had anticipated his freshman year at the University of
Miami with such relish, certain he was ready for the tough but stimulating journey to medical practice. At the end of the first year, the plan was for him to have a high enough grade point average
to apply to the Medical Scholars Program, admission into which would assure him of a place, at the end of his third year of study, at UM’s School of Medicine.
That was the plan, but truth was as different as hell.
‘I don’t think I’m going to make it,’ he’d confided in Terri that spring.
‘Sure you are,’ she’d told him. ‘You’re smart and—’
‘Even if I was, it’s not just about that,’ Saul had said. ‘I walk into the Merrick Building every day and I’m surrounded by all these bright, confident
people—’
‘You just think they’re confident,’ Terri had said.
‘A whole lot of them
are
,’ Saul had insisted. ‘Certainly far more than I am.’
That was brought home to him at every lecture, as fellow students asked and answered and made worthwhile points or offered salient arguments, while Saul’s butt stayed glued to his seat and
his mouth stayed shut.
He’d always been the quiet kid at home, content to enjoy the arguments or wit or tales that the rest of his family had brought into the house; his quietness in those days stemming from
tranquillity and contentment.
No more. These days there was an ever-growing heap of self-doubt piling up on his head, making it harder and harder for him to think.
Making furniture was a satisfying way to procrastinate, exchanging study for the feel and aroma of smooth wood; the exhilarating, sometimes simply mind-numbing exercise of sawing and hammering
and planning. Even the noise and vibration of power tools helped block out unwelcome doubts about his other, real work.
Except
this
was what felt infinitely more real to Saul, and certainly more attainable: making tables, shelves and chairs, starting out real simple, then becoming slowly more confident and
creative.
‘So quit medicine,’ Terri had said. ‘Make furniture.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Saul had told her.
‘Sure it is,’ she’d said. ‘One life. One chance.’
There’d been no real pressure to struggle on from his dad, but Judy Becket had badly wanted Saul to follow David’s lead, and then there were Sam’s high hopes for his kid
brother, and Saul hated falling out with him over anything, which was why this problem between Sam and Terri had really been getting to him.
God, he was so crazy about Teté, but not knowing exactly where they were heading as a couple worried him, too, his anxiety that he wasn’t lively enough for her, special enough for
her. And that was
another
thing about studying medicine; no prospect of offering her anything tangible for years, though Terri said she didn’t care about that. So long as this was what
he really wanted, she said, she’d be up for the long haul, and it would all be worth it when he was finally a doctor and helping people.
So why didn’t she want him moving into her place?
‘We both need our space for now,’ she had said.
Saul didn’t need space, not when it came to Terri. If she’d allowed it, he’d happily have moved into a
closet
with her.
‘Anyway, your dad needs you,’ she’d said too.
But that wasn’t true, so Saul figured that no matter what she said, the truth was that he probably just wasn’t enough for her. Teté was so alive and brave, she had this
amazing wild side to her, and he would do just about anything for her. Except he couldn’t do
anything,
could he, because he was still a student living at home with his old man, who was
a great guy, but still . . .
And how long was Terri going to put up with that?
Chapter Nine
August 19
Gregory didn’t think he could take this any more, this sense of doom, feeling so
bad
, sleeping and waking. And he knew there was only one way to help himself feel
better, he
knew
it, and he’d been so
Miami with such relish, certain he was ready for the tough but stimulating journey to medical practice. At the end of the first year, the plan was for him to have a high enough grade point average
to apply to the Medical Scholars Program, admission into which would assure him of a place, at the end of his third year of study, at UM’s School of Medicine.
That was the plan, but truth was as different as hell.
‘I don’t think I’m going to make it,’ he’d confided in Terri that spring.
‘Sure you are,’ she’d told him. ‘You’re smart and—’
‘Even if I was, it’s not just about that,’ Saul had said. ‘I walk into the Merrick Building every day and I’m surrounded by all these bright, confident
people—’
‘You just think they’re confident,’ Terri had said.
‘A whole lot of them
are
,’ Saul had insisted. ‘Certainly far more than I am.’
That was brought home to him at every lecture, as fellow students asked and answered and made worthwhile points or offered salient arguments, while Saul’s butt stayed glued to his seat and
his mouth stayed shut.
He’d always been the quiet kid at home, content to enjoy the arguments or wit or tales that the rest of his family had brought into the house; his quietness in those days stemming from
tranquillity and contentment.
No more. These days there was an ever-growing heap of self-doubt piling up on his head, making it harder and harder for him to think.
Making furniture was a satisfying way to procrastinate, exchanging study for the feel and aroma of smooth wood; the exhilarating, sometimes simply mind-numbing exercise of sawing and hammering
and planning. Even the noise and vibration of power tools helped block out unwelcome doubts about his other, real work.
Except
this
was what felt infinitely more real to Saul, and certainly more attainable: making tables, shelves and chairs, starting out real simple, then becoming slowly more confident and
creative.
‘So quit medicine,’ Terri had said. ‘Make furniture.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ Saul had told her.
‘Sure it is,’ she’d said. ‘One life. One chance.’
There’d been no real pressure to struggle on from his dad, but Judy Becket had badly wanted Saul to follow David’s lead, and then there were Sam’s high hopes for his kid
brother, and Saul hated falling out with him over anything, which was why this problem between Sam and Terri had really been getting to him.
God, he was so crazy about Teté, but not knowing exactly where they were heading as a couple worried him, too, his anxiety that he wasn’t lively enough for her, special enough for
her. And that was
another
thing about studying medicine; no prospect of offering her anything tangible for years, though Terri said she didn’t care about that. So long as this was what
he really wanted, she said, she’d be up for the long haul, and it would all be worth it when he was finally a doctor and helping people.
So why didn’t she want him moving into her place?
‘We both need our space for now,’ she had said.
Saul didn’t need space, not when it came to Terri. If she’d allowed it, he’d happily have moved into a
closet
with her.
‘Anyway, your dad needs you,’ she’d said too.
But that wasn’t true, so Saul figured that no matter what she said, the truth was that he probably just wasn’t enough for her. Teté was so alive and brave, she had this
amazing wild side to her, and he would do just about anything for her. Except he couldn’t do
anything,
could he, because he was still a student living at home with his old man, who was
a great guy, but still . . .
And how long was Terri going to put up with that?
Chapter Nine
August 19
Gregory didn’t think he could take this any more, this sense of doom, feeling so
bad
, sleeping and waking. And he knew there was only one way to help himself feel
better, he
knew
it, and he’d been so
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