Chapter 4
1963 Words
It was around that same time that his parents had stopped being friends with Dr. Foster. Rush had been too swamped with schoolwork to ask why. Not that they would have told him anything beyond it was none of his business.
All he knew was that the next time he needed a physical, he was sent to another doctor. And he was even less likely to ask that doctor questions about gay s*x.
Now Dr. Foster approached with his hand extended, and Rush took it automatically. “How are you, Rush? And your brothers?”
“They’re well.” Rush noticed he didn’t ask after his parents. “Gratton finished his residency at Johns Hopkins a couple of years ago and joined Father’s medical practice. Emmett is interning at the law firm of Harden, James, and Younger in Savannah.”
“And you, Rush?”
“Oh, I just got my bachelor’s in biomedical engineering and genetics.”
“A double major? I’m impressed. Congratulations.” He paused for a second. “Now, suppose you tell me—how are you?”
“I’m fine.” It was the response he always gave to that question. Anything else was considered unacceptable.
Dr. Foster studied him intently. Rush realized he’d been absently massaging the area above his stomach and stopped, stuffing his hand into the pocket of his trousers.
“If you were fine, Rush, I don’t think you would have been so insistent on seeing me. So tell me what was so pressing that I’m missing dinner with my wife?”
Rush flushed. He couldn’t meet those warm blue eyes, and he looked away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a problem—”
“I was teasing! Rush, I’ve known you since your family moved to Atlanta when you were five. You never caused a problem.” Dr. Foster took a seat behind his desk and gestured for Rush to take the chair opposite him. “In fact, I used to think it would have done you a world of good if you’d gotten into a little mischief on occasion.”
“Oh, no!” Too vehement. You’re going to make him suspect something is more wrong than a bellyache that won’t go away. “No,” he said more mildly this time, offering a rueful smile, “I never had any desire to be a… a wild child.”
“Of course not.”
Rush chewed on his lower lip, wondering how to bring up his question without making it look like it was any big deal.
Dr. Foster took his pipe from the top pocket of his lab coat and put it between his lips, obviously intent on letting him proceed at his own pace.
“I always liked the smell of your pipe tobacco. What is it?”
“Vanilla. I miss it.” The doctor’s mouth quirked in regret. “I had a scare shortly after the last time you came in, and I decided to give it up.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“It turned out to be a nasty case of bronchitis, but it was a wake-up call.” Dr. Foster’s eyes were hooded, and he massaged the spot above his breastbone. Rush wondered who had misdiagnosed him. “So what have you been up to, Rush?”
“As I told you, I’ve graduated from the University of Georgia at Atlanta…” Magna c*m laude, but it wasn’t enough for his parents. They’d wanted a summa c*m laude, like his brothers. “… and next semester I start post graduate studies in biomedical engineering.”
“Your parents must be very proud of you.”
Rush didn’t answer that. Nothing he did made his parents proud. He kneaded the spot to the left of his breastbone. “Uh… I’m sorry, Dr. Foster, this was really stupid of me. I’ve taken up your time, and you’re missing dinner with your wife—”
“Rush, I can see something’s bothering you.” Dr. Foster put his pipe down and folded his hands. “Look, you’re not my patient any longer, but when my receptionist told me you asked to come in, I pulled out your old files and went over them. I saw some things that I didn’t see at that time. Your mother…”
Rush felt a flush climb to his hairline. “Dr. Foster, she really doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Doesn’t she?” He stared pointedly at the way Rush was massaging his torso and reached for the telephone. “I’m going to make an appointment for you with Dr. Davis. He’s a good friend of mine. I want you to promise me you’ll go to see him.”
“I’m not crazy! I don’t need to see a shrink!” The burning was suddenly worse.
Dr. Foster looked startled. “Of course not. Dr. Davis is in gastroenterology.”
“Okay.” Rush had made a fool of himself, and all he wanted to do was cry. Instead, he leaned the heel of his hand into his torso and pressed harder. “Okay.”
***
RUSH PUT HIS key in the lock, but he didn’t need to turn it. The door to his apartment over his parents’ five-car garage swung open. Uncertain as to whether to enter and confront whoever was there or back down the stairs and notify the police there’d been a break-in, the option was taken from him when his mother spoke.
“Rushton.”
He sighed, regretting he hadn’t seized the opportunity to head for the hills. “Yes, Mother?”
He’d assumed his parents didn’t have a key to his apartment. Obviously he’d been wrong. The question was, had his mother used it before?
More importantly, why had she come to his apartment? He’d been living there since his freshman year in college, when his parents, supremely indifferent, had given their permission for him to move into the empty, dusty loft. He’d worked hard over weekends and holidays to make it into a warm, comfortable home, but she’d never before shown any desire to see what he had done with the space he had appropriated.
“Explain this if you please.” She stalked toward the door, her lips tight with disapproval, and thrust a book toward him. Homme was a collection of photographs in black and white, and color. It contained pictures of men alone and in pairs, in various stages of undress, some cuddling, some on the verge of… other things.
