Greg and Roz showed up half an hour later, and not just with garlic bread ready to run under the broiler but dessert too. "Raspberry clafouti," Roz said. "It was almost done when you called."
"It smells like heaven," Sarah said, and offered a hug. She looked at Greg. "You have something to tell me."
"Where's the battleax?" He leaned against the counter.
"If you mean Colleen McMurphy, she's upstairs getting settled," Sarah said. "Roz said you have good news. What is it?"
"She came all this way when I already know she's a pain in the ass—"
"Greg," Sarah said in mild exasperation. "Talk to her before you decide she's not what you need. Now stop jerkin' me around."
"Okay, jeez. Impatient much?" Greg paused. "No more pillows needed for missionary position." He gave her a direct look, his blue eyes bright. Sarah put down the pot holder she'd picked up, as surprise gave way to delight.
"Oh," she said, and felt tears well. "Oh, that's wonderful!" She hurried around the counter, arms wide.
"God," Greg groaned, but he didn't tense up or flinch when she hugged him gently. His hand rested on her back for a moment. When she released him he looked down at her. A rare but genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You must hate it when you're so predictable."
"Just hush. I'm allowed to be happy for you." Sarah smiled at Roz. "I hope you both have a great time exercising together."
Roz laughed as McMurphy entered the kitchen. Sarah watched her take in her surroundings with a single quick glance, a nurse's instinct at work.
"Doctor House." McMurphy gave him a cool stare. "Good to see you moving around so well."
"For a decrepit old fart." He returned her look with a full force glare.
"You're ten years younger than me," she said.
"It ain't the years, it's the mileage."
"That still makes me older than you." The flat certainty in her voice would make Greg's hackles rise, Sarah knew the signs all too well.
"Before you begin beating each other up in earnest, let's have supper," she said. McMurphy spared her a look, brows raised, but said nothing more. Greg rolled his eyes.
"Wet blanket," he said, and went to the fridge to extract a cold beer.
For a time everyone was preoccupied with dinner. Sarah had ditched her plan for roast chicken and vegetables and made spaghetti instead, since it was easier to double the amount of sauce and pasta for the number of people present. Both Gene and Greg could pack away sizable amounts of food, and she didn't want to come up short.
"Poppi's been teaching you his secrets," Roz said. She smiled at Sarah. "That's a high honor, you know."
"Yes, it is," Sarah said.
"What kind of secrets?" Greg wanted to know. He popped a huge forkful of pasta into his mouth and chewed noisily.
"If she told you they wouldn't be secrets," McMurphy said. There was humor under the sarcasm.
"Brilliant deduction," Greg said around his mouthful of food. He swallowed and watched McMurphy. "You came all the way here to make obvious comments?"
"I like long drives," McMurphy said. Something flickered in her gaze, but it remained cool and amused. Sarah took mental note of that little touch of emotion.
"I'm glad you decided to take me up on the offer," she said, and sent the garlic bread basket around the table. Greg glanced at her. I know what you're up to, that glare said silently. Sarah offered him a sunny smile.
"I understand you're from Kansas," Gene said as he took two slices of bread and passed the basket to Roz.
"Lawrence," McMurphy said.
"Not too far from Kansas City, right?" Sarah said, as she tried to place the town on her mental map.
"Closer to Topeka." McMurphy accepted the basket and took a slice.
"This is fascinating," Greg said. He took a large bite of garlic bread, crunched it between his teeth in open-mouthed mastication before he swallowed loudly.
"Glad you think so," McMurphy said. She looked amused.
"Absolutely. There's nothing more entertaining than a gaggle of midwesterners talking about home. Dirt roads, chickens in the back yard, the latest EF5 twister to wipe out your town . . ."
"We don't call them twisters. Only tourists do that," McMurphy said.
"You've said that too," Greg said to Sarah. She nodded and glanced at Gene, brows lifted slightly. He returned her look with one of his own, amusement edged with resignation.
"We do have a native of the Adirondacks with us," he said, and smiled at Roz. McMurphy's antagonism receded, replaced by a genuine if somewhat cautious friendliness.
"This is a beautiful place to grow up," she said.
"Thanks," Roz said. "We tend to take it for granted until someone reminds us."
"Winters here are a bitch." Greg took a long swallow of beer. "Not much to do except sit on top of the stove and drink."
"They're not exactly tropical in Albany," McMurphy said dryly. "I went through two snow shovels last year. None of them went to the dumpster accompanied by empty bottles, in case you're wondering."
"I thought your people only rode brooms," Greg said.
"Just in summer."
"It's tough to sweep a six-foot drift into a dustpan," Sarah said, and joined in the laughter.
