Debbie knew her way round northwest Philadelphia, because she’d grown up there, and the more she thought about the move back the more she liked the prospect. Giving up her house in Edison, she also gave up any feeling of responsibility to live within easy driving distance of Brooklyn. C.J. and Chris would take a train or bus whenever they felt like visiting their other grandparents. Philadelphia once again became her home.
She was now thirty years old, and as she casually walked the streets of West Mount Airy she noted with amazement how little had changed in the thirteen years she’d been away. True, there were no familiar faces among the pedestrians she passed. But the houses stood just where she’d left them, their windows seemingly smiling at her in welcome.
Once she was settled in her parents’ home she was in no hurry to explore the real estate market. The McCallum Street house was big enough for all of them; her boys would sleep in the room once occupied by Josh. She wondered whether the Averys still lived in the neighborhood, so she asked her mother.
“Yes indeed,” Esther said. “After Eden’s death they toyed with the idea of adopting a child. But Karen decided that giving up her career once was enough. Alan wasn’t happy with the decision against another child. I think he felt partly responsible for Eden’s health problems and ultimately her death, but he also recognized that his guilt feelings were his problem and no excuse for denying Karen. So she went back to being a full-time lawyer. Frazier and Drummond had always held a place for her and they welcomed her back. Now she’s a partner.”
“Do you see them much?” Debbie asked.
“I wouldn’t say much, but we do get together occasionally. Sometimes we play bridge. Bridge reminds me of the time Josh and Eden took that fateful walk in Carpenter’s Woods. I don’t know exactly what happened there but it must have been important, because Josh was never the same afterwards.”
“Poor fellow,” Debbie said with a sigh.
“Yes, poor fellow indeed. He never got over losing her. He’s met plenty of women since then, and being such an attractive guy he could pretty much have his pick. But it’s not too late for a man. Maybe having your family close by will revive his interest.”
“And of course you’re being the good mother and not nagging him for more grandchildren!” Debbie laughed saying this. Esther, with mock earnestness, said: “Don’t think for a moment that I haven’t been tempted.” Unstated was her concern that he might pass a defective gene to his daughters.
“Anyway,” Debbie said after a pause, “I’ve been thinking of looking the Averys up.”
“Oh, do! They’ll be delighted, I’m sure. Let me get you their number.”
Debbie expected to have to leave a message, since both Averys were bound to be at work. She was surprised, therefore, when the phone was answered on the first ring and she heard the familiar sound of Karen’s voice.
“Mrs. Avery? It’s Debbie Rabin — actually, Debbie Flynn, though I wasn’t sure you’d recognize my married name. Eden’s friend from way back.”
“Oh goodness, what a wonderful surprise! How did you know I’d be home in the middle of the day?”
“I didn’t, but Mom gave me that number, so I tried.”
“You don’t live in Philly anymore, do you?”
“I didn’t until recently. We were living in Edison, New Jersey. My husband died a couple of months ago and . . . I’d like to drop in sometime, and then I can tell you all about it, and lots more if you want to hear it.”
“Of course we want to hear it, all of it. Let me check with Alan and I’ll get back to you. How do I reach you?”
“At my parents’ number. I haven’t got my own place yet.”
Debbie hadn’t seen the Averys for thirteen years. Their contact had not outlived Eden’s death. That they had aged at the same rate as she shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but she hadn’t expected it to be so obvious. Karen’s hair was shorter and tinged with gray streaks; Alan’s hairline was receding. She wondered how they would see her; after all, she too was thirteen years older.
It was Debbie who had reached out to the Averys, so it naturally fell to her to tell the story of her life since she left Philadelphia. They listened with muted interest to her account of her courtship, marriage, and children. It sounded quite ordinary. None of it elicited any expression of surprise, until she got to the matter of Chris’s hemophilia. Predictably, Alan wanted to know all about the boy’s symptoms, what the hematologist said, where it had come from, Chris’s limitations, and so on. Karen’s mind turned to legal implications: Was someone to blame? Was there a possibility of a lawsuit? Debbie, partly irritated and partly amused, suggested:
“I could try to sue myself, or my mother, or however far back my lawyer could trace the family inheritance.”
Confused, Karen turned to her husband for help. “Hemophilia is inherited from the mother,” Alan explained.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Karen said blushing, “we’ve never had a hemophilia case that I can remember. I just didn’t know.”
