Abby Lockhart is staring forward and into a dark sleeping neighborhood. The streetlamps flicker on at that exact moment her watch strikes eight and she hesitates a glance to her right. Reluctantly though, she does and her heart breaks at the sight.
Kerry seems enveloped in the seat, her eyes are empty and gray; her face is ashen and emotionless.
When the nurse volunteered to bring her home, she never expected this, this heavy silence, this almost tangible tension.
They’ve been sitting in the car outside Weaver’s townhouse for roughly ten minutes in silence.
“Kerry?” Abby finally inquires, softly. “Can I…” she pauses, unsure what to say. “I’ll help you inside.”
The doctor doesn’t respond aside from a few weary blinks of her eyes.
Without a word, Abby gets out and comes around to Kerry’s side. It’s her intention to help her inside, but Kerry is managing on her own, her crutch acting as a third leg as she exits the vehicle. Abby kind of shrugs and places a protective hand near the small of her back as they get to her door.
Kerry’s hands tremble as she finds her key and they enter into the cool dark sanctum as Abby realizes she’s never been to Weaver’s home.
Since Kerry realized she was carrying a dead child, she’s felt disconnected with reality. She’s only faintly aware of Abby and her valiant attempts to help out. Thoughts of Sandy flow in and out of her head like warm tributaries, stopping and starting.
It’s unfair how she’s chosen to deal with this, but it’s the only way. The sudden softness of a lamplight brings her back to reality.
“Thank you.” She says quietly through cracked lips, and Abby turns to meet her stricken gaze. It’s the first words she’s spoken since they left County.
“Is there something I can do?” she asks. “Someone I can call?” Abby shoves her hands into her pockets. “Sandy, maybe?”
Kerry shakes her head, slowly. In her scrubs and overcoat, she looks absolutely helpless. Her face is drawn.
“I’m fine, Abby. Thanks.”
The nurse nods, resigned. “Okay.” She considers the situation. “I’m so sorry, Kerry.”
The words seem perfunctory, even dumb, but Abby can think of nothing else to say.
The doctor is slipping her coat off her shoulders. The only way to deal with this is to ignore it.
“You don’t have to stay.” She says, going to the kitchen.
Abby feels lost. How can Kerry be like this? Why can’t she just allow herself to be taken care of?
“I can help you… if you want.” The nurse feels the similar pang of frustration ache at her stomach. This comes from years of dealing with people who refuse help they need - like her mother who claims to be so self-sufficient all the time when what she really needs is someone to care for her. After so many attempts at being that someone, Abby feels herself becoming raw with anguish.
Seeing Kerry like this is so foreign, but she’s suspected all along that beyond the tough, somewhat introverted exterior lies the turbulent soul of someone who only needs a friend.
Shedding her own jacket, Abby comes to stand next to Kerry in the kitchen.
Kerry links eyes with her briefly then shakes her head, slowly.
“I know what you’re trying to do.” Kerry licks her lips. It looks mechanical. “You don’t have to.”
Abby snorts, placing her hands on her hips. “I know you don’t want to let anyone in, Kerry, but…”
“Don’t try to read me, Abby.” The words are sharp enough to surprise the nurse to silence. “I mean it.” She adds. “You should just leave.”
Abby absorbs the words, wonders briefly at her own strength and ability to take on this situation.
“I can cook.” She says suddenly, quietly going past Kerry to retrieve a pot from the doctor’s own cupboard. “I can make soup. I can work a CD player, light candles, pour wine, answer your phone…” she shrugs at seeing Kerry’s perplexed expression “…please don’t push me away Kerry because I happen to know that you don’t have many others who’d volunteer their services, and I really want to help.”
Kerry nods slowly, then calmly goes towards Abby and takes the pot from her hands, placing it on the counter.
“Go home.” She says softly. Her voice is like warm honey, but her eyes are like ice, and Abby doesn’t challenge her.
“Okay.” She says, defeated. She goes to the front room to retrieve her jacket.
Kerry watches from the threshold as the nurse slips her arms into her sleeves and heads for the door just as the knob turns and Sandy steps inside.
“Hi.” She says cheerfully, and Abby lowers her eyes as Kerry exhales slowly. The helpless look has returned to her face, and Abby wonders what she’s going to say, how she’s going to tell about the miscarriage – if at all.
“Okay…” Sandy is glancing back and forth between the two women, her eyebrows are scrunched, but her lips are still curled into a grin. “…what’d I miss? Did somebody die?”
Kerry gasps, and tears spring to her eyes as she covers her face and begins to sob.
Instinctively, Sandy goes to her and holds her.
“What? Tell me, Kerry.” She’s saying softly. “What happened?”
