A Little Conversation…

Jackie made a weak gesture with her hand. Trying for a comical grimace, she kept her tone lighthearted. No need to dump on the poor guy.  “Does your mother drive you nuts, too?” She grinned gamely, waiting for his response.

Max hesitated. His body was leaning comfortably against the door now—arms crossed, head tipped back…. “Uh. Yeah, I suppose.” But he didn’t sound any too sure of that. “Sometimes.”

Jackie grinned wider. “Liar.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me?”

She flapped her wrist, indicating his general person. “I can tell just by looking at you—you’re trying to appease me….”

Max laughed, hands raised up high in the air. “All right. You got me.”

“Like it was so hard.”

And then, without quite meaning to, he added coolly: “But—ah, I’ve had my moments with dad.”

Jackie’s eyebrow rose curiously at that little nugget of insight, her body sitting up a little higher against the pillows at her back. “Now that’s interesting…”

Max’s mouth thinned. “Hardly.”

Jackie tensed. He didn’t look amused any longer. Back-pedaling at the look in his eyes, she thought quickly. “Let me guess,” she improvised, her lips pulling up. “He had high hopes that you’d carry on the family tradition of, ah, logging—” Jackie improvised. “But to his everlasting shame you became a surgeon. I mean, really!”

“The family tradition of logging?” Max sputtered, his shoulders shaking with supressed laughter. “What year is this?” His face mocked her. “Maybe you hit your head on that bus….” He made to move forward, a look of faux concern etched on his face.

“Oh whatever.” Jackie blushed. “So I’m not good making things up on the spot.”

He laughed, leaning back against the door once more. “I’d say.” He gave her a cheeky look. “Is that why you’re looking into adoption? Mom and dad wanted a comedian?”

“Hardy har har,” Jackie muttered. “I wish that were the case. But comedians? They’re too liberal for my parents taste.”

Max lifted an eyebrow, but otherwise he remained silent.

Jackie sighed. “No. My mom and dad wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife, if you can believe it or not,” Jackie volunteered, her voice low. “The kind of person who spends her afternoon canning vegetables and watching soap operas—”

Max’s eyes narrowed in concentration.

Jackie made a face of disgust. “As you said earlier: I’m frequently baffled by what year they think we’re living in.”

“You wanted a career?”

“I wanted to be autonomous,” Jackie returned. “I wanted to live my life with passion—do something that got me up in the morning,” Jackie sputtered, getting worked up now. “So Yes. I wanted a career. I wanted to be multi-faceted. Not just some nameless attachment, settled by a marriage certificate.”

“And they don’t understand that?”

“God no,” she laughed hoarsely. “They think this is just a little phase. An experiment. In fact, I think they were banking on something like this happening to me. Not a stabbing, per se,” she hurried to clarify. “They’re not cruel. But I think they did want something to happen. Something just bad enough to send me packing back home.”

“Ah.”

“But it won’t work,” she insisted. “And that’s what I told my mother this afternoon when she called.” Jackie’s eyes twinkled rebelliously. “As I’m sure you’ve surmised, the conversation didn’t go well. And by that I mean, it didn’t go her way.”

“Hmm.”

“It’s just, I watched her, growing up. How she hovered over the stove day and night. How she lived and died by the state of her garden, the degree to which she knew the neighbors comings and goings.” Jackie shook her head. “And I always—God this sounds horrible. But I always pitied her for it.”

Max shifted—his face was shuttered now, revealing nothing.

Probably because he was dying of discomfort.

Jackie could hardly blame him if he were. Talk was getting heavy. And it was all her doing. She wasn’t even sure why she was confiding all of this to him. Hell, she hardly knew the man. Or maybe that was why. Because she’d never know the repercussions of spilling her fears to him. By this time next week, another poor sap would be in this bed and he would have all but forgotten her name…

“I think I’d rather be stabbed than live a life like that.”

Max frowned.

“Sorry,” Jackie muttered. “Sorry. It’s just—I’m not sure how many times we’ve had this same argument, her and I. When are you coming home—where you belong?” Jackie mimicked. “I just can’t get it through to them. That isn’t my home anymore. And I don’t think I ever really belonged.”

When Jackie spoke next, her voice was pleading, almost childlike: “They’ve never understood why I had to leave home in the first place.”

Max remained silent; still playing the part of active listener.

