Shirley Hailstock - Healing The Doctor's Heart

“Companion. I am not a caretaker. That’s a job I did not sign up for.”

They crossed when the light turned green and entered the park. The temperature was warm, yet pleasant, and for a while they walked without talking. Lauren was comfortable with the silence. The park was full of people. Children were playing on the vast lawn. There were tables where people sat playing board games and other places where a long curved bench ran the length of a fence. People sat there reading books or using their personal phones.

Lauren smiled as she and Jake passed by.

“It’s been a long time since I walked in the park,” she said.

Jake made a hmm noise that indicated he concurred. She wondered if he was warming up to her. The tension from the apartment seemed to have been left behind.

“Do you like parks?” she asked.

“Twenty questions again?”

“Just making conversation.” She wanted to know more about him. “I take it you’re a stick-to-the-subject type of guy.” She huffed and used her arms to take a macho stance.

He laughed.

“That’s the first time you’ve laughed since I met you.”

He immediately dropped his head and his expression reverted to a stoic mask.

She couldn’t resist. “Once it’s broken, let the pieces fall away,” she said.

“What?”

“You’ve smiled. The pieces that were holding your face in a scowl are gone.” She imitated the cross way he looked. “You’re much handsomer when you smile.”

He stopped walking and stared at her. “Don’t flirt with me.”

“Flirt?” she said, honestly surprised. “I’m not flirting with you. If I were, I’d know it and so would you.”

Tension returned between them.

After a few minutes walking in silence, Lauren slipped her arm through Jake’s left one. He jerked at first. She knew he wasn’t used to being touched. He probably thought people didn’t want to touch him. She didn’t let go, and pulled him along when he tried to stop.

“Not flirting,” she said. When he didn’t pull free of her, she decided to take another plunge. “Tell me about the accident.”

“What?”

“Too soon?” she asked.

“Are you just nosy?”

She shook her head. “I think of it as getting to know you, knowing what happened and not having any subjects that are off-limits.”

“Most people do this over time. You’re trying to learn everything in one large information dump.”

She laughed, still holding his arm. “Why wait? If there is a lot to know, getting it all at once could prevent me from stepping on your toes in the future.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Jake said.

“I’m sure you do,” she contradicted. “So why don’t we start with the arm?”

She knew he didn’t want to tell her about his accident. Maybe if she started with a lesser question, she could coax him into opening up.

“What did Cal tell you?” he said just as she was about to ask another question.

“That you were a surgeon and because of an accident a few years ago you can no longer move your right hand or arm.” That hadn’t been all Caleb had said, but Lauren wanted Jake to tell her his version.

“I was at a medical conference in France. It was made up mainly of trauma surgeons. During a break, a few of us were heading for lunch at a local restaurant. Just before we got there” He stopped talking and walking. Jake took a step away from her, their linked arms dropping in the process.

Lauren knew he was reliving the trauma. She could almost feel the lump in his throat. She wanted to give him some instructions on how to stop the memory, but she couldn’t. She’d already told him why she knew how to massage as well as she did. That was the truth, but advising him on how to calm the memories of a trauma could tip him off that she knew more about medicine than a kindergarten teacher should.

After a moment, he resumed his story. “Terrorists happened next. A car plowed into a group of people on the street and detonated a bomb. I was one of the lucky ones. The concussion wave threw me against a building. The crush of bodies pinned me there until I couldn’t breathe. When I woke, I was in a hospital. My shoulder and three ribs were broken. All have healed, except my arm.” He looked down at the immobile limb.

“And you’ve been to a lot of doctors?”

“The best in the world,” he said sardonically. “Cal saw to that, but no matter what they say, I still can’t move my arm.”

“It’s not permanently injured?”

He looked her directly in the eyes. For a second his gaze showed vulnerability. He was afraid. The air around them seemed to change. It softened just as his eyes had.

“I don’t know.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

Lauren held his gaze although she wanted to look away. I don’t know. He sounded like he could see into the future and that his arm would remain as it was today: in a sling against his shirt, without strength, mobility or usefulness.

The atmosphere turned maudlin and Lauren searched for a way to change it. She stepped closer to him and placed a hand on his arm.

“You resisted giving me a cliché when I told you about my mother,” she said. “Allow me to return the favor.”

His head dropped down a fraction.

“I won’t say your arm will be better in the future, but” She paused, knowing her next words could make the situation go either way. “It’s not the end of your world, is it?”

“I’m a surgeon .” His voice carried. Looking around, he checked to see if anyone noticed. No one paid any attention to them.

“I know you’re a surgeon and you spent a lot of years in school honing your skills but there are other things you can do.”

“Like what?”

“Teach,” she said.

“This coming from a kindergarten teacher.”

“Don’t knock it. A lot of people taught you and I’m sure you credit at least one of them with helping you become a talented surgeon .”

He said nothing, yet a perplexed expression crossed his face. Lauren went on. “You could write.”

“With one hand.”

“If necessary, but you could use a voice recognition program and hire an editor to make it readable.”

“You don’t think I can write?”

Lauren wondered if Jake was entertaining thoughts that he might do something else. His knowledge was still there. His dexterity might be impaired, but his mind was sharp. Of that she could attest.

“Most doctors can’t. All they write are prescriptions.”

“What would I write about?”

“Is that a trick question?” Lauren glared at him as if he was baiting her. Assuming that he wasn’t, she answered. “You’re a doctor. Write about medicine. Or write about your arm.”

“A journal?”

“You could start with a journal and graduate to full books. Of course, a journal is personal. Writing one might help you.”

“Do you keep a journal?”

“Not now,” she said slowly.

“But in the past?” He left the sentence hanging.

“I did once.” This time her voice was barely audible. “For a long time.”

“Why?”

“Listen, I know from where I speak.” She stopped him from delving into her life. She was his companion. He was not hers.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally said.

She heard no conviction in his voice. He was placating her. They walked on. Although his face gave nothing away, Lauren wanted him to focus on something other than his arm and the pain. She’d seen it happen in her pediatric patients. When she allowed them to play with the toys in her office and she asked them questions about what they were doing, they didn’t focus on anything that hurt. Grown-ups weren’t much different.