One Candle Burns
Author's notes:
Not much to say this time! Firt of all, I'm just gonna apologize for taking sooooo long in writing this. Secondly... well, there isn't really a secondly because I wrote this so long ago that I don't even remember what I should be saying about it. So go ahead and read it, and if it is extrememly confusing or badly written, I'm sorry!
One Candle Burns – Part 7
Deliverance
~*~*~*~
I had not taken the first step in knowledge;
I had not learned to let go with the hands,
As still I have not learned to with the heart,
And have no wish to with the heart--nor need,
That I can see. The mind--is not the heart.
I may yet live, as I know others live,
To wish in vain to let go with the mind–
Of cares, at night, to sleep; but nothing tells me
That I need learn to let go with the heart.
– An excerpt from Wild Grapes by Robert Frost
~*~*~*~
May 11th, 2000
________________________________________________________________________
The light from a fire always seems brighter in a dark room. The little candle burning obediently on the flat dresser top was no exception. Its flame, though small and timid, cut through the velvety blackness of the night, casting shadows across the woman standing over it, illuminating her pale face. It swayed with the gentle force of her breath, but never faltered, bathing both she and the child perched comfortably in her arms in a subtle, warm glow.
She could barely bring herself to look at it any more. It no longer resembled a candle, but was a lopsided mass of wax and red colouring with a crater the size of County General in it’s center. Yet, despite it’s harried state, that lovely orange-red flame still danced merrily upon the tiny stub of wick.
“What do you think, Tess?” she whispered to the baby, who’s head was resting on her shoulder. She could feel the steady rise and fall of the infant’s chest against her own, offering warmth and comfort in the early hours of the morning. She shifted the child’s weight, balancing her pajama-clad form on one hip. “Is it time to give our little friend a rest?”
The idea to blow out the candle had entered her mind more than once. It was strange to keep one candle burning for a year and a half. It was more than strange. It was impractical.
What had started as a vigil for Doug had become something different. Something more. It had given her such solace over the last year and a half. It had filled her heart with hope when she’d felt utterly empty. It had offered warmth when the house seemed so cold. It had given her strength when she thought she had none. But it had burned valiantly for long enough.
Carol knew, gazing at the pathetic mound of wax, that it wouldn’t last much longer. Even if she didn’t blow it out now, it would probably burn out in a day or two. But she wanted to do it on her own accord.
Taking a deep breath and summoning her courage, she tightened her arms around the baby and leaned down, until her mouth was only inches from the flame. But when her lips parted to release the breath that would end the life of Doug’s candle, Tess lifted her head and let out an ear-piercing scream.
Surprised, Carol stood and looked at her child. “What’s the matter, baby?”
Tess’s lower lip trembled with indignance, and she began to cry.
“Ok, alright,” she soothed, puzzled at the outburst. “Shhh, you’ll wake your sister.”
Sighing, Carol kissed the soft hair on the top of her tiny head, and left the bedroom so as not to wake Kate in the nursery.
She descended the stairs as the baby trembled in her arms. Her cries were ceasing, but she seemed unnerved.
She brought the baby into the living room, and sat in the easy chair by the mantle– where she usually brought the twins for early morning feedings. She was now so used to getting up in the middle of the night that she awoke whether the twins did or not.
“What’s gotten into you, Tess?” Carol asked softly, holding her so that the child’s tiny arms were wrapped around her neck and her head was buried in the warm hollow of skin there, her chubby fingers snagging themselves in her hair.
The little girl whimpered, and Carol sighed again. She stood up and began pacing slowly back and forth in front of the mantle. Suddenly, Tess stopped crying and lifted her small head off of Carol’s shoulder.
“What?” her voice was easy and warm, relieved that the baby had gotten over whatever had irked her. She shifted the bundle of baby from her shoulder to her hip, passing a tender hand over the child’s tear-stained face. “What do you see?”
“Baaaa.” She reached her fist out towards the mantle, almost knocking off a picture frame.
Carol grabbed the frame, taking it down from over the fireplace and bringing it close so the baby could inspect it.
“You like this picture, huh?” She smiled as Tess’s chubby fingers tapped the glass plate. “I remember when it was taken, you know. It seems like a lifetime ago. I had a different life. I was a different person. You and your sister where only a dream, then.”
She gazed at the picture whistfully, her mind floating back to a time when her life was near perfect. A time when she had been truly happy.
“Look, Tess,” Carol traced the figure in the photograph with one finger. “This is your Daddy.”
________________________________________________________________________
A gentle wave of languish always seem to pass over her when she passed the basketball net in the ambulance bay. She’d see the ratty orange hoop and hear the thump of the ball on the smooth pavement, and could almost still see him playing on the court in his blue scrub top– orange ball in his hands, dribbling rhythmically or jumping up for layout, turning his head to smile at her before sending it sailing through the net.
It was one of those things.
One of those nagging, painful memories that made her want to smile until she remembered that she’d never see it again.
“Hey, Carol!”
She blinked, the image of Doug melting away to Mark and Malucci– breathing hard and laughing as they shot at the basket.
“Morning,” she called back to Mark, pushing the stroller closer to the court.
