The Mere Fragrance

The show ER, and all characters and situations borrowed from it, are property of Constant-C, NBC, Warner Brothers, etc. This fanfiction is for entertainment only, and no money is made from it. The story contains graphic scenes and words which may offend some readers, and as such, it is not appropriate for children under 18. This story is not to be archived or distributed without the permission of the author.

Summary: Carol tells Doug she's expecting their baby.

Stories in the series can be found in chronological order at:

http://members.tripod.com/~maraldo/jordan.html 
http://www.oocities.org/TelevisionCity/Studio/5437/jordan.htm 
http://members.tripod.com/~erfanfic/jordan.html 
and at:
http://www.jsentertainment.com/gilbert/terffa/ 

Stories in the series:
A Clean Break; Stages of Ending; Retribution; Covenant; Tap-dance; Free Falling; Blink of an Eye; Vivisection; Keepsakes; In the Steam; Through the Night; Cornerstone; Domesticity; Caretaker; To CH; The Empty Space; Tenderhearted; Intoxicated; The Present; Summit; The Harbor, Part I; The Harbor, Part II; Transition Game; Expectations; Joint Venture; Kiss of Life; Residuum; Aftermath; Letters Never Sent; Wonderful Things; The Mere Fragrance 

This story is written around "Power" and "Responsible Parties." As usual, heartfelt thanks to Katy, Ruth, and Claire for their encouragement and assistance.

The Mere Fragrance
by Jordan
jturner36@juno.com 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Like a lover, the morning sun
Slowly rises and kisses you awake
Your smile, so soft and drowsy as you let it play
Upon your face
Oh, how I dream
I could be like the morning sun to you

Like a lover, the river wind
Sighs and ripples its fingers through your hair
Upon your cheek it lingers never having known
A sweeter place
Oh, how I dream
I could be like the river wind to you
-- Al Jarreau
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For some reason unbeknownst to her, the sofa was the best spot in the house to get some rest. Perhaps because the television was there and the sound would lull her to sleep. Or because the afghan felt just right, not too hot or cold. Then again maybe, just maybe it was the way it cradled her gently, without a wide expanse of empty space; the sofa, unlike the bed, never had "his" side.

She was still worried about her pregnancy, even after the ultrasound. The cramping came and went intermittently. The spotting had slowed, but it did not stop, and each time Carol used the bathroom, she'd examine the toilet tissue, afraid of what might be there, troubled when the bleeding hadn't ceased. Mark had called very late in the evening, sounding as if he'd gone out and had a few drinks. She assured him that things were okay, and wished him a good night.

So Carol snuggled into the sofa, occasionally wiping tears of fright and uncertainty from her cheeks. There was nothing satisfying on television, but she watched anyway, trying to distract herself. First it was the news, then Nightline, and after that she hazily groped for the remote and the room fell silent save her disjointed prayers to God, asking Him to protect her child, to allow the life within her continue.

That night, her sleep was uninterrupted.

*****

Doug tossed and turned all night, so he welcomed the dawn, the sun giving him permission to get out of bed and start his work day. He grabbed and buttered a bagel, then tossed his jacket over his arm and wound down the steps to the parking lot. Unlocking the door to his Jeep, he meandered through the sleepy streets of Portland, stopping at his parking spot. As he walked in, he noted that Beth's spot was empty. She wasn't in yet. 

Good mornings all around. Quick pit stop for coffee. Then, he opened his door, started his day. Switching on the computer, he clicked his way through meaningless e-mail, saving only two regarding hospice care. He glanced at a stack of papers on his desk, papers with information he'd compiled about pediatric hospices in the Portland area. 

Doug sat back and thought about it. It all boiled down to Ricky Abbott in the end. His demise, his rebirth.

After the horrendous way Ricky's pain was ignored by the genetics department at County, he felt there was much more to be done to help children who were dying a painful death, felt that part of his life's work was to help such children, to change the way the medical profession treated the final stage of life for kids. 

He printed the e-mail and added them to the ones on his desk. Looking up, he saw Beth wave as she passed his door.

"Hey, hey, wait! Come back," he called after her.

He heard her laugh, then she poked her head in. "Hey, how's it goin'?"

"Good, come in, I need help with something."

"Sure, where's my coffee, then?"

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Doctors don't get coffee for other people. Totally disrupts the pecking order."

"Hmm, lawyers don't, either, but they sure expect it, especially from people who need their help." Beth raised her eyebrows for emphasis.

"Ah, touché."

"What's up?"

