No Regrets

by JoAnn Ross

  “Goddamn it, Reece,” the younger man yelled, heedless of rank, “you shouldn’t even be in here.”

  “She’s my wife.” He turned toward the nurse, barking out the setting. “I’m not going to let her die… One-fifty… Clear!”

  The first-year resident backed away to avoid getting shocked. Lena’s body was literally lifted off the table.

  Nothing.

  “Again,” Reece barked. “Clear!”

  It took two more tries. After her heart was successfully restarted, they began pumping blood in as fast as they could, even as it poured out of the massive wound in her head.

  Her heart stopped again. And again. But Reece refused to give up as he dragged his wife back and forth along that ragged razor’s edge between life and death. With each shock, the smell of burning flesh increased.

  “This is crazy,” the resident complained after they’d been at it for an hour, twice the normal length of time for a Code Blue.

  “Shut up,” Yolanda, who’d changed from her Big Bird outfit into scrubs—now soaked with blood—shouted into his face. Reece, concentrating on keeping Lena alive, didn’t notice.

  “You realize,” Joe said at the end of another grueling day after Molly had returned to the reservation clinic, “we’re going to have to talk about it.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Excuse me for arguing with you, Sister Molly,” he corrected, an edge of sarcasm she’d never heard in his voice before sharpening his tone, “but I don’t consider falling in love nothing.”

  “I’m sorry.” Unreasonably nervous, she began straightening the small cabinet, lining up the jars of tongue depressors, cotton balls, a box of latex surgical gloves. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about we just agree to forget what happened? And start over again?”

  “I’m not certain that’s possible.”

  “Okay. Then how about we just talk about the usual things people talk about when one of them has humiliated himself and the other one’s feeling vastly uncomfortable within a six-foot radius of such an idiot.”

  She couldn’t help smiling, just a little, at that. “You’re not an idiot.”

  “True. The idiots are all the men who let you get away long enough to run off to the convent in the first place.”

  “Joe…”

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, responding to her soft warning. “But I have to admit, it’s been driving me crazy, wondering how a woman like you ended up a nun.”

  “A woman like me?”

  “I’d cite your attributes again, beginning with your naturally passionate nature, but I believe you’ve already put them in the off-limits category.

  “I really would like to know about you, Molly. What kind of little girl you were, where you grew up, what your favorite subjects in school were, all those normal conversational, getting-to-know-you kinds of things.”

  “Like men and women discuss on dates?” Her renewed attack of nerves at the mention of her childhood made her tone sharp.

  “No.” He’d returned to his usual calm, reassuring demeanor. “Like two friends.”

  Molly had to ask. “Will that be enough for you? That we stay only friends? And not lovers?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “But we’ll never know if we don’t try. And I do know that there’s no way we’re going to be able to work together if we don’t come to grips with this, Molly. Running away from a problem only puts off the inevitable.”

  Molly marveled at the way Joe had of unconsciously hitting all her hot buttons, forcing her to take a long hard look at herself. She’d obviously run away after Grace was born, when she’d found watching her daughter and sister beginning to bond too painful. Had she also run away from her forbidden feelings for Reece?

  Molly sighed. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Which was how they ended up back in her motor home, alone together once again. Wisely forgoing any more alcohol, Molly made a pot of coffee and they sat down to talk.

  She was surprised that despite her initial reluctance, the words began to come easily, and before she knew it, she’d told him about her parents and that horrible Christmas when she, Lena and Tessa had been orphaned.

  “So you never saw Tessa again after that night?” he asked.

  She shook her head. It was one of the major sorrows of her life.

  “Ever think to look for her?”

  “Of course.” Molly took a sip of lukewarm coffee. “I even tried once, a few months before my Profession Day, but the adoption records were sealed.”

  “There are ways of getting around that these days.”

  “I know. But she was too young to know what went on in that house, Joe. I’m not certain the woman she’d have become by now needs anything triggering possibly deep-seated memories.”