The conversation became more general after that, though Greg added little to it. Sarah knew perfectly well what he was up to: he used his gift for observation to add more ammunition to his depleted stock. She could easily stave him off, but if McMurphy was truly interested in the position at the clinic, she had to know exactly what she'd deal with.
"Why are you here?" Greg asked when the meal was finished.
"Isn't it obvious?" McMurphy sat back, arms folded.
"Yeah yeah, the job and all that." Greg waved his hand. "I mean what are you so desperate to leave behind you'd come here to escape it?"
McMurphy looked from Sarah to Greg and back again. "I thought she was the analyst."
"At the moment she's the referee." Greg polished off his beer.
"How many of those do you go through in a day?"
"Enough to make me feel good, but not enough to make the brewer happy," Greg said. "Answer the question."
"'Desperate' is a little dramatic," McMurphy said. "I've worked at the VA for a while now. Maybe I'd like to try something different."
"You have an excellent rapport with your patients," Greg said. "I thought all nurses lived for that kind of thing."
"Generalizations are dangerous. I thought all doctors understood that kind of thing."
"Gosh, touché," Greg said softly. "Hit me right where I live."
Roz eased out of her chair and stood. "I'll leave you to it," she said, and bent down to kiss Greg's cheek before she headed into the living room. Gene got to his feet as well. He saluted McMurphy.
"Good luck, Captain," he said wryly, and followed Roz. McMurphy glanced at Sarah, who shook her head.
"I'm not goin' anywhere. Someone has to be the umpire and call the play."
"In other words I should answer the question," McMurphy said.
"It's up to you," Sarah said. The older woman exhaled softly.
"Okay, fine." She faced Greg. "I'm not running away from anything. I did my time trying to escape reality years ago until I realized it was pointless. I like my work, and I like helping young guys like Eric. But lately . . ." She fell silent a few moments. "It's not enough."
"It's the adrenaline you're missing," Greg said. It sounded accusatory, but McMurphy actually smiled just a little.
"That's part of it, I suppose."
"Hah." Greg sat back. "What I do isn't trauma or emergency room meatball surgery. It's a long con, not a shell game."
"Take one patient and solve the unsolvable," McMurphy said. "You're telling me there aren't crises? Times when the patient's life hangs in the balance and every second counts? Please."
"My work's a lot like being a soldier in combat," Greg said. He watched the older woman closely. "Long periods of boredom interspersed with moments of insanity and panic."
McMurphy gave him a sardonic look. "You've never been in uniform," she said, but it wasn't a reproach, just an observation.
"I lived on enough bases to get the gist of the metaphor." He fell silent for a moment. "What would you say if I told you a faith healer shrank a patient's tumor?"
McMurphy thought about it. "The healer was a patient as well," she said. Greg nodded. "I'd say it's likely he or she passed some kind of virus to the other patient and it attacked the tumor. There are at least two ongoing trials here in the States involving viruses and cancer."
"Not a believer? A good Irish Catholic girl like you? I'm shocked."
"Pfft." McMurphy looked away. "More like delighted." She tilted her head a bit. "How would you treat someone with Gulf War syndrome?"
"I don't believe in syndromes," Greg shot back. "It's another word for 'we're too lazy to figure this out'. Syndrome's a shorter and catchier label, true, but still wrong."
"So how would you find out what's really going on?"
"I have one philosophy. It's called 'whatever works'."
To Greg's evident surprise McMurphy looked pleased. "We used that method extensively at the Five and Dime. There's a big group of ex-soldiers who can testify to its success."
Even points on both sides, Sarah thought. Aloud she said "let me clear the table and bring out the dessert before you begin round two."
"If you don't mind I think I'll head off to bed," McMurphy said. "I've been up since four this morning and I'm a little tired." She looked at Greg. "We can pick up where we left off tomorrow before I go back, if you'll be around."
"I can arrange to be here," Greg said. His blue eyes glinted. "You taking the job?"
"Have to sleep on it." McMurphy got to her feet and picked up her plate. "Got a dishwasher?"
Sarah sent her upstairs with a bowl of clafouti and dished up portions for everyone else. Greg took his and ate several spoonfuls before he spoke again. "At least it wasn't an outright refusal. Think she'll take it?"
"Don't know," Sarah said. "She's intrigued but she has more questions, and so do you." She sat down next to Greg. "You'll either work it out and make an agreement, or you won't."
Greg licked his spoon. "True. You have something else on your mind though."
"Yeah." Sarah resisted the urge to put her hand on his arm; she knew it would make him suspicious of her motives. "Let's get Roz and go into the office."
"Uh oh, this is big," Greg said softly. His vivid gaze searched her face; Sarah saw concern and anxiety there, along with an edge of guilt. "What's up?"
"Office," Sarah said firmly, and stood.