“Bringing the munchkins up to daycare?” He asked, wiping his brow and shooting the basketball to Malucci as he ambled over to her.
“Yeah. Isn’t your shift over?”
“Pulling a double.”
“Ah,” she nodded, shifting the baby carrier and reaching up to untangle her hair from Tess’ prying fingers. Mark smiled at the baby, laying a gentle hand on her tiny head.
“You look tired, Carol. Tess still keeping your up?”
She sighed. “Yeah... she’s teething, I think.”
“Give her warm washcloth to chew on... that always helped with Rachel.”
“Tried it. She just wants to be held most of the time.” Carol shook her head, closing her eyes briefly. “Which means less sleep for me. She gets to nap all day in daycare, I don’t.”
“Nah, I don’t think the patients would appreciate you zonking out in the middle of a catheterization.”
She smiled, glancing at her watch. “I should get them up to daycare. My shift starts in ten minutes.”
“Here, I’ll come with you,” Mark offered, taking his stethoscope from the bench and swinging it around his neck. “My break’s almost over anyway.”
“Thanks,” she smiled as he stooped down to lift Kate out of the stroller. The baby squealed as the shiny metal of his stethoscope caught her eye, and she lunged for it. “No, honey, no...” Carol scolded lightly, prying the bulb out of the baby’s fingers as Mark laughed. But as her fingers passed over an inscription in the smooth, cold metal, her brow furrowed and she looked up at him.
“Mark... is this...?”
“Doug’s stethoscope. I just.... I thought it might be better to use it, y’know? It gives me a little... I dunno, a little courage. Knowing that it was his... that he used it.” His voice dropped as Kate placed her tiny hand over her mother’s on the stethoscope. “It makes it stronger, somehow. It makes me stronger.”
Carol nodded softly, a smile fluttering across her face as she read the inscription on the instrument for the hundredth time. *Baby Doctor*
“He would have wanted you to wear it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. I do.”
Mark grinned, adjusted his glasses over his pink-flushed cheeks, and balancing Kate on his hip, followed her inside.
________________________________________________________________________
It was always worse when they had children. It was hard, for Carol, to watch people come into the ER, knowing that they were never going to leave the hospital. But it was worse when the patients had young children. She knew how it felt to lose a parent. And she knew how it felt to lose a lover and be the single parent.
She sighed quietly, wringing the cloth into the basin and gently patting Sheila O’Brien’s damp brow. The woman winced at her touch, moaning softly and turning her kerchief-covered head on the gurney.
The bleeping of the monitors and the raspy sound of the mother’s uneven breathing filled the quiet room with a kind of morbid euphony. Carol had seen enough of death to know that she wouldn’t last long. Soon, the woman’s face would soften and her breathing would stop and her stiff muscles would relax. And the man sitting by his wife’s side would be left with two little girls to care for while mending his own broken heart.
Her husband pursed his lips and took her hand. “Can’t you give her something...?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. O’Brien. We’ve given her all the morphine we can.”
“She’s suffering...”
“I know. I’m sorry. Once the IV fluids start to re-hydrate her, she’ll feel better.”
“Will she wake up?”
Carol nodded. “Most likely.”
He seemed to relax a little then, some of the strain leaving his face. “I didn’t think it would happen this soon. My girls and I– we haven’t said goodbye.”
She offered him a soft, sympathetic smile, feeling almost envious at the very same time. “I’ll do everything I can to make that possible. I promise.”
“Where are my girls?”
“One of the nurses took them to the doctor’s lounge. I think they’re colouring.”
“Alright. If– if she gets any worse... I want them to be here. I want them to get to say goodbye.”
“Okay,” she nodded softly.
“I just... want her to know that we love her.”
“She knows,” Carol nodded in certainty, smoothing the thin hospital sheet over Mrs. O’Brien’s fragile frame “I’m sure she knows.”
________________________________________________________________________
“Hey, Carter.”
The young doctor sitting on the exam table looked up, a small grin fluttering across his pale face. Carol furrowed her brow as she moved to the supply cabinet in search of a new ambu-bag for trauma 2. He looked about as tired as she felt. Dark circles rimmed his sunken, unanimated eyes and his face had a yellowish tinge to it that made him look older than his 30 years.
“You feeling ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.” He sighed, almost inaudibly, folding his hands in his lap, his long, thin fingers crossed delicately. “Just takin’ a breather.”
“Hard day, huh?” She smiled empathetically, sitting down on the exam table beside him, the new ambu-bag in her hands.
“Yeah...” Carter nodded, glancing at her with weary eyes. “You look pretty beat yourself.”
She laughed. “Curse of the single mom, I guess. As soon as one kid goes down, her sister’s up screaming.”
“Must be great, though. To have someone to go home to.”
She nodded thoughtfully, smiling to herself as she thought of her girls. “It is nice. Scary too, though. To know that it’s all up to you to ensure that they have all they need– that they grow up right. They’re totally dependant on you.”
Suddenly, a young female voice drifted in through the trauma room doors, barking out orders for someone to ‘call radiology and get her films back, and why is the Anderson kid still in curtain 3? She has work to do, where the heck is transport?’.
Carter laughed lightly, recognizing the voice as the ER’s new pediatrician. “She’s no Doug, huh?”
