Written in the River
A Carby Reunion Saga (Post-Season 10)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of these characters.
Author's Note: I'm so impressed with people who take the time to read works of fiction like this and then are gracious enough to comment on it. Thank you to all those who've reviewed this work. I've read every one of your comments—every word. Please relax and enjoy this next chapter. Note the story concludes with Chapter Six.
CHAPTER THREE: Like Riding a Bike
Subtitle: You Never Forget How It Feels
"MORNING. IT'S CARTER, isn't it?" Nelson asked as they met in the doorway of Abby's building.
"Yes, Dr. Nelson. You've consulted for me in the ER a few times. How're you doing?"
"I'm well, thanks. Do you live in this building, Dr. Carter?"
"No, actually, I was just visiting a friend. You?"
"Same. Just visiting. Lady friend," he confessed, revealing a bouquet of plump, healthy tulips he had hidden behind his back. Carter remembered that the last time he saw Dr. Nelson was during Abby's psych rotation, and the realization that he might be visiting Abby unnerved him. He stood in the doorway, subconsciously blocking Nelson's way.
"Well, I'd better get in there. I'm taking the lady to breakfast," Nelson said, hinting for Carter to step aside.
"Oh, sorry. Sure. Have a good one," Carter stammered. He let Nelson pass and felt his cheeks grow warm as he watched him disappear up the stairs toward Abby's apartment.
Abby woke with a start when she heard the doorbell. She jumped up, confused with sleep. The bell chimed insistently. "OK, I'm coming," she grumbled. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and saw the note on her nightstand. The events of the prior evening came back to her as she read it. "Thanks for being there—Love, Carter." She peeked into the living room to see the blanket she covered him with neatly folded on the couch, but there was no sign of Carter.
The ringing of the doorbell turned to hard knocking, and suddenly she remembered—she had a date with Nelson for an early breakfast. She had seen him now a couple of times—once for dinner, once for lunch. "Why not breakfast?" he suggested. He was nice, plus she could use the ride to the hospital while her car was in the shop. She tied her robe around her waist and headed for the door. "Hi," she said, her voice still husky with sleep.
"Uh oh. Do I have the wrong day?" Nelson inquired, revealing the bouquet.
"Come in. You have the right day. I just forgot to set my alarm. I was up last night . . . comforting a sick friend."
"Practicing your patient skills? Excellent. Maybe you need to be comforted this morning." He swaggered over to her, untied her robe, and slipped his hands around her waist. Oh great, she thought to herself, he'd have to pick this morning to make his move. She wriggled away. "I'm sorry. Can we just get going? I'm starving, and I have a shift in a couple of hours."
NELSON WAS PLEASANT company, but Abby hurried through her muffin and coffee, anxious to get to the hospital. She was worried about Carter—after all, the last time she saw him he was sobbing into her lap.
"Carter in?" she asked Jerry as soon as she arrived.
"Good morning to you, too, Dr. Lockhart," he responded facetiously.
She got the message. "Good morning, Jerry. Carter in?"
"Trauma 2."
She watched him through the window applying strips of Vaseline gauze to a patient's leg. Carter's face brightened when he saw her. "Finish this up, will you Morris?" He stripped off his gown and gloves and followed her into the lounge.
"How're you doing?" she asked.
"I'm fine—really," he reassured her.
"I've got 15 minutes before my shift, can you grab coffee?"
"I thought you would have had coffee with your shrink friend," Carter said with a smile, but Abby thought it a smirk.
"Nelson? He's nice—and he was a really good teacher," she said averting her eyes.
Carter regretted his remark, mostly because it prompted her to defend him.
"I'm sorry, I had no right—"
"No, it's OK. We've just gone out a few times," Abby said and quickly changed the subject. "So, are you sure you're OK?"
"I'm much better, thanks. Look, I shouldn't have done that to you last night. It wasn't . . . right."
"It's OK, Carter . . . Plus, I owed you. You rescued me from being a two-time medical school drop-out."
The comment stung. "Well, then, I guess we're even-steven," he said and turned to open his locker.
Now it was Abby's turn to regret. "John, I was kidding. I wanted to help. I wanted to . . . be there."