Debbie gave them a condensed history of Chris’s diagnosis and treatment, without mentioning the doctors involved and Con’s reaction to them. But Alan asked whether she was satisfied with the care Chris was getting now, so she felt obligated to reveal their names. “Oh yes,” Alan said, “I know them all. Your boy’s in good hands. You may not remember, but Doctor Harmon was Eden’s doctor too. Good guy.” Then added, almost as an afterthought: “He wasn’t to blame.”
That was the only time Eden’s name was spoken or, for that matter, any reference was made to her. Debbie had half expected some mention of the Garden but did not bring it up herself because she didn’t want to remind the Averys of the tragic circumstances of their daughter’s death. She wondered at their silence on the subject but didn’t dare to ask. Alan, she knew, had suffered not only the loss but also a good deal of self-blame. Karen, on the other hand, seemed to have actually flourished after the initial period of mourning, able now to give all her energies to her career.
“Mom tells me you’ve been made a partner at your law firm,” she said.
“Yes, they were very good to me and kept a place for me. I have a lot to be thankful for. But I worked hard and I think I deserved the promotion. Let me show you something.” She got up from the table and went to a desk against the wall. From a drawer she retrieved a sheet of paper, which she gave to Debbie.
“Our new letterhead,” she said with a broad smile.
Debbie read, Frazier, Drummond, Buehl and Avery, Attorneys-at-Law.
“Congratulations!” Debbie said. Inside, she felt a vague discomfort. It almost seemed that the partnership made up to Karen for the loss of her child. She didn’t know what to make of it, but she was glad when Karen changed the subject.
“How do you find Philadelphia — or should I say Mount Airy — after being away all these years?” Karen asked.
“Surprisingly unchanged,” Debbie replied. “Except for the fact that all the people I see on the street, even on McCallum, are total strangers, it looks just the same. When I get my own place, it’ll be somewhere around here. I like the neighborhood.”
❖❖❖❖❖
Debbie decided to visit Eden’s Garden next day. A car pulled out of a place in the visitors’ parking lot just as she was cruising past, so she quickly backed up and pulled in just as another car came on the scene. “Lucky me,” she thought. She’d beaten the odds, and she realized that parking problems would follow her the rest of her days in Philadelphia.
She entered the hospital and made for the library without meeting the gaze of the receptionist, who would no doubt try to be helpful in locating the patient she wanted to visit. She didn’t want to explain the reason she had come.
In the years since she had left Philadelphia for Oberlin she had made a point of “visiting Eden” as often as her periodic trips home allowed. She felt she owed it to her friend, especially after playing no part in the genesis of her memorial. As she stepped under the ebony and gold plaque, through the sliding door, she wished she could have said to Eden, “I’m home.” But that thought remained a thought. She approached the obelisk-like column to the side of the door, on which a bas-relief of Eden was engraved, followed by what could best be described as a doctor’s credo. Those lines, composed by those most closely affected by Eden’s death, were inspired by the tragic circumstances of her death — in particular, the role of medical negligence.
No one else was in the Garden at the time except a white-coated resident physician seated on the opposite side making notes and paying no attention to her. She sat down on a bench and contemplated her past and her future. The peace and quiet of the Garden allowed her attention to wander far from the original reason for her visit. She closed her eyes and let her head droop. Would she marry again? She would not exclude the possibility; time would take its course. One thing she knew for sure: now that she knew the danger lurking in her genes, she would not produce more children, and any man interested in marrying her would have to accept that.
She turned her thoughts to Eden, once her dearest friend and now the subject of the living memorial in which she sat. If Eden were alive now, would she also be married? To Josh without a doubt. With children? Would Eden’s children have been playmates of Debbie’s? Cousins of course! How would Eden have reacted to Chris’s hemophilia? To Con’s death? If only Eden were here now for Debbie to confide in. The questions were endless.
She heard the sliding door open and close. Footsteps announced that someone had entered the Garden. They stopped as if the person was hesitating, deciding which way to turn, then resumed in her direction. Debbie did not look up, because conversation with a stranger was the last thing she wanted right then. The footsteps approached and stopped right next to her.
“Didn’t we meet somewhere around here before?” a vaguely familiar voice said. She raised her head and found herself looking at Doctor McCrae. Her eyes opened wide. She immediately recognized the face even though she was taken aback by the changes it had undergone. But of course, she rationalized, he had also aged. With a silent sigh of relief she thanked her lucky stars that she was spared the embarrassment of searching for his identity. She got up and held out her hand.
“My goodness, that was years ago,” she said. “You have a good memory.”
“No better than yours, I dare say. To what do I owe this good fortune?”
“Actually I’ve been here quite a few times, usually when visiting my parents. A friend like Eden doesn’t deserve to be forgotten.”
“Too bad I missed you each time.”
