DECEMBER
The elevator groaned again, and Julie wondered if she and James should have opted for the stairs.
"You don't need to worry," James said, and Julie smiled at the way he always seemed to read her thoughts. "It's just old and cranky. It hasn't broken down yet. Besides," he said, winking at her, "I'm here to rescue you if anything happens."
"My hero." She placed her hands melodramatically over her heart and smiled at him.
"And even if it does, we'll just have a private New Year's party." James leaned down to kiss her and she forgot about the ominous sounds coming from over their heads and the grinding gears she felt through the soles of her shoes.
She returned the kiss, her hand reaching beneath his open coat and blazer. She could feel the texture of his cotton shirt and the soft lambswool of the scarf she had given him a week earlier. They both laughed as the elevator came to an abrupt stop, James' forehead bumping lightly against hers with the jolt.
"Darn it," she said as the door opened. "I guess I'll have to share you tonight after all."
James took her hand and brushed a soft kiss across her knuckles. He smiled. "Not all night," he said.
They had split the holiday season. James coming to her family's Christmas dinner after finishing a shift at the hospital, then Julie making the trip with him to his family's place for the last day of Hanukkah. Now it was New Year's Eve with Greg and Stacy, then a long day of bowl games and overeating with her friends on New Year's Day.
"You sure about this?" James paused before the door at the end of the hallway. "Your Mom said you usually ..."
"Stop worrying about what my mother thinks I should be doing," she said. "If it was up to her, I'd still be married, have 2.5 children and be meeting her for lunch at the club every Tuesday and Friday."
"She always makes it sound like I'm corrupting you."
"Maybe I like being corrupted," Julie said, and put her hands up around his neck, pulling him down to kiss her.
Her mother also kept telling her that James was overly devoted to his patients, that he wouldn't have time for her. Julie could see only virtue in his devotion to helping others. While her mother fretted that Julie could never settle for coming second to medicine in his life, she found his commitment admirable. Even today he had put in a few hours at the hospital, checking in on the handful of people who were continuing their treatments through the holidays and overseeing the treatment of a 12-year-old immunocompromised patient who had picked up an infection during a Christmas visit at home.
He had called her at a little past 6 p.m., telling her he was going to squeeze in a quick run before he picked her up. Julie could feel where his hair was still damp from his shower, and she could smell of his cologne mixed with the scent of his soap and shampoo.
"I cannot believe you left the house on a cold night like this with wet hair and no hat," she told him. "You'd think a doctor would know better."
"Maybe I should find someone who would look out for me," he said. "Someone who would stop me from doing such silly things."
"Maybe you should," Julie whispered.
"Got any suggestions on who I should ask?" His voice was a quiet rumble next to her ear. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her earlobe and neck.
"Greg, get away from the door and give them a little privacy," Julie could hear Stacy's muffled voice coming through the wood.
"Why? This is more entertaining than Dick Clark." She heard a shuffle of footsteps and the thumping sound she guessed was Greg's cane from the far side of the door.
James shook his head. "Sorry," he whispered, but he had a smile on his face.
The door swung open. Stacy was holding it open as Greg moved slowly across the living room, his back to the entrance.
"Happy New Year," Stacy said.
"It's not midnight yet," Greg called across the room as he reached the couch and slowly lowered himself onto it.
"Technically no," James said. He handed Stacy a bottle of Perrier-Jouet Julie had suggested he pick up for the evening. "But it is almost the new millennium. Finally. So you can stop bitching at everyone who spent 2000 saying it was the 21st century."
James took Julie's coat and hung it in the closet, then hung up his own. He was wearing the old soft corduroy blazer that she had dug out of the back of his closet one day -- the one she had told him she loved. He took her hand again and gave it a squeeze as he walked with her over to the living room. Julie sat in a leather chair at the end of the sofa and James perched on the overstuffed arm, his own arm across her shoulder.
"It's not a technicality, it's basic preschool." Greg said. "You begin counting with one, not zero. The century begins with 2001, not 2000."
