I watched Timothy cross the schoolyard, his back to me. I know I hadn't given him the answers he wanted, but I didn't know them myself. Our world was off kilter again, and just as before, I had failed him.
This time, it wasn't a late arrival to a pageant or a forgotten lunch. I closed my eyes to shut out the image of the letter from the agency in Shelagh's hands. Not now. There was a full day of calls and appointments ahead of me.
Instead, I concentrated on the streets in front of me. Poplar had been my home for so long that it was as much a part of me as anything. I belonged here, right now, not in any time past. I knew these people, had been there at the most important moments of their lives, and knew I was doing good work.
I pulled up to a shabby red brick building alongside the railyards, a regular weekly stop for years now. I reached into the backseat for my medical case and saw a bright blue piece of silk peeping out from underneath the seat.
My hands clenched around the bag's handle. I didn't have to press the scarf to my face to feel the softness of the skin it caressed or to breathe in her scent. Blood pounded in my ears and I closed my eyes, trying to regain my composure.
"You okay, then, Doc?" a voice called to me.
I turned to the entrance and saw the weather-worn face of my patient. John Hawkins had spent a lifetime moving the engines that transported goods off the docks and had little to show for his years of service but a mangy flat and a sparse pension. I was never quite sure how he and his wife managed, but there was never a complaint from either of them.
"I'm quite well, thank you, Mr. Hawkins." I turned from the car and followed him into the building.
"I reckon by the way ya slammed yer door maybe not as well as all that."
I gestured to the stairs. "Shall we go up to your room?"
"Nah, no secrets here. It's just me angina, nothin' the missus ain't seen before."
"Nothin' the missus wants to see again, neither!" called out his wife. I smiled at that. Mrs. Hawkins joined us, slowly moving from the kitchen, her hands wrapped in a hot tea towel for relief from her arthritis. I'd try to take a look at that before I left.
Mr. Hawkins opened his shirt and waited patiently for me to get my stethoscope and blood pressure cuff in place.
"How are you feeling?" I asked. His arm was thick and covered with tattoos, the type Tim would stare at for hours if I let him. "Any new troubles?"
"Oh, well enough," the old man answered. Judging by the pressure I was hearing, I had my doubts about that. It never failed to surprise me which of my patients complained the least.
"Your pressure's a bit higher than I'd like, Mr. Hawkins. Have you been taking those walks like I suggested?" I removed the cuff and moved to his back. "Your heart rate's a bit fast, as well."
"John an' me go up and down the lines every day together, don't we love?" Mrs. Hawkins answered.
"Best part of the afternoon, innit?" The old couple shared a smile. "Together over sixty years now, Doc."
"Ever since you started following me around the shop I used to work in. Wouldn't leave me be from the very start," Mrs. Hawkins confided, her cheeks a bit rosy. Shelagh's cheeks pinkened like that.
"That's right. Chased you 'til I let ya catch me, dinn't I?"
I laughed as I stowed my gear into the bag. "Right. Everything sounds as it should, all things considered. I'd like to take a look at your hands if I may, Mrs. Hawkins."
She backed away a bit. "Oh, no, Doctor. It's just a bit o' the same. Nothing a warm towel won't take care of. Oh, that's the kettle. You have a good day today, Dr. Turner." She very deliberately caught her husband's eye, gave him a look, and turned into the kitchen.
Curious, I peered at her husband. The old man suddenly seemed a bit awkward. "Is there something you wanted to tell me, Mr. Hawkins?"
He turned away from me and began to stuff his pipe. "There was one thing. Me and the missus, we-we were wondering...You said I had to take things easy-like, no strenuous activity."
"Yes. It won't do to put too much pressure on your heart, Mr. Hawkins."
I watched him fidget with his pipe and attempted to understand what he was trying to say. "Is there something you're concerned about?" I asked.
"Well, we were thinking, maybe it would be alright if we…" His eyes glanced nervously towards the back of the flat. Swallowing loudly, he blurted out, "We was wonderin' about marital activity if you see what I mean."
In twenty-five years of medical practice, I had heard more about the human experience than most people could ever imagine. After a moment of surprise, I cleared my throat. "You're concerned it might cause an attack?"
"Yes. But Hildy and me, we ain't-you know-in quite a while, and I have to tell ya doc, it ain't good for married folk to completely cut off the supply lines. So we wanted to ask ya if maybe, if we were all kinds of careful, we might give it a go."
It wasn't an unreasonable fear. Mr. Hawkins was eighty-seven, and his wife wasn't too far behind. "Have you discussed the possible consequences?" I asked.
"If ya mean, have I made sure my pension'll go to Hildy if I kick off, then yes. We're no fools, Doc. We know we've been lucky to 've lasted this long. We'd just like to spend our last times as close as we always was."
I considered for a moment, then stepped closer to the old husband. "As long as you're both aware, I'd have to say-" I lowered my voice- "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
He looked up at me then, a spark in his eye. "That's right, Doc. I knew you was a right 'un. An old romantic, just like me!" He laughed as he clapped my shoulder, not so eager for my company now that medical permission had been granted. In a moment, I was on the other side of his front door.
I had to laugh as I walked back to my car. The old couple's enthusiasm for each other was an inspiration. I couldn't wait to share this tale with Shelagh tonight, after Tim had gone to bed and it was just us two. Her cheeks would slowly flush as she struggled to master her initial embarrassment, and then her eyes would grow big, a bold spark shining out.
The door creaked slightly as I stowed my medical case in the backseat. Again, the bright silk scarf caught my eye. A flood of images passed suddenly before my eyes and I remembered. I wouldn't tell Shelagh this tale tonight.
I couldn't tell her of this old pair, content with what they had, happy to spend their remaining time sharing all they could. I couldn't tell her how, after nearly sixty years together, they still longed for the other's touch. Since our dreadful hour, there had been no more than duty kisses between us.
It was temporary, I knew. Eventually, Shelagh and I would begin to talk around our silence, and then one night would again live as husband and wife. Shelagh was a good wife, and would be sure to accept my occasional attentions.
Suddenly angry, I reached for the scarf and shoved it in my pocket, out of sight. My next call was waiting.
