XII.

He was used to the phone ringing. In fact, the device did it constantly, it was as if always, no matter the day, time or place, the device would look for him and find him. Sometimes he didn't care, sometimes it bothered him a lot. But the sound of the phone came almost with his doctor's name, and it was the signal that someone, somewhere in Poplar, needed him.

But this time, that someone was not in Poplar.

There was no greeting. It was as if she knew he could recognize her voice among thousands of voices. That's why she didn't need a greeting, just a simple statement. He heard, unable to fully understand what was happening. She, so many months away, without giving him more than a few words in a letter to his son, was now talking to him on the phone, telling him that she would return.

He wanted to be selfish for a moment so he believed with all his might that she chose him, that she had not yet spoken with Nonnatus, that her first communication with the outside world, beyond letters, was by phone, and with him.

He listened carefully, as he sat on the edge of his desk and played with the telephone cord, completely bewitched by her voice. Many times he heard her on the phone, but she always had the urgent tone of a nurse calling the doctor. This time, her voice was warm and shy, he could hear her breathing so close to his ear, her breathing a little laborious though he could not detect whether it was due to recovery from illness or nervousness. Anyway, it was hard for him to listen to her beyond the sound of his own heart in his ears. This surprise made it beat like a free and wild horse, made him sweat his hands and feel as if he could jump off his skin.

She said something about living a wrong life but in the right place, and suddenly all the chips began to fall into his mind and he was encouraged to mention his shameful attitude: his letters written with such determination and insistence. He never knew if he said too little or too much, and it seemed good to be honest and ask her.

He did not expect her ragged response in which he guessed a small smile. She read them, and she wasn't insulting him for what she read.

She considered having read what was necessary. The necessary? For what? The chips kept falling on his head, these continued to reveal a little more of the enigma he had been living in for months.

She had a decision. She wasn't telling him directly, but she was decided, and she was with him.

Then his medical side emerged, perhaps too sharply when she mentioned returning to Poplar by bus. He always considered her capable and intelligent, and strong enough to take care of herself, but unfortunately, she was also stubborn and was showing it to him. No one newly recovered and in the right mind should travel by public transport, surrounded by people with whom they know how many bacteria in their bodies. But she seemed determined to do so and his fear and care came to light in a way that he hated instantly when he opened his mouth.

To his luck and agony, she had the final word, the last lunge to leave him completely out of play:

Forgive me, but I don't answer to that name anymore.

That simple and cryptic answer left him breathless. She wasn't her anymore, she was another person.

But who was she? He wanted to know it for a long time, and it seemed he had the possibility of solving the mystery only on the other side of the line, but Nurse Noakes' corpulent shadow caught his attention.

Sometimes, he hated his profession very much, and this was one of those times.

Her words before cutting off the communication sounded sad and disappointed and he wanted to tell her that he didn't abandon her because he didn't want to listen to her or talk to her, but she wasn't there anymore. Like a falling star, she had appeared for a moment and just as quickly, had disappeared. He stared at the phone, wishing she understood, that in the distance she could feel how his heart was still pounding and rampant, how his ears remained delighted by her voice, how he was desperate to see and tell her, this time face to face, all the love he wanted to give her.

He was always proud of the attention he gave to the patients, how different he was from the rest of most doctors who only looked quickly, made a diagnosis, and left.

However, this time he was like those doctors. The things with Dolly progressed and thanks to heaven Chummy was there, and they both had a friendship that would help the young mother. Therefore, he was not necessary and that was the best thing that could happen to him.

Something told him that Sister Bernadette, (every moment he thought of her, he corrected himself, she no longer had that name, but what was her name? Many times he tried to imagine it, but all the names that came to mind seemed look bad in her) would commit the sanitary madness of taking a bus.

Just thinking about it, it made his skin bristle, he couldn't even imagine that she got sick again, not with how fragile she would surely be. He promised that he would always take care of her, and this was the first thing he should do, to prevent her from traveling alone with such an unstable day in a transport full of strangers.

He left the maternity home as fast as he could, his head focused on the road he had to take to get to the sanatorium. He did not realize that his own son was in the car, looking proud to be a surprise. He was always glad to see Timothy, but at that moment, he wished the boy were at school or anywhere else.

But Tim seemed determined, and if he thought about it...it wouldn't be bad if they went looking for her together. If things were like his mind, still moved, said they were, it would be better if Timothy was there. He was his family, it was a part of him. He must know what was about to happen, or at least he should know that his father was stupidly in love. It wasn't something a child wanted to know, especially when his mother was dead, but Tim was his son and he had the right. Also, if everything was very uncomfortable, Timothy could save the situation with his naughty questions and occurrences.

He concentrated on the increasingly foggy road, and on answering the long list of questions Tim had. It filled him with happiness that the boy was happy to see her, and that he was delighted by the makeshift trip to the countryside.

"Dad, do you like her?"

He felt that he was choking at the sudden question, but Tim looked serious. He needed an answer, and Patrick wasn't sure he could give it.

"Since when do you talk about liking someone?"

The boy shrugged.

"I don't, but I heard it at school. There are a couple of girls who like Jack, but he likes Tom's sister, which is disgusting because she is two years older than us. Two years! That is so much!"