"You had to start him up on this again, didn't you," Stacy teased James as she came out of the kitchen with three glasses of red wine in her hands. She ignored Greg's outstretched hand and instead walked over to James and Julie, who both took a glass. "Now we'll be hearing about this all night."
Stacy took a sip from the last glass as she settled herself in an armchair at the other end of the couch, near Greg.
"Hey," Greg held out his hand. "You forgot mine."
"You know you're supposed to avoid alcohol with your meds," she said. "I'm letting you have champagne later as it is. You don't need any other complications."
"You're letting me have champagne? Gee, Mom, maybe you'll let me borrow the car keys for the big dance on Saturday too." If this was how much they fought when company was around,Julie wondered how they acted when they were on their own.
Stacy didn't respond to his comments, though, instead just looked at him across the top of her glass. Greg tossed his head back against the cushions. "Fine," he said. He gave out an aggravated sigh, then pushed himself forward and grabbed his cane.
Stacy set her glass down. "I can get you something else."
Julie looked at James, trying to tell if the bickering was upsetting him, but he didn't react at all. She figured he would know whether he should step in before a fight broke out, so she tried to ignore it as well.
"I can do it myself," Greg said and pushed himself onto his feet. He paused for just a moment, then made his way around the coffee table and toward the kitchen. "Unless you've got an objection to my having a Coke? Too much caffeine affecting the blood vessels?"
Stacy didn't respond. She picked up her glass again and took another sip of the wine. Julie took a drink herself and tried to find some way to change the topic. She could smell a rich fruity aroma coming from the glass and caught a touch of light spiciness rather than the dark tannin of a cabernet.
"It's wonderful wine, Stacy," she said. "Zinfandel?"
Stacy nodded. "A winery in Sonoma that Greg and I found a few years back when we took a long weekend out there."
Julie nodded. She saw James take a drink, but he didn't seem to be paying attention to the taste of the wine or the conversation. Instead he was watching Greg's progress across the floor, the smile he'd had all evening had disappeared.
"Greg presented a paper at a conference in San Francisco in ... '98 I think," Stacy was saying. "James, do you remember if that was '98 or '99?"
"'98," James said. He kept his eyes on Greg's back as he made his way into the kitchen. Julie looked at Greg as well and tried to see if she could notice anything different, but he looked the same to her: gaunt, unshaven, moody and moving with a lopsided motion as he leaned heavily on the cane. She had a image pop into her head of her brother and his friends racing Sunfish sailboats when they were kids, the small boats tilting to one side each time one of them tacked into the wind. Greg always seemed to list that same way, like a strong breeze could blow him over.
"Right." Stacy's voice drew Julie's attention back over to her. "In '98 then. It was during the middle of harvest and the fields and the wineries were just packed. We'd spend the mornings visiting a couple of wineries, then have a picnic lunch, then head to a couple more before dinner. Greg had tracked down this little bed and breakfast that was just beautiful and romantic." Stacy looked over at the kitchen door as Greg walked back into the living room, a can of Coke in his hand.
"I could get you the name of the place, if you're ever looking for a romantic getaway." Stacy looked back over at Julie and James.
"I'll let you know," James said. He was smiling again, and didn't seem to be paying any attention to Greg now as he made his way past the end table and to the couch, but Julie could feel James' hand tighten on her shoulder.
Julie put her hand on his and gave it a light squeeze. She wished she could read his mind as easily as he seemed to read hers.
She'd been drawn to James at the start by his good looks, his smile and his easy charm. The more she knew him, though, the more she found to love. He was devoted -- to his patients, to his friends, to medicine -- but she wasn't a fool. He'd been straight with her from the beginning: two marriages, two divorces. He had admitted to infidelities and had insisted on using a condom from the start.
But then Julie would never call herself a virtuous woman either, with one failed marriage already in her history and her own far-from-pure past. She knew no one was perfect, and liked to think that she had reached the point in her life where she could be a realist when it came to love and marriage.
James put his wine glass down on the coffee table and took her hand in his again. He leaned down. "I love you, you know," he said softly and kissed her once more.