“No. She’s no Doug,” Carol shook her head, her voice suddenly quiet. “This place seems so different than it did a year ago.”
“I know. So many things have changed. Its.... its not the same without him.”
“For all the trouble he caused... he was still a good doctor. He kept our spirits up, y’know? It’s so.... serious, now.”
He nodded slowly. “No one’s laughing anymore.”
“I think they’re afraid to laugh. They’re afraid to look too happy when we’re so....”
“...sad,” Carter finished with a smile, and Carol nodded in agreement. “When Lucy died, it felt like people were walking on eggshells around me. Like mentioning her name would send me into heart failure or something.”
“I don’t think people know what to say.”
“You think they would.” Carter shrugged. “They deal with death and grieving people every day.”
“Its different when it’s us, I guess. They know us,” she finished with a yawn when a wave of exhaustion washed over her. “Nurses should get naps.”
“Maybe they’ll sleep better when they hit the 6 months mark,” he offered.
“I hope so.” She ran her palm over the cool, blue plastic of the tool in her hand, turning it over and squeezing it gently. They both listened to the soft hissing sound it made as it filled up with air. “What about you, Carter? You sleeping?”
“Ah,” he grinned, his sarcasm thinly masked. “Like a baby.”
“Really?”
His smile faded. “No.”
“Has Weaver been putting you on the night shifts? That’ll screw up your inner clock.”
“No, no. Its just... well, my back hurts sometimes. It makes it hard to sleep. I guess I get a bit of insomnia...”
“Do you get... nightmares?” Carol asked softly, remembering her own bout with nightmares after Doug died.
He shrugged lightly, running a hand through his hair. “Not really. I mean.... I don’t really remember them.”
“It wasn’t your fault, you know.”
“I know.”
“Really, it wasn’t. There are some things we have no control over. Things that happen no matter how hard we try to stop them. They happen, Carter. And... we have to get over them because there are other people who need us.” She smiled, patting the top of his hand gently. “We need you, Carter.”
The exam room door swung open and Kerry Weaver stuck her head in. “Carol, Mark needs you for a minute in Curtain 2.”
“I’ll be right there,” Carol hopped off the table, the ambu-bag still in her hands. When she reached the door, she stopped and turned around.
“Carter?”
He looked up expectantly.
“You’re gonna be ok.”
He pursed his lips, a quiet, dry laugh escaping through them. “How do you know?”
She shrugged lightly, a small smile gracing her lips. “Because I am.”
________________________________________________________________________
Like she did everyday on her lunch break, Carol headed up to the nursery to feed and play with her daughters. She stopped outside the big window and looked in, searching for the chubby little girls with matching Baby-Gap-overalls. A quick survey of the large, brightly coloured, kid-filled room found the twins on the lap of a tall, dark-haired man sitting on a little plastic chair with his back to the window. Carol grinned and pushed open the door, coming up behind him.
“Two little blackbirds sitting on a hill,” he sang softly as they cooed, playing with his shiny metal watch, their eyes wide in fascination. “One named Jack and the other named Jill...”
“Where in the world did you learn that?” She laughed, sitting on the floor in front of them.
Luka look up, startled, his cheeks flushing. “I– oh... a patient taught it to me.”
“You sure you haven’t just been watching a little too much Sesame Street?” Kate, noticing Carol, squealed in delight, reaching her arms towards her mother. She took the little girl into her arms, chuckling softly.
He furrowed his brow, smiling in uncertainty. “Sesame Street?”
“Yeah, you know... Grover and Cookie Monster and Big Bird?”
He looked at her blankly.
“Come on. You’ve never heard of Elmo?”
“I think Mommy has been spending too much time in Radiology,” He told the baby on his lap with a grin. “All those chemicals have gone to her head.”
“Hey!” she protested, “I’m serious! I can’t believe you’ve never seen Sesame Street.”
“Right, right.” He chuckled.
“What are you doing up here, anyway?”
“I had to check on a patient in Pedes. I thought I would stop in and see how my favorite little girls are doing.”
“They’re getting big, huh?” She smiled, stroking the light brown furls of hair on Kate’s head while the baby chewed on the collar of her scrub jacket.
“They are getting very big. They will be in kindergarten before you know it.”
“Whoa, hold on, let’s hit potty training first,” she laughed. Kate whined softly, patting her mother’s breast. She cried out loudly when Carol pushed her away gently. “I’ve gotta feed them,” she relented, moving the baby onto her back and draping a receiving blanket over her shoulder.
“Would you like me to leave...?” Luka asked, blushing softly as he prepared to stand.
“No, actually, could you just keep Tess busy while I feed Kate?”
“Alright.” He nodded, picking up a toy train and ‘driving’ it up the baby’s leg with a “toot-toot” as she squealed and giggled. “Do you need anything? Do you want this chair...?”
Carol laughed, unbuttoning her shirt and adjusting Kate on her lap. “I’m fine, Luka. Besides, I think that chair was meant for a toddler.”
