The Lobotomist's Wife(9)

Before they even looked at the menu, the waiter brought them a bottle of champagne. Ruth rarely drank, but being here with Dr. Apter made her want to celebrate. She took a big sip, and as the Mo?t tingled her tongue, both sweet and biting, she was transported back to childhood summers at the family’s shoreside cottage and the lavish parties her mother threw on the lawn, with lobsters and clams and so much champagne.

She had her first taste at fifteen when Harry, already seventeen and more experienced with alcohol, stole a bottle from one of the ice buckets for her to try. Ruth smiled, thinking of the two of them giggling as they hid behind their favorite rock on the beach, the light and fizzy feeling the drink gave her in her whole body. She was a different Ruth back then, with her big brother to lighten her, cheer her, understand her. He appreciated her strength, her difference. She had locked away her need for someone to do that. Until now.

Ruth looked across the table at Dr. Apter, noting his magnetism. Women’s heads had turned when they walked into the restaurant, flirtatious eyes darted at him now, and she was embarrassed to suddenly realize that he could easily have any girl. This wasn’t a date. This was just a dinner.

“Do you know what you’d like to eat?” Dr. Apter raised his eyebrows at Ruth. “I’d suggest we start with an assortment of seafood—they fly it in fresh from Florida. That is, if you would be all right to share . . .” The corners of his mustache lifted, and his lips thinned enough to reveal his straight white teeth. Ruth thought, in that moment, that she would say yes to anything in the world that this man asked of her.

“That would be just fine. Thank you, Doctor.”

“Wonderful. And please, if we are to be sharing shrimp and oysters, I think it is well overdue for you to call me Robert.”

“All right, if you insist.” She caught his eyes and said it slowly, the champagne making her unusually playful. “Rah . . . bert.” She liked the way the name felt in her mouth. “So, any news from your dissections?” She was getting too comfortable. Time to bring things back to reality.

“Why, Ruth.” He paused, lingering on her first name as if awaiting permission. “You would be the first person I would tell if there were. Unfortunately, no. I just know there is something I am missing. Or, I should say, that I haven’t found yet.”

“I really admire your determination. Although I do wonder about it sometimes. How do you not lose hope?”

“I can’t afford to. This is what I am meant to do, what I must do. You’ve heard of my grandfather, Dr. George Hogart?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Is he in our field?”

“He was in every field, I’d say.” Robert smiled wistfully. “A surgeon, a physician—to presidents, no less—a pioneer. He held over a dozen patents.”

“Well, now I’m embarrassed, as it seems I should know of him!”

“Nonsense, his world doesn’t cross with yours. But to me . . . he was my world. My father was a physician too, you see. I think, when my mother married him, she thought he would be like her father. She couldn’t have been more mistaken. My father was nothing like my grandfather. No, my father hated medicine, resented every day that he had to work. For him, it was a trade that he had to pursue to keep my mother living the life she had been promised. Servants and silks and a manor on Rittenhouse Square. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I imagine.” Robert gave her a wink. He did love to tease her about her wealth. Most men were intimidated by her family name, or desperate to get their hands on her legacy. Robert, though, seemed to simply find it amusing. “Yes, whereas my father was bitter, transactional, and distant, my grandfather was optimistic, innovative, and encouraging. He was the reason I went to medical school—in spite of my father’s strong protest. Grandfather George helped get me my first job, my fellowship in Europe, and he encouraged my work in the lab. Any and all medicine was good medicine as long as it meant progress. That was his view of the world.”

“He sounds like a truly special man.” Ruth looked into Robert’s eyes. She saw pain and, with it, a vulnerability that he hadn’t expressed before. “What is it?”

“He was the only person in my family who understood me at all. Was quite a loss when he died. And I never got to show him what I was truly capable of. So, when I become discouraged, I know I must soldier on. For him.” Robert looked down at his plate, and Ruth felt overwhelmed by the softness deep inside this man. They were so much alike, she and he. Both earnestly and doggedly pursuing something bigger, for their families. For the world.

“Robert.” Ruth put down her small seafood fork and brazenly touched his hand. “From what I have seen, I have no doubt you will accomplish all that you set out to. And more.”

“Well, I might have to suggest that I am nothing compared to you.” He released his hand from hers to refill their glasses with champagne and lifted his in the gesture of a toast. “I had, of course, heard about the feisty female heiress at Emeraldine Hospital, but I had no idea how miraculous you would be. To you, a miracle.”

Ruth hesitated to meet his glass, unused to such admiration. “You must stop. I am hardly a miracle. But I have come to feel that this work is . . . well, that I was destined to do it.” She emptied her glass.

“Destined?”

Ruth looked away. Many at the hospital, of course, knew her family’s history, but for as long as she had worked there, she made a point not to talk about her own experience. It might, she feared, make those who were looking for a reason question her judgment. But tonight, her inhibitions were gone. “My brother, Harry,” Ruth said with fondness. “He wanted to change the world. When he went off to war in ’17, proudly, all bluster and bravery with such a sense of purpose”—Ruth smiled remembering it—“I was furious with my father for forcing me to finish my studies at Mount Holyoke instead of letting me join my brother on the front.