"Sit down, I need your brain a minute. What would be involved in creating a hospital-based hospice program here?"

She eased into the chair. "You mean, legally?"

"Yeah, legally and otherwise, have they thought about it at all?"

Beth shrugged. "I don't know. I could do some research, ask around if you want."

"No, that's okay, I'm doing that already, I just didn't know if there were any legal barriers."

"Probably. There always are, aren't there?" she asked.

"Probably."

"What's this about?"

"It's not really about anything...."

"Yeah. Forget it, Doug, what's it about?"

He got up and closed the door, perching himself on his desk in front of her. "I like what I'm doing, here. But it's not what I'm best at, not what I'm...meant to do."

"Okay..." she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

"I was involved in a very difficult case in February, a little boy was dying and I arranged for a PCA machine...it's patient-controlled analgesia...for the boy and his mother, to help with his pain. It's a long story, but my involvement with him indirectly caused me to leave Chicago, to come here."

Beth crossed her legs, still listening.

"Since I left, I've missed practicing medicine, I've missed helping kids, treating them. I'm not interested in private practice, I'm not interested in clinic work. I want to do something more. So, I thought I'd find out if I could either help develop a hospice program, or at least become involved in one. You know, in addition to my job here."

"Okay. Okay." She thought for a moment. "I'll tell you what, you do some more research, and I'll make a few calls. See what the need is, get a feel for the political environment around here. Fair enough?"

"Yup," he nodded.

She got up to leave, but he reached for her arm and held her back.  "Beth? Thanks."

"Sure," she said with a smile. "Later."

He started his work that day, getting ready for the following week, making sure his ducks were in a row. He made a few phone calls, joked with his assistant, Patti, did a Medline search for hospice information, and popped over to Beth's office, but she wasn't there. 

The day would pass quickly, he knew. In a few hours, he'd stuff some papers into his briefcase and shut his computer. He'd play some basketball, maybe grab a beer with some of the guys, and then go home.

Work. Basketball. Home.

*****

When the phone rang, she was shocked and surprised to see the sun streaming through the windows. Her voice was husky as she answered. "Hello?"

"Hello, Carol, it's Elizabeth. I'm sorry, were you sleeping?"

"Yeah, but that's okay. What time is it?"

"It's a bit after nine."

Carol stretched. "Oh, wow. I haven't slept this late in a while." 

"Sorry I woke you. You left trauma yesterday, I was concerned, but I haven't had a chance to ring you until now."

"Oh, well, I had quite a day. I was hit by a patient, a kid. I started cramping, spotting. Mark did an ultrasound, but...."

Elizabeth interrupted. "You've told Mark?"

"Yeah, I really wasn't ready to, but I wanted an ultrasound, he seemed like the logical person to ask."

"Absolutely. So, everything is all right?"

"Well, we didn't see anything on the abdominal ultrasound, so Mark set me up for a vaginal. The radiologist saw a heartbeat."

"Oh, that's wonderful news, Carol."

"Yeah, I hope. I was still spotting last night, though. I called my OB/GYN yesterday, she wants me off my feet today," she explained, rubbing her eyes. "I'm glad I'm off. I usually work Fridays."

"I'm hoping it all goes well. Did you...have you called Doug, does he know?"

Carol paused. "No. I haven't. Elizabeth, I can't just...call him yet, out of the blue, give him this news. I'm thinking...I'll write him a letter. I know him, he'll just absorb it better, he'll...it'll give him time to think about it, more time than a phone call would give him."

Elizabeth was concerned, feeling there was more to this than Carol was letting on. "Shall I come over later, bring some dinner, help you out around the house?"

"Oh, no, no, I'm fine. Thanks, but I'm fine."

"Well, then, how about I come just to keep you company?"

Carol's eyes brimmed over with tears. "You are wonderful. I'd love some company."

"Good, I'll come by 'round five, so...what can I bring to eat?"

Carol laughed, wiping the tears away. "Very determined, aren't you? Uh, I don't care, surprise me."

Carol could sense Elizabeth's smile, even over the phone. "I'll do just that. See you later."

"Okay, bye." Carol sighed. Call Doug. She could, she knew. Just call him. But she was afraid to hear his voice, afraid she'd break down, afraid he'd want to come back for all the wrong reasons.

And she knew he'd be hurt that she hadn't told him weeks, even months ago.

Tossing the afghan aside, Carol made a beeline to the bathroom, tensing in anticipation of what she might see. She was relieved, though, because it appeared the spotting had ceased. "Thank you, God," she whispered.