Once the door was shut behind them and both parties were seated Sarah perched on the edge of the extra chair they kept by the woodstove. "I have a suggestion," she said. "I'd like you to see a marriage counselor."
Greg turned his head to send Roz a piercing stare. "Did you put her up to this?" he demanded.
"No, I didn't," Roz said. She sounded defensive.
"She's telling the truth," Sarah said. "I've been wanting to say this for a while, but thought I'd give you a chance to work things out on your own."
"Something we managed just fine by ourselves." Greg was annoyed, that much was plain.
"True," Sarah said quietly. "You had a wonderful thing happen, which helped you both find a way to surmount the anger and pain. Next time you may not be so lucky. And there will be a next time."
Greg looked down at the blotter on what was now Gene's desk. "So you know I'll mess up again."
"It's not a question of messing up," Sarah said. "You and Roz are both strong, stubborn and capable of hitting each other's vulnerable places when emotion overcomes reason. I think you need help finding other ways to deal with a situation like the one two weeks ago."
"You know someone," Roz said. Sarah nodded.
"She's an old friend and very good at what she does. She doesn't speak in platitudes and she knows how to listen."
"You and Gunney went to her," Greg said.
"Yes we did, and we still see her when we need some help." Sarah looked at her hands. "I can give you her name and number and you can decide if you want to work with her, but I urge you to say yes and set up an appointment. You need help."
Silence greeted this statement. When she looked up she saw Greg glance at Roz, then away. "I think we should do it," Roz said after a moment.
"It's bullshit," Greg muttered.
"It's not an admission of defeat or failure to see a counselor," Sarah said. "It's actually a good sign that you want to—"
"Spare me the pep talk," Greg snapped. "We've been married all of six months and we have to see a shrink. It's the Challenger and defective o-rings all over again."
"No it isn't," Roz said quietly. "It's you and me trying to find a better way to manage our arguments so we don't hurt each other the way we did two weeks ago."
"You mean the way I hurt you," Greg said.
"I hurt you too." Roz sighed. "I don't want to do that anymore, and I think you don't either. So let's get some help before one of us says or does something the other won't be able to forgive or forget." She reached out and took his hand in hers. "Please, amante."
He struggled with it, but Sarah noted with satisfaction that he didn't let go of Roz's hand. "'kay," he said at last and with great reluctance. Sarah opened her desk drawer and took out a business card.
"Her name is Hazel Vorobyov and she lives in New York City. I think she'd be okay with coming up on a weekend to stay here once a month, but you can work that out with her." She handed the card to Roz. "I'll be happy to help in any way possible." She made herself continue. "I have to be honest. The other reason why I suggested you see a counselor is because you both need to learn to deal with crises together. Coming to me first when something happens just transfers the responsibility for making things right to my shoulders, and that's not where it should be."
"So you've decided to take down your shingle." Greg spoke in a neutral, almost indifferent tone, but Sarah heard the fear, saw the way his fingers tightened on Roz's.
"No," she said. "No, I'm not. I'm always here for both of you. But you need to learn to work with each other first in every way possible before you come to me." She leaned forward a little. "I'm still Doctor Goldman and more than happy to help in any way I can. I just need to be further down on your list, that's all."
Roz nodded. "Okay," she said hesitantly. Greg sighed.
"Yeah," he said.
"Okay then. Give Hazel a call and get things set up."
As they went into the living room Sarah said softly to Greg, "Give her a chance. I think you'll find she's worth working with." She put her hand on his shoulder, rubbed it gently. "I'm here whenever you need me, son."
He muttered under his breath, but she felt him relax a little under her touch.
It was another hour or so before Greg and Roz left. When they were gone Sarah sat in Greg's easy chair.
"How'd it go?" Gene asked.
They're going to give Hazel a try." Sarah tucked a curl behind her ear.
"If anyone can help it'll be her." Gene patted the open spot in front of him. Sarah got up and went to him, stretched out next to him with a sigh as his long arm brought her close.
"I hope it's the right thing to do," she whispered.
"It is." Gene kissed the top of her head. "You'll see. She'll show them they can make things work, the same way she did with you and me."
Sarah nodded and snuggled in. She watched the dying fire dance and flicker in the fireplace. "Something tells me it's going to be a good harvest this year."
"Mmm." Gene rested his cheek against her hair. "We'll see how it turns out, but I'm not worried." He twined a curl around his finger, tugged it gently. "The doctor is out and my best girl is in now. Just relax and enjoy the moment."
Sarah smiled and kissed the hand. "I bet you say that to all your girls," she said.
"Nope. Just you."
"Good." Let it stay like this for just a little while, she prayed to Whomever might be listening. A few moments of joy, and then we'll move on to whatever comes next.