He looked down at the wobbling, flimsy piece of plastic underneath him and raised an eyebrow. “You may be right.” He slid onto the carpeted floor and sat Tess on his knees as she clumsily drove the little train over his white lab coat and slipped it into his pocket, giggling madly. “Oh, little girl, that does not go there!” he laughed, taking it out and handing it back to her, tapping her tiny nose affectionately.
Carol watched him quietly, smiling to herself. He was so natural with the twins, so sweet and attentive and comfortable. Almost like he belonged with them...
A sudden fleet of shivers ran up her spine, and she furrowed her brow.
*Belong*
Did he?
He noticed her soft smile, and grinned back. “When does Mommy get to eat?”
“Whenever she gets a chance,” Carol sighed. “Probably not until dinner tonight, if the ER stays as busy as it is.”
“Let me take you out.”
She shook her head, smiling. “I don’t think so, Luka.”
“Can you not leave the girls at your mother’s?”
“Well, I guess I could...”
“Please then, let me take you to dinner. My treat.”
“Luka...I can’t, not tonight.”
“What are you waiting for, Carol?” His tone was soft and unthreatening, but the question surprised her.
“What do you mean?”
“I am sorry, It’s just... I do not understand... did I offend you, last week? With the flowers on your birthday?”
“No, no, they were lovely. I’m sorry,” She smiled. “I would love to have dinner with you, Luka.”
“Only if you want to. You do not have to.”
“No, no,” she reassured, sorry she had offended him. “I just didn’t want to have to leave the girls at my mom’s... but she loves them, she loves having them over... what time should I be ready for?”
“Is seven alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” she nodded, pasting a smile on her lips. She couldn’t help feeling like she was doing something wrong. Like she was... deceiving Doug... or herself... or Luka. She shook her head slightly, confused at her own misgivings. “I think Kate’s done. She’s just about asleep. Ready to switch?”
He nodded, taking the limp child from her arms and letting her pick up Tess and re-adjust the receiving blanket.
“I remember,” Luka started suddenly, his voice hushed, a small smile playing on his lips. “Getting up in the middle of the night with my wife to do this. She would fall asleep, and so would little Marko... and I would have to cover them both with a blanket and... we’d wake up in the morning like that...” he trailed off, still smiling softly at the memory as he gazed down at Kate, sleeping quietly in his arms. “I know she did not like to feed the children like this all the time... it was hard for her to be up every few hours. But... but I loved it. I loved watching her with my babies. I loved seeing her smile down at them with such love in her eyes...” Luka looked up to see Carol smiling at him, her eyes glistening softly.
“I... I think I should get back down to the ER,” he concluded, getting to his knees and laying Kate in Carol’s free arm. He looked up as he did this, his face level to hers.
She leaned forward a little, lightly pressing her lips against his. She closed her eyes, as if trying to keep confusion and disappointment behind the thin lids. She wasn’t sure what she had expected– fireworks? It just wasn’t there. It wasn’t the same. He wasn’t ...Doug.
She pulled away, looking down, feeling strangely contrite.
“What’s the matter?” he asked softly.
“Nothing,” she shook her head, sighing lightly. “Nothing.”
________________________________________________________________________
Luka’s kiss had stirred something inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was sitting in her chest like a dead-weight, making her whole body feel heavy and slow and out of sorts.
She walked back from the nursery after lunch in a daze. Her mouth was dry, her tongue heavy, her eyes stinging with prickly heat. It was wrong. Everything was wrong.
He’d kissed her before, and each time she’d felt the oddly familiar sensation rise up into her throat. And every time she’d pushed it back, ignored it, focused on the pleasant feeling of his lips warm against hers. But it was strong, now. Stronger than she’d ever felt it, so strong that it was becoming her, choking her, drowning her in it’s bitter poison. She couldn’t push it away.... but she couldn’t quite place her finger on what the feeling was.
“Oomph...”
She looked up quickly, disoriented, as she realized she’d walked right into Mark. “Sorry...” she mumbled softly, her voice sounding hoarse and thin in her ears.
“You ok, Carol?” He stepped back to study her. She was unusually pale, her brow knitted together tightly, her hands clutching a chart so tightly her knuckles were white.
“Yeah... yeah. I wasn’t watching where I was going... sorry.” She squinted, slowly bringing his concerned face into focus as some of the thick fog cushioning her thoughts began to fade.
“Are you sure you’re alright? You look a little shell-shocked,” he chuckled softly.
“I’m fine, Mark.” She brushed off his worried puzzlement with a smile, some of the colour returning to her face. “Just a little tired.”
“Why don’t you take a break? Put your feet up, have a coffee...”
“I just came back from lunch... I’m fine, really. I– I’ve got a patient to check on. ” She held up the chart she’d been clutching, and brushed past him, heading down the hall and into the trauma room Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien were in.
Securing the chart at the end of the bed, Carol bent over the ailing woman, noting her slowing heart rate and diminishing breath sounds. “How’s she doing?” She found herself asking Mr. O’Brien softly, though she knew the answer.
“Not so good....” His voice was watery and thick with tears and fear and grief. “I– I think she’s getting worse.”
Carol nodded slowly, her expression confirming the man’s appraisal. “Have your daughters said goodbye?”
“Yes.” The man bit his lip and took a breath, as if summoning the courage to ask the question Carol could feel hanging between them. “How long?”