“I’m living in Philadelphia now. Just moved here from Edison, New Jersey. I haven’t got my own place yet, so I’m staying with my parents till I do. I have my old room, and the boys share Josh’s.”
“ ‘The boys’!”
“Yes. A lot has happened in all that time.”
“I’d like to hear all about it,” McCrae said with enthusiasm, “but this is not the place for a long conversation. Would you be willing to join me for lunch? We could meet in the hospital cafeteria or go up the street to a deli.”
“Your choice,” Debbie answered, hiding her own mixed feelings. “You must know the neighborhood.”
“OK,” he said. “There’s a nice place a block and a half north of here, right on Germantown Avenue, called ‘Dora’s Deli.’ I can pick you up here or we can meet in the deli. It’s easy to find. Is twelve-thirty a good time?”
“Twelve-thirty sounds fine. The walk will do me good, so let’s meet in the deli. If I get there first, I can hold a table.”
After Doctor McCrae left, she looked at her watch and determined that she could stay another hour. But she no longer thought about Eden or about getting married again. Instead, she remembered the talk Doctor McCrae had given at the Garden’s dedication and her own reaction to him.
He walked through the door at Dora’s Deli just as Debbie was sitting down at a table for two next to a window looking out on Germantown Avenue. “OK, now you can hold the table while I call Mom to tell her I won’t be home for lunch.”
When they were both seated they ordered Dora’s special, Reuben sandwiches, and sodas and studied each other. Neither seemed willing to start the conversation. In the end Debbie spoke up:
“So, are we just going to sit here staring at each other?”
McCrae shrugged. “I guess it’s my responsibility, since I suggested lunch.”
While he was deciding how to start, their food arrived, affording him further delay. But he’d run out of excuses.
“So, as you see, Debbie — OK if I call you by your first name?” She nodded — “I’m still here. They made me head of pediatrics. You’d never have guessed.”
“Actually,” she said, “my family’s kept me too busy to wonder. But now that you mention it, I imagine most people who know what happened during your internship would not have guessed. Anyway, congratulations. Obviously the higher-ups decided you deserved the promotion.”
“I’m not sure I would have been that generous, especially as that wasn’t the only preventable disaster on my watch.”
Debbie’s sandwich stopped short of her open mouth. What kind of medical staff would award departmental chairmanship to a doctor with such a record? McCrae noticed her surprise.
“Cora Hamilton, the previous chair, who retired five years ago, actually recommended me, even though she was there at the time of Eden Avery’s death and knew I was responsible. I can’t imagine why she, of all people, would think I’d make a good chair.” And he shook his head.
Debbie was silent for a few seconds. “Maybe Doctor Hamilton was smarter than you think. She could have figured that since you’d been through such a wrenching experience and come out of it honorably, what with the Garden and the public apology, you’d be especially good in that position. What was the other disaster you referred to?”
“That one wasn’t totally my fault, though I bore part of the blame because I was weekend supervisor. Only nobody called me. Unlike Mort Friedman, who was supposed to supervise me when I was an intern, I could have been reached easily enough. It involved a mismatched transfusion. Young girl with leukemia. A careless substitute nurse on Thanksgiving weekend. Such a sad story. I get stomach cramps just thinking of it. As if Eden Avery and Jill Wonderlin were two chapters in the unworthy life of Calvin McCrae.
“Jill also left a boyfriend bereaved, though they’d only known each other from meeting in the transfusion unit. I forget his name.”
Debbie saw no reason to ask.
Debbie studied McCrae’s face as he spoke. She’d seen insincere apologies a few times, usually from politicians caught with their hands where they shouldn’t be, and she might have suspected McCrae’s of being nothing but a boast of his essentially good character designed to advance his career. But McCrae was no politician, either professionally or ethically. Debbie remembered his demeanor and actions at the time of Eden’s death. She remembered hearing the conversations between Josh and their parents about forgiveness. She once again remembered McCrae’s speech at the Garden’s dedication ceremony. Above all, she remembered her own reaction to this young doctor devastated by his terrible mistake and his gratitude to those who made his redemption possible. No, she would never have claimed that bluffing, or lying, was his style. He could have blamed the Wonderlin disaster on the transfusion nurse, where the blame really belonged, but he took guilt upon himself even though he was not told until days later that anything had gone wrong.
“Those experiences must have been really hard on you,” she said. “Tell me about your personal life during all these years. You must have children. How old are they?”
“That’s easy. No children. No marriage.”
She bit her tongue, almost literally. How’s that possible? Aloud she said, with a smile that hid her disbelief: “Some doctors are so conscientious, they don’t take time for any social life, never mind marry, have children, and take care of a family.”