“They’ve never understood why I wanted to be in a big city.” She sighed dramatically. “Craftsmith is a town of nearly 500 inhabitants, my mother would say. And I didn’t know even half of them. So, why would I need anything bigger?”

Max nodded slowly. “That’s tough.”

Jackie’s eyes shot up to him. “What is?”

“Feeling misunderstood. Fighting a battle that can’t be won.”

“Yeah.” Jackie looked down at her lap, where her fingers were busy pleating the material bunched up there.

“Especially with people you love.”

She nodded again. “You got that right.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jackie made a funny note. Half humorous, half strangled. “Yes. Well. Now you know why I was having my own little pity-party in here,” she teased.

Max gave her a return smile. “Fair enough.”

She hitched one shoulder. Now that she’d gotten all of that off her chest, the smallest infusion of embarrassment had taken up residence. That, and she felt like a small child, throwing a temper tantrum. Great impression all around. “But listen, you don’t have to stay in here,” she said, her eyes shifting toward the door. “I know you have a lot of work to get done—and I promise I’ll put on a smile from here on out…”

“Actually,” Max said, speaking over her rushed goodbye. “I was thinking of taking my lunch now.”

“Oh?” Jackie wasn’t sure what to say to that.

“Which means, I don’t have anywhere I need to be…” he intimated. “Not right now.”

She stared at him nonplussed. What did that mean?

Max coughed.

Jackie didn’t know where to look—what the hell was happening?

“So, if you happen to know anyone looking for a little company…” he said meaningfully. “I’d appreciate the favor.” And then, for added benefit, he winked: “It’s terrible thing, eating lonely.”

“You want to hang out here?”

Max bit back a laugh. “’Bout time you asked.”

Jackie laughed softly, inclining her head toward the turquoise chair. “Be my guest.”

“Thank you,” Max teased, making his way slowly toward the squeaky relic. “I’d like that.”

….

 

 

 

Nurse Hansen, standing at one of the central nursing stations, sighed wistfully as she watched through the hallway glass as Dr. Thompson slowly pulled up a chair beside Jackie’s bed. She had to wrench her head to a hard right to catch sight of them but, pressed up tight to the countertop, her front half almost spilling over the top, she almost had a clear picture of what was going on in Room 223

Reaching blindly for the ROI to her left, she didn’t bother to take her eyes off the two of them.

Jackie laughed at something Dr. Thompson said.

His hands gestured animatedly…

“And make no mistake about it. There’s something going on there.”

“Going on where, Caro?”

At the sound of a girl’s voice behind her, Nurse Hansen’s jerked upright. Stumbling backward a half step, one hand pressed up against her generous chest, she glowered at the unsuspecting intruder: Brittany Callaway; her badge read CNA. “Now don’t you go sneaking up on people like that, girl. Bound to scare someone half to death.”

“Sorry Caro,” Brittany said, but her face didn’t look the least repentant. “So,” she asked, craning her neck to the side. “What were you watching so intently?” She sent her a teasing look. “Or is it who?”

“None of your business.”

“Mmhmm,” Brittany murmured, her eyes skipping from one room to another—trying to scope out what had intrigued the usually so unflappable Ms. Hansen. Then she saw Dr. Thompson.

“Well, well, well,” she said then, a knowing grin spreading across her face when she glanced up at her superior. “Isn’t that—?”

Nurse Hansen huffed out a great sigh. “Yes. That’s the woman Dr. Thompson saved on the bus.”

“All right.” There was a wealth of meaning in those words.

“Now don’t you be getting any ideas in that head of yours,” Nurse Hansen barked. “I won’t be tolerating any gossips on my floor.”

Brittany smiled. “They look cute together.”

Nurse Hansen turned away then to lean over her computer (partly to signal her intent to end the conversation, but mostly to hide the smile she couldn’t quite fight off her face): “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She sent Brittany a look of admonishment. “And I won’t have any slouching off on my floor. I’m sure there’s things need doing.”

“Yes ma’am,” Brittany said, her feet skipping down the hallway.

Alone again, Nurse Hansen sent one last look over her shoulder. Dr. Thompson was still there. And he seemed captivated.

“Oh yes. Something’s bound to stir up…” she sang knowingly to herself before turning back to the task at hand. That ROI wouldn’t write itself.