"Of course if you really want to make it a romantic weekend, I can give you tips about more than where to sleep," Greg said interrupting the moment. "I've been thinking that now that I have the time, I should do the world a favor a write my own instruction manual: the House Sutra."
"Greg ..." Stacy warned.
"What?" Greg opened the can of Coke. "This is me being giving. I'm offering to share my gifts with the world."
"Ignore him," Stacy said to Julie. "He's just like every other old dog out there: all bark and no bite."
"Hey!" Greg protested.
James chuckled and gave Julie one more quick kiss before he slid off the chair arm to sit on the couch. She had learned long ago to follow his lead when it came to Greg. She had been unable to figure out Greg, but kept reminding herself that there must be something worthwhile somewhere in him if James enjoyed his company.
When James had first suggested she meet his friends, Julie could tell that it was a big step forward for the two of them. She had heard enough about Stacy and Greg to realize that they were like family to him, and enough to know that he respected their opinions.
She looked over at Stacy, who sat there with the same quiet, calm look of confidence she always had. She reminded Julie of every woman she had ever admired -- the ones that made her believe she had more to offer the world than a few dollars from her trust fund and the superficial work on committees that had satisfied her mother.
Greg was keeping up a steady flow of grumbling comments from his seat on the couch, saying something about Stacy never having a reason to complain in the past. He'd been quiet the first time Julie met him, but she could see now that was the exception. Most times he would threaten to overtake any conversation in the room -- at least until Stacy would shoot down one of his comments. But he always seemed able to make James laugh, and Julie liked that.
From James' descriptions, she had expected the perfect couple: equally matched in intellect and skills. Instead, whenever she saw them, they rarely seemed to talk to each other -- barely seeming to notice what the other person said.
She kept trying to find what it was they saw in each other. It was easy to find the attraction to Stacy, but what did Stacy see in Greg? Oh, he could keep up with her verbal volleys all right, but she knew there must be something more than that.
She watched them now at the other end of the couch. James was telling Greg something about someone named O'Neal that they apparently both knew from the hospital. Stacy seemed to be listening in as well, although she wasn't participating in the conversation. Julie tuned them out and took the opportunity to look around the condo.
There were photos of Greg and Stacy together in silver frames on the end table just off to her right side. They both looked happy and relaxed, so Julie could see the evidence that the two of them must have a good relationship -- or did at some point.
The furniture itself seemed to reflect a combination of two strong personalities -- wood and leather draped with afghans that looked both warm and hand knit. The accessories boasted both art deco style and 1950s kitsch. It all joined together into an exquisite blending of masculine lines and a feminine sense of style. It was impossible to figure out who picked out each piece.
Books filled the shelves along the walls and spilled out onto and under tables, though the stacks still somehow maintained a sense of tidiness, seeming properly ordered and catalogued even in their piles. The titles -- like the furniture -- crossed boundaries and tastes as well. There were the medical and legal texts that were each easy to trace to their owners, but also classic literature, mysteries, biographies, recent best sellers and essays that again defied any attempt she had made to figure out who read which book.
As James and Greg talked shop, Julie continued to let her eyes wander. The first time she visited the condo she had thought the piano must have belonged to Stacy. There was a sonata by Bach on top of the closed cover and just under it something by Chopin. She recognized a few other pieces as well from her own forced lessons when she was growing up.
The electric guitar stashed nearby she assumed belonged to Greg. Almost every man she knew had owned a Fender at some point in his life -- all part of the rebellious rock star phase they all seemed to go through. The piano, though, was different. No one crammed a baby grand into a small living room just to hang onto some lost part of their youth.
"That's great that you still play," she had told Stacy on that first night during the nickel tour of their home.
"Oh no, that's not mine," Stacy said. "Despite my mother's fervent wishes and three years of wasted lessons, I can barely find middle C. Greg's the musician." Stacy had turned toward Greg and smiled as she spoke, and Greg had caught her eye and given a slight smile and nod in return.
There was no music on the piano now. Instead there was a display Julie knew without a doubt had to belong to Stacy -- a small artificial tree with delicate silver and glass ornaments and a carefully arranged nativity scene.
