Pieces of a Whole

by: Betsy J. Bennett

CHAPTER 13

Mean that: that he didn’t understand love. “A man on the run loses most of his humanity. Not all. I did things I wasn’t pleased with, things that Dr. Richard Kimble never would have considered. I stole a wallet once. I needed money for train fare, and it was vitally important that I not make a scene. There were policemen on the train. I couldn’t give them an excuse to look at me closely, even if it were only that I didn’t have two dollars for the ticket. I repaid it, every penny, but I don’t deny I stole it. I wanted to live that badly. Like a hunted animal, I only knew to do the things I had to, to escape the snare. I’ve stolen cars. I’ve assaulted policemen. I did what I felt I had to, to evade capture. And having confessed to those crimes there were other crimes, not so easily defined: I used a lot of women. I feel horrible about that, but I didn’t know how to stop it.”

“What do you mean?”

He picked up the beer, realized he hadn’t taken off the cap, and the bottle opener was six feet away, on the table with the remaining food. “In order to survive for four years, I had to have people helping me. Yes, I survived on my own, and yes, I was frightened and lonely almost all the time, but occasionally someone kind would discover my identity, would believe me when I said I was innocent. And those people, mostly they were women. I used them. Part of it was they were all hooked on the adventure of being on the run, being attracted to the ‘bad boy’, and not having any idea about the realities of what I was going through. But because I knew I needed them to save my life, I said what they wanted to hear. I held them to keep my nightmares at bay. I would kiss them, if it kept them believing in me a few moments longer. I let them smuggle me past road blocks in the trunk of their car, or let them drop me off at remote bus stations around the country where the police wouldn’t think to look. I used them and I walked away.”

Silence reigned, long seconds when there weren’t any additional fireworks, at least not any longer. “Are you using me?”

He felt hot and cold and jumpy, confused, and clear-headed at the same time. But he wanted to be honest. The offer of a job where he could regain his self-respect, and a gentle kiss for a hurt boo boo had earned her his bearing of his inner soul. “I don’t know the answer to that one. I might be. With you, I feel whole again. You’ve given me back my life allowing me to practice medicine. But Olivia, I know how to be charming to women, to get what I want.”

“So you think you’re charming me?”

“I like where I am, and you have to know upfront, there’s a chance I won’t stay, that for some reason the nightmares will get too bad and I’ll be gone. Then only you will know if you’ve been used.”

He had been sitting on one of the folding chairs, but restless, Richard got up to pace the way a caged tiger might. When he settled, he sat on the roof’s floor, his back against a low wall, his knees high, arms around them. For a second, Livi considered her options then she stood, and moved in front of him, a move of courage, for he had confessed he might hurt her, that he didn’t know what love was, that he knew how to use women. But she knew what she wanted, and she had seen goodness in this shattered man, goodness perhaps that dozens of other woman have seen, and have been devastated over.

“How about you? Any ex-husbands in your background?”

“No,” she shook her head. “Not even a trail of broken hearts. Since I wanted med school I never got serious dating. I get pregnant, that’s the end of the career. Too many women wash out not because they can’t cut it, but because they buy some guy’s line and end up washing diapers for the next ten years.”

“So no one serious?”

“Every couple of years I go home, trust me, I try to avoid it as much as possible and Mom lines me up with some investment banker or trust fund baby, thinking we’ll hit it off. With the understanding that I didn’t like any of them, I think it was my problem, not theirs. I never asked for a second date to see if they were really creeps or if maybe we could see where the date could go. They wanted someone on their arm, someone to be seen, and I doubt any of them would be interested in working in downtown Detroit, or putting up with my hours.”

“And you’re not willing to give them up, the city or the hours.”

“Maybe one day. I don’t know if I see myself here in twenty years, but right now, I’m happy.”

Happy.  That’s what the emotion was. With her he felt happy.

