Chapter 39
"Remixed Emotions"
I HAULED MYSELF, SHAKING AND HELLISHLY TIRED, DOWN THE SHORT HALLWAY TO THE DESIGNATED ROOM. IT WAS ALMOST TOO FAR TO WALK. I WAS BREATHING HARD, PROPING MYSELF INTO THE DOORFRAME TO GET THE KEY INTO THE LOCK, AND THEN PUSHING INSIDE. I CLOSED THE DOOR AND LEANED BACK AGAINST IT. MY BACKPAK DROPPED AT MY FEET WITH A THUMP, JUST ENOUGH ROOM FOR WHOEVER BROUGHT MY STUFF TO GET THE DOOR OPEN.
THE INTERIOR WAS DIM AND SHADOWY. VENETIAN BLINDS AT BOTH WINDOWS WERE CLOSED. I REACHED BEHIND ME AND THUMBED THE LOCK BUTTON ON THE EDGE OF THE DOOR SO IT WAS ACCESSIBLE FROM THE OUTSIDE. I WASN'T SURE IF I HAD THE STRENGTH TO GET UP AGAIN ONCE I SAT DOWN ON THE BED.
WHEN I TURNED ON THE LIGHT, TWO BRASS TABLE LAMPS CAME ON FROM A VERY LONG DRESSER AGAINST THE OPPOSITE WALL. ANY DETAILS OF THE REST OF THE ROOM WERE LOST TO ME AS I HEADED DIRECTLY FOR THE BED AND SANK DOWN ONTO IT. THE CRUTCHES SLID TO THE FLOOR AND MY HANDS SLIPPED AWAY FROM MY SIDES. I LET MYSELF FALL BACKWARD ON THE SOFT SURFACE AND DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO TAKE OFF MY JACKET.
A SOFT KNOCK AT THE DOOR CAME ABOUT FIVE MINUTES LATER. "COME ON IN," I SAID. "IT'S OPEN." A SKINNY YOUNG TWENTY-SOMETHING WITH GLASSES SLIDING DOWN HIS NOSE OPENED THE DOOR AND SHOVED MY WHEELCHAIR THROUGH WITH MY CARRYALL PERCHED ON THE SEAT. MY OLD NAVY PEACOAT WITH THE ODD BROWN BUTTON HUNG NEATLY FROM THE HANDLES. FROM THE LOOK OF IT, HE'D PROBABLY FOUND IT UNDER THE SPARE TIRE. THE KID TOOK THE CARRYALL OFF THE SEAT OF THE CHAIR, SET IT ON THE FLOOR AND PUSHED THE CHAIR CLOSER TO THE BED. HE PLACED MY CAR KEYS ON THE NIGHT STAND.
"I'M JAKE HARVEY, MR. CALLOWAY. I CAN USUALLY BE FOUND AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE DURING THE DAY IF YOU NEED ANYTHING. IS THERE ANYTHING I CAN GET FOR YOU NOW? ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? YOU LOOK A LITTLE … PALE …"
I STRUGGLED TO SIT UP AND FOCUS ON WHAT HE WAS SAYING. AFTER SO MANY HOURS ON THE ROAD, IT WAS DIFFICULT TO CONCENTRATE. I ACHED ALL OVER AND WAS ONLY VAGUELY AWARE THAT HE HAD LEANED DOWN TO PICK UP MY CRUTCHES TO PLACE THEM ON THE BED BESIDE ME.
"I'M FINE … JAKE … I'M TIRED. THANKS." I WISHED HE WOULD JUST SHUT THE HELL UP AND GO ON HIS MERRY WAY.
All I wanted at the moment was a fistful of my strongest medication, sleep, and a hot bath. Then something to eat. Maybe. Or maybe I only wanted to get under the covers and conk out until my body told me it just couldn't possibly sleep any longer. "How long is the restaurant open?"
The kid smiled, as though he was grateful to be able to supply some information I could actually use. I watched him as he lifted my carryall onto the small cart made for that purpose, and picked up the backpak from the floor and placed it on a chair beside the bed. He removed the pea-coat from the back of the wheelchair as though it were made of cashmere. He put it on a hanger and hung it on the front of a door that I presumed was a small closet. "Lily's staff usually begins the cleanup about nine o'clock at night, so If you need to chill out awhile, you still have plenty of time."
I stared at him as he finally ceased his compulsive fixing and straightening and stood awkwardly with his long arms hanging by his sides. I could almost smell his need to be of help to me in some small way, but not sure how to ask or how I might construe his efforts to be of further service. It was almost comical, and I let him dangle for a few moments. I was certain something uber-sympathetic was rattling around in his head. He just didn't know how to say it. "Thanks, Jake," I finally said. "Right now I need to rest and unwind and relax and take my meds. Then I need a hot bath and a trim job … and if I make it to the dining room, that would be good. If not, I'll see everybody in the morning. I thank you for your help. I guess that's about all …"
He took the hint. I suspected that he was a lonely, sensitive kid with a big heart and a need to be of help in any way he could. It probably wouldn't hurt me to treat him with a little respect. He turned back toward the door and clasped the handle. "Would you like me to switch the lock back on again?"