  Although he didn’t completely agree, Joe was in no mood to argue. In truth, after his outrageous display of raging hormones, he’d feared when she drove off to her meeting with Sister Benvenuto in Flagstaff that he’d never see Molly again. Encouraged by her willingness to be open with him now, he was not about to do anything to screw things up.

  “So,” he said, folding his fingers—which were itching to touch her—behind his head, “you and Lena ended up in the foster-care system. How in the world did you get from there to the convent?”

  “I’d just turned fifteen.” Strange how it seemed like yesterday, she thought as she stared deep into the depths of her milk-lightened coffee. “I’d been placed with a Catholic family who had five kids of their own. The oldest son was a senior in high school and a star athlete. He was quarterback of the football team, star center for the basketball team—”

  “Pitcher for the baseball team,” Joe broke in dryly, knowing the type. He’d always been too busy working after school, saving for college and later cracking the books to keep his grades up in med school to go out for the sports that seemed to attract all the prettiest girls.

  “First baseman,” Molly corrected with a faint smile. “Needless to say I had a major crush on him. His name was—” she paused, stunned when she drew a blank. “I can’t remember.”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’s obviously bald with a beer gut and spends his weekends lying on the couch watching ESPN, bossing the little woman around while reliving his old high school glory days in his mind.”

  “You paint such an attractive picture. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous of an eighteen-year-old from my past.”

  “You bet I am. I’m jealous of any guy you ever looked at twice,” Joe said without rancor. “So, did the jock return your interest?”

  “I didn’t think so, at first. But apparently he’d noticed me mooning over him, which wasn’t all that surprising, considering the fact that I wasn’t at all subtle about my girlish crush. Anyway, one night, after I’d been living in the house about three months, he slipped into my room after everyone had gone to sleep. I was dreaming of him, as I did every night…” Her voice drifted off as she recalled Joe’s prediction of sexual dreams.

  “Don’t stop now,” he drawled. “Not when it’s just getting interesting.”

  Once again she felt the color rise in her cheeks. “I was dreaming that he was kissing me. Holding me. Then, when his hand touched my breasts, I realized that I wasn’t dreaming at all.” She sighed. “Before I could kiss him back, the door suddenly opened and the light came on and his parents were yelling about the slut of a seductress who was trying to ruin their perfect son’s life.

  “Since I already had a reputation for being difficult, the next day I was shipped off to the Good Shepherd Home for Girls. Wayward girls.”

  “That little nighttime petting session doesn’t sound very wayward. In fact, it sounds downright normal.”

  “I realize that now. However, at the time, I was convinced I was headed straight to hell.” Molly thought of all the days sh
e’d spent kneeling in the school chapel doing penance for her carnal sin. “Naturally, that was enough to turn me off romantic relationships.”

  “You mean you gave up boys? Entirely?”

  The idea was preposterous. Like so many other teenagers, Joe had experienced a similar situation himself. While parked in a car on a Long Island beach late one night, he’d been discovering the delights to be found in the pillowy softness of Teresa Magionne’s lushly feminine body when they were caught by a patrolling cop. As humiliating as it was to have been literally caught with his pants down, Joe had never considered joining an order of Trappist monks.

  “That was my only sexual encounter,” she admitted. “Until that night—”

  “That doesn’t count.” His tone was rough and firm. His expression could have been carved from the red rocks that made Arizona so scenic. Then, as Molly watched, it softened.

  “Has it ever occurred to you, Molly,” he said gently, “that your only two sexual experiences have had either a forbidden or painful aspect about them?”

  “I’ve never thought about it that way,” she admitted. But, of course, once again, he was right. Even her feelings for Reece…

  Before Joe could respond, the cellular phone in the motor home rang. A frisson of fear skimmed up Molly’s spine. Not many people knew this number. Only Sister Benvenuto, the coordinator of the mobile health services program and her family.