She let the echoes of that statement ring around them for a few seconds and then Olivia held her hands out, toward him in an invitation he could not misinterpret. With a smile of understanding, Richard put her hands in his. Already from working in her clinic these past three months, his palms were softer, not the hands of an iterant laborer, but of a surgeon. Holding him, her heart thumping, she crawled in, under his arm, to nestle by his side.

“It’s late,” he whispered. A token defense they both understood.

“Very late,” she whispered back, and he was not certain she agreed.

On that rooftop in downtown Detroit, surrounded by a neighborhood where the poor and the struggling lived, their eyes locked, and slowly, ever so slowly, she moved in for another kiss, a different kiss, although this one would be healing too.

She wasn’t subtle and he wasn’t ignorant. He knew what was happening between them, what was becoming inevitable. He could have shifted away, said something, avoided the kiss, but this was an experiment he had been wondering about for a few weeks and from just a few minutes ago, he wanted more than he wanted to go on living.

“If I hurt you—“

Her eyelids had been lowered, but she raised them, and put her fingers tenderly against his lips, preventing him from saying anything further. “You won’t.”

Kimble would argue that he might, that he would, but his brain wasn’t thinking. At that moment, he could only want, and want desperately. At first, her lips against his were tentative, light, a butterfly’s caress, but he reached out, cupped the back of her neck, to pull her in tighter.

Within seconds, they surrendered to the impulses they had been fighting, their lips locked, meshed, merged. His eyes were closed, but he was aware of her as a woman, and his response, deepening the kiss, touched heaven and the future. That kiss, that woman, had the power to erase all the ugliness from his past, to make him understand happiness. That kiss, that woman, and pieces of him that that been broken or charred or forgotten,  started to heal.

She purred, a long wisp of her happiness, of the rightness of the bliss they created together. He was aware of her with every firing neuron in his body, of her pleasure, of the way her pulse tripped and a high flush rose on her cheeks. If he took, she gave, but he gave back. Together, on a roof in downtown Detroit where many would say there was only ugliness, beauty exploded around them. Kimble became aware of her, as he had never been aware of a woman before her.

Then he kissed her a dozen small nibbling kisses, her neck, her ears, her cheeks, desperately hungry to match the response he felt in her. He took the embrace deeper, wanting nothing superficial between them ever again.

He pulled the tieback from her hair, she must buy them by the gross because she was always losing them, always having to hunt up another. This one he might keep forever, as a memorial to foolishness, or even as a tribute to the strength of nascent love. Her hair spilled down, and he buried his fingers in it, needing this tactile grounding in the here and now. It smelled of wild forests, of spruce and pine and if he remembered running when he analyzed those scents, he was no longer running away from something, but toward it, something he wanted with all his heart.

She purred under his ministrations, giving him strength, making him feel whole, making him feel all the promises of a bright tomorrow were possible. He tasted her exhaustion, dried sweat from her neck and cheeks. They had worked hard, although this was a holiday and they knew they could have stayed home.

“I want,” she said, and he kissed her again, deeper, so he wouldn’t know, couldn’t know, so when he hurt her, he could lie to himself and say he did it in ignorance.

When Richard released her, so he could breathe, so he could search for sanity, she leaned back, her smile radiant, her eyes still closed, but with high color on her cheeks, brought out by the dim light from the white dusted coals and the few stars visible through the late evening clouds. “Yeah, my mother was right.”

“About what?” His shirt had been unbuttoned to his slacks. She had made far more progress on his clothing than he had on hers. He had only touched her hair, her eyelids, her future, and not her body at all.

His pulse tripped, his breathing was irregular, and more than anything, he felt the stirrings of something he hadn’t all those years on the run.

“My father is a cardiovascular surgeon. He’s an expert on the human heart, what it’s like when it’s healthy, and all the diseases and conditions it is vulnerable to, at a level I couldn’t hope to match, but my mother is an expert on the human heart as well. She took me aside one day, back when I was in high school and told me when I find the right man, the first kiss will be as easy as breathing.”