“Not long. A few minutes.”
He nodded, slowly, then took his wife’s hand in his. He laid his head on the bed beside hers, his lips brushing her pale cheek, and gently placed their joined hands on her chest.
Sensing he needed to spend her last moments alone with her, Carol turned to leave the room.
“Stay.” His whispered plea stopped her instantly. “Please...”
She stiffened her shoulders– an involuntary brace against the impending situation, and moved back to the bedside. She sat in the adjacent plastic chair to wait with him in what was both the longest and shortest 12 minutes of his life.
When those minutes were up the monitor went off in a frenzied monotone, and Carol reached up to silence it. Sheila O’Brien had died without sound or significant movement– only the slight hitch in her chest as her last breath caught in the net of life before freeing itself and letting her fall still and peaceful on the gurney.
Mr. O’Brien lifted his head from the bed and smoothed one hand over her kerchief-covered head before bending to kiss the smooth, relaxed skin on her forehead where only minutes ago a grimace of suffering and pain held the muscles taut. His eyes were dry, but his voice was thick and heavy with tears when he pressed his lips to his wife’s ear and whispered the words of love resigned; “Goodbye.”
Then he stood up and looked to Carol, the depth of his grief startlingly clear in his dark, sad gaze. “She’s gone,” he said softly, the certainty of his words only a confirmation of what the monitors and machines had already told them.
“I’m sorry.” She offered the phrase quietly, knowing both it’s silly insignificance and it’s grave importance.
“What am I going to do without her?” He stared sullenly at the still body on the bed, his tears falling softly onto their joined hands. “What am I going to do...?”
Carol stood and stepped around the head of the gurney to stand beside the grieving man, suddenly surprised that she knew exactly how to answer his desolate question. “You’re going to live, Mr. Obrien. You’re going to take your daughters, and go home, and live your life. You’re going to tell them about her, let them share your memories of her, and let them build their own. You’re going to love them stronger than before because they need you to, and because you need them. You’re going to be their family.”
“I– I just don’t know... if I... if I can...” He stumbled over his words, choking on his heartache and fear. He turned to look at her. “Can I love them enough for both of us?”
Their gazes met– the mourning, sorrowful stare of a man who’d lost his wife, and the compassionate gaze of a nurse who knew exactly what he was feeling. His trembling voice asked only the one, but in his eyes Carol saw countless other questions, desperate and frightened, questions she’d been asking herself for many months; ‘Can I be enough? Can I give them what they need? Can we make it? Can they survive with only one parent? Can *I* survive?’
She breathed deeply, the swell of fresh oxygen clearing her mind and giving her the courage to smile sadly at Mr. Obrien, take his hands in hers, and tell him what she finally knew, finally believed to be true; “Yes. Yes, you can.”
________________________________________________________________________
The tears didn’t come until later. Carol had stayed behind in the trauma room after Mr. Obrien had left the ER with his daughters, tidying up and replacing what had been used. The strange fog of scathing familiarity that had descended upon her after Luka’s kiss at lunch had again settled over her shoulders, leaving her with an eery sense of deja vu.
The combined effect of this peculiar, unwelcome emotion and the grief she shared with Mr. Obrien was suitably overwhelming, and before she even realized it, she was bent over the stretcher, soiling the freshly laid linen with her warm, salty tears. She gripped the bed with one hand as the other came up to her mouth to muffle the soft cries tumbling from it.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ she immediately chastised herself. ‘You’ve done this before. You’ve lost patients before... why is this so hard now?’
The answer lay somewhere beneath that curiously familiar emotion clouding her thoughts. Somewhere deep within her heart she couldn’t quite reach, couldn’t quite get to. The answer was on the tip of her tongue and still unspeakable, at her fingers tips and still unreachable. It lay just beneath the surface of something that she had yet to penetrate.
Yet, she had the vague idea that she’d known before– what this feeling was, why she was experiencing it. And perhaps that was why she couldn’t remember– that she had felt it, and being as awful as it was, hid it away under layers of herself. That it was something so disheartening that she’d worked to build thick walls against it, erasing it from her memory so that it’s time in her life could be obliterated and forgotten. But something from that time still lingered.
This cloud, this fog, this feeling still remained.
Her legs were beginning to feel rubbery and weak, her knees trembling almost as much as her hands. With a shaky sigh she hoisted herself up to sit on the bed, letting her legs hang off the side. She was tired– too tired to deal with these confusing emotions, too tired to try and sift through painful memories that she’d purposely tried to forget. She knew it was because of Luka, that something wasn’t right between them. She was simply too tired to want to figure it out.
Passing a hand over her wet face, Carol let her eyes travel around the room. She’d spent much of her time in that trauma room over the years– a lot of it with Doug. It rarely changed– the colours and smells were still the same as they had been ten years ago. Just to look around brought back so many memories... placing her blue-gloved hands over his to still his efforts to save Duncan Stewart after the convenience store hold-up, helping him deliver a baby girl named for her hundred year old grandmother who’d been born in that very hospital a century before, taking refuge in the comfort of his arms after the death of a burn victim who was denied the chance to see his own daughter, and kissing him passionately in secret after a particularly successful trauma while she was still engaged to Tag.
