Pieces of a Whole
by: Betsy J. Bennett
Epilogue
It wasn’t the best neighborhood, and although he didn’t know them, he could see Olivia’s parents trying desperately to move her away from Detroit, but he might be doing them a disservice. She had said her parents chose the house. While not the best of neighborhoods, it was not the worst either, with single family houses with well maintained lawns, and clearly an effort had been made, for many of them had flowers in meticulously tended gardens.
Over dinner, they laughed, and consulted over their patients, as if they had been partners for years. “You weren’t surprised I got my medical license back?”
“No. Someone from the university came and interviewed me for an hour. Can you imagine how backed up the waiting room was then? They wanted to know what procedures I felt you were comfortable with, where I felt you needed more experience.”
“And what did you tell them?”
“To return your license. They checked probably every chart you touched, and it seemed to me spoke to everyone you saw, even asked to see Billy and Marta, to check stitches, and I’d imagine, follow up care. They spoke to Maggi and Dora Ann too, about your attitude in the clinic.”
“No questions if they thought I was a wife killer?”
“No. I swear, I’d have knocked someone flat if they had. You’ll have to show me how to fight one day.”
His laugh was sincere, and rolled through her house. “I’ll put it on my list. They weren’t upset that I was practicing medicine?” One of his greatest fears had been that there would be fallout in her clinic that he had been here.
“No. Of course by the time they were speaking with me, Indiana had freed your medical license. There was a hold on it, no one could figure out why. Nothing you’d ever been accused of had to do with practicing medicine. All we needed was for Michigan to agree to let you practice here.”
Her furniture was limited. For a dining room table, they used a rectangular packing box, and sat on throw pillows for chairs. She had silver candlesticks, a house warming gift from her mother that she burned tall white tapers, and they used paper plates. She laughed and said she couldn’t see the need to buy dishes, because then she’d have to wash them, and that she was a menace in the kitchen. She’d rather remove an appendix than cook a chicken. She ate all of her meals out.
There was a couch in the living room, an ancient thing that was clean enough and which had undoubtedly come over on the Mayflower. It had probably taken six men and a sheepdog to get it in the house, although it was possible it had always been here, and the house was built around it. Again, she didn’t apologize. Why, when she doubted she’d spend any time entertaining, and only watch the tv for monumental events, like the Wizard of Oz, and maybe the Ed Sullivan show, if the Beatles were going to be on again. She had a thing for Paul, and he decided not to be jealous. The only other thing in the living room was as she promised, the large console television.
He sat beside her on the couch, using a box of medical books as a footstool, and she crawled in under his arm as natural as if they had been a couple for years, as the opening prelude started. Olivia had a large bowl of buttered popcorn that she attacked with dedication. For a woman who swore she couldn’t boil an egg, she had a fine hand popping popcorn, which she assured him was one of the most significant of food groups and perhaps the only food she ate during her residency. Maybe he should turn the tables on her and start counseling her on eating properly.
He was sound asleep before Judy Garland started her signature song about over the rainbow, a place where there was no troubles. She followed him seconds later.
Hours later, Kimble tried to slip out from her embrace. She stirred and started to wake. The tv had a low drone buzz and a pattern indicating the station had shut down for the night. So much for seeing his first Munchkins.
“Livi, don’t wake. I’ll see myself out.” He would have covered her with a blanket or afghan if he could have found one.
“What?” She rubbed her eyes, coming awake thoroughly like the emergency room physician she was.
“I debating singing Wake Up, Little Susie, but decided you need your sleep, and nobody in their right mind is interested in me singing.”
She checked her watch, muttered, “That can’t be right,” then noticed the tv. “Four o’clock?”
“I think we were both tired.”
“Richard, don’t leave.”
He stopped, felt his heart thump. He wanted to stay, and he wanted forever. Both of them had been denied to him for so long he wasn’t sure he had a right to them.
She stood in stocking feet, her shoes abandoned somewhere, probably under that monster of a couch. She repeated her plea, added a word that made all the difference. “Richard, don’t leave, please.”
He moved closer, felt her breath on his face, wrapped his arms around her, as if now that he had her ‘please’ he would never let her go. “Do you know what you’re asking?”
“Yes.”
He traced her lips with his index finger, and it trembled, but this time, for the first time, he understood the action to be normal, and healing. She lowered her eyes, embracing the sensations he created deep within her body. As she had when they were dancing, Olivia settled her head against his chest, wrapped her arms around him in an embrace he hungered for. “Are you sure?”