Too ravenous to shower without eating, she rummaged in the cabinet for some cereal and poured milk over it, set a glass of orange juice next to it and then shook out a prenatal vitamin. Before she sat down to eat, however, she opened the window above the sink, and sweet, warm air filled the room. It would be a beautiful day, she thought. It was the kind of morning he loved.

Carol ate, then showered and towel-dried her hair. She went outside onto the porch and brought the newspaper in, then relaxed on the couch again, putting her feet up, switching on the television. One talk show after another. 

Dammit. I'm stalling, she thought. I have to write him. I have to.  Carol got up, seareched the desk drawer for a tablet and found a pen on top. She sat back and began.

"Dear Doug,

"I have some news for you. I just found out that I'm going to have a baby and I wanted you to know."

Carol wrinkled her nose. No. Not right. She crossed that out. Try again.

"Dear Doug,

"I wanted to call you, but I know we decided against that, so I'm writing this letter to let you know that we have some important things to talk about."

She read and reread it, then continued.

"I found out that I'm pregnant and I will have a baby in November. I want you to know I don't expect anything from you."

Well, wait. That's not right, she thought. Too defensive.

"I found out that I'm pregnant and I will have a baby in November. I was hoping you would have come back by now, however I'm resigned to the fact that you won't."

"UGH!" Carol ripped the paper. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I need to sound sure of myself, she reasoned. That's it. Confident, like I know what I'm doing.

She took a deep breath, sat back, wrote, scratching some words out, adding some phrases here or there, and then when she was satisfied it was what she wanted him to hear, she copied it neatly onto a fresh page.

Now, to send it. I could mail it, she thought. But, then I'd be waiting days and days, wondering if it got there, waiting. She considered the alternatives. She had his e-mail address, she could send it that way. No, all typewritten, that would be worse. Colder,   somehow. Then she thought of faxing it. If she did, she'd know just when he'd get it, she could call him after that, sure that he had it in his possession.

So, she decided. She'd fax it. Now, to call for the number. She went to her purse and pulled out the e-mail he'd sent during his first days there. It was well-worn from the many nights she had similarly held it, fighting the need she had to call him, to hear his voice. With one deep, tentative breath she dialed the office number, praying that he wouldn't answer, ready to hang up if he did.

"Dr. Ross' office." It was a woman's voice; must be a secretary or something, Carol surmised.

"Hi. I was wondering if you could give me Doug's fax number? I need to fax something to him...."

The voice on the other line took on a slightly impatient tone. "To Dr. Ross?"

Carol huffed in return. "Yes, Dr. Ross. Can I have his fax number, please?"

"There are two numbers. Do you want his office fax, or the department's fax?"

"Is the office one private?"

"Yes," the voice answered.

"His office fax, please." Carol jotted the number down and then, despite herself, she had to ask. "Is...Dr. Ross in today?"

"You know, I think he's...uh, he's here somewhere, hang on." 

Then Carol heard his voice, then his laugh in the background and she retreated quickly. "That's okay...I have to run. Thank you. Bye."  She hung up the phone, her hand sweating, still glued to the receiver. He's in the office today. He was right there, working. Functioning. His life is going along just fine. He's doing great.

Putting the letter aside for a while would be a wise thing, she decided. So, Carol straightened up, did the rest of the dishes, opened some more windows to let the fresh air come in, and then finally took a long, long nap.

She awakened to the doorbell. Disoriented at first, she realized Elizabeth must have arrived. When Carol opened the door, she was standing there in jeans and a sweater, hiding behind a huge bouquet.

Carol grinned widely, accepting her gift. "These are pretty."

"Well, at home I could have picked some flowers from my parents' garden, sorted you out a nice bouquet, but here in Chicago, I'm afraid I'd insult someone if I ventured into their garden," Elizabeth laughed.

"You'd do more than insult them," Carol agreed. "Thanks, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth walked in. "I believe they pale in comparison to what's growing outside 'round here. What are the trees with the little purple flowers? They're lovely." 

"Uh, redbuds, I think you mean."

"Absolutely beautiful. It's a lovely time of year, really. Everything's blooming, the trees, the flowers, even the shrubs. Purple rhododendron, purple redbuds, as you call them, purple lilacs."

"Yeah. It really is a nice time of year," Carol said, smiling. "I always wanted a redbud tree. The color of them, they're so beautiful."

"I always liked the lilacs."

"Me, too," Carol nodded, agreeing. "They're my favorite. But, they don't last, you know? When you cut them, put them in water, they don't last long."

