Clint had done his best to make sure his patients received the best treatment possible. And he knew there were a lot of other dedicated doctors who also cared deeply about their patients. The waiting lists were staggering, and, yes, it would probably be much easier to find work in the civilian sector for better pay and a lighter workload. But that wasn’t why he did what he did.
“You’re fine,” he assured Abigail. He turned to his assistant. “Could you call down to Chelsea’s room and let her know we’re on our way?”
“Of course, Doctor.” She picked up her phone and dialed as Clint nodded toward the hallway to their right. “Jessi, you know the way.”
She stood and slung the strap of her purse over her arm, making sure her mother was following her. She glanced back at him. “Any last-minute instructions?”
“No. Chelsea’s been more open, as I told you over the phone. I think that’s an encouraging sign.” Not that they’d made definitive steps in her treatment. The new class of antidepressants he’d prescribed was kicking in, though, so he had hopes that as the fog of despair continued to lift, she would start looking to the future, instead of crouching in the past. They had yet to talk about the specifics surrounding her months in captivity. She’d reiterated that she hadn’t been tortured or assaulted, but as to what exactly had happened during that time, there was still a large swath of information that was missing. Clint had even tried going through channels and seeing if her superior officers knew anything more. But they were what Clint would label as “careful” with their words. It hadn’t been anything in particular that was or wasn’t said. It had just been the way the information had been delivered. And every story had been told in an identical fashion.
For Clint, that fact alone raised a huge red flag.
“Nana!” he heard the greeting even before he reached the room. And the happiness in that one word was apparent. As was the sight of the two women embracing, while Jessi stood back to allow the reunion to happen.
“How’s she really doing?” she asked him in a low voice as Abigail sat on the edge of the bed, her arm around her granddaughter.
“Just like I said. She’s talking more.”
“Any idea yet on the why?”
The why of the suicide attempt.
“We haven’t made it that far, yet.”
The exchange ended when Abigail waved her daughter over. “Doesn’t she look wonderful?”
She didn’t, and they all knew it. Still pale and frighteningly thin, Chelsea did not have the appearance of a soldier who’d been through the worst that boot camp had to offer … who had survived a stint as a POW. She looked like a fragile piece of china that might shatter at the slightest tap.
While they talked, Clint grabbed two chairs from an empty room that adjoined Chelsea’s and added them to the two that were already against the pale gray walls—Clint had learned how important equalizing the setting was, which was why his office had three identical chairs. One for him and two for those who met him there. His rank was above that of many of his patients, but that didn’t mean he had to act the part.
“Dr. Marks?” Jessi’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Although it rankled at some level, he knew it was better for them to address each other in a formal manner in public, although he’d told Chelsea—in vague terms—that he and Jessi had known each other in the past. It was easier to be as truthful as possible, while holding back information that could be deemed harmful to her treatment.
“Sorry,” he murmured. He turned to Chelsea. “Do you feel up to sitting with us?”
“Yes.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, waving off her mom, who’d immediately moved to help her. “It’s okay. I can do it.”
She was in a set of flannel pajamas that Jessi had evidently brought in during one of her other visits. Ideally, he would have liked her to be dressed in normal clothes for their meetings. And in recent days she’d made more of an effort.
So why was today different?
Was she trying to appear fragile, warning away any talk that crept toward painful subjects?
It was too late now to ask her to change, and he didn’t want to do anything that would upset Jessi’s mom in the process. Besides, he had another client in an hour and a half and he wanted to make sure that Chelsea wouldn’t be cut off in the middle of anything important.
They sat in a circle. Chelsea and Abigail glanced at him expectantly, while Jessi’s gaze was centered on the folded hands she held in her lap.
“Chelsea, it’s been a while since your grandmother has seen you, am I correct?”
The young woman’s hand snaked out and grabbed Abigail’s. “I’m glad she’s here.”
“So am I.”
He wasn’t going to push hard this session, he just wanted to reintroduce the family and make sure everyone knew that their old ways of interacting might not work in this new and different world. Chelsea had gone to war as one person and had come back another. They all had yet to see where exactly that left her mom and grandmother, although the reunion had gone much more smoothly than he would have expected.
Even as he thought it, Abigail pressed her fingertips to her eyes and wiped away moisture that had gathered beneath them. “Oh, no, Nana. Don’t cry.” Chelsea wrapped her arms around the older woman. “Mom, there’s a box of tissues in my top drawer. Would you mind getting me one?”
Jessi jumped up and headed toward the small end table beside the bed. She drew out the top drawer, found the box and withdrew it. Then she stopped. Chelsea was facing away from her mother and couldn’t see her, but Clint could. A strange look crossed her face as she peered at something inside that drawer. She started to reach for it then withdrew her hand.
Chelsea, as if realizing something was wrong, swiveled around in her chair. “Can’t you find …? Oh, no, Mom. Please don’t.”
