Dickens and Me

I am having trouble sending CHAPTER TWO to my blog from my documents. Please be patient while I try again.

CHAPTER TWO
(copyright Anita Birt)

Caroline thrust the card into her skirt pocket and struggled to catch her breath. For seconds her heart skipped into fluttery palpitations.
She would not have a panic attack because Greg Fraser had walked into her office. Seeing him had shattered her peaceful morning routine. With an effort she filled her lungs with air to steady her breathing.
Why had she let him get under her skin? He meant nothing to her now. Nothing. In a couple of hours the emotional firestorm he'd stirred up would burn itself out.
Her mouth dried. She'd heard he was working permanently in Africa and never expected their paths to cross. What had brought him home? Health problems? He hadn't mentioned any.
Upset at having him in her office she'd reacted badly, cut him off in mid sentence. Had not tried to listen. He deserved better than that. Sort of.
She had risked returning to her hometown after practicing in northern Ontario communities. The offer to join the clinic was too tempting to refuse. She needed the money to pay off her student loans. The Markbridge area with its rolling hills and quiet country roads was familiar and the climate agreeable. She would not let him spoil it.
He stepped aside for her to leave the office. As she hurried along the hall she felt his eyes burning into her back. He'd hardly changed since high school. Handsome as ever, with the same arrogant way of carrying himself, as if the world were his oyster and pearls his rightful due. He assumed all he had to do was ask an overworked physician pointless questions and she'd fall on her knees to accommodate him.
The way he had placed his hands on Betty's desk asking for water was mildly flirtatious. Betty would have loved it. At fifty-eight, a white-haired grandmother, she'd have soaked up the attention and gone for a pitcher of water to please him.
Not for a minute had he connected Dr. C. K. Balfour with Kate Southern. Had she changed that much?
She'd lost weight after graduating from high school and never gained it back. Her hair was different. Gone was the long braid. Gone the mousy brown color. She had a sleek short cut professionally streaked to bring out lurking auburn tints.
Even the memory of her disastrous foray into marriage during her lonely second year at university no longer troubled her. It had taught her a second bitter lesson about commitment. Andy Balfour wanted out of the marriage within six months. After the divorce she'd kept his name. Her family name had too much baggage attached to it.
Caroline sucked in more air to calm her jangled nerves. Greg's unexpected appearance had thrust her into the past. A past she'd tried hard to forget. But she hadn't. His return after thirteen years had thrown her off balance and she'd jumped on him for daring to enter her space. She could have been minimally polite.
Stopping abruptly at the entrance to the waiting room she swung around to face him. He bumped into her and Caroline lurched to the side. He grasped her arm to steady her.
"Sorry, Doctor, I hope I didn't hurt you." He released her immediately.
"I hope I didn't hurt you." The words echoed like a ghostly reminder of another time. Another place.
Caroline's knees wobbled. "My fault, you didn't expect me to stop so quickly." With an effort she made her mouth smile and glanced up at him. "I'm sorry I was rude to you."
Her eyes locked on his. A mistake. His gaze didn't waver. Pinned to a painful memory, she fought for composure and blinked away the past to concentrate on her patients. They expected a functioning doctor not a basket case.
On the far side of the waiting room Mr. and Mrs. Benson sat close together holding hands. Both in their eighties and frail, they raised hopeful eyes as Caroline walked towards them.
She wished she had better news. After discussing their situation with the clinic social worker, Caroline had no option but to gently insist he move into a nursing home. Mrs. Benson could no longer care for him. He'd taken to wandering the streets and disappearing for hours at a time, often found miles away with no idea where he was or how he got there.
Suddenly the clinic door burst open. "I'll hear no more about it, Cheryl. You can't keep the baby and that's the end of it. You're worse than useless, out all hours of the night, sleeping 'til noon, don't expect me to raise the brat. And look at you, dressed like a bag lady in that ridiculous skirt, rings in your nose and God knows where else. You'll have the abortion and that's that!"
Caroline flinched. Poor Cheryl, fifteen years old and pregnant. She could deal with the girl but didn’t look forward to another session with Mrs. Gallagher.
How could a fifteen year old cope with a baby? The question nagged at the back of Caroline's mind. Cheryl wasn't very bright and had no idea how to care for an infant.
Would she allow the baby to be adopted? She'd adamantly refused to name the father. Caroline had sent her to the lab for blood work. God help the innocent baby she carried if she were infected with HIV or other sexually transmitted diseases.
Sorrow tugged at Caroline's heart. No one said doctoring would be easy, and she had to guard against emotional involvement with young pregnant patients like Cheryl.
A brief sigh escaped her lips. Some days were better than others. This one had definitely got off to a bad start.