His eyes opened and panic returned coupled with an overwhelming need to escape. Not because he felt she lied, but because he felt it too, understood he was experiencing the exact same emotion. If he left now, Richard Kimble knew he would look back on this night, this woman, and grieve for years, if not forever. He was not willing to confess undying love even if he very much suspected that was what he was feeling. He had nothing to offer her. He lived in a hovel, couldn’t honestly get a job as a doctor. He didn’t even have a good name he could offer her, although he had been cleared, there were still shadows, questions, residual fears.

He wanted to get on his knees, to beg her, to explain about love and futility. But maybe he was a coward after all, for he tried the easy way out. “Olivia, whatever you think, whatever you want, I’m not the right one.”

Her eyes wide open, she faced him directly. Her arms were still around his back, his still in her hair. She shook her head, understanding his reluctance as she shattered it. “My mother said I can study medicine every day of my life, to learn everything there is to know about how the human heart works, but when I find him, I’ll know it, and that I won’t be able to imagine kissing anyone else.”

Again she moved in, pressing her lips against his, letting her tongue find his, and he responded. For long seconds, or perhaps minutes or even hours, he bought into the fantasy of happily-ever-after and let himself believe.

Reluctantly he put his hands out, on her shoulders, tried to pull her away. “This can’t be what you want.”

“Why not? I know you. I know you’re good and kind and one of the most dedicated men I’ve ever seen. I know you’re innocent of all they’ve ever said about you.”

“Olivia,” he stood, checking for danger, for exits, as he had so many times before, an action he found impossible to prevent. “I’m not whole. I don’t know what it will take to make me whole, but right now I’m incomplete. I can’t love you, even if I wanted to, until I deal with all the nightmares haunting me.”

Her smile was radiant, and she wrapped his trembling fingers in her own warmer ones. “We can face them together.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. It’s late. I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

***

The sign on the outside of the building said Rooms to Rent, on a house that had been built seventy years before. It was identical to ones he had used while on the run, places that did not ask for references, that all but guaranteed that the people passing through were at the end of their rope, either because they were wanted by the law or under the influence of some addiction. You didn’t meet for drinks after work with the people who were your temporary neighbors. If you drank, you drank alone, and if you worked, generally you could find better accommodations. You didn’t speak to your neighbors, for if you did, they might break an unspoken cardinal rule and tell you their troubles, when obviously you had troubles of your own.

None of that bothered Richard Kimble. He was used to the accommodations, fairly identical in almost all the lower 48 states. He knew how to get out through the broken, boarded up window in the basement, how to slip through the backdoor and across the yards of the vacant houses. He knew how to blend in, if he had to escape to find a bus or a train, or to stick his thumb out and hope for a friendly driver to pick him up.

Donna would yell, so he hadn’t told her.

Olivia would try to be more reasonable, offer other options. Should she try, she’d have no more luck.

Although the window was opened, there was no air to be had, and the sheets, as he tried to sleep, were soaked. July in Michigan sweltered, definitely not as bad as the humid Southern states, but bad enough. The clinic would be worse for it would be crowded, but at least while working, he would be too busy to notice.

Kimble owned an alarm clock. It was one of the first things he bought when he accepted the job, a small wind-up alarm clock that he rarely needed for anything other than the time. He checked it, realized if he could sleep he could take an hour, but it was unlikely he’d find sleep again, nor did he want to.

He had slept although the night hadn’t been restful. His nightmares returned, this one of the worst in a couple of weeks. He’d been in jail, holding onto the bars, dressed in his prison jumpsuit, and in the cell with him was Helen. Gerard was on the outside, trying to get him to confess to the murder, but it wasn’t Helen’s murder. She was desperately trying to tell him something, crying and drinking, and all could think of was running, away from Gerard, away from her. For the moment he wanted the serenity of watching a young boy fishing from a rowboat, maybe the last time he had felt safe before his world crashed.