"They were my mother's," Stacy said. Julie turned to see Stacy looking at her, a slight smile on her face. Stacy walked over to the side of the room where the decorations covered a small side table and part of the piano.
Julie joined her, carrying her wine glass. "They're beautiful."
Stacy took one of the figures off from the branch, stroking a finger over the edges of the angel's wings. "This one was always her favorite. She didn't let me touch it until the year I turned 12." She handed it to Julie. It was crystal -- heavier than she'd expected -- but with a lattice-like fringe along the edges of the wings.
"My Mom would always put up the tree and decorations at Thanksgiving and keep them up until Epiphany," Stacy said. "This was back when all we had were real trees, of course, and they always dried out. There would be needles all over the floor. My father would finally take the tree out halfway through January and there would just be a path of dropped needles all the way across the house. He was always a bit of a neat freak, and so he'd spend hours on his knees, picking up every needle."
Julie smiled and handed the angel back over to Stacy. Stacy looked down at it again. "My Dad bought an artificial tree sometime back in the '70s, but my Mom hated it. She refused to even take it out of the box."
"Was that the one she made us haul over to the Salvation Army a couple of years ago?" Julie turned to see Greg watching them. His voice was quiet, gentle. It was a tone she hadn't heard from him before.
"Yes, the one he stored in the garage," Stacy said. "That stuff, at least, she cleared out."
Stacy had her back to the room, placing the angel back on the tree. Greg watched her, as if he was somehow sensing something just from the shape of her spine.
"She finally broke down and got the little tree a couple of years after he died," Stacy said to Julie, nodding at the table top fake evergreen now on the piano. "She said she couldn't stand the sight of the needles without my father there to pick them up."
Stacy took a sip of her wine, then pointed to another ornament, this one a silver cherub. "My father bought her this one for their 25th Christmas together."
Julie ran her fingers over the edges of the ornament, then turned to Stacy. "How have you been holding up during the holidays?" She kept her voice quiet.
Stacy smiled a little and looked down at the shiny surface of the piano lid. "It's been hard," she said. "It's been a hard year for both of us." She turned briefly back to look across at Greg, but he seemed to be paying no attention to her now, instead talking to James again.
"Sounds like it," Julie said. "I don't think I can even imagine how it's been."
"James has been a big help," Stacy said. "He's a good person -- but then you already know that."
Julie chuckled. "I've had my suspicions." She absently swirled the zinfandel around in her glass. "At least you and Greg had each other through all of this. That must have helped."
"Well sure, of course," Stacy said. She looked briefly over at Greg and James, then turned away from them again and began making slight adjustments to the nativity scene. "I haven't told him everything, though. I wouldn't want him to feel he has to get too involved with everything related to my parents' property. He's got to focus on his therapy and rehab."
Julie nodded. James had told her often about how far Greg had come. He had been on crutches the first few times they met, and making his way awkwardly around the apartment on a cane a few weeks later. Just judging by the number of times James had rescheduled their dates to give Greg a hand with something -- or check in on him -- she guessed that his recuperation took most of his energy.
She liked to think that if she were in his position, though -- God forbid -- that she would find some way to devote some time to helping someone like Stacy.
"You know, if you ever need any help, you should call me," Julie said. "I don't schedule very many sessions on Friday afternoons, and I can usually free up a weekend when I need to."
"That's sweet of you, but you don't need to do that," Stacy put her hand on Julie's arm.
"I don't mind, and I know James is usually too tied up to get out of town on short notice ..."
"Really I'm fine," Stacy said. "But I'll keep it in mind, and may take you up on it sometime." She looked back over at Greg and James again. They were laughing about something. "I'm sure I drag James away from you often enough as it is."
"I don't mind," Julie said. "I'm sure if things were the other way around, Greg would be the way spending his free time helping out James."
"Um ..." Stacy shook her head slightly. "Maybe. I guess." She took another drink. "I'm sure he would. If James needed him."
A timer sounded from the kitchen. "I tell you what you can do for me," Stacy said. "Give me a hand in the kitchen?"
"Absolutely."