Her eyes were bright, spoke of a promise of not just tomorrow, but many tomorrows. “More than anything. There’s a bed down the hallway.”
He felt he should carry her, play the gallant, but instead she took his hand and started tugging him out of the living room before he’d even made up his mind to go. No, that was a lie. He wanted to be with her, in that bedroom, as much as he wanted to breathe. Laughing like lunatics, they ran together, stopping in her bedroom where they kissed with the desperation of lovers.
She started pulling at his clothes, ignoring buttons, realizing she was strangling him as she tried to get his shirt off, that perhaps the tie should have been removed first. Her dress had a long zipper down the back, a fashion trend that he knew instinctively was for men in exactly his position, for it had to be darned inconvenient for women trying to dress themselves.
She had not planned her seduction when she dressed that morning, how could she have, for she had no idea he was returning, for her underwear was plain, serviceable, and he swore he’d buy her frilly lacy undergarments, so he could have the pleasure of removing them. Under his clever hands, her bra ceded its hold, and he filled his hands with her glorious breasts, as his mouth took hers.
But he was an honorable man, always had been, and a physician who understood the human body even when stopping was not in his current desires, and although there was a jeweler’s box in his slacks, he would do nothing now that might compromise her plans.
Reluctantly, painfully, he broke from the kiss, tried holding her at arm’s length. She hadn’t realized he was trying to cool his own ardor, for her hands were clever too, and his slacks pooled at his ankles on the floor, while she sought more fertile territory.
“Livi, stop. We can’t.”
“Yes, we can.”
“Livi, listen to me. I didn’t bring anything. Do you understand me?”
“No,” she said, but she did.
“Are you using anything?”
“No,” she answered again, this time the truth.
“I don’t want to do anything to hurt you.”
“You couldn’t.”
“Livi, I have to go now. Even another second of this, and the decision is going to be made.”
“Richard, I want you to love me. Right here, right now. Whatever consequences there are, I want them too. I do. I’m ready.”
“Livi, you told me once how important your career is to you. I don’t want to leave you washing diapers.”
“Then we’ll hire a housekeeper.”
“Livi—God, don’t do that.”
Through no activity of his own, his boxers made it to the floor, to puddle with his slacks. She was an imp, and her smile was brilliant. And her hands were busy. “Have I made myself clear?”
“God, yes,” he said, and tossed her onto the bed, where after freeing his ankles, he joined her.
She was enthusiastic, and he was her equal in everything, and they matched each other as they cemented their relationship as lovers.
Long minutes later, she cuddled under his arm again, not only content, radiant. As their pulses settled, he kissed her gently, her eyes, her nose, her ears, the long length of her neck, finding no place that didn’t deserve a kiss, basking in his good fortune. If it hadn’t been for a train wreck, for four miserable years on the run, he wouldn’t have found her, wouldn’t know this degree of happiness.
“You know, now that I’ve got you naked, I’d like to check your body for other bullet wounds.”
He prevented her from going lower, under the sheets, because he suspected it was not necessarily scars she was after, and he needed a few minutes longer before they got involved again. “You’re going to kill me.”
“No. Dr. Kimble, no one is going to kill you. You’re safe now.”
Safe. Was there a better word, a better feeling than safe? Well, there was love, and he recognized that word had wound its way into his heart.
“Where are you going?”
He hadn’t realized he had started moving until she spoke. “Just here.” He dug through the mess of clothing on the floor, found what he was looking for, and was back beside her in seconds.
“Richard?” She started to lay on top of him, those beautiful breasts, still pink with the flush from their loving, on his chest, but he sat up on the mattress, crossed his legs, made her sit opposite him. Thinking this was a new game, a new facet of their relationship, she followed willingly.
She finger-combed her hair. Her miserable tieback was lost again. Her blond hair was tossled, lay in soft, enticing waves about her shoulders like some ancient fertility goddess. Fertility. Perhaps there would be another miracle in his life down the road, but for now he had to get through this. The words were hard. There was so much he wanted to say, so much after all those years of running he finally had the right to say.
“Olivia, you’ve seen the dirty side of life, the underbelly of people stabbing people, of innocent children getting shot while they’re sleeping in their beds, yet you still keep coming back to your clinic, day after day.”