"No. You're right. They don't. Perhaps they're meant to stay just where they are, on the shrub, to flourish. Well-rooted."

Carol smiled. "Maybe they are."

The women looked at each other warmly. "So," Elizabeth said, holding up two small bags, "I've brought some goodies for us. Some salad and quiche, plus some very tasty fruit concoction that they had. I was trying to think of what healthy food a pregnant woman needed."

"That sounds so good. I'm hungry," Carol said agreeably.

They brought the bags into the kitchen and set the table, then relaxed with each other through dinner. Elizabeth studiously avoided talking about Doug, so it was Carol who brought him up first.

"You know, I finished the letter today. I decided to fax it to Doug. I think...I think that's best. He'll get the news quicker that way."

Elizabeth was surprised, although she didn't let on. "You really must let him know, Carol."

"I know. I know." Carol nodded. "I guess I was just waiting for something. Waiting to hear from him."

"I thought you'd decided not to talk."

Carol smiled ruefully. "We did. Maybe I never expected him to play by the rules, though."

Elizabeth smiled in return and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I'm sorry. I wish I could help."

"You are. I'm glad you're here tonight. The nights get kinda long, you know?" Carol returned the squeeze and then got up to clear the table.

*****

They were hazy at best, but when one was granted, he went toward it joyfully, knowing at once that it was waiting there for his pleasure, for his happiness. And pleasure and happiness it was, always.  Sometimes it seemed to him that he'd arrived late; things had already started, and he would rush to meet it, so he didn't miss a moment of it. Sometimes, rarely, he would be there from the beginning, and then he could bask in it, enjoy it fully. Each time, though, he'd become anxious, afraid it would end, and when it invariably did, he'd struggle to regain it, close his eyes and try to recapture it. A pitiful existence at best. But it was all he had. 

His dreams once again sustained him.

He was walking down the street, and saw her in the front yard of her house, waiting for him. He embraced her, held her, felt her pressing against him, and she led him inside, to her bed. It was turned down, the breeze was blowing through the curtains.

She undressed slowly, baring herself to him. Laying on the bed, she reached out for him. The warmth of her, the beauty. Then he had to possess her; he needed her so desperately. Slowly, sweetly, he sank into the soft, silken depths of her, into the wonderful, willing love she provided. Her arms, her legs, her whole being wrapped around him. He loved her, he said. He wanted her to belong to him, to truly belong to him, and she did, she did, for those moments in time, she was his to love, his to cherish. He whispered to her, begged her to love him still. I do, she assured him, I do.

She kissed him, stroked him, and she began pleading, moaning, arching. Once he looked at her face, he knew right then that he'd get no more of her that night. It was going to end. He moved in his sleep, fighting it, wanting her back, and when he awoke, he was hard, aroused, and throbbing. Alone.

He closed his eyes. He could recapture it, he knew, just don't wake up, don't wake up. Find her, she's there, she's somewhere. She's there.

She's out there somewhere, living without you. Pulling away.

It was early yet, 5 a.m. Doug got out of bed, started a small pot of coffee. He looked around. One more week left in the corporate apartment; he'd have to remember change of address forms, to have the paper delivered to his new place. He had briefly considered trying to buy a townhouse, but a quick review of his finances told him that until his loans were paid, he'd never be able to come up with enough of a down-payment for a home of his own. So, a few weeks ago, he'd circled ads for apartments in neighborhoods he'd been in and finally found a furnished one to his liking.

Doug knew that he'd need to get in touch with Carol, need to arrange to have his belongings shipped, but he hesitated to do it. It would signal the end of their relationship to her, he knew, and he wasn't ready to do that at all. He'd rather live with the uncertainty than hear her say it was over.

So, another day began. Coffee, paper, shower, out the door. He got the usual greetings upon his arrival from the other early birds who had no lives, no spouse, no children to care for. Once he was in his office, he tried, but he couldn't shake his somber mood. It wasn't that he was unhappy in his job. No, he wouldn't say that exactly. He got to travel a bit, got to see other hospitals and how they worked. His salary was good, the surroundings comfortable. People were nice, friendly. Kerry Weaver wasn't there. Hell, that was a bonus. But there was a void almost as great as the separation from Carol. He wanted a way to be involved again in patient care. He needed more than his current job was giving him. It became more and more apparent to him with each passing day.

The morning blew by and he tried to concentrate on his work, but he couldn't. His attention was gradually drawn outside. It was a beautiful day, and he decided to go out, grab something to eat. Clear his mind.