---------------
As Julie passed the sofa, she leaned over the back and gave Wilson a quick kiss on the cheek.
"What, nothing for me?" House said as Stacy passed him by on the way into the kitchen.
"You're getting food," she said and didn't slow down. Wilson could feel Julie's hand on his left arm, then felt her light touch sweep across her shoulders as she followed Stacy. When Wilson turned back toward House, House was taking a drink from Wilson's wine glass.
"Want me to get you your own glass?" Wilson asked when House set the glass back down on the coffee table. "I'll tell Stacy it's medicinal."
House shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I just wanted a taste. That's our last bottle from that trip."
"Well then, take this one," Wilson said. "You should have it."
House shook his head. "Nah, it's already past its prime anyway and Stacy always liked it better than I did." He took a drink of his Coke. "I'll have to see about getting her another case sometime."
"You sure?" Wilson picked up his glass again, holding it out toward House.
"Positive. I'll just hog more of the champagne at midnight."
Wilson shrugged and took another drink. He'd never developed the palate for wine that Stacy seemed to have, though he had to admit he always enjoyed any bottle she chose.
"Besides," House continued, "I think you'll need it. After all, you're the one in need of Dutch courage tonight. Maybe some Maker's Mark will help you pop the question."
Wilson swallowed down the wine quickly before he choked. He scooted closer to House and gestured to him to keep his voice down.
"How the hell did you know?" he whispered
"That's you're planning to ..."
"Shhhh." Wilson held up his hand again.
House rolled his eyes, but lowered his voice. "That you're planning to propose tonight? Easy. You keep checking your left pocket like you've got something in there that's as a precious as -- well -- diamonds. You're wearing that blazer that Julie once told you she liked even though you nearly threw out the last time you moved. And its New Year's Eve -- the last major holiday of the year that both of your religions share and you're enough of a romantic idiot that you'd think it was something romantic to do tonight."
"Because God forbid I should desire a romantic moment when I propose."
"Tell me, you planning to get down on one knee as well? Want Stacy to take a picture?"
"You have an objection? I could have sworn that once upon a time you said you wanted me to be happy."
"No, I said that I want to be happy." House took another drink of his Coke. "I know that pronouns can be confusing, but really, Wilson, I would have expected you could figure out the distinction between 'you' and 'me.'"
Wilson shook his head. "Fine. Maybe we should all just join you in your pit of despair and misery."
"Nah. Then it'd be too crowded and I'd have something else to bitch about."
Wilson leaned back into the cushions, his head dropping back until he was staring at the ceiling. He could smell roasted meat coming from the kitchen -- probably the standing rib roast that Stacy would sometimes pull off for special occasions.
He heard Julie laugh and smiled.
He rolled his head to the side. House had the TV on, with the sound muted. He was flipping past the channels. Wilson guessed that House's pain level was up. He had seen the way House leaned on the cane a little more when he walked across the room earlier. The temperatures had been dropping all week and snow began falling a few hours ago. He knew it was common for many people to feel an increase in pain with a change in the weather. It looked like this would be one more obstacle for House.
"Would you rather I didn't?" Wilson asked softly.
House kept flipping through the channels. "Didn't what?"
"Ask her tonight."
House turned away from the television to look at him. "Who am I to tell you whether you can get married?"
"You're no one," Wilson said. "I'm not talking about whether I ask Julie to marry me, I'm asking if you'd prefer I not do it here. Tonight. I could always do it later ... tomorrow maybe."
House shrugged. "Do whatever you want to. What does it matter whether I'm around or not?"
Wilson sat forward, his hands between his knees.
"I know things haven't been easy for you and Stacy lately," he said. "And I know that every time you've raised the topic of marriage she's cut you off."
"That's different," House said. He was watching the channels flip by again. "And it has nothing to do with you."
He stopped on one channel showing an NBA game being played somewhere on the west coast, the TV still on mute, the players moving silently up the court. House glanced briefly at Wilson, then back at the TV. "Go ahead and do it, if that's what you want."
"You sure?"
House nodded. "Sure," he said. "Fine." He shrugged. "Then at least somebody will have a happy new year."