"Goodbye, Dr. Balfour." Greg paused by the open door. "I hope you have a good sleep tonight. You look tired."
Surprised he was still in the clinic Caroline resented his intrusion into her life. Resented his comment about her appearance. She'd apologized for being rude but that wasn't enough he had to tell her she looked tired.
"Goodbye, Mr. Fraser," and hoped she'd never see him again.
Forcing control on her wayward thoughts she vowed to forget him. She had better things to do than rake over the past.
"Come along." She spoke softly to the Bensons. "I'll see you now."
Greg glared at the wilting petunias in the window box. "She'll let you die," he muttered and stalked around the building to the parking lot. Smart ass doctor. She'd made him feel lower than a snake's belly for imposing on her time.
He slid into his car, stuck the key into the ignition, rolled down the windows and sat there.
And felt bad.
Why did he tell her she looked tired? Getting back at her? For seconds she'd stared intently at him, seemed to give her head a shake and dismissed him with a withering glance. She had dismissing down to a fine art.
Greg blew out the breath he'd been holding and suckedto in clear hot June air. The poor woman was overworked, tired and vulnerable and he'd hit her below the belt for bruising his macho pride. Dr. Balfour had a busy day ahead of her. Patients were streaming in demanding her attention. He'd held the door open for a woman carrying a tiny baby in a kind of padded basket thing with handles. A neat little rig.
He started the car and drove slowly up Maple Avenue, the town's business street. Not much had changed during his years abroad. A supermarket sprawled at the corner of Acorn and Moss. Next door to the market a sign caught his eye. Flowers for All Occasions by Alicia. That was new.
He parked at the curb. He'd send Dr. Balfour flowers. Women liked getting flowers.
Inside the cool interior of the shop Greg wondered what to send. Not flowers she had to arrange. She'd probably forget to water them.
He finally chose an arrangement of twelve perfect miniature red roses in a small glass bowl. Not too intrusive, the right size to fit on her desk.
"You'll want a card, will you not?" Alicia asked. A slight woman, extravagantly made up, her hair brightly blonde, she oozed charm. Plucking a card from a nearby rack she handed it to him. "Here's a pen."
"Thanks." Greg puzzled over the exact wording. Something simple. Nothing heartfelt. That wouldn't fit. She could have been polite even if she was tired.
Sorry if I disturbed you.
He signed his name, slipped the card into an envelope and ordered the roses delivered to Dr. Balfour at the clinic by five o'clock. He hoped they'd give her a lift.
Feeling he'd made amends he drove home. He'd have to browse the Internet for the information he wanted. Between Dr. Balfour and his sister, his day had gone straight to hell.
Not in the mood to sit at his computer, he poked around the house, stacked the dishwasher, walked the dog and sat on the garden swing nursing a cold beer. Would the doctor lady pitch his flowers into the trash or take them home?

Caroline stole a few minutes in her office before seeing the last patient. She'd had no time for lunch and had drunk too much coffee to keep her brain ticking over. Her empty stomach grumbled quietly.
Digging into one of her desk drawers she found a sealed packet of two crackers, broken but edible. She ate them, appeased the hunger pangs slightly and hurried to the waiting room.
"Dr. Balfour, there's flowers come for you. I told the fellow to put them on the desk." Will Turner quirked a bushy white eyebrow. "Got a sweetheart, have you? I thought I was the only man in your life."
Caroline grinned. Dear old Will, pushing ninety and bright as a silver dollar. "Not a hope. They're probably for Betty. I'll drop by her place on the way home."
"They're for you. The delivery man said so. Look inside the wrapping and see if there's a card. I'm a curious old cat and I'm not in a hurry. I want to know who sent them." His blue eyes twinkled. "Maybe you have a secret admirer."
"Or a grateful patient." Caroline removed the blue paper. "Miniature red roses. Aren't they pretty?"
"Don't keep me in suspense. Read the card."
Caroline slipped the card from the envelope. Greg was sorry he'd disturbed her! Sorry wouldn't cut it. Sending flowers was supposed to make everything all right. No problem.
She squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on clearing the mist dulling her brain. She had tried hard to forget the past. It was over. Finished. Why let him get to her?
"Are you okay, Doctor?"
She opened her eyes. Will pushed himself up from the chair. "Nothing bad on that card was there?"
"Nothing bad. A surprise from someone I knew a long time ago." She ripped up the card, tossed it in the waste basket and put the flowers on Betty's desk. "Time for me to have a look at you, Will. It's been three months since your last visit. How are you feeling?"
"Like a sixty year old."
Caroline smiled as they walked to her office. Will was a favorite with the staff. She did her usual checks, heart, lungs, blood pressure and pronounced him as healthy as some fifty year olds. "You are not to drive."