As Doug walked along the river front, he felt the first gentle air of spring on his face, the warmth of the sun finally out of hiding. He noticed a familiar scent and looked around, seeking the source.  Ambling over to the fence, he found it, trapped and tangled amongst the branches of a large tree. Her favorite. He smiled because it made him think of her. When was he not thinking of her, he realized. 

He knew it was one of the things he'd do that she'd loved. He'd come home from the grocery store or from playing basketball carrying lilacs in his hand, and offer them to her with a playful kiss. As she placed them in water, she'd coyly ask where he got them, noting that they'd been twisted off, not cut. He would grin and say that some old lady gave them to him, or that they had fallen on the sidewalk, knowing she'd never believe him. That roguish behavior, the devilish way he refused to conform was what she had found so enticing, so wonderful. 

And it was what finally drove a wedge between them.

Doug headed back, holding the freshly-picked lilacs loosely in his hand. 

By the time he arrived at work, he stopped off to talk to Beth, but she was out. When he got to his office, he found his schedule for the following week had been revised and reworked his calendar accordingly. Beth appeared in his doorway, all smiles and brightness, holding a small bunch of flowers in a glass. "Any idea who might have left these on my desk?"

Doug grinned, feeling a touch bashful. "I stole them from, you know, near the river."

"Hmm, that's unlike you."

"What, stealing things?"

"No, bringing me flowers."

He ran his hands over his hair. "Well, I didn't...you know, I wasn't...."

"Relax, relax. Sheesh." Beth placed the glass on his desk. "Thanks, Doug, but I can't keep them."

Doug raised his eyebrows, always looking for an excuse to mock her.  "So, this Stuart, the uh, real estate mogul, would object to a...friendly gesture? He must be the jealous type."

"He's not a real estate mogul," she laughed. "No, he wouldn't object, but I would. Severe allergies."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know." Doug tried to look contrite. "So, second, third date yet?"

"Yup."

"Things must be good," Doug surmised.

"So far. Hey, speaking of good, I have four tickets to tomorrow's Blazers game. Wanna come?"

"I thought you were a Knicks fan?" he challenged her.

"Well, I am, but you take what you can get."

"Nah, I don't think so," he said, smiling.

"Oh, c'mon. Stuart and I are going, and I've asked my friend, Joanne to come along as well."

Doug raised his chin in defiance. "So it's...like a double date?"

"Well...." she started.

Doug waved her off. "No, no, no, I don't think so, Beth."

"It's not a date, Doug. It's...we've just got these tickets, it'll be fun. She's really nice, she doesn't think it's a date."

He shook his head. "You're going with your date, with Stuart, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"And you want me and this woman to come, too. So, it's like a double date, which is a date, which...I'm not interested in."

Beth leaned over his desk, shaking her head. "Doug...you need to start living again. Start your life out here."

He stared at the paperwork on his desk, trying to deflect her probe. "I am living. I'm fine," he said using a confidential tone.

"No, you're not fine. You work, play basketball, and go home."

"And for now, that's how I wanna live." He was becoming irritated with her, she could tell. 

"You haven't even found an apartment yet, have you?"

"Yes," he nodded, "I have. I'm moving in this coming weekend."

Beth nodded, then asked, "Has she called you? Have you spoken with her?"

Doug looked up, but didn't answer. He didn't have to; she knew by his expression.

"She hasn't, has she?"

He looked away. "No, she hasn't called."

"And you're waiting for...?"

"I'm not waiting for anything. I'm just not...." Doug stopped and bowed his head. "I'm not ready to...move on."

She pressed him. "Because...?"

"Because I'm not." Doug turned away, embarrassed. 

Because, Beth, I pray to a God I don't even believe in that I'll dream about her at night. Because without her I am less of a man. Because when I'm alone, I find it hard to breathe, that's how paralyzed I am inside. Because she's everything I had ever dreamed of in a woman and I hurt her. Because when we made love she would whisper in my ear and ask me not to leave her. And I'd promise her that I wouldn't, and then, I did. 

Because I am so hopelessly in love with her. And I don't know how to fix this.

In trying to help him, draw him out, Beth realized she'd hurt him. "Sorry I asked, I don't mean to pressure you," she said quietly.

He smiled. "You're not pressuring me, it's okay."

The fax machine began humming behind him. Doug leaned back in his chair to glance over the document, happy to change the subject. "Hope this is that list of hospices for children in Portland." The paper slowly emerged from the machine, and at the sight of the handwriting his stomach tightened, his face changed. 

