The Pull Of The Moon

“MAN! I HOPE THAT’S the last one,” Carol mumbled through her mask after Danni had delivered another baby safely, verified the sponge count and started the routine stitching.

“Yep,” Danni said while she tied off a stitch. “It’s that damn moon, folks.” She raised her voice. “Brings in the pregnant ladies like a truckload of pumpkins.”

The weary team chuckled in agreement from behind their masks.

But Carol merely inflated hers with a sigh. Danni glanced into her friend’s bloodshot eyes. “After this,” she said in a low voice, “you’re going home.”

“And what about you, Doc? You going home?” Carol reached across for more suture, a flip of her wrist conveying that she’d stay as long as Danni did. After three years of working side by side, Danni and Carol read each other’s movements like Morse code.

Danni said nothing. Only three years in private practice and already it was all getting to her. Carol’s aggressive protectiveness. The full moon. Babies.

Babies.

Babies.

Danni’s hands shook a little as she opened a palm for the subcuticular suture. Carol shot her a sharp, appraising look before she slapped the hemostat down on her glove.

Danni pursed her lips behind her mask. Damn Carol and the way she saw through everything, through everyone. Damn her with her big, brown, understanding eyes. Why were nurses always so ridiculously kind and well-adjusted?

Danni finished the suturing, stripped off her gloves and announced, “I’m taking a snore. Don’t wake me until the next one’s ears are out.”

She heard Carol order someone else to dress the incision, and sensed her friend right on her heels as she hurried to the doctors’ locker room.

The door hadn’t even swung back before Carol banged it open again. Danni was just lowering herself into the recliner where the doctors slept fitfully while they monitored troubled cases in the wee hours.

“What is eating you?” Carol asked calmly as she reached up and took a blanket from the top of the lockers. “I mean, besides the fact that the whole month of August has been chaos, and now the moon is full to boot—” she shook the blanket out “—and it’s three o’clock in the morning and you’ve done four deliveries and three emergency C-sections in the last twelve hours—” she spread the blanket out over Danni “—not to mention stitching up Mr. Universe downstairs.”

Danni reached up, pulled off her surgical cap and tugged the tourniquet from her tangled hair.

“I mean, I’ve never seen you like this. What the hell was that laughing business?”

Danni winced, remembering how she’d acted in front of the firefighter. “Me?” she countered. “What was that stuff you were pulling?”

“Huh?” Carol’s expression was all innocence.

“You know what I mean.” Danni adopted a mimicking tone. “You are being stitched up by the best of the best.”

“Hey. I was only trying to help. The guy was cute. And I think he liked you. Somebody’s gotta help you meet men.” She pulled her own cap off and ran her fingers through her thick, graying curls as she studied Danni’s face. “What on God’s green earth is eating you?”

“Nothing.” Danni twitched around under the blanket for a second, then sighed. “Oh, all right, it’s just that... Oh, I don’t know.” But she did know, and trying to hold it back gave rise to a spurt of sudden, surprising tears. For heavens sake, don’t bawl now, she commanded herself. Not with Stone coming back any second. He’ll assume you can’t handle the pressure.

“You do know,” Carol said flatly. She dragged a plastic chair up beside the recliner. “Out with it.”

“No, I don’t know, exactly. I mean, I’ve got everything I ever wanted. A thriving practice, a gorgeous house, my horse and my dogs...” Then why the tears? she wondered without Carol having to ask.

Carol extended a tissue. Danni dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “I never cry,” she said. “But tonight, it seems like every little thing brings tears to my eyes. I almost cried when I first saw that fireman in the E.R”

Carol shook her fingers as if they’d been burned. “Me too, honey.”

“No! I mean when I found out he’d been a rescuer at the bombing.”

Carol grew solemn. “He was?”

Danni nodded. “But all kinds of other things have been getting to me, too. I’m just not myself. That inappropriate laughter...” Danni twisted the tissue. “It sounds weird, but I honestly think what’s really bugging me is all this damned...fecundity.”

