Chapter Six: Thanksgiving

I didn't know what to do or where to go when I left. I didn't want to go to my apartment. Eventually, I ended up on the hospital's rooftop. It was completely dark. I located the string of lights and connected them. They twinkled eerily, sadly. The once fairyland of a rooftop was now only vacant with decaying Christmas lights the only beacon into the desolation.

Had the man I had just left, the man I had just been so passionately kissing, really been on this very rooftop earlier in the day with Succubus? Discussing competing with her husband for her affections yet again? Bemoaning his inability to always be with her? Had the passion in his kiss been merely a result of his frustration at her physical denial? Was he just horny? Was I just horny?

I sat down on the chilly rooftop with my back against the wall and rested my hands atop Ulysses. The tears rolled down my cheeks unchecked. The sky was beginning to pinken before I closed the door on the roof.

Life settled into a nice routine. I spent my mornings reclining while servicing my online class and my afternoons reclining while delving into my research, reading plays by Peter Shaffer and Alan Bennett and Tom Stoppard. Dr. Castillo agreed to see me very late on Monday evenings every two weeks; that way, I could get in and out of the hospital with little chance of encountering Blue Eyes. In fact, avoiding him consumed a goodly allowance of my energies.

At my appointment the Monday before Thanksgiving, Dr. Castillo did another sonogram searching to confirm Ulysses's gender, but the sprout kept his back to the camera and refused to budge. On the drive home, I felt the first definite kick and was so excited I came close to wetting myself. I still hadn't told any of my family members of my pregnancy, and I hadn't made any friends within the university because of my confinement, so I had no one with whom to share my elation. I finally decided to call my brother, Greg, and at least talk to him.

I caught him at home. He said he was going to Alabama for Thanksgiving and asked about my plans.

"My department chair, Dr. Jacobs, has invited me for a brunch. Apparently, it's a huge tradition and scores of people will be there."

"Don't get drunk at your boss's party."

"I think that's the same advice I gave you last year," I laughed. Greg was fifteen years my junior and I had been his primary caretaker, so my feelings for him fluctuated between maternal and sisterly.

"Yeah, Cissy, but if I get drunk I'm already sitting down. Plus, I don't have as far to fall as you do." Greg's primary means of ambulation was his wheelchair.

"Quit rubbing it in." He always made me laugh. "Greg, I have a huge favor to ask. Would you come here for Christmas?"

He was quiet for long while. Finally, he started talking and I remembered why I hadn't called him much since moving.

"Too dammed good to come home? Mama's oil spill gravy not gourmet enough for you? Wait, it's not gourmet enough for me. Surely you can't be avoiding Daddy's latest fermentation experiments? You were the one raving about his tomato wine before you moved. Something's up. Have you gained thirty pounds and lost all your hair?" I looked down at the growing pooch and winced. "You don't have a Yankee accent yet. Have you forgotten how to form the plural of 'you,' because the answer is ya'll, not 'you guys.' What is it? You're hiding something . . ."

"Greg, just this once, could you let it drop?"

"He!! no. I have an undeniable need to know what is going on with you. You are my big sister even if you have become a Yankee lover."

"You're one to talk. You live in Washington, D.C."

"Cissy, I live in Fairfax, Virginia. V-I-R-G-I-N-I-A. I am a southern boy through and through. You, however, have forsaken your heritage."

"Fine, Greg, but do you think you could forsake your heritage just once and come here for Christmas?" He exasperated me sometimes.

"Are Mama and Daddy coming, too?"

"I certainly hope not."

"What is up? You are being so mysterious and that is so not you. Just spit it out already."

Telling one's little brother you had been raped and impregnated and, in addition, were going to have and keep the baby seemed to be best done in person. Telling the same story to one's parents seemed best left undone altogether.

I had purchased a few articles of maternity clothing at a consignment shop near the neighborhood deli I liked, so I was able to coordinate a long, black skirt with a long-sleeved, full tunic in a brilliant shade of yellow into a suitable ensemble for Thanksgiving brunch. No heels this time, however. Only flats.

Joel and Terri Jacobs lived in an updated bungalow in the historic district. Parking my truck required twenty minutes. The house was overflowing with young and trendy people enshrouded in aromas of cinnamon and vanilla. I moved gingerly through the house until I found Terri cheerfully ladling out hot cider.

"Audra, darling, how are you doing? And the baby – you're showing!" Terri enthused. Hel!!, Terri enthused about everything.

"Can I get some of that cider without the rum?"

"Of course you can," she said as she handed me a cup and sloshed another ladleful onto her table cloth. Terri had obviously been sampling her own concoction. "Joel is in the other room with the food. I think he's refereeing a heated debate about the literary sources for Hamlet. You're interested in British dramatists, right?"