She took his hands, entwined her competent fingers with his, while they sat naked, facing each other. Her eyes were opened wide. Yes, there was new knowledge in them, but she was intelligent, and frankly, she had gotten exactly what she wanted, so she could be generous and listen. Then maybe they could get back to more invigorating activities.
“I have to. Maybe I can’t make a lasting change in the world as a whole, and maybe not one thing I’ve done is going to make a difference five years from now, but none of that matters. I can’t control what other people say, what they do, who they hurt. I think most of this country’s problems are caused exactly by that, people trying to control other people, getting them to think and act in a certain prescribed way. I meant what I said: I can’t control other people, but I can control myself. I took an oath to try and ease pain and suffering. That I can do. One person at a time. I don’t have delusions of grandeur. I don’t want anything but what I have, my small clinic, my staff, and people I can recognize on the street, not as ‘the gallbladder I diagnosed’, or ‘the diabetes I’m treating’, but as John and Mary and Jimmy, neighbors. I want to be here in twenty years treating their children and their grandchildren. I want the honor of knowing I did everything I could right here, right now.”
“I’ve got money now, a lot of money. It came through. It will be in the papers tomorrow, although the amount is classified and I’ve been asked not to disclose it. Decker is going to continue writing his column, and he’s looking for people I helped over the years. I thought it was a pipe dream that he’d find any, a fantasy, but a few people who said I helped them are willing to donate money too, to the clinic. We can hire more staff, so you can take an occasional day off. We can get update the equipment. It needs it. And buy some meds. You should not have to make do without anymore. Make a list. The building next door is empty. We might need the space.”
“For what?”
“Whatever we need. We could tear it down and make a playground for the kids. They need a soccer field or a baseball diamond. They can’t always play ball in the streets. Or maybe inexpensive housing for women and children. I don’t know. There’s money now.”
“You’re not keeping any of that money for yourself?”
He caressed the small jeweler’s case he held. “A bit, but as I said, I’ve got a lot of money being donated, too. People who helped me before are willing to help me again.”
“I’m glad.”
“Olivia, is there room in your life for another broken human being?”
“Dr. Kimble?”
“I’d like to be by your side, if you’ll have me, all the days of your life.”
“Richard, what are you trying to say?”
“I love you, Olivia. I didn’t think I would love again, I didn’t think I could. I want to be a part of your small clinic where I can help you, where we can talk about our patients and share our life. I want to go home with you, and maybe if the fates are kind, to start a family and raise our children. It’s not the best neighborhoods, but I’ve discovered the most beautiful people don’t necessarily come from the most beautiful areas. Sometimes it’s the dark forgotten corners that create the best people. Sometimes we’ll take a day off or a week, but the rest of the time I want to be working in your clinic or here in your arms.”
“You’re sure?”
“Never more sure of anything. I’m finished running. And Olivia, after the exoneration, maybe I wasn’t running away from anything. I didn’t have anything to prove. Maybe I was running here, to a life where I could be fulfilled, to a woman I wouldn’t have found any other way.” He pulled out the ring box, opened it so she could see the small, brilliant solitaire ring. The arthritis in his shoulder was bothering him again, but he decided to ignore it. “Dr. Olivia Olivetti, will you marry me?”
“Before I give you my answer, could you answer one question for me?”
“Anything.”
“Do you still love Helen?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. We had a good life together, and I’m not going to forget that. But I’ve moved on. If the last six years have proven anything to me, it’s how much I want to live, and Livi, I’m not sure I can live without you.”
She fumbled, managed to get the diamond onto her finger, “Yes, Dr. Kimble, I’d love to marry you.”
“Good. I think we should wait, maybe until tomorrow before we get the marriage license. Is that ok with you?”
“Absolutely.”
“We’ll invite your parents, and my family, Donna and Len, their kids and Ray. I’m sure Decker and Gerard will want to come.”
“Good. I’d like to interview that young man about a kidnapping.”
“Don’t bother. I told you he doesn’t remember what really happened.”
“Perhaps, Dr. Kimble, you’re the one who doesn’t remember.”
“We’ll have to invite Maggi and Dora Ann, and all the patients. Anyone who wants to come will be welcome. We’ll make it a community affair.”
She studied the ring on her finger, twisting her hand, to let it catch the light, as once, long ago, light had flashed on set of handcuffs he wore. “It will take some time to make arrangements.”
“So, this Saturday?”
She jumped on him, bouncing on the bed as she answered, “Works for me.”
“And Olivia, in case the need ever arises, I know where we can get a dog.”
THE END
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