I had forgotten about that. I nodded. "I'd appreciate it, Jake. And would you please turn out the lights on your way out? With my thanks."
"I certainly will, Mr. Calloway. Rest well."
"I will. And it's 'Kyle' …"
But he had already left, and I found myself sitting in the dark. Hell, I'd forgotten to tip him.
I reached to the backpak for my meds and gulped a dose quickly. If I wanted to rest, I needed to be rid of the road dirt and the feeling of having rolled around in dead leaves for a week.
It occurred to me suddenly that it would feel strange to get used to any kind of permanence again. Stranger still, to attempt to put down roots in a place I'd never lived before and didn't know the area or the life-flow patterns of the people who populated this little unhurried portion of earth …
Could I fit in here? Or would I be a fish-out-of-water as I always was in Princeton, New Jersey? I didn't know, and it was a little intimidating to think about. Even when the 'thinking' knocked hard at the door of my new reality and I wasn't sure if I knew how to answer ...
I leaned down to slide the sneaker off my left foot; my dulled senses forgetting for a moment that the meds hadn't had enough time to work, and that leaning over against my fucked-up leg was always a form of torture. The remaining muscle bunched and cramped and I moaned and fell over onto my good side, hissing through my teeth with the pain it caused.
I cursed as I grabbed the leg just above my knee and squeezed the life out of it. Even after all these years I sometimes absent-mindedly treated my bum leg as though it were just as healthy as the other one … and I know it wants to be … but can't.
I lay on my side, drained of strength, my face pushed into the mattress while I held my breath to contain the sounds of distress. The shoe was off my foot and lying on the floor, but my pain was off the scale; my leg, useless and pulsing until the meds kicked in. I panted, wishing they would just fuckin' hurry!
Fifteen endless minutes later I pushed upright and wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt.
When your body is saturated with pain-sweat, you can't wait to get the clothes off and go soak yourself to get rid of your own stench. The recovery from 'that one' made my body tingle as though it were electrified, and the all-consuming weakness in the aftermath caused my arms to flop around as though they hadn't been attached to my shoulders correctly. Trying to finish getting undressed probably looked like a loose-limbed tap dance by Ray Bolger, but I finally peeled down to bare skin and finished by rolling into the bathroom in the wheelchair. I was too damned sore and dizzy to use the crutches …
I sat in the whirlpool bath in water that would have cooked a pot roast. And I stayed there until it began to cool down and the first shiver of opposite reaction cascaded down my spine. I was too shaky to hold the razor in my hand to trim my beard and mustache and shave my face. I would probably have slit my throat. So I let it go until morning.
I pulled on a new set of sweats, being extremely careful how I bent down to get into them. My leg still ached, but it didn't make me want to scream. I decided against food tonight too. So I turned in early, while things were temporarily 'neutral' …
Daylight woke me, even through the closed blinds. I looked at my watch, and it was almost 8:30 a.m.
Someone was at the door.
"Use your key … I'm not getting up." (The litany of my life … one of them.)
There was a pause … footsteps retreating.
Another pause. Same footsteps returning … a scratchy sound at the door lock. I had no doubt who was there.
The door opened. I sat up slowly, manually pushing both legs to the edge of the mattress and down. I felt so weak that I knew I must appear to be drunk …
Two people. One with a breakfast cart that carried with it the heavenly scent of coffee; bacon …
The other came toward me, leaned down and peered into my face; raised a hand to touch my temple with the backs of her fingers.
Nursie Nancy and Billy Breakfast … but I didn't say it out loud.
What I did say: "Are you two babysitting me?"
"Well .. uh …"
"Not really, but we wondered …"
"You wondered if I died during the night?" (I didn't say "croaked", though I wanted to.)
"Oh n-no-o-o …"
"Oh my goodness, no-o …"
My head pounded, my body felt like someone had shoved a stick up my ass and set it on fire, and my leg felt as tight as though it had been wound up with a key on a spring …
And yet I laughed at them. My second day in town and already the natives were trying to take care of me. I must really be pathetic.
"Your name is Lily, right?" I stared into her sweet little moon face; the narrow black eyes filled with sympathy and a very honest concern. How could I be pissed off at a face like that? I remembered a lady who worked at PPTH who had a pug puppy that looked just like this lady …
"Yes, I'm Lily. How did you know?"