He turned to her and smiled. "How about that coffee now?" he suggested.
"COFFEE?" SHE ASKED the next day just as Carter was about to call Kem. "Sure," he said. "I'll meet you outside." Carter felt it only right to call Kem once or twice a week since she returned to Africa. Inevitably, she was too busy to talk or was traveling to raise funds to support her AIDS program. If she managed to return his call, he was generally busy in the ER or occupied with the unwelcome burden of the Carter Foundation. And when they did connect, it was obvious there was very little to talk about. So when he called Kisangani this morning and Kem did not answer, he found himself relieved. He had coffee on his mind.
"Coffee?" he asked the following day just as Abby was putting on her jacket to meet Dr. Nelson for lunch. "Sure," she said. "Just give me a minute." She went into the lounge and called Nelson to say she was swamped in the ER and would have to take a rain check.
"Coffee?" she asked the day after that once she and Carter finally stabilized a young man with a penetrating stab wound to the heart. "And pie," he added.
He would watch her as they sat on the bench by the river or on the tall stools at the new convenience store built on the site of the former Doc Magoo's. Abby would chatter away, spewing an endless stream of anecdotes about this patient or that one, talking with ease about this diagnosis or that procedure, sharing her daily triumphs with a spark of confidence in her eyes that made him melt. Sometimes, he found himself barely listening to her, just watching her lips move and eyes sparkle as she broke into smile after smile.
Abby could tell that Carter was climbing out of his deep hole. During their coffee breaks, he'd laugh frequently about the pitfalls of home ownership—like the flooded basement, leaky roof, and bathroom plumbing disasters that befell the town home he now resided in alone. He'd share his anxiety about the overwhelming responsibilities of the Carter Foundation, and he'd listen intently to her advice. He'd talk of his mother and how he resented that she was absent—again—when he lost his son, and he felt better when Abby urged him to forgive her for her weaknesses. In his pensive moods, he'd quietly reflect on the unpredictability of life: "It's funny, Abby, how things work out, right?"
At first, Abby assumed he was lamenting his lost relationship with Kem. But as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, she wasn't so sure it was about Kem at all.
SOME DAYS WERE triumphant for Dr. Lockhart—some were not. That Thanksgiving Day was not. Chicago was teaming with tourists in town for holiday events in the city. In an old downtown hotel, celebrations got out of hand for a drunken father who took out his rage on his two children. His 12-year-old daughter tried to protect her 7-year-old brother by lifting him through a window and out onto a fire escape. But the boy panicked and jumped three stories. Though she tried desperately, Abby could not save him.
"Abby, it's been 41 minutes. Stop compressions," Weaver ordered.
"Don't stop! Please help him!" his sister pleaded. Abby was exhausted, her body hurt, but she pumped away at the child.
"Abby, that's enough!"
"Kerry, he's seven!"
"He's gone, Abby!" Weaver turned to the girl. "I'm sorry, sweetie. We tried to help him, but he was hurt too badly."
"Noooooo, please!" the girl cried.
Abby reluctantly climbed down from the stretcher, tired and panting, and went to comfort the girl. "Get away from me!" the child yelled at her. Abby froze.
Carter didn't hear what happened until the end of his shift. "Luka, have you seen Abby?"
"I saw her walk out into the bay. Maybe she just needed some air after that boy—"
Before Luka could finish, Carter headed for the door. He didn't see her in the ambulance bay. Instinct told him to head for the river. From the underpass, he spotted her by the railing of the unusually crowded promenade. Weaving his way through the tourists, he could hear his cell phone ringing in his pocket. Anxious to reach her, he ignored it.
She didn't look at him. She didn't have to. She knew he was standing behind her. He didn't say anything to her. They just looked together out onto the water, where a boat laden with fireworks was poised for a holiday display. Aha! That accounted for the crowd, he thought. It didn't take long before the narrow river walkway was filled with a crush of people waiting for the Thanksgiving pyrotechnics to begin. Bodies pushed and shoved in waves. Carter struggled to stay close Abby, but Abby couldn't be budged. Her hands gripped the railing. Her face was expressionless and as white as her knuckles. Carter wrapped his arms around her to keep from being swept away by the crowd. They stood together as orchestra music burst into the air. The bustling crowd grew still, and color filled the sky.