"The living ones, yes." I wanted no part of that debate.

"Does that mean you're not a fan of Shakespeare?" a woman behind me asked.

"Is Shakespeare dead? Are you certain? Has anyone checked his Myspce?" I said, turning around to grab the speaker's arm. "If we walk away calmly and confidently, I don't think she'll follow us," I whispered conspiratorially to the woman.

She laughed. "Terri has a lot of holiday cheer."

We had moved into an alcove leading into the dining room when we stopped and I got a look at my rescuer.

"Hi, I'm . . ."

"Succubus," I blurted out. "Er, Stacy Warner."

She tilted her perfect head and narrowed her perfect eyes and asked me in her perfect voice, "Have we met?"

"Yes, we met at the departmental meet-and-greet last month. You were with your hus-"

"Hello," Blue Eyes said as he moved from behind me and took Stacy's arm.

She hastily said, "This is Dr. Greg House. Greg, this is . . ."

"Audra Jeffrey. I know. She's my patient."

Stacy appeared to want to crawl beneath the floorboards. I wanted to complete the sentence I had started. B.E. gave every indication he was pleased as punch we were both uneasy.

"I didn't think you were allowed to tell the world you were my doctor. At least, my psychiatrist always pretends he doesn't know me when we bump into each other in the liquor store," I groused.

"Obviously, you haven't seen him in quite a while," he answered while eyeing Ulysses's lump.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak Stacy joined in. "Greg, perhaps you and Audra should continue this conversation in private."

Blue Eyes and I locked stares. She really had no idea what she had said. Simultaneously, we both exclaimed a hearty, "No!"

"What?" she asked.

I exhaled and turned earnestly to Stacy. "Dr. Castillo is my obstetrician. Dr. House hasn't served as my physician since the first days of my pregnancy."

"I still oversee Audra's care in conjunction with Dr. Castillo," B.E. insisted.

What was his problem? Asking seemed to be the best plan. "What is your problem, Blue Eyes? I puked on your Nikes and passed out on top of you. Patient. First date. I can understand how you might confuse the behaviors, but we were in the freaking hospital clinic."

"I knew I should have insisted on that psych eval," he muttered.

Stacy's perfect face looked shell-shocked. "Are you two, well?"

"No!" we both shouted.

"I haven't seen Dr. House in over a month. I even schedule my appointments for Monday evenings so I won't run into him."

Stacy narrowed her perfect eyes again and said, "We don't see each other on Mondays. I have classes all day."

"So?" B.E. asked.

But my mouth was wide open and the light bulb inside my brain finally came on. Blue Eyes couldn't have been on the roof with Stacy the evening I thought I heard him repining with her. So, he hadn't been talking to her. He had been then, what, talking to himself? Nothing else was making sense.

Stacy turned her perfect glare to Blue Eyes and asked him in her perfectly angry tone, "What do you do on Monday nights? I thought you spent them with Jim, watching roller derby and eating take-out?"

"I do," he answered.

"Don't feel too guilty," I told him. "At the last departmental party she brought her husband."

I moved into the dining room where a huge table overflowed with food. An English professor I recognized but couldn't name sidled up to me and offered me a plate with tidbits of meats and cheeses. I accepted; since the baby was noticeable, strangers would unexpectedly gift me with surprising niceties. Older women were drawn to Ulysses's lump to pat and stroke and talk to. I had been startled on more than one occasion by an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice babbling at my belly. This professor, although male, had the look of a babbler.

"Thank you for the food. It looks delicious."

"There are some vacant seats over by the patio," he said and gestured towards a recessed nook containing overstuffed chairs in large garden prints.

I nodded and followed him. He was not as tall as Blue Eyes, but he was dark and neat and professorial-looking. I arranged myself in one of the comfy chairs and he took the other. I tried to breathe deeply, and I tried not to scan the rooms for Blue Eyes.

"I'm David Mebane. I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you, but if my memory serves me correctly, you were supposed to be an instructor this semester – you're from Auburn, right?"

"Yes. How?"

Before I could finish, he chuckled professorially and motioned for me to eat. "I reviewed your application. In fact, I was the head of the search committee and was supposed to remain as neutral as possible, but I will admit I found your curriculum vitae enviable."

"So I have another reason to thank you: you're easily snowed."

He laughed good-naturedly. "Actually, I am difficult to impress. I've been anxious to meet you."

"Dr. Mebane . . . " I started.

"Audra, don't be silly. Call me David. Please."

His dark preppiness was growing on me.

"David," I said with a coquettish tilt of my head, "I am honored you even remember my application. Unexpectedly, I had a significant interruption in my plans, but it's only a hiatus, not a permanent derailment."