"Jake told me." I looked beyond her to the kid with the glasses that slid down on his nose … where they were right now. He grinned shyly and looked down at his feet.
"We brought you some breakfast, Kyle," the kid said.
"You thought I was dead, but you brought me breakfast." He remembered that I told him to call me 'Kyle'. Curious. I thought he hadn't heard.
"No-o … we didn't think you were dead. But you didn't come to dinner last night … and we were worried."
"Well, that explains it."
"We're sorry."
"No you're not. Now how about some of that coffee, okay?"
Both faces brightened up. "Sure thing … comin' right up."
Jake rolled the cart close to the bed, making certain to stay back from my legs. There was bacon and eggs, toast, orange juice, coffee. I ignored the nagging pain because I was hungrier than sore.
"Did you sleep well last night?" Lily asked.
I nodded, chewing on a bite of toast smeared with runny egg yolk, making it impossible to talk.
"You have a slight fever, you know," she continued earnestly.
I stared at her crossly, but her eyebrows rose. Not intimidated. Was I losing my touch?
"My leg is in sad shape, in case you might have noticed." I took another bite of toast and egg and went on talking with my mouth full. "It hurts. A lot. All the time. I take pills. A lot. Sometimes they make me sick. Sometimes I run a temp. I came here to see a doctor. Over at DHMC. Make it better or cut it off."
I saw them both cringe. Served them right. That would teach them to babysit me!
But I knew it wouldn't.
When they finally left, I finished breakfast and got dressed. Folded two twenties and left them under the coffee cup and the edge of the plate. Exchanged the sweats for jeans and tee shirt. Carefully. I didn't want to reawaken the 'sleeping giant'. I stayed in the wheelchair. Why invite trouble? The leg needed to rest after all that time being dragged (literally) all over the countryside and being made to sleep in all kinds of strange accommodations …
I sat in front of the large well-lit mirror in the bathroom and studied my whiskery mug long enough to trim up the mustache and beard and shave the spaces between. I was beginning to believe that my short-lived passion for neatness was for the birds, and just go back to the scruffy, unkempt look of years before.
*CHANGE, House! CHANGE! That's what it's all about. You're getting better with the 'polite' … and you gotta get busy with the 'pretty'.*
After that silly observation, I had to stop shaving for a minute, or I'd have cut a two-inch furrow down the length of my left cheek. Thank god I hadn't lost my sense of humor, such as it was.
The kid … Jake … came for the breakfast cart while I was channel surfing about a half hour later. We made small talk for a few minutes, but he was too bashful to throw out any original thoughts of his own. I decided if I stayed around this burg any length of time, I'd see to it that that habit would come to a screeching halt.
After he left, I spent the rest of the day sleeping and checking out the local TV channels. But I quickly discovered that New Hampshire stations played all the same shit that played everywhere else.
In the evening I rolled through the bat-wing doors of the hotel's restaurant and swung around to look the place over. It was a large and opulent venue for such a small town. The tables and chairs were old walnut; heavy and polished to a warm glow. The tablecloths were made of heavy burlap, dyed in autumn tones. Center pieces were potted chrysanthemums, I think, making the entire room look holiday festive. Drapes at the floor-to-ceiling windows were made of the same material and dyed burgundy. Overhead were six big chandeliers with large round globes that threw ambient light all through the very large room. The walnut bar up front was decorated with Indian corn and winter squash and small pumpkins; Pilgrim men and ladies and Indians in fancy headdresses. All made from crepe paper. As were a couple of turkeys and Mallard ducks with fine plumage. I was duly impressed. There was classical music, turned low, being piped in from somewhere. Debussy. Hmmmmm … For a change I was feeling mellow, although I'd had nothing whatsoever to drink; alcoholic or otherwise.
The buzz of conversation from other diners paused momentarily when I entered, but none of them stared or lingered long on my presence. Shortly the conversations resumed. I was heartened by the things I had always heard about 'taciturn' New Englanders and their ability to mind their own business. (With the possible exception of Lily and Jake.) Maybe I was in the right place after all.
Lily Chamberlin walked out of the kitchen with a large wooden food cart and attended to a young couple with a little girl. Lily looked up, saw me, and waved. She spoke with the people at the table while she served their meal, and then returned the cart to the kitchen. Meanwhile I sat at the table and studied the large menu.
When I looked up again, Lily was headed in my direction. She leaned over to whisper in my ear: "Oh my, Mr. Calloway … aren't you the handsome one."
I pursed my lips and did not comment. Let discretion be the better part of valor! I looked out the tall window at the main street, watching cars pass by intermittently. "This is a nice restaurant, Lily. You seem to be a woman of many talents."
That got her. Her face turned dark red.