But it was already too late, because Jessi had reached back into the drawer and withdrawn what looked like a wad of tissues. Glancing at Chelsea and seeing the horror in her eyes, he realized that’s not what that was. Not at all.
Even as he looked, Jess smoothed down the bottom edge of the thin paper and came forward a couple of steps, only to stop halfway. It was a doll of some sort.
No. Not a doll. A baby. Painstakingly crafted from the tissues in the box in her drawer.
“Chelsea, honey.” Jessi’s voice dropped away for a second before coming back again. “What is this?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
JESSI SLUMPED IN a chair in Clint’s office. “I don’t understand. What could it mean?”
Her daughter had refused to talk about the strange item, withdrawing back into her shell until Clint called a halt to the session and let Chelsea crawl back into her bed. She’d silently held out her hand for the doll and laid it carefully back inside the drawer.
The act made Jessi shiver.
She’d sent her mom home with a promise to stop by later, and Clint had ordered the nurse to call him immediately if there was any change.
“I don’t know what it means. Maybe she miscarried while she was overseas. Maybe it’s something she made as a coping mechanism. There could be any number of explanations, but until she tells us we won’t know for sure.”
“Will you ask her again tomorrow?”
“I’ll see how she is. We may have to work our way toward it slowly.” He dragged his fingers through his hair and leaned back in his chair. “It could just be a dead end.”
“Who makes a doll out of a box of tissues? It just doesn’t seem … normal.”
When he stared at her, she closed her eyes. “Sorry. That didn’t come out right. It’s just that everything seemed to explode out of nowhere two months ago.”
“I know. It just takes time.”
“What if she never gets better? What if she’s like this for the rest of her life?”
He reached across and covered her hand with his. “Thoughts like that aren’t going to help anyone.”
“Did you strugg
le with those kinds of thoughts during high school? About your dad? Did he ever get better?”
When he went to withdraw his hand with a frown, she grabbed at his fingers, holding him in place.
“Oh, God, Clint, I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I’m just worried about Chelsea.”
“I know.” He laced his fingers through hers. “I gave her a sedative, so she should sleep through the night. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”
“I want to be there when she wakes up.”
He studied her for a minute or two, before shaking his head with what looked like regret. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jess. When you and your mom left, she was agitated and withdrawn. I don’t want those memories to be the ones that resurface when she opens her eyes. Give her a day.”
“A day?” She couldn’t believe he was asking her to stay away from the hospital for an entire day. “I’m not the only one worried. Mom is, as well.”
“I’ll call you as soon as I see her. Are you working tomorrow?” He let go of her hand and reached for one of his pencils, jiggling it between his fingers as if he needed something to keep him busy. Or maybe it was a hint that he needed to get back to work.
“I’m on the afternoon shift, starting at three. I’d better get out of your hair.” She stood to her feet, then thought of something. “What if you get a call in the middle of the night?”
“If something serious happens, I’ll be in touch.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” He must have read her dubious smile, because one side of his mouth curved into that familiar half smile. “Would you like me to pinkie-swear, as well?”
Despite her worry, she found her own lips twitching. “Would you, if I asked you to?”
“Yes.”
Something icy hot nipped the air between them. She held her breath and then released it in a long stream. “Or you could come and spend the night at the house. Just in case.”
Why on earth had she asked that? It was too late to take back the offer, although she could clarify it. “On the couch, of course.”
His eyes softened, but he shook his head. “I have to work for a couple more hours. Besides, I don’t think my staying with you would be a good idea, Jess. Things never quite remain that simple between us. And I meant what I said about taking myself off the case if I think my objectivity has been compromised.”
Oh, Lord, that’s right. He’d intimated that he’d hand Chelsea over to someone else if things got too personal between them. “I wasn’t asking you to sleep with me. Not this time.”
She’d gone that route once before, asking him to make love to her by the creek, desperately needing a few minutes out from beneath her father’s thumb.
“I don’t remember complaining the last time you did.”
No. But then again she hadn’t seen him volunteering to hang around the next day—although it had probably been too late for him to back out of boot camp by that time. And who was to say he would stick around in Richmond now? Some servicemen loved the adventure of a new place every couple of years. Not Jessi. Once she’d gotten to high school, her father had finally seemed willing to settle down and stay until she graduated. Then she’d married Larry, who hadn’t known she’d had a dalliance with his friend. Not until that last day of his life.
She blocked out the thought and concentrated on the here and now as Clint got up and opened the door to his office.
She walked through it and then hesitated on the other side. “So you’ll call me tomorrow.”
“As soon as I have some news. Yes.”
They said their goodbyes, and already his manner was more aloof. Businesslike.
Once she got to the front door of the hospital she lifted her chin and made a decision. If Clint could keep his personal life separate from what happened at the hospital, then she could, too. For everyone’s sakes, she was going to have to learn to take her cues from Clint, adopting that same professional demeanor whenever she was here.
No matter how hard it was starting to be.
The suicide had come out of nowhere, and while it hadn’t been one of Clint’s patients it brought home the thin line he was walking with Chelsea and Jessi. The entire hospital was on edge because of it.