Richard sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his eyes, waiting while the images faded from his brain, waiting for his pulse to return to normal. He walked to the window, and stared out into the empty morning, half expecting police cars and a dozen men holding rifles. He started his morning mantra, “I’m free. I’m free,” and pulled a clean towel and washcloth he’d bought. He had left fresh water in a basin and used that to wash, to shave, to try to put his world back into perspective. The bathroom in this place was filthy and there were six other rooms let, and competition for the shaving mirror.

Olivia had suggested he start running, a statement he found funny until she clarified. “There’s a high school track not far from where you’re staying. When you’re in the mood to run, run. People say it clears your head. I have no personal knowledge of that, as I think running is ridiculous, but everyone’s doing it.”

Because it frequently felt like the walls were closing in on him, because he understood his underlying need for movement, Kimble was willing to give her suggestion a try. He had even bought a pair of sneakers, not that he’d ever had the luxury over the past four years. The track was empty when he got there, not surprising, for dawn was probably twenty minutes away. As a doctor, he knew about warm up exercises, again something he never had any time for as a fugitive, and after stretching, set himself a reasonable pace and started circling the track. It took him a lap before he found his rhythm, before his breathing regulated and his body felt loose. Olivia was right. Running, even in circles at a high school track, felt freeing.

After half an hour, he waved a crisp farewell to the kid who had started running shortly after he did and started jogging back to his room, for it didn’t make any sense to him to drive to the track in order to exercise. His muscles hurt, his lungs felt staved, and there was a stitch in his side that was very familiar, but he felt good. He liked the idea of running when he didn’t have to run. It pleased him to think should Lieutenant Gerard come looking for him again, he’d out pace him.

Back in his room, Kimble washed up and pulled on a crisp, clean white shirt that he had laundered at the local Chinese laundry. He found a tie and knotted it. The day before Olivia had presented him with a white doctor’s jacket, and while he assumed he had been prouder when he earned his first, in med school, this came a close second.

He checked the clock, found it not nearly as late as he thought. He had the day off, had been planning on finding a laundrymat, washing his clothes, maybe putting in a call to the Tafts, to see what they were doing. This was a holiday. There was probably a parade somewhere he could witness, do something normal. And the only thing he wanted was the clinic. Whether or not she was there, there was always something for him to do. He could clear out the store room, shove whatever broken stuff he felt the need to keep downstairs so he could turn the space into a breakroom, where they could put a table, sit down like civilized people. He needed a place where he could have a desk and they could start storing the files they had overflowing the reception area. There were simple things he could do to make the place better.

“Mr. Kimble—“

The sound, coming just as he exited the building caught him off guard. He had been starting to feel comfortable here, a member of the community, someone who could go to the post office to mail a birthday present to Donna without fear of anyone recognizing him. Although he felt the need to run, to hide, he straightened his shoulders, turned around slowly, and forced his features to relax. “I’m sorry. You startled me. I was thinking, and wasn’t expecting anyone.”

He hoped his voice was steady, that he looked normal, starting to feel at ease in this rundown rattrap.

“Happens to all of us.”

Did it? That he doubted.

“I hope you weren’t waiting long. I was out running.”

“Running?”

His legs felt boneless. It would take dedication to build up some muscle mass. “A new hobby.”

“Is it?”

“Ok, your point. Perhaps I should have said running for exercise or pleasure.”

The stranger was clean shaven, smelled of an expensive aftershave. “I’d like a moment of your time.”

“Yes?”

The man he faced was well dressed, styled hair gone sliver, had an overall look that spoke of real money. This wasn’t a policeman, not by any definition.

“I’m Donald Olivetti.”

“Dr. Olivetti,” Kimble said. He held out his hand. Another test. This man knew who he was. Would he return the simple greeting? The shake was firm and friendly, and Richard’s pulse started to settle.