“Oh, I’ve dated here and there, but nothing ever came of it. So I spend my time taking care of patients and doing a lot of administrative work.”
He looked at his watch. “I’ve got to get back. Look, can we continue talking? Say, a week from now, same time, same place? I want to hear your story too.”
“OK, let’s,” she said. “Go ahead. I’ll finish my coffee. See you next week.”
She watched him pay the bill for both and leave. That was sudden, she thought. Did he really have to go, or was he entering dangerous territory and afraid to have it explored further?
“Guess whom I had lunch with,” she asked her mother the moment she got home.
“Must have been someone you like, judging by the expression on your face. Or someone who picked up the tab for both of you.”
Thanks for giving me an excuse, Debbie thought. “You’re right, it didn’t cost me a penny. So guess.”
Esther, ever ready to combine calculation with intuition, presented her analysis. “It must have been someone you met by chance, else you’d have mentioned it when you left to go to the hospital.”
“Right so far. Go on.”
“You called from the restaurant without saying whom you were with. There had to be a reason for that.”
“Go on.”
“Let’s see. Maybe you met someone on the way there or back. Not likely, since you were driving. Could have been in the parking lot, I guess. Oh, I don’t know. I give up.”
“Doctor McCrae!”
“Of course,” Esther said, slapping her forehead. “Who else is there at the hospital that you know? How did it happen? Where were you?”
“I was sitting in the Garden, thinking about Edie and just letting my mind wander, and I didn’t see him come in. But he spotted me and came up to talk to me. It’s been years, of course, I don’t know how many. I think the last time I saw him was when Con first came here to meet you and we went to look at the Garden together. That time we bumped into McCrae in the parking lot. He’s changed. But I guess I have too. Still, he had no trouble recognizing me.”
Esther’s eyebrows had risen perceptibly. “So he invited you to lunch? Just like that?”
“I guess so. Anyway, I accepted. He’s head of pediatrics now.”
“After what he did to Edie? That’s hard to believe. Was he telling the truth?”
Debbie couldn’t help laughing at her mother’s incredulity. “It never occurred to me that he might be faking it. Anyway, it would be easy enough to check. I can’t imagine he’d want to risk being caught in such a lie. But there was more.”
“What?”
“He told me he’d been recommended for the position by the previous head — Hamilton, I think her name was — and she was there when Eden died and she knew all about McCrae’s role in that.”
“Hm, I wonder what she — I think you said she, right? — what she was thinking,” Esther said, frowning. “Maybe she saw some talent in him. As I recall, he was just in his first month of internship at the time, fresh out of med school.”
Debbie shrugged. “Maybe she knew him better than he knew himself. Anyway, he was quite open with self-doubt. He even mentioned another time there was a death due to a mistake, although that wasn’t his fault; he just happened to be on call as supervisor.”
“Well, I guess that’s all in the past,” Esther said. “I’m sure he’ll be extra careful with your children, not to mention that he’s learned a lot since those days.”
“Somebody else in the department might be taking care of them. Josh knows all those people. McCrae doesn’t have to be involved directly. Anyway, after telling me about himself he realized he knew nothing about me, so he wants to have lunch again.”
“When?”
“A week from today. I said OK.”
Esther thought about this. “Do you like him?”
“Goodness, I hardly know him. But he seems like a nice guy. I was quite touched by him telling me so much about himself, especially the bad things. I think he has quite a capacity for guilt.”
“Which he showed in abundance after Edie died.”
“And then,” Debbie continued, “he wants to hear my story too.”
“Hm,” Esther said thoughtfully.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
Debbie almost failed to find a parking place, and when she finally did walk into Dora’s Deli Doctor McCrae was there waiting. He smiled as she sat down facing him.
“I see you got the same table for us,” she said. “Did you reserve it?”
“No. But this is the one I’d have picked if I could have. It’s good for conversation. They don’t accept reservations here. Luckily we got here before the lunch crowd.”
“The hospital parking lot’s pretty crowded. That’s why I’m late. Sorry.”
“It’s OK. I knew you wouldn’t stand me up. Anyway, let’s order and then we’ll continue where we left off last week.”
They agreed to order Dora’s Reuben sandwich, which they had enjoyed on the previous visit.
“I could really get to like this place,” Debbie said. “The menu’s great. Thanks for introducing me!”
“Nothing but the best, . . .” He stopped short of finishing the sentence. They were silent until their order was brought. Debbie couldn’t help notice the slight blush that spread over McCrae’s face as he spoke.