Tag...
Tag.
In a prickly wave the realization washed over her. That was when she’d felt it before– that gnawing sensation that was now so heavily apparent it was a burden of weight on her shoulders. When she’d agreed to marry Tag, when she’d moved in with him, when she told him she loved him– all these things had evoked the same emotion in her.
Guilt.
Not guilt that she was betraying Doug by being with Luka... but guilt that she was living a lie. That she was being unfair to Luka... and to herself... and to her children. It wasn’t right. She didn’t love Luka, as she hadn’t loved Tag.
Something that Mr. Obrien had spoken to her before he left suddenly passed through her mind; ‘Do you believe that we have soul mates? Only one person we can really love? She was the love of my life, and I’’ll never love anyone again the way I loved her.’
Doug had been her ‘one person’. Her soulmate. It was clear to her, now, the concept suddenly so simple. She could never, *would* never love anyone like she’d loved Doug. It was why she couldn’t be with Tag, why she couldn’t be with Luka. It was why she held on so fiercely when Doug had slept with other women during their relationship, why it hurt so much when he ended it, and why she’d so easily welcomed him back into her heart when he showed up on her front porch.
All those years ago, sitting in that church pew as Doug tried in his awkward way to comfort her, she’d realized that she wasn’t in love with Tag because she was still in love with Doug. Now, 6 years later, though Doug was gone from her life, she found it impossible to grow attached to Luka. She was still in love with Doug. She was in love with the idea of him, the thought of him. She was in love with the memory of his touch, the memory of his kiss, the memory of his voice. She would never fall out of love with him because he was gone.
He had been, as Mr. Obrien said, the love of her life.
Perhaps, in time, these memories would fade. Perhaps that once they faded there would be room in her heart for another. But until then, until she could learn to forget without letting go, there was no room.
On sturdy legs, Carol jumped off the gurney. She wiped her face, passed a hand over the front of her scrub jacket, and closed her eyes.
There was one thing she had to do. Only one thing she could do.
Taking a deep breath, Carol left the trauma room, feeling lighter than she had in 16 months.
________________________________________________________________________
“Carol, I need some more atropine.”
She dismissed Chunni’s request with a wave of her hand as she continued quickly down the hall. It didn’t matter. None of that mattered anymore.
She stopped just short of the admit desk, searching for the familiar tall, slim form of her best friend. Not seeing him, she turned to Haleh. “Hey, Haleh, where’s Mark?” Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Light and easy and almost.... happy.
“Carol, is everything all right?” The nurse asked, a puzzled look crossing her face.
“Where’s Mark?”
“Exam one...”
Not bothering to stop and explain, she turned the corner and ran right into Mark coming out of the exam room.
“Carol? What is it?” He stepped back, taking in her shining eyes and steady expression with surprise.
“Mark...” She said his name softly, not quite sure where to start. “Mark... I’m going to resign.”
His brow furrowed, a look of confusion settling on his face. “What? Carol, what do you mean...”
“I can’t stay here. I can’t stay in Chicago, in this place...” she made a sweeping motion with her hand over the ER she’d spent 10 years of her life in. “Its just too much of him– too much a part of him, too much a part of me. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t lie to myself... and to everyone else. I still love him. I love him like he was still here... and I think it might be because I haven’t learned to let go. I can’t let go here. I can’t...”
Mark nodded, reaching out to grasp her elbows gently, steadying her.
“I need to start again, Mark. I need to leave Chicago... I need to make a life for my babies away from all this, away from the dust and the noise and the city. I can’t have the life I used to have– the life I had with Doug. I can’t have that back... so I need to make a new one.” Her voice had been strong and clear when she started speaking, but had slowly softened as she realized just what she was doing. All she was letting go. “I need to move on.”
He spoke gently, not trying to hide his surprise at her words. “Where will you go?”
“Seattle, I think...” she smiled softly, remembering the late-night conversations she’d had with Doug about their lives– how many children they’d have, what their house would look like, where they would raise a family.... “Doug loved it up there. He loved how clear the air was, he loved the water, he loved the people. It was where he wanted to live. I think it would be nice to go there. It would be a good place to start over.”
Carol watched a dozen emotions pass over the doctor’s face. Sadness, grief, surprise, confusion, resignation, until only one remained: happiness. He grinned, taking her hands. “I’ll miss you.”
His gentle statement sent a wave of sadness through her, and the tears that had been forgotten when she left the trauma room returned, falling without sound. “Oh, Mark, I’ll miss you too. You’ve been so wonderful to me... to my family. I owe you my life, my daughter’s life. I– I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Be happy, Carol.” His voice was only a whisper, almost drained out by the sounds of the busy ER. “Please, live a good life. Be happy. That’s all the thanks I need.”
She nodded fiercely, unable to find the words to express her gratitude as a soft sob tumbled from her lips. Then she threw her arms around his neck.
“I love you,” she whispered against his ear before pulling away to look at him.
He grinned again, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “You too, Nurse Hathaway. You too.”
She disentangled herself from his arms after he bent one last time to gently kiss her forehead, and started towards Curtain three, where she knew Luka was working on charts.