"Oh, I have no doubt of your dedication. I'm aware you've been working with an online course. I'm hearing good things about your teaching skills."

I lost the ability to swallow the meat stuck in my throat. I coughed daintily; nothing happened. I coughed more forcefully; still, nothing happened. I rared back and expelled so much air from my lungs at such a rate of force the meat pellet flew out of my mouth and landed on David's plate. I gasped in horror.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he patted my shoulder with one hand and palmed the pellet in the other hand.

"Yes, I'm sorry," I rasped. He was holding my expelled meat hidden in his hand.

"I'll get you something to drink – water?"

I nodded. I watched as he walked back into the dining room; I saw him discard the meat pellet and wash his hands before finding the stash of bottled water. He returned promptly and successfully. I had forgotten all about Blue Eyes and Succubus.

I returned to the high protein/low carb plate of food David had given me while he told me of his specialty: he was American lit all the way. I wondered, fleetingly, if his passion for Faulkner had anything to do with his interest in me. He also sweetly confided he was recently divorced and the father of three pre-teens.

Just as I had finally unclenched my jaw and David was pulling out pictures of the children, Blue Eyes limped up. "Through chowing down, Patient?"

My look was as hateful as I could conceive. "Dr. Greg House, this is Dr. David Mebane. David, Dr. House is my obstetrician."

"I'm pleased to meet you," David responded politely.

Blue Eyes ignored the hand David extended. "Obstetrician?"

I continued addressing David although I couldn't look away from Blue Eyes. "Dr. House takes his role as my physician very seriously. A little too seriously." Where was Succubus? Couldn't she take control of her boyfriend?

David appeared flummoxed. "If you're not happy with your medical care," he spoke intimately to me, leaning close to get my attention, "I could give you the name of the obstetrician who delivered all three of my kids."

"Is the Ph.D.'s obstetrician experienced with high risk pregnancies resulting from rape?"

"Rape?" David yelped as if someone had accused him.

"You'd better call your lawyer," I threatened as I stood.

"Who, me?" David nearly screamed.

Blue Eyes lifted his cane and shoved the tip against David's shoulder until David looked at him. "Not you, Ph.D. You're clear. Now go."

David scurried away.

"How dare you invade my environment, my circle of colleagues and mentors, and callously announce private information just to alienate a male who is paying me attention?"

"Shut up." He rubbed his forehead.

I could hear my blood swooshing in my ears. My fists were clinched at my sides and I was using every restraint not to knee him.

"I didn't invade your environment; you invaded my relationship. And the Ph.D. doesn't have any kids. He was just saying that so he could get the chance to invade you."

"Are you insane? Do you really think he would lie to me for sex? I'm five months pregnant. No one wants to have sex with me." I was shaking with fury.

"Good point. Maybe you've done some research he wants to use, written an article he wants to publish? I saved you from being victimized. But you don't need to thank me."

That was the last straw.

"I strongly suggest you call your lawyer because I'm going to sue you for violating the HIPAA Privacy Rule. And while I'm at it, I'll go ahead and take out a restraining order against you so I won't have to worry about this type of altercation happening ever again." I tried to get past him before I had a stroke.

He laid his left palm against Ulysses, and the sprout chose that very moment to kick him so hard his hand moved. His eyes darted to his hand and back to my face.

"Ulysses?"

"Yeah. He's not fond of you right now, either."

Blue Eyes ignored me. He bent his head down next to his hand on my bulging belly and smiled faintly. "Come on, Ulysses, kick me again," he coaxed.

I was transfixed watching his face. He was concentrating with all of his being, poised in an uncomfortable crouch, waiting to be assaulted by my unborn child.

I smacked him on top of his head. "Get away from there. What is wrong with you?"

His head popped up. "What is wrong with you?" he pouted, rubbing his crown.

"Where is Succubus? Can't she take you home?"

"She had another appointment."

"Oh." We just stared at each other.

Finally, Blue Eyes sighed and held out his hand. "Keys. I need a ride home. Football's on this afternoon – you like football, right?"

I gave him my keys and nodded.

He opened the door to the patio and peered outside. "Come on, Big Mama, let's take a shortcut down the garden path."

We walked, slowly, around the bungalow. Once headed down the street to my truck, Blue Eyes said, "We can even invite Wilson over. He's usually alone on Thanksgiving."

"Oh, right," I replied. "I'm sure he's dying for another threesome with us."

Blue Eyes chuckled. "This time, Big Mama, I'm sitting on the couch with Wilson. Sitting beside you is dangerous."

Again, inside the truck proved the place for conversation.

"Did Succubus really have another engagement?"

Blue Eyes fished in his pocket for his meds and swallowed one. "Whatever the motivation, she left to join Mark and his family for the rest of the holiday."

"The husband?" I asked, rubbing it in not a little.