"Uh, Beth?"

Beth quickly noticed his changed demeanor. "What's wrong?"

No answer. He stiffened in his chair, sitting up attentively, seemingly forgetting that she was there.

"Doug?"

"Would you...excuse me?"

"Sure. Sure. I'll see you later." She walked out of the room, giving one backward glance. He hadn't moved, but sat in his chair, frozen, watching his now-quiet fax machine as if it were loaded with dynamite.

*****

Carol stared at the machine. "Transmission successful." It was done. 

She'd backed off sending it last week, the power outage giving her the perfect opportunity to stall. Now, she needed to call him. Just in case he was out of town. She knew his home phone number by heart, but she checked his e-mail to be certain. Carol concentrated and tried hard to keep her voice cool and even.

She hung up and walked away, holding her letter, and went into the lounge. She read it one more time, trying to imagine his reaction.

Dear Doug,

I know we had agreed not to talk to each other, to see how things would be apart, but there is something important I want and need to tell you.

I'm faxing this letter instead of calling you because I'd like you to take a few days to think about things before we talk at length about the future. What I have to say isn't easy to discuss, but I feel now that I should, to be fair and to let you know what I've decided. I found out a few weeks after you left, sometime in March, that I'm pregnant and am expecting a baby in November. The baby must have been conceived toward the end, on one of the last nights you were home. 

I wanted to let you know sooner, but I just didn't know how, and to be honest, I wasn't clear about what I wanted to do about the pregnancy. It was never my intention to have a baby while single and alone. I decided, though, after thinking things through, to continue with the pregnancy and have this baby, no matter what happens. The pregnancy itself has been a little rocky. Recently, I took a blow to the abdomen from a kid, a young patient, and began cramping, then spotting. I was afraid that something had happened, but had two ultrasounds and finally saw the heartbeat on the monitor. Since then, I've gone for pre-natal care and the obstetrician says everything is progressing just fine.

Again, I'm sorry to let you know this way, but I felt it was better than telling you on the telephone. This way, you have some time to think things through before we talk. I didn't think it would be fair to tell you and then expect to discuss this rationally without giving you a chance to digest the news. We have some things to think about, some things to hash out and some decisions to make. 

What I would like is for you to take some time to determine what, if any, role you want in the baby's life. I am specifically asking for you to give this serious, careful thought, and for you to make your decision in line with what's best for you in your own life, with your circumstances as they are right now. Most importantly, I don't want you to come back here out of some sense of obligation, or because you think it's what I want. That's not the way I want things to be. 

We'll talk soon about how to provide for this child, and about what you feel your place in this child's life might be. What I'm asking you to do right now is to think things through completely, carefully, and thoughtfully. I will call you in a few days so we can talk.

Carol

*****

Carol was pregnant with his baby.

His hand was shaking, his heart was pounding, his mouth was dry. He read it quickly at first, scanning it, unable to digest it all at once, then went back and read it over and over again.

What had happened to her? How had she become this cold, this aloof? It was, to his way of thinking, the most impersonal, calculated, heartless thing he had ever experienced with her.

He was amazed. She faxed this to him? No call, no letter in the mail, but a fax.

And a baby.

What did she mean, what "role" he wanted? What did she mean, she was cramping and spotting? His thoughts were spinning out of control, confused. How far along would she be? 

How many months had he been in Portland? 

She's known since March.

She's -- what -- about three months pregnant already. Did everyone at work know, her mother, her family?

He was hurt beyond belief. Crushed. What the hell was she thinking of, not telling him until now? 

"Dr. Ross?"

Doug looked up, dazed. "Yeah?"

"The hospice information." Patti walked in and handed it to him.

"Thanks, thanks." He didn't even look at it, just laid it down. "Uh, Patti, will you get the door?"

"Sure." She closed it behind her.

She doesn't want me in her life anymore, he thought, heartbroken. This is it. This letter, the fax, the fact that she hadn't called, that she would even wonder what he would do about this, this all told him everything he needed to know.

Things between them were irreparably damaged.

Doug packed up and slipped out of the office. He blew off basketball, blew off dinner, just walked into his apartment and sat in the chair for hours, numb. Devastated by her letter.

He got up to make a sandwich finally, close to 10 o'clock. He picked up his phone to check for voice mail and when he heard her message, he was again shaken and very troubled. He automatically dialed home. Getting her answering machine, he hung up and just as quickly dialed the hospital. 