She stood for a moment, in the doorway, watching a stray lock of hair fall into his face as he scribbled away.
“Luka, I can’t have dinner with you tonight.”
He looked up from his paperwork, startled. Confusion registered on his face, but he said simply “Okay.”
A feeling of regret tinged with the earlier guilt passed over her and she suddenly felt very cruel. “I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
She stepped closer to him. “I have to go find out.”
“Find out what?” His voice was shaky.
“If I can live without him. Because... I haven’t been doing a very good job of it here in Chicago. I'm still in love with him. I am. I've been in love with him since I'm was 23 years old. He...he was everything to me, he was my life. I felt complete when I was with him and... I feel empty now that we're apart. And...he was the father of my children.” Her voice broke, her face crumbling with pent-up emotion as she finally spoke the words of truth; “He was my soul mate.”
Luka nodded softly, looking at his lap as he realized what she was saying. She was leaving. She was leaving him, leaving the hospital, leaving the city.
“I have to move on, Luka. I have to start again. I have to make a life for my family. I can’t pretend anymore, can’t pretend that I’m okay with this. Because I’m not.” She bit her lip, trying to sort her thoughts. “But I could be. In time, I think I will be. I’ll be okay with raising my girls alone. I’ll be okay with not having a grave to lay flowers on for him. I’ll be okay with my life. I’ll be okay with loving someone else. But you shouldn’t have to wait for me.” She sighed softly, then took a deep breath. “I have to start again.” It had become her mantra.
He nodded again, swallowing hard around the lump rising in his throat. “I understand.”
“I know,” she smiled through her tears, gratitude almost overwhelming her as she reached down to cup his face in her hands. “I know you do.”
Softly, she pressed her lips against his forehead, loving him for what they shared– a bond of strength formed through tragedy and loss. He gave her hope. He’d done it. He’d moved on. Maybe she could too.
“You’ll find someone Luka, you will. You’re such a wonderful man. She’s out there, I know she is –– someone who will love you the way your wife loved you.” Carol pulled away, wiping her eyes. “You’ll find her.”
She straightened and started for the door. But before she could leave the room, she heard him call her name. Turning, she saw him pass one hand over his face and smile sadly.
“Goodluck.” His voice was hoarse, but sincere.
She smiled, suddenly filled with renewed hope. Then she turned and walked into the bustle and noise of an ER that used to be home.
________________________________________________________________________
In the last 16 months she had spent hours looking at the little candle. Through long nights that first winter when her house always seemed so cold, she’d lie in bed and simply stare at the orange flame, thinking of him, dreaming of him. She would warm her hands over the candle, longing instead for the comforting heat of Doug’s solid body pressed against hers. Even the smell of burning wax had grown to be a comfort.
The candle was dying, now, and with it those sweet comforts. But as Carol sat perched on the edge of her bed, staring intently at the dwindling flame, she realized just what it was offering. One more night. One more night of comfort, one more night of warmth. Then she would be on her own.
She thought of her daughters sleeping a few feet away from her, tucked between pillows on the bed. She knew that to be warm, she had only to take their tiny bodies into her arms and hold them close. She would always have that. She would always have them. Maybe she didn’t really need the candle’s warmth...
...But it was still hard to let it go. And so she watched it, the little flame swaying and dancing as it had always done, reminding her so vividly of the burning passion in his chocolate brown eyes– passion for his work, passion for his play, passion for her.
Sighing heavily, she reached out to the lumpy candle, fingering the cold gold of the chain resting around it’s lop-sided base. Sometime before the twins had been born, she’d taken out the gold locket Mr. Robinson had given her the day she’d found out Doug had been killed, and attached it to a chain. Then she’d set the chain over the candle, resting the locket a ways away from the candle so it wouldn’t be covered in the dripping wax. She’d opened the little gold heart to read the inscription so many times in the last year that she didn’t have to open it to know exactly what it said.
Yet she still grasped the locket in her hands and snapped it open, letting the inscribed words play on her lips.
“Love will never come to an end.”
The words had angered her in the beginning. She’d bitterly wondered how they could possibly be true when her life seemed so devoid of love without Doug. But now she knew. She knew exactly what it meant.
Doug was gone. His life had come to an end, as hers would in time. But love was a different matter. It defied death, it defied time. If he was truly her soulmate, she would never really be without his love. Their bond would never come to an end. Their love would live– always.
Carol closed the locket and gently tugged the chain over the candle’s deformed shaft. She held the shiny metal in her hands, the candlelight reflecting off it’s golden surface. Then she looked up again at the candle, gazing so intensely at the little fleck of fire that she felt it’s power and heat spread through her from head to toe.
Visions of their lives together danced in front of her eyes, the memories glowing with the orange-red light of the candle’s flame: working alongside him in the hospital, curled up with him in front of the fireplace, breakfast in bed that one lazy morning, sitting on the front porch in his arms, arguments over paramedics and double blind studies, skiing in a world of chilly white, those last moments in the airport terminal when he drew her into his arms and kissed her like it was the last time he was ever going to see her.
