Fatal Cure

5

David had set the alarm for five forty-five as if it were a normal workday. By six-fifteen he was on his way to the hospital. The temperature had already climbed into the low seventies and the skies were clear. Before nine he was finished with his rounds and on his way home.

"Okay, you guys," he called as he entered the apartment. "I don't want to spend this whole day waiting. Let's get this show on the road."

Nikki appeared in her doorway. "That's not fair, Daddy. We've been waiting for you."

"Just kidding," David said with a laugh as he gave Nikki a playful tickle.

Soon they were off. Before long, urban sprawl gave way to tree-dotted suburbia followed by long stretches of forest. The farther north they went, the prettier the surroundings became, especially now that leaves were on the trees.

When they reached Bartlet, David slowed to a crawl. Like eager tourists they drank in the sights.

"This is even more picturesque than I remembered," Angela said.

"There's that same puppy!" Nikki cried. She pointed across the street. "Can we stop?"

David pulled into an empty diagonal parking slot. "You're right," he said. "I recognize the lady."

"I recognize the dog," Nikki said. She opened the car door and got out.

"Just a second," Angela called. She jumped out of the car and took Nikki's hand to cross the street. David followed.

"Hello again," the woman said when Nikki approached. The puppy caught sight of Nikki and strained at its leash. As Nikki bent down, the dog licked her face. Nikki laughed with surprise.

"I don't know if you'd be interested, but Mr. Staley's retriever just had puppies a few weeks ago," the woman said. "They're right over in the hardware store across the street."

"Can we go see them?" Nikki pleaded.

"Why not," David said. He thanked the woman.

Recrossing the street the Wilsons entered the hardware store. Near the front in a makeshift playpen was Mr. Staley's dog, Molly, suckling five floppy puppies.

"They're adorable," Nikki cried. "Can I pet them?"

"I don't know," David said. He turned to look for a store attendant and practically bumped into Mr. Staley, who was standing directly behind them.

"Sure, she can pet them," Mr. Staley said after introducing himself. "In fact, they're for sale. No way I need six golden retrievers."

Nikki collapsed on her knees and, reaching into the pen, gently stroked one of the puppies. He responded by attaching himself to Nikki's finger as if it were a teat. Nikki squealed with delight.

"Pick him up if you like," Mr. Staley said. "He's the brute of the litter."

Nikki scooped the puppy up in her arms. The tiny dog snuggled against her cheek and licked her nose.

"I love him," Nikki said. "I wish we could get him. Can we? I'll take care of him."

David felt an unexpected surge of tears that he had to forcibly suppress. He took his eyes off Nikki and looked at Angela. Angela dabbed a tissue into the corners of her eyes and glanced up at her husband. Their eyes met in a moment of complete understanding. Nikki's modest request affected them even more than it had on their first visit to Bartlet. Considering all that she'd been through with her cystic fibrosis, it wasn't much to ask for.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" David asked.

"I think so," Angela said. Her tears gave way to a smile. "It would mean we could buy a house."

"Goodbye, crime and pollution," he said. He looked down at Nikki. "Okay," he said. "You can have the dog. We're moving to Bartlet!"

Nikki's face lit up. She hugged the puppy to her chest as it licked her face.

David turned to Mr. Staley and settled on a price.

"I figure they will be ready to leave the mother in four weeks or so," Mr. Staley said.

"That will be perfect," David said. "We'll be coming up here at the end of the month."

With some difficulty, Nikki was separated from her puppy, and the Wilsons went back outside.

"What will we do now?" Angela asked with excitement.

"Let's celebrate," David said. "Let's have lunch at the inn."

A few minutes later they were sitting at a cloth-covered table with a view of the river. David and Angela each ordered a glass of white wine. Nikki had a cranberry juice. They touched their glasses.

"I'd like to toast our arrival in the Garden of Eden," David said.

"And I'd like to toast the beginning of paying back our debt," Angela said.

"Hear, hear!" David said, and they drank.

"Can you believe it?" Angela asked. "Our combined income will be over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars."

David sang a few bars of the song "We're in the Money."

"I think I'll call my dog Rusty," Nikki said.

"That's a wonderful name," David said.

"What do you think about me earning twice what you do?" Angela teased.

David had known the barb would come at some point so he was prepared. "You'll be earning it in your dark, dreary lab," he teased back. "At least I'll be seeing real, live, appreciative people."

