Radclyffe - Love On Call

“Don’t tell anyone what I told you just now.”

Glenn stared back out to the road. Knowing someone, really knowing them, wasn’t always measured by a calendar or a clock—knowing was sometimes the recognition of shared pain or joy, the communion of spirit from struggling together, the connection born of similar experiences. She hadn’t been rejected by her family, but she knew what it was like to be without one. She had faced her own death countless times, not from disease but an enemy just as invisible and just as merciless. She had sealed away her pain and respected the walls Mari had built. “You don’t know me well enough to know that I wouldn’t do that.”

“I think I do, really, or I wouldn’t have been in a position to need to tell you. I wanted to tell you.” Mari leaned closer, touched Glenn’s bare forearm. “I needed to ask because I’ve kept the secret so long I feel exposed somehow.”

“You’re not. You’re safe. I won’t say anything.” Glenn let out a slow breath and looked at Mari, who sat half turned in the front seat, facing her. “Harper and Flann would understand more than you realize.”

Mari frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Their younger sister Kate died of fulminant leukemia. She was eleven or so, I think.”

“Oh God, that’s horrible,” Mari whispered. “I hated seeing all the children when I was getting treated.”

Glenn reached her hand. “Lots and lots make it.”

“I know,” Mari murmured, her fingers unconsciously twining with Glenn’s. “I kept telling myself that every time I looked at them.”

“And you made it,” Glenn said, gently disengaging her fingers. Mari’s hand was warm, soft. She would have been happy to keep holding it, but Mari probably wouldn’t be pleased when she realized what she’d done. She’d just asked for distance, after all. “Will you do me a favor?”

“Yes,” Mari said, not qualifying, instantly agreeing.

“Will you tell me if there’s a problem, any kind of problem?”

“Why?” Mari asked.

“If I know that you’ll tell me if you need your shifts adjusted—more time off between cycles or whatever—or if there’s a medical problem, I’m not going to be constantly wondering.” Glenn smiled, felt the cold brittleness of her own lips stretched thin. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m always watching, waiting for something bad to happen.”

“I like that you care,” Mari said, “but that’s exactly why I don’t want anything—anything beyond friendship—with anyone. I don’t want anyone to be watching and waiting. Something like that sucks all the joy out of life.”

“I’ll do my best not to do that,” Glenn said.

“I know you will, and I appreciate it.”

“You haven’t actually answered my question. Will you tell me if there’s a problem?”

“I promise I’ll let you know if I’m having a problem at work or if there’s a change in my condition that is going to affect my job.”

“Thanks.” Glenn didn’t miss the careful wording and the neat way Mari had sidestepped saying she’d let her know if her transplant failed, but she couldn’t ask for more, couldn’t ask for any confidence that went beyond their professional relationship. Mari had made herself very clear on the limits of anything personal between them. Nothing would stop her from being on guard. She couldn’t change the way she was made any more than she could change Mari’s desire to be independent, to avoid ties. But she could honor Mari’s request, could keep the distance Mari wanted. She’d already put up the walls. She was only surprised at how much she had wanted to breach them for Mari.

*

Carrie jogged over to the Jeep when Glenn pulled into a place in the second row of a line of pickup trucks and SUVs. Usually she parked right behind the backstop to unload the gear, but she was later than usual after their quick stop for a burger. Dinner had been quick and mostly quiet—they hadn’t mentioned their previous conversation, but she kept thinking there was more she should have said, wanted to say. She just wasn’t sure what, or why.

“I was wondering where you were,” Carrie called, opening the rear compartment as Glenn climbed out of the driver’s side. “Let me give you a hand with everything.”

“Sure,” Glenn said abruptly and caught Carrie giving her a look.

Carrie grinned as Mari joined them. “Hi. How’s it going?”

“Great,” Mari said, wondering if it counted as a lie to keep one’s personal business private. She hated feeling as if she’d lied to Glenn, even though she had every right to keep her medical condition to herself unless there was some reason other people needed to know. All the same, she’d shared some pretty important personal things with Glenn while deliberately hiding the biggest one of all. Glenn must be angry or at least feel a little manipulated somehow, but Mari couldn’t read anything beneath her usual calm, cool exterior. They’d shared a meal and made casual conversation, but the distance across the table had seemed enormous. She hadn’t known how to close that distance, and maybe she didn’t deserve to. She’d put the walls there, and as hard as they were to accept, she needed them. She preferred anger to pity, reserve to suffocating kindness. And she would not be selfish enough to take more than she could give, and she might not have anything at all to offer. She jumped when fingers closed around her wrist.

“Come on,” Carrie said. “I’ll take you over to the bleachers. Abby and Presley are there. You can sit with them, and they can fill you in on all the players.”

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude. I can find a seat somewhere.”

“Hey, no way. You’re my cuz, remember? I want you to meet my friends. You’ll love them.”

“Well, I know Abby a little,” Mari said a bit helplessly. She glanced over her shoulder as Carrie resolutely tugged her away from the Jeep. Glenn looked after them, her eyes shadowed. Mari called, “Good luck tonight.”

“Thanks.” Glenn hefted a duffel with bats sticking out one end and turned toward the field.

Looking after her, Mari hesitated.

“Something wrong?” Carrie asked.

“What? No,” Mari said quickly. “No, everything is fine.”

“Super. Should be a great game.”

Surrendering to Carrie’s enthusiastic tug on her arm, Mari followed her through the scattering of people who mingled around a double set of bleachers off to the left of the big tall fence—what did they call that, the batter’s cage? Players were already on the field, tossing the ball back and forth, and someone was hitting another one into the outfield. She’d seen baseball games fleetingly on television and in the lounge at the hospital, but never paid any attention to them beyond the basics that every American grew up knowing. The sports channel wasn’t on her list of favorites, and when the ER staff was glued to the TV in the break room during the World Series, she was discreetly reading a book on her phone.

“So how’s everything going in the ER?” Carrie asked when they reached the stands. She leaned against the railing, not seeming in any hurry to get out onto the field.

“Great,” Mari lied for the second time in less than half an hour. She gestured to the field. “Don’t you have to go?”

“In a minute or so.” Carrie grinned. “I’m the pitcher. I just need to warm up a little.”

“Ah, special privileges.”

“That’s it—think of me as the surgeon on the team. Nothing important happens without me.”

Mari couldn’t help herself, she laughed. Carrie had a way of lifting her spirits despite her lingering melancholy. “Do the rest of them know that?”

“Oh, they like to pretend otherwise but we all know the truth.” Carrie’s mischievous grin made it impossible to take her seriously. “So where are you living?”