Page 35 of A Noble Affair
“Bonjour, Samuel.” Charles smiled at the intern as he walked by.
“Bonjour, monsieur.” The young man didn’t dare jump to a first-name basis though his mentor had assured him it was fine. Samuel ran to catch up. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon, but I’m glad you came in. I have a progress report for you to sign if you have a minute?"
Charles glanced at the door just ahead where his patient was and stopped in his tracks. “Sure. Let’s go do that now.” They walked side by side in the direction of the small office Charles had borrowed during his short stay, and turned into it. Charles skirted the desk and gestured to the chair in front of it. Taking the paper that was handed to him, he pulled a pen out of the square holder full of blue glass pebbles and skimmed its contents.
“How’s it going for you here?” He kept thequestion purposefully open-ended.
“Good,” Samuel answered firmly. “I feel less hassled and…ignorant”—here he chuckled—“than I did the first week or two.”
“Have you given more thought to a specialty?” His mentor ran his finger down the page of ratings, and skimmed the questions at the bottom.
“I’m definitely interested in pursuing neurology, although I’m not yet sure whether I want to pursue pediatric.” Samuel paused, looking down. “This may make me sound weak, but I’m not sure I have it in me. The sight of the children suffering is harder than I expected. Or—there’s something about a parent’s fear and grief that’s magnified compared to other patients’ family members. You know, Thomas, for instance. Every time I go into his room, I see this despair on his mother’s face, even though she attempts to remain cheerful. It’s hard to see.”
Charles didn’t answer as he checked off several ratings and scribbled notes in answer to each of the questions. He paused over the last one, wrote something, then capped the pen and put it back. “You’ll be a good doctor,” he said. “You have a heart. However, you’re wise to know your limits. Not everyone can handle pediatrics. We all have a cap to our effectiveness that’s linked to our personality and, I suppose, our level of humanity.” He gave a crooked smile— “of which some seem to think I have none.”
“Isabelle would not agree to that,” Samuel said, roundly, with an unaccustomed allusion to their personal connection. Charles simply smiled, and handed him the report.
When he walked into Thomas’s room, Chastity was occupying her usual spot. She looked surprised to see him, but pleased. “Any changes?” He walked over to take a look at the chart.
“It seems so,” she said. “Docteur Toussaint is encouraged—and so am I—that Thomas seems to be opening his eyes for longer stretches of time. There seems to be more of a deliberateness to his movements too." Her eyes twinkled. "I think he’s bent on getting the IV tubes out.”
Charles read the patient’s chart, noting the same progress recorded that she spoke of. “This is good news. I’m pleased to hear it. I hope, of course, that we might start to see some changes now, but it’s impossible to predict when these will happen, and what the final outcome will be.”
“I know,” Chastity said, “but I cannot give up hope.”
“And you should not,” he replied, firmly. He studied her closely now, something he didn’t often let himself do. Her already slim frame was thinner than it was weeks ago, but she was starting to have some bloom to her cheeks again. He was distracted by the curly locks that were always falling from her loose chignon, and how she tucked them behind her ear. She wore the same frail pendant earrings every day that swung back and forth as she talked.
Realizing he’d been staring, Charles shuffled the papers in his hands. “You look well.”
“I am well.” Her smile brightened and lit up her face. “I have good news.” Charles drew his eyebrows together, wondering if the good news had something to do with this father of Thomas’s that he had met only once—who had not left him with a favorable impression.
His expression must have been forbidding because she flushed suddenly and looked down. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s only that my mother is coming to France.” When he heard this, the pressure in his chest eased.
“I never thought she’d be able to get away because she works with my father in the dry cleaning business. She handles all the accounting aspects, and my dad can’t function without her. But one of his retired friends, who’s a whiz at numbers, offered to take her place.” Her voice was tremulous, despite her grin.
“I’m glad to hear it. This kind of support is just what you need.”
“It’s true.” Her voice throbbed with suppressed emotion. “I’ve been trying to keep my strength up for Thomas, you know, and even though I’m grateful to Maude and Elizabeth—” Chastity smiled at him, “—and to you, I would love not to have to be so strong all the time.” Charles nodded thoughtfully, mesmerized by the delicate angle of her chin. She tilted her face when she was saying something vulnerable.
He realized he was staring again. “When does she arrive?”
“Next week.” In a burst of good humor, Chastity walked over and kissed Thomas on the cheek. He fluttered his eyelids and both of them watched him intently, but he didn’t move again after that.
“Can I bring you a coffee?” Charles offered, as he had done the few times since he brought her that first delicious espresso.
“I would love one,” she answered,warmly. Her smile was reflected in her expressive eyes, and when she looked at him like that, he couldn’t see any resemblance between this woman and the one who taught his son—the one he had thought of as a shrew.
When Charles returned, he handed her one of the tiny white porcelain cups but stopped short. “I’m sorry. I forgot the sugar.”
“Oh, stay—I’ll run and get one from the nurse’s station.” Chastity’s voice was almost merry. “They keep a stash there and have always encouraged me to help myself. They are so good to me.”
She walked off lightly, coffee in hand, and Charles went over to Thomas and set his cup down on the bedside table. “Thomas.” He jostled the small arm carefully. “Thomas. Your mother wants to see you.”
There was no response. He nudged him again more firmly, but his words were caressing. “Thomas. Open your eyes.”
There was a sigh, and Thomas opened his eyes; but he stared, unfocused, at the ceiling. “That’s better, Thomas. Can you see me? I’m Docteur de Brase.”
The boy's eyes seemed to focus for a second, but then stared ahead, unseeing. Charles sat on the side of his bed, and held his hand. “Thomas, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”