"Won't it challenge your delicate masculinity?" Angela continued.

"Not in the slightest," David said. "Also it's nice to know that if we ever get divorced I'll get alimony."

Angela lunged across the table to give David a poke in the ribs.

David parried Angela's playful gesture. "Besides," he said, "that kind of differential won't last much longer. It's a legacy of a past era. Pathologists, like surgeons and other overpaid specialists, will soon be brought down to earth."

"Says who?" Angela demanded.

"Says me," David said.

After lunch, they decided to go straight to the hospital to let Caldwell know their decision. Once they presented themselves to his secretary, they were ushered in right away.

"That's fantastic!" Caldwell said when they informed him of their decision. "Does CMV know yet?" he asked.

"Not yet," David said.

"Come on," Caldwell said. "Let's go give them the good news."

Charles Kelley was equally pleased with the news. After a congratulatory handshake he asked David when he thought he'd be ready to start seeing patients.

"Just about immediately," David said without hesitation. "July first."

"Your residency isn't over until the thirtieth," Kelley said. "Don't you want some time to get settled?"

"With our debt," David said, "the sooner we start working the better we'll feel."

"Same for you?" Caldwell asked Angela.

"Absolutely," Angela answered.

David asked if they could go back to the office he'd be assigned. Kelley was happy to oblige.

David paused outside the waiting room door, fantasizing how his name would look in the empty slot under Dr. Randall Portland's name. It had been a long, hard road, starting from the moment in the eighth grade when he'd decided to become a doctor, but he'd finally made it.

David opened the door and stepped over the threshold. His reverie was broken when a figure dressed in surgical scrubs leaped off the waiting room couch.

"What is the meaning of this?" the man angrily demanded.

It took David a moment to recognize Dr. Portland. It was partly due to the unexpectedness of the encounter, but it was also because Dr. Portland had changed in the month since David had last seen him. He'd lost considerable weight; his eyes seemed sunken, even haunted, and his cheeks were gaunt.

Kelley pushed his way to the front of the group, reintroduced David and Randall, and then explained to Randall why they were there. Dr. Portland's anger waned. Like a balloon losing its air, he collapsed back onto the couch. David noticed that not only had Randall lost weight but he was pale.

"Sorry to have bothered you," David said.

"I was just getting a bit of sleep," Dr. Portland explained. His voice was flat. He sounded as exhausted as he looked. "I did a case this morning, and I felt tired."

"Tom Baringer?" Caldwell asked.

Dr. Portland nodded.

"I hope it went okay," Caldwell said.

"The operation went fine," Dr. Portland said. "Now we have to keep our fingers crossed for the post-op course."

David apologized again, then herded everyone, including himself, out of the office.

"Sorry about that," Kelley said.

"What's wrong with him?" David asked.

"Nothing that I know of," Kelley said.

"He doesn't look well," David said.

"I thought he looked depressed," Angela said.

"He's busy," Kelley admitted. "I'm sure he's just overworked."

The group stopped outside Kelley's office. "Now that we know you are coming," Kelley said, "is there anything that we can do to help?"

"We'll have to go look at a few houses," Angela said. "Who do you suggest we call?"

"Dorothy Weymouth," Caldwell said.

"He's right," Kelley said.

"She's far and away the best realtor in town," Caldwell added. "Come back to my office and use my phone."

A half hour later, the whole family was in Dorothy Weymouth's office on the second floor of the building across the street from the diner. She was a huge, pleasant woman attired in a shapeless, tent-like dress.

"I have to tell you, I'm impressed," Dorothy said. Her voice was surprisingly high-pitched for such a large woman. "While you were on your way over here from the hospital, Barton Sherwood called to tell me the bank is eager to help you. Now it doesn't happen often that the president of the bank calls before I've even met the client.

"I'm not sure exactly what your tastes are," Dorothy said as she began putting photos of properties currently on the market out on her desk. "So you'll have to help me. Do you think you'd like a white clapboard house in town or an isolated stone farmhouse? What about size? Is that an important consideration? Are you planning any more children?"

Both David and Angela tensed at the question of whether they would have more children. Until Nikki's birth, neither had suspected they were carriers of the cystic fibrosis gene. It was a reality they could not ignore.

Unaware she'd hit a nerve, Dorothy continued laying out photos of homes, while she maintained a steady monologue.

