girl also regularly brought in wonderful homemade goodies for the staff to munch on. When Jackie had ended up needing a place to hide from her abusive, alcoholic man, Danni had asked if she’d like to move in with her in return for housekeeping duties.

Upstairs, a vacuum cleaner started, then abruptly stopped. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps galloping down the stairs, and Jackie’s voice—“Shit!”—followed by the sound of a spatula frantically working to save the ham.

“Trying to do three things at once again?” Danni mumbled from the couch.

“Doc!” Jackie whirled around from her cooking. “You’re awake!”

Danni sat up, looked over the back of the couch, and stretched. “Unfortunately. What time is it?”

“Eight o’clock.”

Danni cut short a yawn. “Shoot! What have I got at the office?”

“Nothin’. It’s Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Had she lost an entire day in the full-moon craziness at the hospital? “Then, where were you last night?”

“My night class, remember?”

“Oh, yeah. How’s that going?” .

“Great! I love accounting. Doc, I just can’t thank you enough for paying my tuition.”