Abby is frozen in place; her breathing is labored and yet trapped. She doesn’t want to feel like an intruder but her legs won’t move. She feels somehow responsible.
“I…I can’t…” Kerry is shaking her head. Her body is limp in Sandy’s embrace, and the firefighter is clutching her arms, holding her up, supporting her weight.
“Tell me.” she’s saying, and Kerry is shaking her head. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to say it. Abby wonders what Sandy is thinking. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. Her dark eyes are frantic; her face is creased with concern. Ironically, Abby feels a warm current of happiness for them, for their love, for their combined joys and sorrows. It’s strange really, that even after such a tragedy they still have one another. This thought makes Abby remember that she’ll go home tonight, alone. Even the presence of John Carter doesn’t take away from that kind of chronic loneliness.
“She miscarried.” Abby hears herself say. Her throat is numb as Sandy fixes dark eyes on her. They are already rimmed with red, but they are wide with bewilderment.
“No.” she whispers and turns back to Kerry. “That’s not it.”
Kerry buries her face in her hands, resting her weight on Lopez as they sink to the floor, together in a loose embrace.
“Fuck.” She sighs it, covering her face with one strong brown hand. Then, she slams her fist into the floor. “FUCK!” Her shout startles Abby, but still her feet won’t walk. Her gaze is on them. She feels like an outsider, a useless non-swimmer watching two people drown.
“She was bleeding…” Abby says, quietly.
“Don’t…” Kerry glances up to say, her face is puffy, red. Her eyes are lost in a sea of tears. Her voice is uneven, but she doesn’t want to hear a replay of those events. “…don’t Abby.”
“I told her to go home.” Abby continues like a mindless automaton.
“Dammit, Abby. Shut up!” Kerry’s voice constricts as the sobs overtake her again.
“When was this?” Sandy inquires weakly to no one in particular. “You didn’t call me…”
Abby is shaking her head, slowly. Perhaps she’s trying to will it all away, make it go away.
“I’m sorry…” Kerry bites her lip. “…I didn’t want…I…”
Sandy stands and begins to pace. “You didn’t want to what, Kerry?” She’s shaking her head.
Kerry is slumped against the wall, her knees drawn up. Her crutch is dangling from her grasp – like a useless limb. She’s so foggy. She doesn’t know why she didn’t call. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t do a lot of things. The pain of her emptiness feels endless. How many times has her body betrayed her, she wonders. How many times has she had to fight her own self for freedom – or even simple truths?
She can remember certain words, the certain sound of a woman’s voice, the special feel of another heartbeat, the way it felt to be unified and productive…its all led up to this one moment.
“Sandy…I’m so sorry.” The tears seem to have subsided and her words sound sober. Kerry is lost in her present – and in her past. That first touch, that first cry…her hands felt so good. She’d given up on anything ever making sense again. How could anyone love her enough to come this far? Those old feelings of abandonment resurface and shoot through her like hot lead. Her eyes close against feelings of resentment – towards her parents, towards her colleagues, towards past lovers – and even herself.
“I’m sorry.” She whispers again, and Sandy stops pacing to link eyes with her. Slowly, she goes to her and sinks down to the floor with her arms outstretched and cradle the doctor in a warm embrace.
“Stop saying that.” Sandy breathes into her hair, stroking the silky red locks from her pale face. “It’s not your fault…I just wish…” she sighs, exhales slowly. “…Kerry, I wish you would have called.”
Kerry pushes wavy tendrils from Sandy’s face. “I know. I was afraid… it would ruin us.”
Sandy closes her eyes and brushes her lips against Kerry’s face, phantom kisses, light fleeting points of contact.
“I love you, Kerry.” Now, she’s staring past blue orbs of crystal emotion into the woman’s very soul. Kerry trembles in her embrace. “Nothing is going to ruin that.”
At the door, Abby slips quietly unnoticed out into the chilly night. She hugs her coat to her and goes towards her car. It’s been an emotional evening, and her stomach feels tight as if she’s been crying herself.
Once in her car, she starts it up and turns on the radio to even out the heaviness in her head. It starts with one tear, and suddenly, she finds herself sobbing quietly. It’s insane really, the time it takes for reality to set in.
Hours later, Kerry rests against her lover, a beautiful, slender firefighter pillow, breathing deeply, silently reflecting. Kerry is out of her scrubs and in her most comfortable pajamas, flannel plaid. Sandy is stroking her hair as the doctor sips tea. It’s warm and soft music plays against their emotions, cocooning them together in love, acceptance and finally peace. Together, they’ll ride out the storm. After all, it's what lovers do.
FIN
