Endings. Barbara Bergin
a big squeeze. “Hey, do they charge extra for pretty ones, Brenda?” He laughed at his own joke. Brenda just rolled her eyes.
She squeezed hard and returned the shake. Leslie hated weak handshakes. Women usually gave weak handshakes. The problem with weak handshakes is that if you’re shaking someone’s hand who gives a strong one, it rolls the metacarpal bones of the fourth and fifth fingers together and squishes the muscles and nerves in between. It hurts like hell, but if you give it right back it sort of protects you. She had learned to sense the intensity of the grip quickly and squeeze in a commensurate fashion. You lower your shoulder and bring the forearm directly forward, keeping the wrist in line with the arm. None of this dropping the wrist like the hand is to be held or turning it sideways and handing it to the gripper like a dead carp. She knew Doc could hand it to her better than she could so she prepared for the metacarpal roll. She could have expected what came next.
“Man, I like a gal with a strong handshake. I can tell you’re gonna fit right in. Don’t you think so, Brenda?”
“Of course she is.” Brenda gave her a wink.
“Leslie Cohen, Doc. Pleased to meet you too.”
“Same here.”
Brenda reminded him to go get out of his scrubs, but he was having none of it. “If y’all don’t care then neither do I.” He didn’t wait for a confirmation. “Brenda, how ‘bout some tea.” Brenda disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray of big glasses and what looked like some little bird breasts, stuffed with jalapeño peppers and wrapped up with a piece of bacon.
Now everyone was smiling, Leslie included. They were all looking at Doc Hawley, Leslie included. There was something about him. He swallowed the glass of tea in about two big gulps, made a big exhale through pursed lips and sat back in his chair. Then he reached over and gave her a gentle swat on the arm.
“Terryl here tells me you had a big wreck last night with ol’ Regan Wakeman. I’m gonna have to wring that boy’s neck. So tell us about it.” He yelled to Brenda, who had gone out to the kitchen to continue getting things ready for dinner. “Honey, leave that stuff alone and come hear this. Doc here had a wreck last night with Regan Wakeman. She’s lucky to be alive from what I hear.”
Leslie thought about being lucky to be alive and the meaning of lucky. But only for an instant. Brenda came into the living room and sat down on the couch next to Doc. Now they were all looking at Leslie, waiting for the story. She told all the details as best she could remember. They were horrified.
“My goodness, Leslie, you are lucky to be sitting here,” Brenda said, “and you’re doubly lucky, because you didn’t have to get added on to the end of Doc’s schedule today!”
Everyone laughed, like they just wanted to laugh. Leslie did too. And the idea of it was funny because patients are always worried about being on the end of the surgery schedule on a busy day. It’s natural to feel that way because most people are tired at the end of a long day of work. Not doctors. They can’t be. It would be crazy if patients who got done early in the day statistically did better than patients at the end of the day. Like a crack surgeon at seven AM but at six PM, watch out. Doctor from hell.
Some patients are also worried about being the first case in the morning. Right. Doctors suck until they’ve had two cups of coffee and a warm up case. Do the important cases at 9:30. Do homeless people and suckers at 7:00 and attorneys the last case of the day. No way. Doctors are on twenty-four-seven if that’s what it takes. They have to be one hundred percent or as close to it as is humanly possible. Coffee or no. She used to tease her patients who had the guts to question her wakefulness at seven in the morning. “I might just fall out in the middle of your case…” Leslie and Doc looked at each other and shared a fraternal moment, the knowledge of working with full intensity until the job was done. He winked at her. She smiled back.
“Leslie, I think if I had to nail your femur tonight at the end of my schedule, I would’ve just fallen asleep in the middle of the damn case.” He laughed and Brenda scolded him.
“Hal, quit that, you would not.” Hal reached over and put his thick hand on Brenda’s knee.
“Leslie, you ever had any of these?” He reached over and picked up one of the little bird breast things.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, you gotta try one. They’re good enough to make a bull dog hug a hound.” Then he cracked up. “Brenda takes the seeds out of the peppers so they don’t kill ya. Here try one.” He picked one up with his hand and gave it to her. “Go on, you’re gonna love ‘em. By the time you leave Texas, you’re going to be addicted to hot sauce and jalapeños. Man, I’m starving. What’s for dinner, mom?”
“Your favorite. Santa Maria barbecued sirloin. Pintos. Slaw. Y’all excuse me while I go get things ready.” She got up to go to the kitchen and Leslie decided to follow her.
“Leslie, you stay put. I’ve got it.”
“I want to check out this Santa Maria sirloin.” She disobeyed and wandered into the kitchen with Brenda. Selma came too. Brenda shared her recipes for the meat, beans and slaw, just for conversation. The food smelled delicious. It appeared they were going to eat buffet style. Dishes were set out on the counter top. Everyone would just help themselves.
Conversation started to drift toward family issues and Leslie knew eventually she would be queried. She must have looked distracted because when she looked up, Brenda gave her a knowing look and then diverted the conversation back to the food.
“This beef is going to melt in your mouth. Leslie, I hope you brought an appetite with you. Hal! Terryl!” she yelled. “Come on. Everything’s ready.”
They lined up, grabbed plates, filled them up and sat down to eat in the kitchen.
“Brenda slow cooks this sirloin all day on the barbeque pit. What do you think, Leslie? Ever had a piece of meat this tender?” Leslie shook her head. No need for an answer, they were all scarfing down the food.
There are some women who can just cook and love to do it. Leslie wasn’t one of them. Chris didn’t care and the two of them either ate out, brought food home or made simple dishes, big salads and stuff like that. The kids didn’t really care either and never reached the age where they understood the consuming nature of her work and why she didn’t cook like their friends’ moms. Once Vivi announced that when she grew up she was going to be a “stay-at-home mom like Lynn.” Lynn was Vivi’s best friend’s mom and Vivi adored her. Leslie did too for that matter and often thought it would be wonderful to be married to Lynn. Vivi was a little envious of Casey’s time with her mom. As the kids got a little older they knew their mom did something important and would say, “My mommy works.” But she knew they wished she were home with them. Leslie didn’t think that her kids ever really knew what her work meant to her or to them, or to anyone for that matter. But Vivi never reached the age when all girls make the decision, even if temporary, to work outside the home.
She appreciated good cooks like Brenda and Lynn. She wondered what Lynn was doing. When Leslie left New Paltz she never looked back. She never called anyone. Not even Lynn, who took Vivi’s death as though it had been her own daughter’s. But it hadn’t been and in a strange way, Leslie resented her for it. Resented her for the life of her own daughter, for the years she had been able to stay home with her and for the future years she would be able to be with Casey. She could never bring herself around to calling Lynn and strangely Lynn never tried to reach her despite their close friendship. But then Leslie didn’t make that possible. She changed cell phone numbers, left no forwarding address. For Lynn to reach her would almost have required a private detective. During the first few months after the accident, people brought her food, tried to stay with her, and invited her out. They called her everyday. But Leslie had entered another world. It wasn’t their world. Their world was alive, progressive, optimistic, loved. Her world was not. They had nothing in common anymore. She was on the red planet and they were bound to Earth. They spoke different languages now. Pretty soon, she just stopped returning calls.
Lynn