"Carol there?"

Randi didn't even have to ask who it was; she knew his voice. "Yeah, she's right here."

Doug heard her call Carol, then Randi came back, asking him to hold. He waited, nervous and edgy, until she picked up.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Carol."

She closed her eyes. "Hi."

"How you doin'?"

"Okay."

"Can you talk now?"

"Yeah." Carol sat down to steady herself. 

"I tried you at home, there was no answer. You're workin' late."

"It's been quite a day."

"Yeah." Doug wanted desperately for her to broach the subject, but Carol was quiet, so he pressed on. "Well, I got your fax at work...and now, your message at home."

She took a deep breath, a nervous hitch was evident in her voice. "Yeah. Some surprise, huh?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Carol, how many weeks are you?"

"Fifteen, almost."

He inhaled, then exhaled audibly. "Fifteen? Sounds like you've known for a while...."

"Yeah. Yeah, I have. I...I should have told you sooner, but I didn't know what would happen, if I would miscarry...." She became silent, knowing she was not handling her end of the conversation well.

His tone was even, measured. "And if you had miscarried, what, you-you weren't going to tell me? You think I wouldn't want to know something like that?"

She shook her head, she gestured strongly, though he couldn't see her. "No, I know. I know you would."

She waited, he waited, each heart banging away.

"Well, I read your letter a few times." Doug took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "Carol, I can come, anytime. I'd like to come home and...."

She countered quickly. "No."

"No? Um hm." He proceeded cautiously. "Your letter, what you wrote, sounded like...."

"Like what?"

"Like you didn't want me to come."

"I just wanted to tell you so you'd know, I didn't think it would be fair not to tell you."

"Fair? Carol...you fax me this news, you don't tell me for months when you've known all this time. I think I need to come, that we should talk...."

"Doug, talking won't change things. It won't. I don't...I can handle everything. I'm healthy, the pregnancy is going along well."

"So, I'm supposed to just....stay here, not...worry?"

"There's nothing to worry about."

He couldn't think straight, couldn't reason quickly enough. He felt as if he were negotiating instead of just talking to her. "Listen, Carol? I have to know: Where do things stand...with us? We haven't talked in months, I don't know what to think."

"What to think? Doug, you left. You left. What you did, your dishonesty, your inability to look beyond yourself...you left me and here I am, alone, picking up the pieces. You've made everything very clear. You made your decision. Now I've made mine. I'm going to have this baby and I'm going to be fine."

"So, you're telling me that you don't want me to come?"

"It's too late for...for that now. I'm asking you not to."

She could hear him sigh, but she couldn't see the look of utter defeat on his face. There was a long, long pause, before he spoke again, masking the anger and the pain he felt. "Okay, Carol. Okay," he said quietly. Another uncomfortable silence fell between them, and when he began talking, she had to strain to hear him. "So, you're feeling all right? Any more spotting?"

"No, no more. I'm fine. The baby's fine."

"Any morning sickness?"

"At first, but it's gone."

"Um hm. You eating okay? Taking prenatal...."

"Doug, please. I'm doing just fine."

"Okay." He sensed that she wanted to hang up, but he was not ready to let go of her voice yet. "You're not seeing Coburn...?"

"Hell, no. Dr. McLucas."

"Good, good choice." Doug leaned back in his chair, waiting a moment, afraid to ask more. Needing to know more. "Are you...showing yet, Carol?"

It was her turn to be quiet. "A little, now."

"Hm." The lump in his throat grew. "Heard a...heartbeat?"

"Heard...and saw, on the ultrasound."

"Right, right, the ultrasound. You -- you've seen the baby, then?"

"Yeah, well, wasn't much to see, not at the time. Too early, you really couldn't, you know, make anything out."

"Hm." 

She clamped down on her emotions, tried not to let anything show. "How are you? How is it, there?"

"Fine. I'm okay."

"Good."

"Listen, if you need anything, anything at all...."

"I'm fine."

"Carol, I'll...I'll do whatever you want, if it's what you really want, I will. But I can...."

"It is. It's what I want."

"Could you...can you call, let me know how things are? How you are, the pregnancy?"

"Sure."

"Are you going to have another ultrasound, find out the baby's sex?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't made up my mind."

"Okay. Carol...I...."

She was at the breaking point, she just couldn't handle any more.  "Doug, listen, it's been an awful day, and we have months and months to talk about this. I can't anymore, right now."

He surrendered. "Okay. Okay. I'll call you soon, see how things are."