*That'll teach you to call me 'handsome' out loud!*
She sighed, undaunted. "We aim to please, dear. Take your time ordering. I'll be back. But in the meantime, what can I get you to drink?"
I smiled up at her. If she wanted 'handsome', she would get it. "I would like a Martini, darling."
She was laughing. "Oh, you are a daring man!"
She turned and laughed again and then left. The people at the nearest table looked over at me and smiled, and I smiled back. Strange that my face didn't crack with the effort …
As I looked around the place again, listening to the music playing softly, I was reminded of the evenings after work when Wilson and I had gone restaurant and bar hopping around Princeton on weekends. We usually chose eateries much like this one because I knew Wilson enjoyed them. I wondered how he was, and where he was right this moment …
… and my mood changed in a heartbeat.
I brought myself up short. Back to reality with a bang. Wilson was long gone and I was here by my own choosing. Purposely I turned my attention to other parts of the dining room and to the four waitresses working the tables. Pretty, all of them. My leg cramped, reminding me it was there: my whiny mistress. I reached the palm of my hand to it, soothing it quickly, hoping like hell it would not go into spasm.
Lily brought my drink and took my order. The dining room was busy. It was the dinner hour. I sat alone after that, distracted and increasingly miserable. My leg hadn't gone into spasm, but it hurt, and my foot had joined the party. I ordered prime rib, roasted potatoes and asparagus spears. I needed to eat something substantial, but my head was suddenly joining in the fray. I sipped at my drink without tasting it.
I didn't speak to Lily again, although I knew she was watching me with growing concern. One of the waitresses served me politely but quietly, and I knew she and the others had all they could handle this evening. I didn't tease any of them as I would have done normally. I ate slowly, not really tasting the food, although I knew it was excellent. My focus centered once again on PPTH and that bastard Gregory House, who alienated everyone he had ever known … and some he didn't.
Had Eric Foreman stuck it out as administrator? Or had he moved on? I hoped he hadn't turned into me. He was so afraid of doing so. He was intelligent and involved. Too damn bright to fall into the same trap I had.
What about Chase and Taub? I was sure they'd both flown the coop by now. They were already chafing at the bit while I was still there.
I would never let Cameron get close to me. No way. ("I was in love with you!") I just couldn't. She was young enough to be my daughter. I hoped she'd found a much better life and let go of the need to "fix" what couldn't be fixed.
Remy Hadley: "Thirteen". The end of her life is coming closer. Any day now the Huntingdon's will rear its ugly head. I am in no position to keep my promise to her. I sincerely hope she finds a suitable proxy. She deserves that. She was, after all, my pick of the litter.
The other two "ducklings" I barely got to know. Park and Adams: didn't want to know them. They were like a bad "P. S." to an unspectacular story. A vague afterthought. Cuddy hired them and then ran. The little one with the funny glasses and the attitude … has a brain the size of Montana. She's feisty and honest. I might have liked her if the situation had been different. But the other one … the "eye-candy" one: she was born into money. Doesn't need to know anything, and doesn't, in my expert opinion. Easy come, as they say, and easy go.
Shit … I don't even want to think about the Alpha Female. But here she is; last, but not least. Cuddy. Hair the color of fresh road tar, floating around her head like patent leather silk. Heart to match. Her fathomless eyes; now blue, now green. Undressed me by the numbers, boring into my soul, but didn't let me bore into hers. Her graceful hands caressed my skin, making me want to believe that I was whole and young and strong and virile. She caressed the screaming sensitivity of my mutilated leg with a tenderness that sent tendrils of pain and ecstasy through my starving body. Her perfect form tempted me, seduced me and convulsed me, driving me wild with pleasure.
However, there was a dark side. Our combined flaws made a life together impossible. She told me she loved me just as I was; that my unbridled moments made her want me even more. We could survive the world side by side. But she was the commandant of a small army. Larger than my small army, and royally demanding. I could not become docile and mild in order to live up to her code. My pain ruled me, and it was a pain she did not understand. When I was distant and silent and in agony, she taunted me and made demands I could not meet and which exhausted my energy. Worst of all, she accused me of stealing drugs and getting high. No. I hadn't. Not then.
When I finally smuggled the failed drug that necessitated my third surgery, and I called her in the middle of the night to take me to the hospital, we both knew it was way beyond "over". She left again and did not come back. I saw her with another man, and my rage was so encompassing that I drove my car … And in my peripheral vision I saw James Wilson fall to the curb. I saw the pain in my best friend's eyes, and I felt the heat of his gaze on my retreating back.
The regret hit so strongly at that moment, I couldn't finish my meal. I left a fifty under the edge of my plate and whipped about quickly to roll out of there and back to my room. I hoped anyone who witnessed my exit assumed it was because of the pain.
It was.
But not the kind they thought …
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