Chapter 7 - The Empty Room in Casper
Casper welcomed Evelyn without ceremony.
The hospital smelled exactly as she remembered.
Disinfectant.
Coffee.
Paper.
The emergency department remained too bright at every hour.
Dr. Bennett greeted her with a handshake and then ruined the seriousness by saying, "You look less haunted."
"Thank you, I think."
"It was intended as a compliment."
"Work on your delivery."
He smiled.
Within hours Evelyn was back inside the rhythm of hospital medicine.
A child with a fractured wrist.
A miner with chest pain.
A woman injured in a highway accident.
There was comfort in the structure.
Laboratory results arrived quickly.
Specialists could be telephoned.
Nurses knew exactly where supplies were stored.
When Evelyn needed an X-ray, she did not have to consider whether the patient owned a vehicle capable of reaching one.
For several weeks, she wondered whether returning had been the correct choice.
Then small things disturbed her.
A ranch worker waited seven hours because he had driven from far outside the city after ignoring abdominal pain for days.
An elderly couple admitted they had postponed treatment because winter travel frightened them.
A mother asked whether a physician would ever practice closer to her town.
Each conversation seemed to point back toward the old schoolhouse.
Evelyn worked extra shifts.
She saved almost everything she could.
She met with a supplier willing to sell refurbished medical equipment.
She spoke with state officials again.
This time she had a building.
Community support.
Letters from families.
Documentation showing how many people had used her informal services at Red Willow.
The rejection became less certain.
At night she returned to the apartment.
Thomas no longer lived there, of course.
Technically he never had.
But his memory inhabited corners.
The cabinet where he kept tea.
The place beside the telephone where he dropped his keys.
The mark on the wall from moving a bookshelf.
Evelyn packed several remaining gifts from their engagement and donated them.
The apartment slowly became empty.
Then peaceful.
Jacob wrote twice a week.
His letters were short.
Frank tried to repair the schoolhouse steps and nearly became our first patient before opening.
Margaret says the east room should be yellow. I told her sick people deserve better.
Henry walked six steps yesterday.
Clara cried. Pretended dust got in her eyes.
Snow coming.
Hope Casper is treating you kindly.
Jacob.
He never wrote I miss you.
Neither did Evelyn.
They did not need to.
At Christmas she returned to Red Willow for four days.
Jacob met the bus.
He did not carry flowers.
He carried her suitcase.
"Heavy again."
"Medical books."
"Those worse than shoes."
They looked at each other.
Three months of letters disappeared.
Jacob kissed her beside the road.
This time there was no uncertainty.
Only distance temporarily defeated.
At Red Willow, the clinic project had advanced dramatically.
The old schoolhouse had a new roof.
Fresh walls.
A working furnace donated by a local contractor.
Two examination rooms.
A waiting area where Margaret insisted on placing curtains.
Evelyn stood inside and cried.
Frank panicked.
"Something wrong?"
"No."
"Then why are you crying?"
Margaret answered.
"She's a woman."
Evelyn laughed through tears.
"Thank you, Aunt Margaret."
"Anytime."
Christmas Eve brought another surprise.
Clara announced she was returning to Denver.
Henry's rehabilitation was progressing.
Her mother could manage with additional local help.
Clara found Jacob outside after supper.
Evelyn saw them speaking through the window.
For a moment old insecurity returned.
Then she stopped herself.
Trust required practice.
Not proof every five minutes.
Clara came inside later.
"I'm leaving tomorrow."
Evelyn hugged her.
That surprised both of them.
Clara laughed.
"Be good to him."
Evelyn smiled.
"He'd hate hearing you say that."
"I know."
Then Clara's expression became serious.
"And make sure he's good to you."
"He is."
"Good."
At the door Clara paused.
"For what it's worth, I'm glad I came back this time."
Evelyn understood.
Some roads did not return people to old lives.
They returned them so they could finally leave those lives properly.
After Christmas, Evelyn went back to Casper.
January became brutal.
Snow closed roads.
The hospital filled.
Evelyn worked fourteen-hour shifts.
She sent money toward equipment for the clinic.
Then the hospital offered her another permanent position.
Not supervisory.
Clinical.
Flexible enough that she could possibly work part of the year in Casper and part in Ten Sleep.
The proposal tempted her.
She could have both.
At least in theory.
Two lives.
Thomas had once wanted two lives for selfish reasons.
Evelyn now wondered whether trying to maintain two homes would become a different form of avoidance.
In late January, Paige visited.
She looked around the increasingly empty apartment.
"Are you moving?"
"Eventually."
"To Red Willow?"
"I don't know."