"Sure. Okay."

"Bye."

"Bye, Doug."

He hung up and the sorrow enveloped him as never before. It was dark outside, the sun having long ago burned the last rays of the day between the tall buildings. His thoughts returned to the lilacs, bending toward the light no more, giving off their aroma long after the petals fell and the stems shriveled. Picking them up that day, he had brought them to his face and closed his eyes. The scent was heady, beautiful, no doubt, it had caught hold of him, made him pause, but to him it paled in comparison to the mere fragrance of her.

There was one more call to make. He dialed, hesitating only a moment, and waited. Another answering machine. The greeting, the beep. His message.

"Hey, Mark, it's Doug. I just got done talking to Carol, she told me.  I, uh...I...." He held his breath, paused, then tried again.  "Uh...Mark? Take care of her...for me, will you?"

Doug hung up quietly.

Miles away, in the darkness of the Midwest, she too sat, bewildered, hurt, sad. What she'd feared might in fact come true, she knew. 

This is why I waited, this is why I hedged. He wasn't ever going to come back to me.

When Mark came into the lounge, she tried to shoo him away, and was initially irritated that he would not leave, but they talked and she cried a little, then laughed a little and she agreed to go out with him and Elizabeth.

They walked across the street to Doc Magoo's, Carol in the middle, Mark and Elizabeth on either, each remaining close to her. Wisely, they didn't press her for any more information, and Carol provided none. She was frankly exhausted, and was happy when they were finished and Mark drove her home.

She walked into the house, took her clothes off and put a roomy nightgown on. Eschewing her bed once again, she returned to the living room and laid on the couch, pulling the afghan across her body, nestling into the pillows there. 

He's not coming back. He will never come back. Get used to it, Carol, face it, deal with it, get over it.

Maybe it's best this way, she thought. I know where I stand. I can start my life again. I'll shower my baby with love and happiness and we will walk into our future together. No matter what.

So the house was a bit empty. So her nights were too long and lonely. So her heart felt dead. There would be other things, too, she told herself. Other good things in life to come.

No conflict at work, no waiting for the boom to be lowered. No complications. No doubts, no worries. 

No lies, no deceit. No being swayed by him, no letting him have the upper hand anymore.

No warm chest on which to lay her head at night, no beautiful voice in her ear. No hand reaching for hers, no jokes to share. No one sneaking into her shower, washing her body for her, letting her know with every touch that she was adored. No eyes looking down at her, making love to her before even the first caress of his hand. No tenderness. No happiness.

No lilacs on her windowsill this spring.

*****

Doug sat down at his desk and began writing. As he did, he struggled unsuccessfully to keep the pain and the anger that was in his heart from permeating his written words. In the end, he lost that battle as well.

Dear Carol,

I'm here, miles away from you, feeling as if I don't know who you are anymore. I don't even know what to think anymore. I can't believe after all we had and all that we shared together that you're willing to just let it go. I didn't write, I didn't call, I didn't contact you because that was what you wanted, what we agreed to do. Now, I find that I made an error in judgment. That I should have gotten in touch with you earlier. Maybe if I did, it would have made a difference. I just tried to do what you wanted me to do.

Now, knowing this, I need you to know that one way or the other, I will be part of my child's life. I don't want him or her growing up thinking I didn't care. Thinking for one moment that I didn't plan on creating this life or plan on being a father. Because I did plan for it. I planned for it and I wanted it, just as much as you did.

I'll give you some time, but I intend to come to see you this spring or summer so we can talk about the future. If you no longer want me in your life, which seems to be the case, then I want assurances, verbal and written, that I'll be able to see my child on a regular basis. If that means flying in to Chicago to do it, I will. I also want to make sure you and the baby are taken care of financially. I will give you verbal and written documentation of this as well. 

What I'm trying to say is that you may exclude me from your life, you may demand that I don't come back to you, you may even tell me you'll do fine on your own, but do not for one moment think that you will take my child away from me. 

That will not happen.

Doug

When he was through, he folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and put it in the top drawer. He walked into the kitchen to pour himself a drink. And that night, he prayed to the God he didn't even believe in that his dreams of her would cease.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
How I envy a cup that knows your lips
Let it be me, my love,
And a table that feels your fingertips
Let it be me, let me be your love
Bring an end to the endless days
And nights without you

Like a lover, the velvet moon
Shares you pillow and watches while you sleep
Its light arrives on tiptoe
Gently taking you in its embrace
Oh, how I dream 
I could be like the velvet moon to you
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