“So she mentioned me. I’d like a few minutes of your time.”

“I’d invite you in, but there’s nothing to offer you. I don’t even keep coffee in the room, but if you’re interested, there’s a waffle house down the street. I don’t usually get breakfast, but we could speak there.”

“As you wish.”

Olivetti drove a black Lincoln town car, big enough to be an aircraft carrier, real leather seats, wood accents and new enough that the showroom smell hadn’t dissipated. The radio was tuned to jazz.

“If this isn’t fancy enough, I suppose we could find somewhere else, but I wouldn’t have a clue where to look.”

“I’m fine here. This won’t take long.”

They seated themselves and the waitress brought ice water and menus. Richard nodded, finished taking a sip of water which had stopped half-way to his mouth with the doctor’s statement.

“What can I do for you, Dr. Olivetti? In case you’re wondering if I’m hassling your daughter, or even trying to seduce her, I can assure you, that’s not the case.”

“So she says. Olivia doesn’t suffer fools gladly. She’s a woman with a medical degree. It wasn’t easy. She had to be twice as good as anyone else to even get noticed. She said a lot of the doctors she went to school with treated her like a toy, but that you don’t.”

“She’s one of the most brilliant doctors I’ve ever seen.”

His grin was sincere. “That’s another thing Olivia says: you’re the most brilliant doctor she’s ever seen, even when you’re not writing prescriptions or crossing what might be an arbitrary line.”

“I’m not a doctor and I don’t see the line as arbitrary. I’m employed as an orderly.” Perhaps it was a step up from a janitor. He wasn’t sure. “Occasionally the clinic gets backed up, and I help out where I can.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mr. Kimble. Do orderlies deliver babies?”

“It doesn’t take a medical degree to deliver babies.”

“Which is a sin before God. Too many things can go wrong with the mother or the child. It should be done in a hospital, with a qualified surgical staff available if needed.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“I was specifically talking of a C-section.”

“Olivia was busy. What was I to do, let her suffer?”

“I am not here to criticize. The mother and child are doing well?”

He set the menu aside, prepared to stand. “So are the puppies, if this is an interrogation.”

“It’s not. I am not here to question you, at least not about your past. It’s your present I’m interested in, and your future.”

He remained seated, but didn’t settle. “For years I didn’t have a future. I learned to take things one day at a time.”

“Understood. Two healthy babies and mothers, so far, and both were in distress when they entered the clinic. Don’t tell me your average orderly can perform a C-section.”

“There was a time when I had an obstetrics certification. I wasn’t looking for patients, and I couldn’t let those women suffer. Olivia would have done the first one, but she was up to her arms in a ruptured appendix.”

“And has an equally plausible alibi for not being available to do the second. I know. She said you won’t perform abortions.”

Richard let the statement hang while he responded to the waitress, ordering eggs over easy, bacon, a side of pancakes and coffee. Lots of coffee.

“No, and I never have. While I’m not sure that I’m specifically against abortions, I feel no need to perform them myself. Too many families want a baby. Yes, I know I’m talking about an ideal world, and desperate women are going to butchers, but I’ve got enough work without doing procedures I am not comfortable with, especially as it’s illegal in Michigan, and the rest of the country.”

“And you’d rather not get in trouble with the law?”

“I’ve been in trouble with the law. I’m sure you know who I am. I am not hiding anything, from anyone, including your daughter. I’ve been exonerated. I’m free to go anywhere, do anything.”

“And you want medicine.”

“Yes. I always have. For a while it was denied me, but I intend to get my license one of these years.”

“That’s why I’m here. My daughter called me when the police lieutenant showed up to see you.”

“Gerard. At the moment, he’s something of a friend.”

“What did he want?”

“That’s his business and mine. It has nothing to do with the court overturning my conviction.” He held up his hands. “No cuffs, no extradition.”

