CHAPTER TWELVE
Roberta heaved theplastic kiddie pool out of the back of her car. Previously contorted to fit into the hatchback, it flexed out to its normal shape, jumping out of her hands. Grasping it more securely, she toted it over to a shady lawn area in the backyard. Snaking the garden hose over to it, she turned on the faucet, letting the cool water fill the pool.
The long drive home in a car without a functioning air conditioner had drained her of the little energy she had left after a trying day at the laboratory. Murphy’s law would dictate the air conditioning unit would give out during this August heatwave.
The scorching, triple-digit temperatures had descended late last week, oppressing western Pennsylvania with the added stifling humidity. No end was in sight yet, according to the weather experts. Roberta silently thanked the landlord for providing an air conditioner for the bedroom. Mr. Eagan was a good soul for providing them some comfort. Goober and Tucker stayed cool in there during her workday, so she didn’t have to worry about them. Until today, their trips outside were only out of necessity. Even they were smart enough to know better than to play in the heat.
The pool, now filled with cold well water, would give them a chance to stretch their legs and then cool off quickly. Turning off the faucet, Roberta shuddered, remembering her day at work, where two of the worst cases of her career had come in on the same day: a ten-year-old girl with breast cancer and a pregnant woman with melanoma that had already spread to her liver and vertebrae. The little girl might survive with immediate treatment. But the mother-to-be had turned down treatment, making it understood she would carry her baby to term. She would not allow the doctors to take him early, to risk her only child’s life to save her own.
Wiping the sweat from her face with the bottom of her scrub shirt, Roberta entered the house, greeting the dogs who had come to meet her at the door. Shooing them back into the bedroom to stay cool, she shucked her work garb, the cool air soothing her hot, damp skin as she put on her bikini.
Goober nudged her palm, a sign he was hungry. Bracing herself, she stepped out of the room into the sweltering heat of the rest of the house. The dogs followed her every move with their eyes as she poured out their dinner and refilled their water bowls with cold tap water. Peering into the near-empty refrigerator, she sighed heavily. Hearing the refrigerator door open, the dogs dashed over, looking for a fresh handout. “We’re all out of luck. No beer and no food.” She chastised herself for being so distracted by her workday that she had forgotten to stop at the grocery store on the way home.
Listening to the growling in her stomach, Roberta scrounged out a box of Wheat Thins from the cabinet. The dogs sat at her feet impatiently. “Okay, okay.” Each dog got one cracker before she continued her search. A few cans of basics, but nothing that didn’t involve cooking. “Except for this.” From the farthest cabinet, she pulled an unopened bottle of scotch. “Looks like it’s Wheat Thins and whiskey tonight.”
Roberta poured herself a highball glass half full of scotch, adding a couple of ice cubes before swirling the glass. Unceremoniously, she chugged it down, choking as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. After a coughing fit, she wiped the tears from her eyes, stuffed a handful of crackers into her mouth, and refilled the glass. Turning to head outside, she placed the bottle down on the counter. She changed her mind halfway out the door and brought the bottle with her. Added to the oppressive heat and awful day, she hadn’t heard back from Taylor about her manuscript. Drinking her dinner seemed like an excellent idea.
The dogs bolted out the open door around Roberta’s legs, eager to investigate the backyard. Setting the bottle down beside the pool, she stepped into it and sat down, careful not to spill her glass of scotch. “Wow!” The cold water enveloped her legs, but the shock quickly subsided as she chugged down the scotch, emptying her glass. She refilled it and set it down in the grass beside the bottle. Eyes closed, she propped herself up against the side of the pool. The two cases she had worked on today came back to her mind. A flood of tears filled her eyes. She shook her head a little too vigorously as a wave of dizziness made her grab the side to steady herself.
The dogs rushed over, stepping into the pool. “Hey, my turn. You have yours later,” she yelled and tugged at their collars to get them out. Heedless of her attempts, they sank down into the water. “Argh,” Roberta grumbled. “Hey, guys, I’m going to smell like a dog. Not that a shower won’t fix that, but ...” Goober licked her face in response before sinking his muzzle below the water’s surface and blowing bubbles. Roberta giggled, having never seen him do that before.
Somehow, the glass was in her hand again, empty. Fighting with her conscience about her state of inebriation, she put it down. The dogs would need her to towel them off later. Rarely did she drink more than one beer—she shouldn’t get herself toasted. Lightheaded as she was after three glasses, she considered it may be too late. A nap. Yes, a brief nap would alleviate some of the wobbly feelings in her brain and in her limbs. She closed her eyes. The day's warmth surrounded her upper body while her lower limbs chilled out. A lengthy daydream of dancing bees and nodding sunflowers brought a smile to her lips as her mind drifted serenely away.
Suddenly, the dogs stood, their wildly wagging tails flinging water droplets all over her in their excitement.
“Hi.” The tone of his voice was hushed and hesitant.
Roberta opened one eye and watched as Taylor patted each dog. “Sit Goober, sit Tucker,” he commanded. Both dogs sat down in the pool, their eyes bright and keen on their playmate.
“Hmm.” Roberta rolled her eyes and looked away. A twinge in her lower belly started at the look of Taylor in his off-white cargo shorts and tight-fitting sleeveless T-shirt. He was much too good to look at. Then the memory of his theft returned to her, and the steam rose in her chest.
“What are you drinking?” He squatted down beside the pool and picked up the glass. After sniffing the contents, he grimaced. “Whiskey?”
Roberta snatched the glass from his hand, refilled it, and settled down. She reached out with her free hand to pet Goober—or was it Tucker?
“Scosh.” Her hand flew to her mouth. Her tongue felt thick and too uncoordinated.
“I can see that,” he said, cocking his head to the side, his eyes questioning. “This is not like you. What’s up?”
“I ha a reel shitty day. A little girl with breast cancer an’ a pregnan’ lady with melanoma. She’s guna die, maybe before her kid can be born. The poor woman would never get to see her child grow up.” As tears poured down her cheeks in huge, gut-wrenching sobs, a growl broke from her. His warm hand kneaded her shoulder. “D-don’t,” she pushed his hand off. Free of his grasp, she drank half of the scotch in one gulp, letting the fire it produced soothe her.
“Go easy on that. I think you’ve had enough.” Taylor’s hand reached out to take the glass from her, but she pulled it away, out of his reach. He shrugged, then sat down on the lawn next to the pool.
“I ’aven’t ’ad ’nuf to forget my day.” Roberta cradled the glass between her palms as the tears spilled down her face.
?
Taylor’s chest ached for her. He had never seen her job get to her like this. Testing for cancer and other life-threatening diseases day after day as a career took a special type of spirit while maintaining a facade of professional indifference. Never had he seen her even remotely bothered by her job. “Your care for your patients is exemplary. It gives you humanity. You’re not a machine, Roberta. You’re allowed to have feelings.”
She frowned, sniffed at the glass, and drained the last of the amber fluid. “Im betta off without ‘m.”
Scowling, Taylor shifted his position to sit closer. The dogs had gone off to inspect the grass again. Goober sauntered over, a stick clutched between his jaws, and dropped it in Taylor’s lap. He threw it to the other side of the yard as a distraction.
When Roberta turned away to watch the dogs chase after the stick, Taylor knocked over the bottle and let the contents drain into the grass. She chuckled as the dogs fought over the stick. When they brought it back to Taylor, he saw her reach over the side of the pool for the bottle.
“Oh no!” she cried, seeing the overturned bottle. “Di’ you ’nock ov’r my boddle?” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him.
Trying to look astonished, Taylor held a hand over his heart. “Why would I do such a thing?”