“Yes,” Charlie says, beaming. “Very, very happy.”
A beat later, Rosemary arrives unexpectedly, along with a bag of dollar-store gadgets for Charlie and a plastic container of her famous chicken tetrazzini. Valerie knows how hard her mother is trying, how much she wants to be there for them both. Yet she finds herself wishing she had not come, at least not at this moment, and marvels at how her mother manages to suck the peaceful feeling out of the room by her mere presence.
“Oh! Why, hello,” Rosemary says, staring at Dr. Russo. They have not yet met, but she has heard much about him, mostly from Charlie.
Dr. Russo abruptly turns and stands with a polite, expectant smile, as Valerie makes an introduction that feels both awkward and somehow revealing. Since their arrival at the hospital, Valerie and Charlie have made a few friends, but she has remained a vigilant gatekeeper of all personal information. Only occasionally has a detail slipped out, sometimes unwittingly, sometimes by necessity. Dr. Russo knows, for example, that there was only one parent signing consent forms—and anyone can easily observe that there are no male visitors other than Jason.
“Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Anderson,” Dr. Russo says, as he extends his hand toward Rosemary.
“It’s wonderful to meet you, too,” she says, shaking his hand with a flustered look of awe, the same expression she wears after church when talking to the priests, especially the young, handsome ones. “I just can’t thank you enough, Dr. Russo, for everything you’ve done tor my grandson.”
It is an appropriate thing to say, and yet Valerie still feels annoyed, even embarrassed by the slight tremor in her mother’s voice. More important, she is conscious of Charlie, listening intently, and resents her mother’s melodramatic reminder of why they all are here. Dr. Russo seems to be aware of this dynamic, too, because he quickly murmurs, “You’re welcome.” Then he turns back to Charlie and says, “Well, buddy, I’ll let you visit with your grandma . . .”
Charlie’s face scrunches into a frown. “Aww, Dr. Nick, can’t you stay a little longer? Please?”
Valerie watches Dr. Russo hesitate, and then rushes in to save him. “Charlie, honey, Dr. Russo needs to go now. He has a lot of other patients to see.”
“Actually, buddy, I need to talk to your mom for a few minutes. If that’s okay with her?” Dr. Russo says, shifting his gaze to Valerie. “Do you have a minute?”
She nods, thinking of how much her life has slowed since they came here. Always before, she was rushing everywhere; now she finds herself with nothing but time.
Dr. Russo squeezes Charlie’s foot and says, “I’ll see you tomorrow.
Okay, buddy?”
“Okay,” Charlie says reluctantly.
Valerie can tell Rosemary’s feelings are hurt by her secondfiddle status and she overcompensates with forced exuberance. “Look! I brought a seek-and-find book!” she shrills. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
Valerie has always maintained that searching for words in a grid of letters is among life’s most boring games, and she can tell from her son’s lackluster reaction that he agrees. His grandmother might as well have just asked him to count the dimples on a golf ball. “I guess so,” he says, shrugging.
Dr. Russo gives Rosemary a nod good-bye before exiting the room. Valerie follows him, remembering the night they met, and their first conversation out in a sterile hall just like this one. She thinks of how far she and Charlie have come, how much her fear and horror have subsided, replaced by a large measure of stoic resignation and a dash of hope.
Now alone, they stand face-to-face for a few beats of silence before Dr. Russo says, “Would you like to get a cup of coffee? In the cafeteria?”
“Yes,” she says, feeling her pulse quicken in a way that both surprises and unsettles her. She feels nervous, but doesn’t know why, and hopes that he can’t sense her uneasiness.
“Great,” he says, as they turn and walk toward the elevators. They do not speak along the way, other than an occasional hello to nurses. Valerie carefully studies their faces, their reactions to him, as she has for several weeks now. She has long since determined that Dr. Russo is admired, almost revered, in marked contrast to many of the other surgeons she’s heard grumblings about, accusations of their being condescending or arrogant or downright rude. He is not overly friendly or chatty, but has a warm, respectful manner that, coupled with his rock-star reputation, makes him the most popular doctor at the hospital. He is the best in the country, she’s heard again and again. But still so nice. And quite the looker, too,