This was an in-joke between them. He'd turned in his driver's license on his eightieth birthday long before Caroline joined the clinic.
He used her phone to order a taxi to take him home, pecked her on the cheek and told her she looked tired.
"Get some rest. Can't have my favorite doctor falling ill."
She accompanied him to the door. "Thanks. Day after tomorrow I'm off for three whole days. I'll catch up on my sleep then."
"See that you do." He peered through the glass. "There's my taxi."
Caroline locked the clinic door after him, returned to her office and finished making notes in her files. Smothering a yawn she hoped there'd be no emergencies in the middle of the night.
She stood, stretched and walked quickly into the waiting room. She hadn't been this tired since she interned. Her eyes burned from lack of sleep.
A scent of roses drifted on the air-conditioned air.
Greg's roses.
Tempted to pitch them in the garbage she changed her mind. No point in taking out her ill humor on the flowers. There'd be space on her coffee table at home after she cleared away the stacked medical journals.
Tears suddenly welled in her eyes.
Red roses for love.
A childish dream surfaced. A dream of receiving a bouquet of red roses from a prince charming who'd declare his devotion on bended knee and ask for her hand in marriage.
Unlike Cinderella her prince hadn't materialized. She was thirty-one years old and had never received roses, red or otherwise. Why did the first roses have to come from Greg?
Get over it. Damned if she'd shed tears because he had crossed her path.
She armed the security system, locked up and left by the back door. Black bag slung over her shoulder, beeper and cell phone clipped to her belt, she balanced the bowl of roses in her left hand and headed for her car.
Day after tomorrow. She could hardly wait.
She'd sleep twelve hours straight then go out on a long bike ride to the lake and not answer any phone calls.
She had to shop for groceries tomorrow or starve and wasn't in the mood to starve. She didn't intend to waste one of her precious three days shopping for food. Tomorrow after work, she'd shop. Then she'd be free.

After a restless night Greg wakened on Saturday morning with a headache. He never had headaches but the prospect of minding a baby for two days had lowered his immune system. He'd been awake for hours with a parade of jack-booted what if's marching inside his skull.
What if the kid missed Laura and wouldn't stop crying? What if he dropped the baby? What if David was allergic to cats? Or African violets? Or dogs? What if the kid got sick? What if incompetent Uncle Greg got sick?
Sick? He never got sick. If he did, would he put himself in Dr. Balfour's tender loving care? Sure she'd been tired but she didn't have to hit the roof because he'd made a simple request. She hadn't given him a chance to discuss infants.
Between thinking about her frosty manner and the soon-to-arrive baby, Greg had the distinct impression his life had taken a turn for the worse and was sliding rapidly down hill.
What was it with Dr. Balfour? She didn't wear a wedding band. Not married, he guessed. With her attitude she'd scare off interested men. Maybe she didn't like men. He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
Why did he care who or what she liked? Truth to tell he wanted to know what lay behind that frigid exterior. Maybe a frigid interior? Not likely. He'd studied her as she approached the old couple in the reception area. Her whole demeanor had softened. She was a different person from the severe character who'd rudely dismissed him.
But her behavior was no excuse for his childish retaliation. When she was vulnerable he'd told her she looked tired. Sarcasm is the last resort of scoundrels. He'd been sarcastic and she'd picked it up.
The shocked expression on her face returned to trouble him. For seconds her eyes had widened as if he'd touched a painful nerve.
He had sent roses and apologized. If he had to take his nephew to a doctor - don't even think it. David would remain in robust health while in his uncle's care, that was a given.
Greg thought brave thoughts about babies as he shaved and showered. His weakened immune system recovered slightly as he lingered over a second mug of coffee at breakfast. Munching on a toasted bagel slathered with cream cheese he ran through a mental list of supplies required for a small baby.
Fear dimmed his brave thoughts. He had to care for a six month old infant! Bravely he sucked in his stomach and breathed deeply. It can't be that hard, can it? Women do it all the time. He supposed they were born knowing how. Men's brains weren't hard wired to deal with babies. They had to learn. A wife had to teach them.
He didn't have a wife and he didn't trust Laura's motherly teaching skills.
Greg found a yellow legal pad in a kitchen drawer and began to construct a logical step-by-step program to prepare for David's arrival.
Logic. That he understood. Babies were little human creatures with, he hoped, logical little brains.
Be consistent.
He jotted that down.
Be respectful.
Smile a lot.
Speak in pleasant tones.
Do not let David sense my insecurity.
Greg frowned over his notes. His nephew would be reasonable. How else would a six month old baby behave? What did an infant know after half a year in the real world?
They ate and slept and were taken for walks. He'd read stories to his nephew, maybe the first chapter of his novel. The kid might like a good murder mystery.