  Her mind immediately flashed to her daughter. If anything had happened to Grace… Please, she prayed, let it be work.

  “Hello?”

  “Molly?” Theo’s voice sounded strange. Almost as if she’d been crying. “Thank God I got you.”

  Later, when Molly tried to reconstruct the conversation she realized that only bits and pieces of it had sunk in. She’d been too stunned. And terrified.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” she heard herself saying, her voice flat with shock. She hung up the receiver, but continued to stare down at it, wondering if the call had been real.

  Perhaps she was merely suffering another nightmare. As she had so often in the past.

  “Molly?” The sharp male voice filtered through the shock reverberating through her mind, proving that it was no nightmare. “What the hell is wrong?”

  She turned toward him slowly. Her eyes were vague and unseeing. “I have to go.” She glanced around, as if having no idea how to accomplish that feat.

  “Go where? Back to Los Angeles?”

  “Yes.” Her skin had turned to ice. Joe began rubbing her arms to stimulate circulation. Molly didn’t seem to notice. “There’s been an accident… Oh, God.”

  As her uncharacteristically frail voice drifted off, Joe realized she’d be leaving him again. “Don’t worry.” In an attempt to comfort, rather than arouse, he drew her to him. “I’ll take care of everything.”

  The team finally got Lena stable enough to survive a CT scan. They wheeled her out of the trauma room, leaving behind a floor strewn with needle caps, IV bag wrappers, gauze pads and pools of blood. The room, which had been enveloped in the controlled chaos of a Code was suddenly, eerily silent.

  “Shit,” Yolanda said as she stripped off her bloody gloves and dropped them uncaringly onto the floor with the rest of the mess. “Did anyone think to ask those paramedics if she was alone in the car?”

  Joe proved to be as good as his word. A mere two hours after Molly received the phone call from Theo, she was waiting in the gate to board a commuter plane headed for Flagstaff. From there she’d fly to Phoenix, and catch a connecting flight to Los Angeles.

  Although Molly had been holding his hand since their arrival at the small remote air terminal, Joe suspected she was unaware of his presence. He guessed that what slender part of her mind was still managing to function, was focused solely on her sister.

  She was so deep in thought, Molly failed to hear the boarding announcement come over the loudspeaker.

  He touched his fingers to her cheek. “It’s time.”

  She blinked, then took a deep breath. Then hugged him. “I don’t know how to thank you.” She knew there was no way she would have been able to take care of the details of her travel plans herself.

  “You don’t have to thank me, Molly. That’s what friends are for.”

  Thinking again how much this kind, caring man reminded her of Reece, Molly threw her arms around him. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

  He hugged her back and felt guilty when his body responded as it always seemed to do when Molly was in the vicinity. His reaction might be inappropriate, but he could no more prevent himself from becoming aroused than he could stop the sun from rising over the vast red earth each morning.

  Unaware of his thoughts, Molly kissed him on the cheek, then boarded the small jet, where she tried to pray. Unfortunately, the words wouldn’t come.

  Instead, images of her sister lying in the tangled mass of steel that had been Lena’s beloved new minivan, flashed in Molly’s dazed mind like scenes from some late-night horror movie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  By the time Molly arrived at Mercy Sam, Lena had been moved to the neurological intensive-care unit. Yolanda was waiting for her, and although Molly was desperate to see her sister, the nurse insisted she first talk with the neurosurgeon.

  “The CT scan shows no brain activity,” Dr. James Parker told Molly, speaking to her more like to a nurse than to a concerned relative. “Which confirmed our worst suspicions. But Reece refused to accept that diagnosis and insisted she’d be all right if we relieved the pressure on her brain. So we did.”

  Molly closed her eyes, knowing that the procedure meant inserting a tube into the ventricle of her sister’s brain.

  “And?” she asked weakly, reaching out to grasp the arm of a nearby chair when her legs began to feel a bit wobbly. Yolanda, who never missed a thing, pushed the chair over so Molly could lower herself into it.