He pressed the fingers on the steering wheel. He was much older than her. He didn't know how much, but he didn't need to do accounts. The little hope that had been born in his heart began to fade. It was unheard of for her to notice him, and besides, he didn't even know if she had really left the convent or not.

"Dad?"

He looked sideways at Tim. He must tell him, though the chances of the love being reciprocal were void.

"Yes, I like her."

He looked back at the road, looking for any sign of her, trying not to think about what he had just said. Tim said nothing, just looked out the window and then stuck his head out. He had not mood to reprimand him.

He imagined thousands of different scenarios. He thought that he would not find her, that he would, but she would not accept to travel with him, or that she would accept but the trip would be uncomfortable. He thought he would find her without her habit and see her in normal clothes, and finally discover what color her hair was. He also thought that he would see her as usual, with her nun's clothes and her head covered.

Timothy shouted and he slowed. Someone was walking along the road, although due to the fog he could not distinguish much. It was a woman, dressed with almost the same fog that surrounded her, carrying two suitcases. She turned, and he saw her.

She was so different, but her look was the same as always. Her eyes, those two lanterns of life that she had for eyes, looked directly at him, and he knew that the person he loved was there, although he did not even know how to call her, how to speak to her, how to approach her.

She was like an angel, standing there in the middle of the road, looking at him and again, asking for help like so many other times. And he, as an automaton, got out of the car and for a second stared at her, assessing if this was another of his dreams, or reality, thinking if that ray of light in the fog was lighting him or it was just his imagination.

Then he went to her like a star attracted by the sun and suddenly everything was more than clear. His little mystery, the person he was observing first by curiosity and then to discover a little more about her, was there, waiting for him.

He didn't know what to look at or what to do first. She was so small, she seemed so fragile and about to cry, and so beautiful, and he wanted to hug her so that nothing and no one would push her away again, but his reason stopped him. That would have been imprudent, this time his medical side came to save him, and he immediately thought about her health. She was dressed in something very light, and the day was getting worse, and she had walked a lot carrying too much weight. None of it was good for her, and he panicked.

He raised his hand in fear, he still didn't know if he could touch her, but he needed to know. He rested his hand on her forehead, looking for fever, and maybe there was but he couldn't register it because her skin was so soft, and her eyes closed and her face was full of relief, as if for a long time she had waited this little contact.

His questions were whispered, he didn't want to scold or scare her, he just felt terribly worried that things had gone wrong, that he had lost her again.

She looked him straight in the eye. They were a sea where he would gladly drown. For the first time he saw happiness there. Her face was something else, it was tinged with shame. She seemed more adorable to him than ever. He knew that he could have waited longer and all his life, if the reward would be this: she, so close, she, not being a nun, she, looking at him that way.

He suddenly remembered his coat. It was the first thing he had to do, give her the coat and get her out of this damp and damaging place, so he took it off and wrapped her with it, and he could feel his own scent floating around.

He still couldn't hug her, but he would do it this way, giving her his coat, his warmth, his protection. She looked even smaller when he adjusted the neck to cover her as much as possible. She kept looking into his eyes, an open look, where he could see many things, so many that he was scared to think of everything was still a dream. He was afraid to wake up in his bed, or on the kitchen table or on the sofa, surrounded by cigarettes and loneliness.

But she spoke, and again saved him from his misfortune.

She knew him so little, and he did too. Despite all the observations, he still knew her so little…

Her barely whispered voice showed no concern, but sincerity. He noticed her swallow hard, he supposed that to say that was a great effort for her, as much as it was for him to pronounce the things he had been in his chest for a long time.

But she, despite everything and against all odds, was certain. Despite all his doubts, his mistakes, his miseries, she was certain of him. This celestial creature, small, blond, but strong and determined, who led a life so different and at the same time so similar to his, was sure to love him. And with her gaze, she begged him to be certain too.

Of course he told it to her, and she blessed him with a smile of relief and happiness.

He wanted to tell how much he loved her, wanted to scream and dance on the road, but she still looked at him, shy and at the same time convinced, and he could see in her smile that she wanted to say more.

So he helped her, asking what he so longed to know.

Her name was Shelagh. He never thought of that name, and it fit her so well.

Shelagh, a sweet and bright little whisper.

His own name sounded coarse and boring next to hers, like all of himself, but she was happy, he could see it in that smile he had loved for a long time, that frank smile, full of light, that smile that promised a life.

He wanted to kiss her, seal this incredible and perfect moment, but he was afraid to scare or bother her, or that she thought she was wrong by choosing an impulsive man who kissed her without permission in the middle of the road.

He had faith that years would come with her and he could kiss her in the future as many times as he wanted. Just a little more waiting.

"You must be very cold, we better get into the car. Ah, there is Tim."

Her face brightened more at the mention of the boy's name and she began to walk ahead of him, waving a hand to his son. Tim got out of the car and hugged her waist, asking dozens of questions almost without breathing.

Patrick smiled in relief, his son agreed with this.

Very gently he rested a hand on her waist and she turned just to look at him, again with a smile.

As they returned to Poplar, he felt aching his face for smiling so much, something he had not done for a long time. He could feel her scent and heat next to him, and hear her voice and laughter, and know that she looked at him from time to time, shy but unrestricted.

He knew that now there were many things to do: paperwork, explanations, conversations...But he left them behind in his mind, concentrating on this trip, concentrating on observing her once more, concentrating on being surrounded by his Shelagh.