"Here's a particularly charming property that's just come on the market. It's a beauty."

Angela caught her breath. She picked up the photo. Nikki tried to look over her shoulder.

"I do like this one," Angela said. She handed the picture to David. It was a brick, late Georgian or early Federal style home with double bow windows on either side of a central, paneled front door. Fluted white columns held up a pedimented portico over the door. Above the pediment was a large Palladian window.

"That's one of the oldest brick homes in the area," Dorothy said. "It was built around 1820."

"What's this in the back?" David asked, pointing to the photo.

Dorothy looked. "That's the old silo," she said. "Behind the house and connected to it is a barn. You can't see the barn in that photo because the picture was taken directly in front of the house, down the hill. The property used to be a dairy farm, quite a profitable one, I understand."

"It's gorgeous," Angela said wistfully. "But I'm sure we could never afford it."

"You could according to what Barton Sherwood told me," Dorothy said. "Besides, I know that the owner, Clara Hodges, is very eager to sell. I'm sure we could get you a good deal. Anyway, it's worth a look. Let's pick four or five others and go see them."

Cleverly orchestrating the order of the visits, Dorothy left the Hodges house for last. It was located about two and a half miles south of the town center on the crest of a small hill. The nearest house was an eighth of a mile down the road. When they pulled into the driveway, Nikki noticed the frog pond and was immediately sold.

"The pond is not only picturesque," Dorothy said, "it's also great for skating in the wintertime."

Dorothy pulled to a halt between the house and the frog pond and slightly to the side. From there they had a view of the structure with its connected barn. Neither Angela nor David said a word. They were both awed by the home's noble and imposing character. They now realized that the house was three stories instead of two. They could see four dormers on each side of the pitched slate roof.

"Are you sure Mr. Sherwood thinks we can afford this?" David asked.

"Absolutely," Dorothy said. "Come on, let's see the interior."

In a state of near hypnosis, David and Angela followed Dorothy around the inside of the house. Dorothy continued her steady stream of realtor chatter, saying things like "This room has so much promise" and "With just a little creativity and work, this room would be so cozy." Any problems such as peeling wallpaper or dry-rotted window sashes she minimized. The good points, like the sizes of the many fireplaces and the beautiful cornice work, she lauded with an uninterrupted flow of superlatives.

David insisted on seeing everything. They even descended the gray granite steps into the basement, which seemed exceptionally damp and musty.

"There seems to be a strange smell," he said. "Is there a water problem down here?"

"Not that I've heard of," Dorothy said. "But it is a nice big basement. There's room enough for a shop if you're the handy type."

Angela suppressed a giggle as well as a disparaging comment. She'd been about to say that David had trouble changing light bulbs, but she held her tongue.

"There's no floor," David said. He bent down and pried up a bit of dirt with his fingernail.

"It's a packed earth floor," Dorothy explained. "It's common in older homes like this. And this basement has other features typical of a nineteenth-century dwelling." She pulled open a heavy wooden door. "Here's the old root cellar."

There was shelving for preserves and bins for potatoes and apples. The room was poorly lit with one small bulb.

"It's scary," Nikki said. "It's like a dungeon."

"This will be handy if your parents ever come to visit," David said. "We can put them up down here."

Angela rolled her eyes.

After showing them the root cellar, Dorothy took them over to the other corner of the basement and proudly pointed out a large freezer chest. "This house has both the old and the new methods of food storage," she said.

Before they left the basement Dorothy opened a second door. Behind it was a second flight of granite steps which led up to a hatch-like door. "These stairs lead out to the back yard," Dorothy explained. "That's why the firewood is here." She pointed to several cords of firewood neatly stacked against the wall.

The last thing of note in the basement was the huge furnace. It looked almost like an old-fashioned steam locomotive. "This used to burn coal," Dorothy explained, "but it was converted to oil." She pointed out a large fuel tank perched on cinder blocks in the corner opposite the freezer chest.

David nodded, though he didn't know much about furnaces no matter what they burned.

On the way back up the steps to the kitchen, David smelled the musty smell again and asked about the septic system.

"The septic system is fine," Dorothy said. "We had it inspected. It's to the west of the house. I can point out the leach field if you like."

"As long as it's been inspected, I'm sure it's okay," David said. He had no idea what a leach field was or what it should look like.