  “Instead of a clear cerebrospinal fluid, we got chunks of brain,” he said flatly. Brutally. “If I may be frank, given the fact that you’ve been an ER nurse yourself, at this point diagnosing death is only a formality.”

  His words hit home. Hard. Stars began to dance in front of Molly’s eyes like fireflies.

  Then everything went black.

  Reece sat beside his wife, holding her hand. “Hey, sweetheart,” he coaxed, “don’t you think it’s time you woke up? We’ve got a surprise party to go to.”

  He smoothed his hand over the bandage on her head, wishing they hadn’t had to cut her hair. Lena had never liked short hair, and although he knew it was horribly chauvinistic, Reece had always been glad that she’d never wanted to cut those long waves that felt so good draped across his chest. Had it been only this morning they’d driven each other crazy making love? It seemed a lifetime ago.

  “You’re going to be madder than hell when you find out what we did.” He traced his fingers over her lips. “But don’t worry, honey, it’ll grow back. Just think of it as a really bad hair day.”

  He kept his voice upbeat and reassuring. Despite the negative diagnosis from James Parker, Reece knew Lena could hear him, and he didn’t want her to be afraid or depressed. She had to realize that she was going to make it. That they would have years and years of love and laughter yet together.

  “You don’t have to worry about Grace. Theo’s taking great care of her.” He thanked God that Theo had shown up at the house just as Lena had been leaving, saving Grace from being in the minivan. “She’s coloring me another birthday card and is impatient for her mommy to get home so we can get on with the festivities.”

  He leaned down and touched his mouth to her cool dry lips in a brief kiss meant to reassure them both.

  Standing in the doorway, observing the intimate kiss, Molly felt as if her heart would shatter into a million pieces. Her initial relief at learning Grace had escaped the tragic accident had been offset by her sister’s critical injuries.

  Outside the room, the stark fluorescent ligh
ts in the hallway created the illusion of day. Inside, Reece had obviously turned them down to spare his wife the harsh, shadowless glare. Not that Lena would notice, Molly thought miserably.

  Although her sister’s head was wrapped in a bandage, the doctor had assured Molly that her sister’s body, and all her internal organs, had remained undamaged.

  Looking at her lying on the narrow criblike bed reminded Molly of an ancient sarcophagus she’d once seen in a cathedral crypt in Rome. On the lid of the marble coffin had been carved the likeness of the young princess who lay within. Her pale skin was unmarred, her features unscarred by pain or worry. Which was exactly how Lena looked.

  “Oh, Reece.”

  He turned. “You came.” His grim parody of a welcoming smile did not reach his unnervingly blank eyes.

  “Of course.” Molly crossed the room, knelt down in front of Reece and gathered him in her arms. “How could I not?”

  He didn’t hug her back. His arms hung limply at his sides. “She’s going to be all right.” Reece turned back to his wife. In her presence, they kept their voices soft, respectful. He reached out and laced his fingers with Lena’s pale slender ones. “We’ve seen this a thousand times before, a patient in a coma who suddenly makes a miraculous recovery.”

  “It does happen.” It was true she’d witnessed such events. But certainly not as frequently as he was suggesting.

  “And you’re in the miracle business.” He flashed her another of those strange horror-movie smiles. “You can pray for her. God’s bound to listen to Saint Molly.”

  Molly decided there was nothing to be gained in pointing out, as she always used to, that she was far from being a saint. “I’ve been praying since Theo first called with the news.”

  “See.” He lifted Lena’s hand to his lips. “Did you hear that, darling? Molly’s been praying for you. We’ve got it made in the shade.”

  Dr. Parker had been right. After she’d revived from her embarrassing faint, he had warned her that Reece had removed himself from any realm of medical reality. After a consultation with Alan Bernstein, they’d come to the conclusion that it wouldn’t hurt to allow him his little fantasy, for a time, if it helped ease the pain.