Alan was numb. Deny the power exists? Not use the Hour of Power when it comes?
"So…" Ginny hesitated, took a deep breath, then began again. "So, I want a decision, Alan. I want a promise. I want you to hold some sort of news conference, or put out a press release, or whatever it is people do in a case like this, and tell the world that it's all a pack of lies. I want you to go back to being a regular doctor and me back to being your regular wife. I can't deal with what's been happening here!"
There were tears in her eyes.
"Oh, Ginny," he said, stepping toward her and taking her hands, "I know it's been tough on you." He didn't know what else to say.
"You haven't answered me, Alan."
He thought of a future full of sick and miserable people with no hope passing through his office, looking for help, and he saw himself letting them pass by as he stood mute and still with his hands in his pockets.
"Don't ask this of me, Ginny."
"Alan, I want things as they were!"
"Tell me: Could you stand on a dock and hide a life preserver behind your back while a drowning man cries for help ten feet away?"
"Never mind the hypothetical stuff! This is real life—our life! And we've lost control of it! I want our old life back!"
Regret and resignation suddenly flooded through him. This was it. This was the end.
"That life is gone, Ginny. Things will never be the same again. I can't stop."
She jerked away from him. "You mean, you won't stop!"
"I won't stop."
"I knew it!" she said, her features hardening into an angry mask. "I knew you wouldn't do this for me, for us, but I made myself ask. You didn't disappoint me! If nothing else, you're consistent! I've never come first with you—never! So why should I have expected any special consideration this time?" She whirled and headed for the stairs. "Excuse me. I've got a plane to catch."
Alan stood and watched her go, unable to refute her. Was she right? Had he really put her and their marriage second all along? He had never really thought about it before. He had taken it for granted that they were both leading the kind of lives each of them wanted. But maybe that was the problem: the taking for granted and the living of separate lives. The bonds that had united them early on had long since dissolved and they had formed no new ones.
And then the Touch had come along.
Alan shook his head and walked to the window to watch the rain. The Touch—it would test the strongest marriage. It was exploding his.
But I can't give it up! I can't!
He didn't know how long he stood there, brooding, mulling the past and the future, watching the rain sheet the screen, wondering how long Ginny would stay in Florida to "think things over." But he wasn't giving up yet. He would use the time they'd have together in the car during the trip down to JFK to try to convince her to change her mind. He'd—
A taxi pulled into the driveway and honked.
Ginny was suddenly on her way down the stairs, somehow managing all three suitcases at once.
"I'm driving you, Ginny," he said, angry that she thought he'd let her go off to the airport by herself.
She pulled on her raincoat. "No, you're not!"
"Don't be ridiculous. Of course I—"
"No, Alan! I'm leaving here to get off by myself. I don't want to be with you, Alan. Can I make it any clearer than that?"
That hurt. He hadn't realized things had got to this point. He shook his head and swallowed.
"I guess not."
He picked up the two biggest bags and carried them out into the downpour to the taxi. Ginny got in the back seat and closed the door while he and the cabbie loaded the trunk.
Ginny didn't wave, didn't roll down the window to say good-bye. She huddled in the back of the cab and let it drive her away, leaving Alan standing in the driveway, in the rain, feeling more alone than he'd ever felt in his life.
JULY
___26.___
Alan
The divorce papers arrived on Monday morning a week later. Alan fought a sinking sensation as he unfolded them, and shook his head sadly when he read that he was being charged with mental cruelty. Tony dropped by shortly after the mailman left. Alan showed him the papers.
"Things like this don't happen so fast," Tony said as he folded the sheets and slipped them into his inside jacket pocket. "I can almost guarantee you she had this in the works before she left."
"So she wasn't going to her folks' place 'to think things over.' She was going for good. Great."
Alan sighed. The marriage had been over for years; he simply hadn't realized it. He wanted to be angry, and he should have been hurt. All he could do was shrug. He wanted to feel something. He couldn't seem to feel much of anything anymore. He spent his days hanging around the house waiting to see what the State Board of Medical Examiners was going to do. Not knowing from one day to the next whether he was going to be able to keep his medical license was paralyzing him. He hadn't left the house once over the long July Fourth weekend just past—one day had become pretty much like any other.
"Heard from the Board of Examiners yet?"
Tony smiled. "That's why I stopped over. The board's not going to do anything until after Labor Day. I talked to one of the members today and he said since there hasn't been a single complaint registered against you by a patient, or any malpractice suits started, no civil or criminal charges, and no intimation that you've harmed anyone, and since a couple of board members are out of state on vacation, he said there was no reason for an immediate hearing."
Alan felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted off him. "Really?"
"Really. That gives us two whole months to prepare for the hearing. And I think we'll really be able to put it to the hospital board by then. They're either going to have to shit or get off the pot. And after what I saw last week—I still can't quite believe I saw what I saw—I have a feeling they're going to go into acute anal retention, if you know what I mean. And then we can sue their asses off!"
"I just want my privileges reinstated."
"Don't be a jerk, Al! They released your suspension to the Express within an hour! That's pretty goddamn low!"
"They deny it."
"They lie. We're gonna nail these clowns to the wall!"
"Okay, Tony," Alan said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Okay. Just calm down."
"I'm fine. Just don't go playing Mr. Forgiveness with those bastards. Once you put on your little show like you did for me last week, we'll—"
"No show, Tony."
"What?" Tony's face went slack. "What do you mean, no show?"
Alan dropped into the recliner. "I've thought about it a lot since Ginny left. Let's face it—I haven't had much else to do. But I've come to the realization that if I admit to the public what I can do, and if I effectively demonstrate it to prove I'm not crazy, my personal life will be destroyed. Worse than that, I'll become some sort of natural resource, to be metered out. Cripes, I might even become the object of a religious cult. I'd be in the spotlight around the clock. I'd have no freedom, nothing. I'd probably even become a favorite target for assassins." He shook his head slowly, back and forth. "No way."
Tony was silent for a moment, then: "Yeah. I see what you mean. Well, okay. I can get you clear without the magic show." He pointed his finger at Alan. "But just don't screw up like you did before the hospital board. You wouldn't be in this spot if you'd listened to me and kept quiet!"