"Yes, smart ss."

"So, how's that working for you?"

"Just dreamy."

Jim was already at Blue Eyes' apartment when we got there; football was in high gear and snack foods littered the coffee table along with beer bottles. Jim's eyes widened when he saw me, but he recovered quickly and gracefully.

"Audra, you look so lovely and so pregnant! Come sit beside me!" and he motioned to a spot on the couch.

I shook my head to decline, but Blue Eyes shoved me towards Jim. "Great idea, Wilson. Maybe you can persuade her to bet with you on the Cowboys. She's probably just that gullible."

I reluctantly took my end of the sofa. Football with a tipsy Jim and a surly B.E. did not bode well.

When Blue Eyes returned from the kitchen with fresh beers for Jim and himself and bottled water for me, I remembered the question I had for him: "Blue Eyes, why did you think David didn't have any children?"

"The Ph.D. guy? I saw him drive up. He had a brand new BMW Z3, which is a two-seater and an expensive sports car – definitely not the car of a family man, nor the car a man paying child support for three kids on a professor's salary can afford if he also has to maintain another car for mass transit. I told you – he was hoping to get something from you."

"It's always about sex," Jim chimed in.

I gave Jim a disgusted look, and B.E. laughed. "He mentioned my online course," I mused. "I wonder if he's doing something with e-learning."

"If he were, would you have information he would want or need?" Blue Eyes asked.

"Possibly. You truly are a cynic."

"Only because I'm right."

"I have another question."

"It'll cost you," B.E. said as he headed to the kitchen for more libations.

"That Monday we three were watching Roller Derby," I began, but Jim started moaning, "Please don't start wrestling again."

I continued, ignoring him, "I heard you on the hospital roof – I thought you were talking to Succubus – you were saying you were never where you wanted –"

"You were eavesdropping?" he interrupted as he brought back beer for Jim and himself.

"The door was propped open. Who were you talking to?"

"Myself."

An increasingly inebriated Jim giggled and said, "House talking to himself."

"Shut up," B.E. scolded.

"But, Blue Eyes, what did you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Liar. You never mean nothing."

Dallas lost its game and the Kansas City Chiefs were beginning a game no one seemed to care about. Jim had stashed a cold cut tray in the frig, so I tidied up the empty bottles and chip bags and went to the kitchen to prepare a sandwich platter. I heard Blue Eyes thumping down the hall after me.

"I can do this without your assistance," I complained to him.

"Just wanted to make sure you weren't going to cook chitlins or anything else equally disgusting."

"You don't like pig innards on your tuna fish sandwiches?"

"I bet you do, Tiger." He opened another beer. "Why does it matter what I was saying?"

"Because you sounded unhappy and frustrated."

"I'm dating my ex-girlfriend and her husband – shouldn't I be frustrated?"

"You should be fed up and dump her ass." I picked up the food to carry into the living room, but he blocked the doorway. "Okay, Blue Eyes, tell me: Is the sex really that good?"

We both heard a knock on the door and then the uncoordinated sounds of Jim struggling to open it.

"Oh no," I groaned as Blue Eyes muttered, "Sh!t!" Before either of us could get there, Jim had stepped aside and admitted Stacy with a flourish.

She strode right toward Blue Eyes, so I made a u-turn and headed back into the kitchen.

"A Thanksgiving football party, Greg?"

He had stopped midway up the hall. "Well, you were occupied with your husband and his relatives, so I thought I might as well entertain."

I heard Jim in the living room calling out, "Bring in the sandwiches and another beer!"

"Didn't I just see that pregnant woman go into your kitchen?" she demanded in a perfect shriek.

That pregnant woman? Succubus had already forgotten my name?

"Audra," Jim yelled.

"Thanks for your help, Wilson," Blue Eyes yelled back sarcastically. "And I'm cutting off your beer."

I heard the sound of determined steps heading toward the door with thumping and limping following.

"If she's what you wanted, why didn't you just say so, Greg. You could have saved us both a whole lot of time and trouble."

"Stacy, it's not what it looks like," Blue Eyes whined.

Jim, who had become my spokesman, admonished, "Just say what you mean, House."

"Yes," I heard Stacy challenge him, "say what you mean."

"Okay. I'm sick and tired of being held at arm's length while you cater to Mark. Make a choice."

So, was he hers for the choosing? Was it that easy for her?

Stacy sighed a perfectly feminine sigh. "All right. I will choose. Good night, Greg."

And then I heard what sounded like kissing; I peeked down the hallway and saw the back of Blue Eyes being pawed by Succubus as they engaged in what was definitely not a clenched-teeth kiss. I had to sit down at the kitchen table and take a long drink of water. When the door clicked shut, I heard Jim say, "Good night, Stacy."