It wasn’t easy for any doctor to lose a patient, no matter what anyone said. True impartiality was hard to come by at the best of times … and with Jessi it seemed to border on the impossible.
He’d felt the anguish radiating from every pore of her body when she’d lifted that macabre paper figure out of her daughter’s drawer. And it had taken a lot of self-restraint to remain in his seat, observing Chelsea’s reactions, and not rush over to make sure the woman who wasn’t his patient was okay.
While he and Jessi hadn’t been involved emotionally in the past—a thought he stubbornly clung to, no matter what his gut said—there could be nothing at all between them now.
Not just because of his patient. Not just because of his and Jessi’s past. But because of his job and his own personal baggage.
Once they found a replacement for him, he was headed back to San Diego. It was either that or request that his transfer to Richmond be made permanent, something he couldn’t see happening. He was the one they called on for temporary assignments. It’s what he wanted. Moving around a lot kept his mind on the job at hand, rather than highlighting his lack of a personal life. And the unlikelihood that he’d ever have much of one.
Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d been in serious relationships. Twice. But both times the woman had left, saying she felt he was withholding himself emotionally.
He had been. Somehow he could never quite let his guard all the way down. His every move was calculated. Controlled. And that’s the way he liked it.
He was very aware that wasn’t what most women looked for in a man. He was just not husband material.
Because of his dad?
Hell, the second Jessi had mentioned his father in his office he’d tried to yank his hand away, very aware that his crooked finger was right there for her to see. And ask about. The last thing he wanted to talk about was his past. Jessi’s father might have been a pain-in-the-ass drill sergeant—but at least he’d loved her enough to care about who she saw. What she did.
His cell phone beeped. When he glanced at the caller ID, he winced. Jessi. The very person presently haunting his every thought. And it was already midmorning. He was supposed to have called her to let her know how Chelsea was.
He pressed the answer button and bit out an apology. “Sorry, Jess. We’ve been swamped and I hadn’t had a chance to call you yet.”
She brushed aside his apology with a cleared throat. “Was she okay when she woke up?”
Despite the worry in her tone, her voice flowed over him, soothing away some of the worst parts of his morning. A few muscles in his jaw relaxed.
“I haven’t had an in-depth conversation with her. Just a few minutes of small talk as she ate breakfast. We’re due to have a therapy session at two.”
“But she’s okay.”
He realized what she was looking for, and all the day’s heartache came roaring back. “She doesn’t seem to be obsessing over what happened yesterday. I’ll call you when I’ve talked to her again.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t say anything more.
“I know I promised. I’m sorry.” He gritted his teeth.
“No, it’s just that I have to be at work at three, and I’ll probably be just as swamped with patients as you seem to be, since it’s a holiday.”
Ah, yes. Father’s Day. Something he tried to forget every year. He glanced down at his left hand, where the crook in his finger reminded him of a whole childhood of fear and unhappiness. That wasn’t the only reason he wasn’t crazy about this particular day. At this point in his life, he didn’t see himself ever carrying the title of father, even if he found someone and married her. He was close to forty, and had never really given kids much of a thought.
Maybe he should ask Jessi if t
he day held any special significance for Chelsea, though … good or bad. He should be prepared for any eventuality.
“Will Father’s Day add to Chelsea’s stress levels?”
There was silence over the line for a long minute. “No. Larry died before she was born. She only knows him through pictures.” There was something sad about the way she said it.
He forced the next words out even as his insides tightened. “You didn’t have much time together.”
“No, we didn’t. The worst thing is he might still be alive if someone hadn’t …” The words ended on a strangled note.
Something burned in his gut. “If someone hadn’t what, Jess?
“It doesn’t matter. What does is that I have a wonderful daughter from our union. That’s what made the hard times after his death bearable.”
The image of Jessi mourning her husband was enough to make that burning sensation tickle the back of his throat. She’d had a daughter with the man. And as much as he told himself he didn’t care, the cold reality was that part of him did—the same part that had leaped when he’d first realized who Jessi was and had wondered if Chelsea might be his.
But she wasn’t. And if he was going to do his job, he had to remember that and keep on remembering it.
“About my session with her. How about if I send you a text, rather than trying to call? That way you can check in when you’ve got a free moment.”
“That would be fantastic. Thank you, Clint. But please do call if something changes. I’ll set my ringer to vibrate just for your number. If it does, I’ll know it’s important, and I’ll find a way to answer, or I’ll call you right back.”
The tension in his gut eased and something warm and dangerous took its place. She was going to be listening for his call and his call only.
Okay, idiot. It’s in case of an emergency. It’s not like she’s putting your number on speed dial or anything.
“So you have the number here, if you have any questions or need something, right? I remember you said my card was on your refrigerator.” He glanced at the business card on his desk, since he hadn’t quite memorized his Richmond number yet. “Or do you need me to read it off to you again?”
Summer of Love Page 37