carried it home on my golf cart. He’s fond of it, it weighs him four pounds lighter.’
There was professionalism for you. So if he had weighed 165 on Hoppy’s scale, plus the four Hoppy had cheated him out of, that was 169, and so he had, indeed, gained ten pounds since his last visit—if Wilson’s scale was accurate.
‘Is this scale accurate?’
‘On the money.’
He stepped off the thing. ‘There you have it, then, Doctor—the depression you were asking about.’
Nurse Kennedy handed him a prescription on the way out. He eyed it, nonplussed, and handed it back. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says, “Run three times a week. Three miles a day first week, four miles a day ensuing weeks. Drink plenty water. See you Nov.”’
‘Four miles one way or round-trip?’
‘Round-trip. He’s too easy on his patients. Dr. Harper made grown men cry.’
See there, Hoppy had been out of here only a few days, and was already spoken of in past tense. That was retirement for you.
‘Dr. Wilson is a runner,’ she said.
‘Really? Does he follow his own prescription?’
‘He’s hard on himself, but soft on others. He does fifteen miles three times a week, sometimes twenty.’
He couldn’t take any more.
‘Are you going to retire, too?’ he asked Kennedy. She had been at the hospital clinic a hundred years; she was the one who welcomed him back when he awoke from the last coma; he was accustomed to her.
‘Heavens, no, Father, I’ll be here ’til the cows come home.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
• • •
T HEY LAY ON THE STUDY SOFA under a couple of blankets, her feet to the south, his to the north, the fire on the hearth turning to embers.
Though he couldn’t see it rising over Little Mitford Creek, a waning moon silvered the branches of the maple, the Japanese cherry, the pickets of their fence. He raised his head for a better view of the celestial vault, wishing he could see Cassiopeia and Perseus and Camelopardalis—constellations whose names he loved pronouncing as a boy—but moonshine obscured such aloof regions.
‘I brought you flowers last Tuesday for our anniversary,’ he said, ‘but I’m due for another round.’
‘I should bring you flowers. I’ve been bossy.’
‘I’ve been . . .’ He thought about what he’d been. ‘. . . caustic.’
‘I wonder if my being bossy makes you caustic. Or did your being caustic make me bossy?’
‘All I know,’ he said, ‘is that Barnabas is downstairs and seems to like it, the checks are still rolling in to Violet, and I love you better than life.’
‘I love you back,’ she said.
‘To carry forth the full confession, I’m also sorry I fell asleep after your great dinner on Tuesday.’
‘I consider it a compliment.’
‘Falling asleep on our anniversary and not even helping with the dishes. That’s a compliment?’
‘You feel comfortable with me. I don’t think I’m a particularly comfortable person. Besides, we celebrated early in Dublin, remember?’
He grasped her foot, held it tight—so much was loose in this world. ‘Thanks for helping keep watch.’
‘If you’re sleeping down here, I’m sleeping down here. How many nights?’
‘One more, I think.’ He closed his eyes, spoke aloud their favored prayer from the Compline.
‘Before the ending of the day / Creator of the world we pray . . .’
She joined her voice with his. ‘That thou with wonted love shouldst keep . . .
‘Thy watch around us while we sleep . . .’
The prayer ended, the fire crackled and sighed.
‘Are you drifting off?’
‘Not immediately.’
‘Let’s write love letters again,’ she said. ‘Like we did when I was stuck in Manhattan all those months and we were trying to figure out what we meant to each other.’
‘Love letters are hard.’
‘But that’s what makes them good.’
On his bed by the hearth, Barnabas whimpered in his sleep, his squirrel whimper; Violet slept in the
There was professionalism for you. So if he had weighed 165 on Hoppy’s scale, plus the four Hoppy had cheated him out of, that was 169, and so he had, indeed, gained ten pounds since his last visit—if Wilson’s scale was accurate.
‘Is this scale accurate?’
‘On the money.’
He stepped off the thing. ‘There you have it, then, Doctor—the depression you were asking about.’
Nurse Kennedy handed him a prescription on the way out. He eyed it, nonplussed, and handed it back. ‘What does it say?’
‘It says, “Run three times a week. Three miles a day first week, four miles a day ensuing weeks. Drink plenty water. See you Nov.”’
‘Four miles one way or round-trip?’
‘Round-trip. He’s too easy on his patients. Dr. Harper made grown men cry.’
See there, Hoppy had been out of here only a few days, and was already spoken of in past tense. That was retirement for you.
‘Dr. Wilson is a runner,’ she said.
‘Really? Does he follow his own prescription?’
‘He’s hard on himself, but soft on others. He does fifteen miles three times a week, sometimes twenty.’
He couldn’t take any more.
‘Are you going to retire, too?’ he asked Kennedy. She had been at the hospital clinic a hundred years; she was the one who welcomed him back when he awoke from the last coma; he was accustomed to her.
‘Heavens, no, Father, I’ll be here ’til the cows come home.’
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
• • •
T HEY LAY ON THE STUDY SOFA under a couple of blankets, her feet to the south, his to the north, the fire on the hearth turning to embers.
Though he couldn’t see it rising over Little Mitford Creek, a waning moon silvered the branches of the maple, the Japanese cherry, the pickets of their fence. He raised his head for a better view of the celestial vault, wishing he could see Cassiopeia and Perseus and Camelopardalis—constellations whose names he loved pronouncing as a boy—but moonshine obscured such aloof regions.
‘I brought you flowers last Tuesday for our anniversary,’ he said, ‘but I’m due for another round.’
‘I should bring you flowers. I’ve been bossy.’
‘I’ve been . . .’ He thought about what he’d been. ‘. . . caustic.’
‘I wonder if my being bossy makes you caustic. Or did your being caustic make me bossy?’
‘All I know,’ he said, ‘is that Barnabas is downstairs and seems to like it, the checks are still rolling in to Violet, and I love you better than life.’
‘I love you back,’ she said.
‘To carry forth the full confession, I’m also sorry I fell asleep after your great dinner on Tuesday.’
‘I consider it a compliment.’
‘Falling asleep on our anniversary and not even helping with the dishes. That’s a compliment?’
‘You feel comfortable with me. I don’t think I’m a particularly comfortable person. Besides, we celebrated early in Dublin, remember?’
He grasped her foot, held it tight—so much was loose in this world. ‘Thanks for helping keep watch.’
‘If you’re sleeping down here, I’m sleeping down here. How many nights?’
‘One more, I think.’ He closed his eyes, spoke aloud their favored prayer from the Compline.
‘Before the ending of the day / Creator of the world we pray . . .’
She joined her voice with his. ‘That thou with wonted love shouldst keep . . .
‘Thy watch around us while we sleep . . .’
The prayer ended, the fire crackled and sighed.
‘Are you drifting off?’
‘Not immediately.’
‘Let’s write love letters again,’ she said. ‘Like we did when I was stuck in Manhattan all those months and we were trying to figure out what we meant to each other.’
‘Love letters are hard.’
‘But that’s what makes them good.’
On his bed by the hearth, Barnabas whimpered in his sleep, his squirrel whimper; Violet slept in the
Similar Books