David and Angela had Dorothy drop them off at the Green Mountain National Bank. They were nervous and excited at the same time. Barton Sherwood saw them almost immediately.

"We found a house that we like," David said.

"I'm not surprised," Sherwood said. "There are lots of wonderful houses in Bartlet."

"It's a house owned by Clara Hodges," David continued. He handed over the real estate summary sheet. "The asking price is two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. What does the bank think about the property and the price?"

"It's a great old house," Sherwood said. "I know it well." He scanned the summary sheet. "And the location is fabulous. In fact it borders my own property. As far as the price is concerned, I think it's a steal."

"So the bank would be willing to underwrite our purchase at that price?" Angela questioned. She wanted to be sure. It seemed too good to be true.

"Of course, you'll offer less," Sherwood said. "I'd suggest an initial offer of one hundred and ninety thousand. But the bank will be willing to back the purchase up to the asking price."

Fifteen minutes later David, Angela, and Nikki stepped back out into the warm Vermont sunshine. They had never bought a house before. It was a monumental decision. Yet having decided to come to Bartlet they were in a decisive frame of mind.

"Well?" David asked.

"I can't imagine finding something we'd like better," Angela said.

"I can even have a desk in my room," Nikki said.

David reached out and tousled Nikki's hair. "With as many rooms as that house has, you can have your own study."

"Let's do it," Angela said.

Back in Dorothy's office they told the pleased realtor their decision. A few minutes later Dorothy had Clara Hodges on the phone, and although it was a bit unconventional, a deal was concluded orally at a price of two hundred and ten thousand dollars.

As Dorothy drew up the formal documents, David and Angela exchanged glances. They were stunned to realize they were the new owners of a home more gracious than they could have ever hoped to have owned for years to come. Yet there was some anxiety as well. Their debt had more than doubled, to over three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

By the end of the day, after a bit of shuttling back and forth between Dorothy's office and the bank, all the appropriate papers were filled out and a closing date was set.

"I have some names for you," Dorothy said when they were through with the paperwork. "Pete Bergan does odd jobs around the town. He's not the world's smartest fellow, but he does good work. And for painting, I use John Murray."

David wrote the names down with their phone numbers.

"And if you need a sitter for Nikki, my older sister, Alice Doherty, would be delighted to help out. She lost her husband a few years ago. Besides, she lives out your way."

"That's a wonderful tip," Angela said. "With both of us working we'll need someone just about every day."

Later that same afternoon David and Angela met the handyman and the painter out at their new home. They arranged to have a general cleaning as well as a minimum of painting and repairing to make the house weatherproof.

After one more visit to the hardware store so Nikki could pet Rusty one last time and say goodbye, the Wilsons got on the road for the drive back to Boston. Angela drove. Neither David nor Nikki dozed. They were all keyed up from what they'd accomplished and full of dreams about their new life that was imminently to begin.

"What did you think about Dr. Portland?" David asked after a period of silence.

"What do you mean?" said Angela.

"The man was hardly friendly," David said.

"I think we woke him up."

"Still, most people wouldn't act that irritable. Besides, he looked like death warmed over. He's changed so drastically in a month."

"I thought he sounded and looked depressed."

David shrugged. "He wasn't even that friendly the first time we met him, now that I think of it. All he wanted to know was whether I played basketball. Something about him makes me feel uncomfortable. I hope sharing an office with him doesn't become a sore spot."

It was dark by the time they returned to Boston; they'd stopped for dinner on the way. When they got back to their apartment, they looked around in wonderment, amazed that they'd been able to live for four years in such a tiny, claustrophobic space.

"This entire apartment would fit into the library of the new house," Angela commented.

David and Angela decided to call their parents to share the excitement. David's were delighted. Having retired to Amherst, New Hampshire, they felt like Bartlet was next door. "We'll get to see a lot more of you guys," they said.

Angela's parents had a different response.

"It's easy to drop out of the academic big leagues," Dr. Walter Christopher said. "But it's hard getting back in. I think you could have asked my opinion before you made such a foolish move. Here's your mother."

Angela's mother came on the line and expressed her disappointment that Angela and David hadn't come to New York. "Your father spent a lot of time talking to all sorts of people to make sure you had good positions here," she said. "I think it was inconsiderate of you not to take advantage of his effort."

After Angela hung up she turned to David. "They've never been particularly supportive," she said. "So I suppose I shouldn't have expected them to change now."