“And Indiana is going to pay you for wrongful imprisonment.”

“You’ve got your facts straight. Why are you asking me?”

“Do you have plans for the money?”

He studied the placemat, a paper sheet, showing the lower 48 states and major highways, highlighting their chains but could easily be used to encourage him to hit the road. “Right now it’s hypothetical money that for any number of reasons I consider blood money. I haven’t seen a penny of it, but if they come through, I was thinking of donating it to some deserving clinic where they’re struggling by without proper equipment. They could use an autoclave machine and bandages. I’d like to see a supply of immunizations, MMR, stuff like that, and half a hundred other drugs she should have access to, for example there’s no nitroglycerine, nothing to treat anaphylactic shock. I’m sure Olivia has a better conception than a mere orderly on what the clinic needs.”

“Not interested in keeping the money for yourself?”

“I’ve lived for a few years with almost nothing at all. One thing I learned from life as a fugitive, I don’t need much to survive.”

“An apartment with rats?”

He started tapping states with his finger, wondered if there were any he missed in the four years on the road. “They don’t bother me as much as I thought they might. I’ve had the house in the suburbs. I’m not sure I’m ready for that again. Now, if you could come to the point? I’d like to get to the clinic. I’m sure Dr. Olivetti is worried about me.”

“She is. She says you’re dedicated. I can see that for myself. It’s seven-thirty in the morning and you were off to work for a job you’re getting paid pennies for on a national holiday where the clinic is supposed to be closed.”

“I never worked in medicine for the money, and lately I have to say that prestige is overrated. At the risk of sounding more naïve than I am, I like helping people.”

“Livi likes you. Romantically. Did you know that?”

“Yes. But I assure you I have never once led her on, or given her the idea that I might be interested in more than a professional relationship with her.”

“Yes, she says that too. You won’t go out to dinner with her, won’t take in a movie.”

“We both spend a lot of time at the clinic. And I—“

“Yes?”

“I’m gun shy. Take that statement anyway you like.”

“You won’t date a woman when you’re in no position to provide for a family.”

“That’s part of it.”

“I’ve an opportunity for you. A local university is offering a two week medical refresher course. After, there’s a certification test and a practical. It’s specifically aimed at foreigners who want to practice in this country, to see if their medical knowledge is up to American standards. They also take in former doctors, who for one reason or another attempt to get their license back. There’s a criminal background check.”

“In case you’re asking, they won’t find anything but the obvious. I’ve been exonerated.”

“You’d need to have been working in a medical facility, under the direct supervision of a doctor.”

“I—“

“What?”

“I’ve worked in medicine too long to completely deny miracles out of hand, but I guess I’ve just experienced another one.”

“Another one?”

“Sister Veronica, an old friend who recently died. Miracles seemed to follow in her wake. Anything else?”

“You need to have personal recommendations. I’m willing to give you mine. It doesn’t mean that much here in Detroit, but I assure you in New York, I’m rather well known.”

“So I am led to believe.”

“Livi says you’re dedicated. She says you will have no trouble passing the course, and I have to warn you, they’re not going to go easy. This isn’t a buy a medical degree program.”

“All right.”

“The fine print is that you’ll have to agree to work in Michigan for three years.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And it’s not easy to get into the program. There’s a rather long waiting list. Flunk out or leave before it’s finished, you’ll have to find another way to get your license reinstated.”

“Understood.” Strings had been pulled. He wondered if there would be payment down the line.

“It’s paid for. Registration is today at noon. Here’s the particulars.” Olivetti handed him a packet with directions to the university, where to check in, what was expected. “Can you be there?”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ll need this.” He handed Richard a package with a stethoscope and blood pressure cuff. “I’ll see you in three weeks, Dr. Kimble.”

“Thanks.”

“One other question.”

“Yes?”

“Are you still interested in having children?”

Richard left without answering although his grin was sincere.

Link to Chapter 14