Rush felt a mortified flush color his cheeks.
She gave a disparaging sniff. “I can see why you wanted to move out of your room in our home. I’m ashamed of you, Rushton.” He wasn’t surprised. “Your brothers never had filth like this in their possession!”
They just hid it better.
“I needed this book for an elective I was taking, Mother.” Not quite a lie. The professor who taught Form and Fotography, an elective he’d selected on his own, had mentioned the book in passing. Rush had been curious enough to look for it on the Net, and once he’d found it, he’d ordered it. Please don’t let her suspect I might be gay. If you don’t, he bargained, I swear I’ll never think of another guy that way.
“Indeed.” But it was evident that while she might give some credence to his explanation, her belief was grudging at best.
“May I ask why you came up to my apartment, Mother?” The only time he generally saw his parents was at dinner.
“This!” She waved something under his nose, and he shied away involuntarily. “What is the meaning of this?”
“What is it?” He felt so tired.
She gave him the look that questioned his mental acuity. “It’s an explanation of benefits from your father’s insurance company, concerning a bill submitted by a Dr. Dominick Davis.”
He swallowed and looked away. “I was having a problem—”
“Daltons do not have problems.”
Of course not. That would mean they belonged to the human race if they had.
“Your father will handle this. Of course he intends to question this bill.”
“Please, Mother. It’s a legitimate claim. Dr. Davis ran some tests and determined I have an ulcer.”
“Nonsense. It’s a figment of your imagination.” She never believed him.
“I’m on medication.”
“Then you’ll stop it at once. My sons do not take drugs!”
He felt a twinge in his gut.
The ulcer had been bleeding.
“I’ve cauterized the damaged blood vessel via the endoscopy,” Dr. Davis had informed him when he’d gone for the follow-up visit, “and fortunately the results of the biopsy have come back negative. The biopsy also revealed that the root cause is the H. Pylori bacteria, but it’s been exacerbated by stress, caffeine and alcohol…”
“I don’t drink.”
It was obvious from Dr. Davis’s expression that he didn’t believe Rush.
“Seriously, Doctor.”
“Very well. But there’s still a diet of fast foods: McDonalds, Taco Bell, KFC, Pizza Hut. My nurse will give you a list of the foods you can have. I’ve found that if I just tell my patients what they must avoid, they tend to feel deprived and won’t follow it. I’ll write you out prescriptions for an antibiotic and Prevacid…”
“I can’t…”
Dr. Davis frowned at him and continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “… and it might be a good idea to take some Pepto-Bismol as well—they work well together. If you don’t follow the course of treatment I’ve laid out for you—if you don’t take the Prevacid, reduce your stress, and alter your diet—your condition can become even more exacerbated.”
“But I can’t—”
“You were in danger of becoming severely anemic.” The doctor removed his glasses, cleaned the lenses with a handkerchief, and replaced them on the bridge of his nose. “I’m not saying this to frighten you, Mr. Dalton, but the next time you could very well wind up in need of a transfusion. And if your stomach perforates…”
He’d left it hanging, but his grim expression made it clear just how dangerous his situation was.
“Mother—”
“What I fail to understand is why you didn’t see one of your father’s associates.”
“I needed a gastro doctor. Dr. Foster referred him.”
“Hmph.” Mother narrowed her eyes at the mention of his former pediatrician, and Rush hoped this wasn’t going to cause trouble for the doctor. “This conversation is over.”
Rush knew it was futile to argue with her, just as it had been futile trying to persuade his parents that he might actually have given them that summa c*m laude if his major had been in the accounting field.
“Mother, you don’t understand.”
She pinned him with a stony glare. “Did you fail to comprehend my words?”
Rush subsided.
“Now, what’s this nonsense about transferring to that college in Savannah?”
“Dr. Griffith said the graduate program that Pulaski and Jasper offers is top of the line, and getting my master’s there will be a feather in my cap.” Rush held his breath. His course advisor had also told him that the same could be said of UGA. But there was no way he could stay in Atlanta, stay in his parents’ home, any longer.
“You will go to the college of our choice.”
“Mother, please—”
“Keep in mind that we pay your tuition. We pay all your bills and give you a healthy allowance as well. Your father will discuss this with you after dinner.” She left him standing there, the door closing behind her with a finality that he was only too familiar with.
The pain in his gut became worse. If his mother was the proverbial rock, then his father was the veritable hard place, and Rush was stuck squarely between them.
Only, this time more was on the line than a sash to be worn with his cap and gown. Dr. Davis might not have meant to frighten him, but he had succeeded. For the first time in his life, Rush was going to take a stand.
He knew if he went against their wishes, his parents would have no qualms about refusing to pay his tuition.
Unlike other young men and women who had been in his graduating class, he’d never been permitted to take a part-time job. However, he had saved a hefty portion of the allowance Mother had mentioned. It was tucked away in an obscure credit union, and was solely in his name—no one could stop him from withdrawing it. He’d go there in the morning, and once he had the cash, he’d think about making plans.
- Writer