Carol smiled softly at the memories, taking one half-hearted swipe at the tears slowly making their way down her cheeks. These would always be her fondest recollections– the precious moments when her heart had been filled with his warm presence. But with these tender memories came tides of deep sorrow, knowing that it was all they were– empty pictures in her mind, fading experiences. They were all that was left of his love.
The pain of losing him was great. Almost as great as the joy of loving him. And she had to ask herself if it was worth it. If having him in her life for such a short time was worth having him taken away so abruptly. If having the chance to fall in love was worth having to face the rest of her life without him.
Carol gazed at her daughter’s sleeping forms, reaching down to stroke a downy furl of Tess’s dark hair, a sense of tenderness and contented resignation settling over her.
Was it worth it? She turned to smile softly at the little flame that had been her companion for so long, knowing with complete certainty that it was.
________________________________________________________________________
“Tis’ better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.”
– St. Augustine
________________________________________________________________________
After all the tears she’d shed in the day, she never expected to be wracked with such raw emotion that she would end up crying herself to sleep. But after she made her way downstairs and curled up on the sofa with the TV playing softly, the impending consequences and reactions of her decisions presented themselves completely.
She would have to tell her mother. The woman would be heartbroken– to be separated from her daughter and granddaughters, the only family she had left in Chicago, would kill her. Carol was, for once, so very thankful of Javier’s presence in Helen’s life. At least she would not be alone.
Moving wouldn’t be easy, either. She would have to buy a house. The life insurance she’d been able to collect a year after Doug’s death would pay for it. But packing up her whole life in Chicago and relocating would be heartbreaking and difficult. She would be leaving her life behind– her friends, her job, her family. 34 years of the only life she’d known would have to be set aside. She wasn’t sure if she had enough courage to do it. She wasn’t sure if she had enough strength.
Perhaps the hardest of all to leave behind would be all the memories of Doug. The house alone held so much of him. Every time she walked into a different room she was assaulted with different recollections– shared meals in the kitchen, heated discussions by the fire in the living room, nights of making love in the bedroom.
The city itself also held parts of him– the bench beside the lake where they’d spent many a lunch hour contemplating everything from death to chicken sandwiches, the basketball courts at the park, the little french restaurant on Main where they’d had their first date, and, of course, the hospital itself. Leaving behind Cook County General would be like leaving behind an old friend who had even more memories of Doug than she did. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to give that up.
Starting again would be the hardest thing she would ever do. And yet, the doubts she encountered could be pushed aside, at least for now, because she had to do it. For her children’s sakes, and for her own.
She had to do it.
Carol fell asleep that night curled up on the sofa with an old afghan, heart-wrenching sobs shaking her body as she tried to forget about all she would be leaving behind. In her hands she clutched the little gold locket, pressing it desperately to her chest, just above her heart.
________________________________________________________________________
At first she wasn’t sure why she had awaken. The TV was showing only snow, it’s fuzzy screen buzzing with bristly electricity.
Carol struggled into a sitting position, setting the locket she had been clutching onto the coffee table and rubbing her eyes. She glanced at the clock– 12:31 pm– and held her breath to listen to the sound of crying she was sure had woken her up.
Then she heard it. Not crying, but a soft knocking.
Furrowing her brow, she stood from the sofa and ran a hand through her hair. Who would be here at midnight? Luka? Mark? Maybe something had happened to her mother...
Suddenly worried, she rushed to the front door and threw it open.
For a fleeting moment she didn’t recognize him. His hair was grayer than it had been, it’s salt and pepper strands much longer than the crew-cut he’d left with. He was thinner too, his face gaunt and slightly hollowed, the clothes he wore hanging awkwardly on his frame.
It was his eyes that confirmed the reality of his existence. The chocolate-brown fire she’d seen every night in the flame of her candle was alive and dancing in his gaze.
Alive.
He was standing there, on her front porch, leaning against the doorframe, his expression equally charged with both joy and trepidation.
All the blood rushed from her head, and for a second she was sure she was going to pass out. She reached towards the door to steady herself and he caught her arm, his touch sending sparks of electricity through the numbness that was slowly descending upon her.
“Carol...” His voice was soft, wavering, thick with tears. She looked up at him, trying to sort out her emotions. She was confused...and shocked... but she couldn’t stop the feeling of joy from coursing through her.
This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t...
She reached out with the arm he wasn’t grasping and touched his face– one fingertip stroking over his velvety-soft skin, and she knew. He was real. She wasn’t dreaming.
All questions and thoughts drained from her mind and all she could see was him. He filled her gaze as he’d filled her thoughts for so many months. She was encompassed in his presence, the sound of his soft breathing magnificently loud in her ears, the feel of his hand on her arm burning her skin wonderfully, the sight of his chest rising up and down the most awesome thing she’d ever seen.
“Doug...” the stunned plea tumbled from her lips as her hand cupped the side of his face. Nothing mattered– not how he got there, not where he’d been, not what had happened– nothing. All that mattered was that he was alive. Alive, alive, alive.
In one, sudden movement she let herself fall into his embrace. The sensation of his strong arms tightening around her back, the smell of his skin, and the sound of his hitched breathing as he wept into her hair was too much for her to handle, and she erupted into sobs, shaking against him as he softly chanted her name like a prayer, “Carol, Carol, Carol...”
Part 8
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