The night air was cool, but Carter's body against her made Abby feel warm all over. His arms around her were strong and comforting, and soon the tension of her day waned. She couldn't move if she wanted to—and she didn't want to.
Abby relaxed and molded her body into his. Carter responded by holding her closer—but he felt like he couldn't get close enough. She leaned her head back on his shoulder and looked up in the sky to watch the rockets exploding above them. He pressed his cheek against her hair and pulled his arms even tighter around her. She closed her eyes, savoring the closeness.
The grand finale of the fireworks display was accompanied by the music of Carter's cell phone. To answer it, he would have had to move his arm from around her. It'll wait, he thought.
Carter and Abby walked silently hand in hand back to the hospital. Both were aware of what was happening. Both were too unsure to talk about it. When they reached the ambulance bay, Kerry burst through the doors: "Abby, let's go! You can't take a break every time something doesn't go your way. We've got a 30-year-old with a self-inflicted GSW to the head. Move it! Carter if you're off, you'd better get outta here before the next one rolls in."
Abby turned to him. "I'd better—"
Before she finished, his lips were on hers in a kiss he couldn't hold back. Abby parted her lips to kiss him back, but in an instant, the past year's events flashed before her eyes. She saw herself begging him not to return to Africa . . . Gillian handing her his letter . . . Kem pregnant with his baby.
Abby pulled away as hard as she could and ran into the ER without looking back.
"Abby, I'm sor—," he called after her, but it was too late. The ER doors opened their jaws and swallowed her.
THERE WAS NO saving the patient with the gunshot wound. Gray matter covered the gurney; there was nothing left of his cerebrum. Abby was two-for-two on this Thanksgiving Day. "Do you want to call it, Abby?" Luka asked.
"Time of death, 20:04." Abby pulled off her gloves, shed her gown, sped to the lounge, and flopped down on the couch. Luka followed her.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah."
"You sure?"
She shrugged her shoulders, indicating she was not so sure.
"The boy this afternoon?"
"Yeah, and this last guy. Just 30."
"Life is hard, Abby. Some people are just too scared to face it."
"Yes, people like me. Why am I still such a coward?" she asked herself.
"I wish I could have done something for that kid today, Luka."
"Some things you can't fix."
Poor Luka. He would know, she thought.
"Abby, go home. You've had enough today. I'll cover for you with Weaver. It's a holiday. Get out of here and do something to make yourself feel better."
". . . do something to make yourself feel better." Luka's words echoed loudly in her head. She headed for the El.
CARTER'S TOWNHOUSE ON Cattlemen's Row was beautiful at night, Abby thought as she stood at the end of his walkway. Maybe it was the warm glow from the grand bay window. Maybe it was the reddish-brown color of the limestone. It's not quite as beautiful as his grandmother's house, but neither is Buckingham Palace, she joked to herself. She slowly made her way toward the front door, wishing that she had stopped home to change out of her jeans and sweater. She pressed the bell, and it seemed like an eternity before he pulled the door partly open to see her standing there.
"Abby." His heart beat faster at the sight of her. Moonlight made her face radiant. Her long, shiny hair fell loosely against her shoulders. Her breathing was fast and shallow. She seemed nervous.
She said, "I'm sorry I left that way. It's just that it's been a long time . . . and a lot has happened . . . there's so much we haven't even talked about . . . and . . ." The words weren't coming to her, so she just closed her eyes and did what she came to do. Right there in the doorway of his home, she brought her lips up to his and finished the kiss he started earlier.
He couldn't help but respond. He put one hand in her hair and the other around her waist and brought her as close as he could. Her mouth was so familiar, and her body felt so warm against his.
His lips on hers after so long took Abby's breath away. His hand rubbing the small of her back made her stomach tingle and her legs wobbly. She opened her eyes a bit and grabbed for the door to steady herself, but she only managed to push it open further. It was then that she saw the figure of a woman through the fringe of her eyelashes and quickly realized it was Kem.
Next . . .
Chapter Four: Big Talkers