trespass. They were usually too tired to carry her back; and there had been so many months when every premature breath had felt perilous that the ease of cuddling until they all three seemed to breathe in unison still surprised Claire. Eventually they just bought a king-sized bed.
Claire occupies herself with dinner, scrounging through what had seemed like such a well-stocked refrigerator to come up with something more meallike than she and Jory usually eat. She starts boiling water for pasta and chopping cloves of garlic. The kitchen grows warm with steam, the window above the sink sweats into a gray glaze, softer than the black block of sky.
Addison comes in and stands behind her while she splits the pods open with the flat side of the knife blade. “You cut Chicago short?”
He starts to say something, then seems to change his mind and starts again. “It wasn’t the right meeting. Better to concentrate on Los Angeles next week.”
Claire nods. “Meaning what? Too many people already knew?”
He doesn’t answer her and she has to think, carefully, for a minute about how much she wants to say so early in this unexpected visit. “Can you get out the olive oil? Top shelf.”
Halfway through dinner Jory excuses herself to watch TV, coming down from the flirtatious high her father has ignited. Claire picks at her spaghetti, finally pushes it away and folds her arms on the table. “Did she tell you yet?”
“Tell me what?”
“I got a job.”
Addison puts his fork down and stares at her. When he says nothing after another moment Claire raises her eyebrows. “A job. I got a job.”
“Doing what?”
She tilts her head, giving him a minute to retract his question before she finally answers, “At a clinic. I start tomorrow.”
“Claire. You don’t have to—”
She cuts him off. “How do I not have to do this?” She picks up her plate and silver and walks into the kitchen. “I kind of like having health insurance. Must be the doctor in me. I don’t think it comes with a retirement plan, unfortunately.”
“Ah! God.” He sets his elbows on the table and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
She drops the plates in the sink so hard one chips. “No. You could have waited until one of us ended up in the emergency room and let me find out then. There are some things, just maybe, it’s better to learn from your spouse than a Gap store clerk.”
As if she had a sixth sense, Jory dances into the kitchen asking for ice cream. Claire gets out bowls while Addison fills the sink with hot soapy water, and their forced felicity over dessert eventually feels real enough to turn away from the anger.
They play a round of Life, another of Clue, and then Claire piles two comforters and pillows on the couch. “I have to go to sleep, guys. You can toss for who gets the other half of the bed.” She can see from Addison’s fallen face that he’d forgotten they were short on beds until the moving truck comes. She kisses Jory’s cheek, and Addison’s lips—lingering just long enough to let him know that she does prefer the felicity to the argument. But when she wakes up at six to go in for her first day of work, Jory is in bed beside her.
• 10 •
In the second year of residency every doctor-in-training was set up with a fledgling clinic practice one afternoon each week. In many ways these four or five hours out of the eighty- or ninety-hour work week were the only ones that resembled the life they would lead after they graduated, caring for average ambulatory patients with average ambulatory problems. Their hospital work was more exciting. Almost always. To be admitted to a hospital, patients had to be so thoroughly diseased or traumatized there was no option to send them ambulating right back to their homes. The only real difference between their resident’s clinic and the private practice most of them were headed for was that all the patients were poor,
Claire occupies herself with dinner, scrounging through what had seemed like such a well-stocked refrigerator to come up with something more meallike than she and Jory usually eat. She starts boiling water for pasta and chopping cloves of garlic. The kitchen grows warm with steam, the window above the sink sweats into a gray glaze, softer than the black block of sky.
Addison comes in and stands behind her while she splits the pods open with the flat side of the knife blade. “You cut Chicago short?”
He starts to say something, then seems to change his mind and starts again. “It wasn’t the right meeting. Better to concentrate on Los Angeles next week.”
Claire nods. “Meaning what? Too many people already knew?”
He doesn’t answer her and she has to think, carefully, for a minute about how much she wants to say so early in this unexpected visit. “Can you get out the olive oil? Top shelf.”
Halfway through dinner Jory excuses herself to watch TV, coming down from the flirtatious high her father has ignited. Claire picks at her spaghetti, finally pushes it away and folds her arms on the table. “Did she tell you yet?”
“Tell me what?”
“I got a job.”
Addison puts his fork down and stares at her. When he says nothing after another moment Claire raises her eyebrows. “A job. I got a job.”
“Doing what?”
She tilts her head, giving him a minute to retract his question before she finally answers, “At a clinic. I start tomorrow.”
“Claire. You don’t have to—”
She cuts him off. “How do I not have to do this?” She picks up her plate and silver and walks into the kitchen. “I kind of like having health insurance. Must be the doctor in me. I don’t think it comes with a retirement plan, unfortunately.”
“Ah! God.” He sets his elbows on the table and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”
She drops the plates in the sink so hard one chips. “No. You could have waited until one of us ended up in the emergency room and let me find out then. There are some things, just maybe, it’s better to learn from your spouse than a Gap store clerk.”
As if she had a sixth sense, Jory dances into the kitchen asking for ice cream. Claire gets out bowls while Addison fills the sink with hot soapy water, and their forced felicity over dessert eventually feels real enough to turn away from the anger.
They play a round of Life, another of Clue, and then Claire piles two comforters and pillows on the couch. “I have to go to sleep, guys. You can toss for who gets the other half of the bed.” She can see from Addison’s fallen face that he’d forgotten they were short on beds until the moving truck comes. She kisses Jory’s cheek, and Addison’s lips—lingering just long enough to let him know that she does prefer the felicity to the argument. But when she wakes up at six to go in for her first day of work, Jory is in bed beside her.
• 10 •
In the second year of residency every doctor-in-training was set up with a fledgling clinic practice one afternoon each week. In many ways these four or five hours out of the eighty- or ninety-hour work week were the only ones that resembled the life they would lead after they graduated, caring for average ambulatory patients with average ambulatory problems. Their hospital work was more exciting. Almost always. To be admitted to a hospital, patients had to be so thoroughly diseased or traumatized there was no option to send them ambulating right back to their homes. The only real difference between their resident’s clinic and the private practice most of them were headed for was that all the patients were poor,
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