“So, it’s my turn,” Debbie said between mouthfuls. “I don’t know how much detail you’re interested in.”
“Everything, but you just tell me what you want to,” he answered. “If I want to know more, I’ll ask.”
“I met Connor in college — Oberlin, to be exact — and I had a lot of doubts at first. He was sort of impetuous, but charming. You may remember him. We ran into you right there in your parking lot, when he came to visit. Long before we got married.” McCrae nodded. “One of the problems was his parents. He was Catholic, you see, and they, especially his father, didn’t like the idea of him marrying a Jew. My parents had no problem with that. They’re very liberal.”
“I’m Catholic too, you know,” McCrae said. “I don’t know how my parents would react to a Jewish woman. I never got around to testing. But go on; I don’t mean to interrupt.”
Debbie let that sink in before continuing. She proceeded to tell him about her contented life with Con despite his father’s undisguised hostility. She described their pride in their firstborn, Connor Junior, who seemed destined to live up to the expectations of both father and grandfather.
She let her gaze drop and took a deep breath. “Then there’s Chris,” she said, looking up into his eyes. As she told the story of his disorder and its diagnosis, those eyes opened wide. “I had no idea there was hemophilia in your family. But then, I know so little about your family.”
“I had no idea either,” Debbie said with a wry smile.
“That means you have to be a carrier, doesn’t it?”
“Yes. And my mother too. And she had no idea either. You see, her mother was adopted as an infant during the 1918 flu pandemic after her parents died. So she’d also have been a carrier. We can’t trace my mother’s family history back any farther than that.”
“Wow! But you have a hematologist right here. That should be helpful.”
“Josh is still in training, but of course he knows all about hemophilia.”
“Do you think that’s the reason he chose hematology?”
Debbie shrugged. “I doubt it. He’d already made up his mind by the time Chris was diagnosed. Anyway,” she added, “if he’d made his decision for sentimental reasons, he’d have chosen rheumatology, or maybe infectious diseases . . . or allergy.”
At this, McCrae’s expression changed. He looked at Debbie intently and said, “I’m so sorry, so sorry, for what I did to Eden Avery. Your family and Eden’s parents were wonderful to accept my remorse and help me memorialize her, but the thought of her has never left me, and never will. That’s why I often go into the Garden: not to read or relax, but to remind myself. I stand before that column with her face carved on it and the lines that Josh and I composed, and I keep asking for forgiveness, usually in silence but sometimes out loud.” He shook his head. “Now I’m rambling on about myself. I’m sure you’re not interested in my internal struggles. Tell me more about your husband.”
Actually Debbie was very much interested. She couldn’t be sure his eyes were moist; maybe the sun was now catching them at a different angle. But she believed in his sincerity. She remembered how, despite the circumstances that first brought him to her attention, she had found him singularly attractive and warm. As an eighteen-year-old, she had fleetingly toyed with thoughts that she herself recognized as inappropriate. She had disciplined herself by calculating that at that time McCrae was probably at least eight years her senior. Well, he was still at least eight years her senior. Only when you’re already in your thirties a man approaching forty just didn’t seem as much older as a man in his mid-twenties does to a teenager.
“Would you rather not? It’s OK. It’s your private life, and I can respect that,” he said, noticing the vacant expression on her face.
“What?” she replied, brought back to the present by his question. “No, no, I do want to tell you. But I’m not sure you’ll have the patience to listen to all of it.”
“Oh, but I do,” he answered, wondering whether Debbie’s husband would mind having his story shared with a person he’d met only once in a parking lot — when he wasn’t even her husband.
“Well, if you really do, I think we’ll have to schedule another lunch at Dora’s Deli. I’m sure you’ve got things to do this afternoon.”
He smiled. “The trouble with lunch is, you’ve got to get back to work. Would you be willing to consider dinner? You can take all the time you want then, and I promise to listen to every last word and not interrupt.”
She considered this and willed herself to ignore the troubling questions his proposal raised. Heck, it was just a meal and a long chat, nothing more. Wasn’t it?
Obviously not reassured, she sensed a blush stealing over her face. I hope he doesn’t see it. She felt a compelling urge to go home and think, think, think. To begin with, McCrae didn’t even know that Debbie’s husband was dead. Would he have invited her to dinner if he had known? It was a moot point now, since he had already invited her. Sooner or later she’d have to tell him she was a widow. Could she do so without implying that she expected him to be interested?
She really should take time out and think it all over, away from any distraction like his company. But before she could escape to the privacy of her thoughts, the words tumbled out.
“I think I’d like that.”