Paige rolled her eyes.
"You have been saying that for five months."
"I know."
"At some point indecision becomes a decision."
Evelyn sighed.
"You and Margaret should form a club."
"She'd never let me join."
They drank coffee.
Then Paige surprised her.
"I was wrong."
Evelyn looked up.
"About what?"
"Leaving Casper."
Paige picked at the edge of her napkin.
"I thought you were throwing away your life."
"And now?"
"I think maybe I was measuring your life using things that matter to me."
It was an unusually humble admission.
Evelyn smiled.
"Thank you."
"Don't make me repeat it."
Then Paige asked, "Do you love him?"
Evelyn thought of Jacob.
His letters.
The flooded creek.
The barn fire.
The way he never confused protection with control.
"Yes."
"Does he love you?"
"I think so."
Paige stared.
"You think?"
"He isn't exactly a poet."
"Then why aren't you with him?"
Evelyn did not have an answer.
That same week, Dr. Bennett found her after a difficult shift.
"State health office called."
Evelyn froze.
"And?"
"They approved preliminary support."
Her breath stopped.
"How much?"
"Enough to operate six months if you meet the final requirements."
Evelyn sat down.
Bennett smiled.
"Congratulations."
She covered her face.
Everything she had been postponing became real.
A clinic.
A commitment.
Leaving Casper.
Choosing.
Bennett sat beside her.
"Terrified?"
"Completely."
"Good."
She looked at him.
"Why does everyone say terrible things are good?"
"Because no one changes their life while comfortable."
The clinic could open in spring.
Evelyn telephoned Red Willow.
Margaret answered.
Evelyn barely finished explaining before her aunt shouted loudly enough for people outside to hear.
Frank took the receiver next.
Then Walter.
Then Samuel.
Finally Jacob.
For a second neither spoke.
"It happened," Evelyn whispered.
"I knew it would."
"No, you didn't."
"No."
She could hear his smile.
"I was trying to sound impressive."
She laughed.
"Jacob..."
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm coming back."
Silence.
Then, "Think?"
Evelyn closed her eyes.
"I am coming back."
The words felt enormous.
Jacob breathed out.
"When?"
"March."
Another silence.
"That's six weeks."
"I know."
"I can count."
"I've seen your invoices. I'm not sure."
He laughed.
Then his voice softened.
"I'll be here."
For the first time, the statement did not sound like waiting.
It sounded like belonging.
But February brought one final challenge.
Margaret collapsed in the kitchen.
Frank found her.
She was conscious but confused.
Her left arm was weak.
Jacob telephoned Evelyn at the hospital.
The moment she heard his voice, she knew.
"Something's wrong."
"It's Margaret."
Evelyn's world narrowed.
"What happened?"
He explained.
Every medical instinct screamed possible stroke.
"Call an ambulance."
"Already did."
"Do not let her walk."
"I won't."
"I'm coming."
"Evelyn."
"What?"
"Roads are closing."
"I don't care."
"I do."
The winter storm crossing central Wyoming was worsening.
Buses were canceled.
Several highways were restricted.
Evelyn stood in the emergency department with the telephone pressed to her ear.
Hundreds of miles separated her from the woman who had given her refuge when her life collapsed.
Jacob said quietly, "We'll take care of her."
Evelyn closed her eyes.
For months she had been helping strangers because distance kept care away from them.
Now distance had become personal.
Margaret was transported to Worland.
Evelyn spent hours waiting beside the telephone.
Finally Jacob called.
It had been a transient ischemic attack, the physician believed.
A warning.
Not a major stroke.
Margaret had movement back in her arm.
She was speaking normally.
Evelyn nearly collapsed from relief.
"Tell her I'm coming as soon as roads open."
"I will."
"And Jacob?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For being there when I couldn't."
His answer was quiet.
"That's what people do."
The storm continued for two days.
By the time Evelyn could travel, she had made her last decision.
She gave notice at the hospital.
Packed the apartment.
Returned the keys.
Dr. Bennett hugged her awkwardly in the hallway.
"If you ever need work, call."
"I will."
"And Evelyn?"
She turned.
"You aren't leaving medicine."
He smiled.
"You're taking it somewhere else."
Those words stayed with her.
She boarded the bus with two suitcases.
Again.
But halfway north, snow began falling harder than forecast.
The driver slowed.
Then stopped entirely near a rural junction.
A state patrol officer approached.
The road ahead was closed.
No buses would continue that night.
Evelyn stared through the window at white emptiness.
May you like
Red Willow was still more than forty miles away.
And somewhere beyond the storm, Jacob did not yet know she had finally chosen to come home.