Phone book in hand he searched the yellow pages for stores that sold baby equipment. A shop in the Markbridge Mall advertised EVERYTHING YOUR BABY REQUIRES and pictured were car seats, cribs, playpens and something called a Jolly Jumper.
Greg couldn't believe babies needed so much stuff to function. He locked the house and decided to take his parents' car. The Lexus had seatbelts in the back to anchor a baby seat and a big trunk to stow his purchases.
The drive through the sunlit countryside to the Mall soothed him and he lucked into a parking space close to the baby store. The place amazed him. Pleasing babies and their parents made for a thriving business. Pregnant women, arm in arm with happy men thronged the shop.
Taken in hand by a grandmotherly clerk Greg pointed at an array of car seats. "I want one of those. Top of the line." It'd be his gift to David.
"Your first child?" she asked.
"No, he's not mine. He belongs to my sister." Greg cleared his throat and tried to look proud and confident. "I'm going to look after him for a couple of days."
"How lovely for you? How old is he? Are you used to babies?"
"Used to them? Never looked after one before but what the heck, a baby can't be any more trouble than a puppy." He chuckled, a know-it-all chuckle. "At least babies don't have to be house broken. My nephew is six months old."
The woman peered at him over her glasses. "Have you ever changed a soiled diaper?"
Greg's stomach lurched. "A soiled diaper? Don't babies use disposable diapers?" What did he know about diapers? Nothing. He'd never thought deeply about diapers.
"They use disposable diapers but you have to wipe their little bottoms and make sure you keep the skin absolutely clean or the baby might develop diaper rash."
"Diaper rash?" Greg struggled to maintain his cover as a knowledgeable uncle. "How long does it take to break out?" he asked calmly.
"If your nephew hasn't got a rash you needn't worry."
"What should I do if does?"
"Take him to your physician and have him examine the baby."
"Thanks. I'm sure David will check in with a clean bill of health." If the kid needed medical attention he'd ask for someone other than unfeeling Dr. Balfour.
The clerk handed him a car seat to inspect. "You have to bathe babies every day. I suppose you know that."
"Of course." He lied in his teeth to cover his ignorance.
Anxious to escape from further questions Greg purchased a car seat and a stroller fit for a little prince.
Laura hadn't mentioned a stroller but he had to have something to put the kid in to go for walks.
He signed his credit card for a considerable sum. Babies didn't come cheap.
Burdened by problems looming in the future Greg sauntered out to the parking lot with the car seat stuck in the stroller. How do guys feel about taking babies out in public places? How would he feel pushing David in the stroller? What if old ladies beamed at him and the baby and stopped to chat about the joys of fatherhood?
Gloom descended. He stowed his purchases in the trunk and still had shopping to do for diapers and baby food and sundries. He'd had less trouble gearing up for climbing expeditions than preparing for David's arrival.
At the pharmacy in town he wheeled a cart to Aisle Three devoted to babies. He gazed at the shelves and hadn't a clue where to start. Diapers came in different sizes and different brands. He read labels, squeezed the packages and couldn't figure out what to buy.
He couldn't go wrong if he bought two packages of every size except those for newborns. He could always take back what he didn't need once he had the kid organized.
What do six month old babies eat? He picked up one jar of baby food after another. Completely at sea he read labels and studied pictures of smiling healthy infants. He decided on pureed fruits and some vegetables. Not carrots. He hated carrots. David probably hated carrots.
Loaded with diapers, jars, and a package of baby cereal, he wheeled past shelves of baby soap, baby oil, baby powder and an ointment for diaper rash, and dropped one of each into his cart.
After paying the bill he decided he'd purchased enough food and maintenance items for David to withstand a siege and still had to shop in the supermarket next door to buy food for himself and the animals at home.
A rumble of thunder greeted him as he stowed his purchases in the trunk. A few drops of rain splattered down. He raced into the market, grabbed steaks, a bag of salad, dog and cat food, baking potatoes and chocolate chip cookies. Enough to keep him going for the week-end.
The summer sky darkened with the onset of the storm. Lightning jagged across lowering clouds. Greg shoved his groceries into the trunk and escaped the drenching rain by seconds.
Wipers going at full speed, he drove slowly up the street, and peered through the rain at a woman sheltering under a huge maple tree. She carried four plastic shopping bags bulging with groceries.
Damn fool woman, he thought, if lightning strikes the tree she'll be toast. He took a second look. Dr. Balfour? What the hell was she doing out in the rain? Didn't she have a car? Or enough sense not to stand under a tree during an electrical storm?
He pulled up to the curb and rolled down the passenger side window.
"Dr. Balfour," he yelled. "Get in. I'll drive you home."