Carol’s eyebrows shot up. “Fecundity?” she repeated.

“Yes, fecundity,” Danni sniffed. “I’ve got everything I ever dreamed of while I was struggling through med school and that hellish residency. The trouble is, I guess I didn’t dream hard enough. The trouble is... ” Danni’s eyes filled with tears again as she stared at the acoustical tile ceiling. What was the matter with her?

But Carol Hollis was a trusted friend, and when Danni felt Carol’s warm, plump palm close over her forearm, her defenses crumbled.

“Trouble is,” she went on, “I’ve ended up with this manless, childless, loveless life for myself....” Danni threw an arm over her eyes. What she couldn’t express aloud was the terrible fear that she would always be manless, childless, loveless, and the reason why.

“The trouble is,” Carol said softly, “you’re a human being. And a female human being to boot. And when you saw that hunk in the E.R. tonight, maybe he reminded you of what you’re missing.” She gave Danni’s arm a squeeze, and Danni nodded but didn’t lower her other arm. Admitting it was bad enough; she couldn’t look into Carol’s eyes at the same time. And she couldn’t possibly tell her the rest of it, could she?

“And, let’s see, you’ll be thirty-three on your next birthday,” Carol continued.

“Thirty-four,” Danni corrected in a croaky whisper.

“Right. And at thirty-four, it’s time for a reality check. Your biological clock is ticking away. You’ve seen this reaction often enough in patients. Why should you be any different?”

Danni gave a rueful laugh. “I always said I’d never have kids. Not after—”

“Not after what?” Carol prompted when Danni wouldn’t continue.

But Danni couldn’t go into that story now—not with patients out there needing her. “It’s a long story. The point is, lately, my biological clock’s been bonging louder than Big Ben!” She lowered her arm and looked at Carol, frustration with herself momentarily overcoming her pain. “But don’t you think thirty-four’s kind of young for that? I mean, rationally I know—”

“Rationality has very little to do with some things, hon. Maybe it’s not so much biology as other factors. As you said, your practice is booming. You’ve proved yourself here at Holy Cross and now you’re getting ready to take on a couple of partners. Looks like you’ve got it made, career-wise.” Carol emphasized the last words.

Danni pulled the recliner upright. “You’re right. I’ve been striving for so long, I haven’t had time to think about my personal life. And suddenly, now that I’ve succeeded...”

“You want love, and a family, perhaps, along with everything else.” Carol shrugged her shoulders. “Wanting to love and be loved is not exactly a crime.”

Danni felt a tiny bubble of hope rising. Yeah. Love. Why shouldn’t Dr. Danni have a family just like everybody else? Just like all her patients? “Yeah,” she said aloud. “Why shouldn’t I have a baby of my own—”

“And a man, too?” Carol suggested.

“Oh. Oh, yeah. And the man, too,” Danni said vaguely. She had a sudden flashback to the fireman propping his head up on his muscular arm, only this time the image didn’t make her laugh, and neither did the memory of his compelling.blue eyes.

Carol gave her a dubious look. “I don’t understand you twenty-first-century women. When I was your age, babies were the by-product of the man, not the other way around.”

Danni grinned, feeling in control of herself again. “When you were my age, you and George had already created a lot of by-products.”

Carol chuckled. “Blame it on the moon, honey. But I wouldn’t trade my four boys for anything.” Then she patted Danni’s arm. “Listen, speaking of the moon, you’d better catch some sleep. A couple of the patients are already dilated to eight.”

“Right.” Danni was relieved to close her eyes, because she was afraid that if they talked about men and babies anymore, the tears might start again. And she hated tears.

She’d convinced herself long ago that she could not afford to let tears begin. Not while she was at work. And long ago, she’d decided that she could never risk telling anyone about her sister’s death—not if she wanted to remain calm and professional and take care of her patients.