by Deanna Roy
He glanced back at the door. “I was just walking by.”
“Just walking by.” I pushed past him to the tiny closet where I kept my bag. “Well, I was just walking out.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”
I jerked the closet open, snatched my purse, and closed it again with a slam. “I don’t think so.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
I whipped around. “Well, first of all, there was that promise you made about the first move.” I slung the strap over my arm. “And then there was whatever went on with Cynthia. Are you making that little girl lie for you?”
That got him. His jaw went all tight, and his fist locked on the keys in his hand. “You have no idea what she has been through.”
“And I sure as hell don’t know what’s going on now. You should have seen her in class today. Quiet and worried, like the roof was about to fall on her head. What are you doing to her?”
“I am looking out for her like any decent person would. She has no parents.”
“Is she in foster care? What is your relationship to her?” I rounded the desk and snatched up a sheet of paper. “You realize I’m about to get clearance for medical records, right? I can look this up myself.”
He shrugged. “Go ahead. You’ll find a very long list of treatments and setbacks. A family history of a mother who also died of cancer.”
“Where is her father?”
Darion’s neck went red at that. His jaw ticked.
He didn’t have an answer.
And then I got it.
HE was her father.
I took a few steps back. Holy shit. Nobody knew. Nobody was supposed to know.
This explained everything. His secrecy about her. His familiarity. His wanting extra help.
So, the woman who died. The mother Cynthia sang the song about. Had she been his wife?
I couldn’t keep control of my thoughts. I needed to sort all this out.
“Never mind,” I said. “Forget I said anything.”
“Tina —”
“No. It’s none of my business.” I set the paper back on my desk. “She’s a lovely little girl. And tomorrow will be tough for her.” I pictured her hooked up to the bag, the poison that kept her alive flowing into her. “It’s fine.”
“Can I walk you down?”
His whole demeanor had changed. He wasn’t the tall stalwart doctor now. Just a worried father. My heart squeezed a little. His wife had died. Now his daughter might. Damn.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s fine. Walk me down.”
We moved for the door. Darion shrugged off his white coat and laid it over his arm. I kept my distance, since really we were being seen together way too much. I didn’t know the hospital policy on dating. I would ask Darion, but then that would be like admitting that we were seeing each other.
And we weren’t.
I felt completely tangled up inside. When would he tell me about Cynthia? What was his motive for lying to the whole staff? And who was Angela? His mother? Sister? She had been so taken aback when I asked how she was related to the family.
We passed through the halls, mostly quiet at the dinner hour. Visitors were scarce on these floors. Only maternity and the ER would bustle with people this late.
We took the staff elevator down. No one else rode with us. The silence wasn’t awkward, but it had a heaviness to it. He wasn’t confessing. I wasn’t asking. A thousand unspoken words filled the space.
As the elevator slowed to a stop on the ground floor, Darion asked, “Can I take you to dinner?”
The doors started to open, but Darion pressed the button to make them close. “Please?”
Despite the concern in his eyes, the worry he carried in his heart, he watched me with an earnestness I didn’t think I’d ever seen aimed at me by any other man. In my history, I’d seen a lot. Desire, sure. Charisma, sometimes. And definitely cockiness and jackassery.
But earnestness. Honest-to-God need.
I hadn’t seen that.
“Okay,” I said. I would give a little. Just a little. A moment of comfort for him, nothing more.
I could spend a night. Do the one-and-done. I was good at it. It’s not like the past men refused to express emotion. Several had professed undying love. And it wasn’t as though they weren’t gorgeous or wealthy or powerful or any number of amazing things I should have grasped instead of letting go.
It was me. I could feel all sorts of things leading up to the act, but once it was done, once the man chilled after he got what he wanted, I just didn’t want to stick around for the inevitable rejection. It might not happen right away. But it would happen. And I wouldn’t let it get that far.
We left the hospital and went into the cool evening air, still not talking.
But my mind raced. The one time I cared about a guy, he left me when I was in premature labor, when I needed him the most. He missed the three hours our baby lived, Peanut’s entire life. And when I went to find him, he had already moved out of our apartment. Gone. Poof. Like none of the previous months mattered.
Not going to happen again. Not with Darion. Not with anybody.
We walked side by side to the physicians’ level of the parking garage. People passed, and Darion nodded politely. He steered me gently by the elbow through the rows of cars. He was courteous and kind.
But I would not be moved. Not by the gleaming Mercedes I slid into. Not by any expensive dinner or wine. Not by a mansion or killer condo. Not even by a gold-plated cock.
We’d have our moment. And maybe he’d tell me his secret. Maybe not. We all had them. I’d keep the lights off, my wrists hidden, and tell no tales of my own.
A nice dinner. Friendly conversation. A night of intimacy. Then I would go.
One. And. Done.
Chapter 22: Darion
Tina was so quiet. I started the Mercedes, wishing I had something simpler than this showy car my father had given me when I finished med school. She would not be impressed by money. That was obvious. I racked my brain trying to think of a place to take her that would break her silence, get her smiling again. I’d take her mad and shouting over this.
I backed out of the parking spot. “Are you a vegetarian or gluten free or anything?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “Just don’t make me eat meatloaf. Or spinach casserole.”
I had to smile at that. “Not a problem.”
“My mother made me eat those. I can’t stand the sight of them now.”
I almost told her how my mom rarely cooked but often got lost in some song she was writing until long after the dinner hour had come and gone. Then I realized I couldn’t say anything personal, anything that Cynthia might have also said to her about Mom. Tina would figure it out.
Maybe I should just tell her.
The garage was dim as the light fell for evening, so I couldn’t make out her expression. I had never been so nervous with a woman. Tina was hard to figure out. She made me want to know her, understand what drove these moods.
“My mom didn’t cook a lot,” I said, figuring that was safe enough. Many didn’t. “So, meatloaf sounds like some 1950s dish prepared by a woman in a lace-trimmed apron over a house dress with pearls.”
“You just described my mother.”
“Really?”
Tina tucked her hair behind her ears. “She’s older. I was a late-in-life baby. She was the sort of mom growing up that was exactly what you said, making dinner all dressed up. Bringing the martini while her husband read the paper. I think my mom wanted to be her. She certainly tried.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Ha.” Tina kicked off her shoes and propped her striped stocking feet on the dash. Now I was really grinning. She was like a teenager in so many ways.
“Picture a perfectly poised June Cleaver trying to drag a chain-smoking black-haired goth girl from a pot party with a bunch of high school dropouts.”
I almost missed the garage exit and had to hit th
e brakes harder than I intended. “Seriously? That was you?” I wanted to introduce my father to her now.
“I’m just skimming the surface.” Tina stared out the window as we left the garage and turned onto the parkway. “I was a wreck. A total disaster.”
“Did they punish you? Were they strict?”
“Oh yeah. I left the house through my window way more than by the door. I could count on one hand the number of days in high school I wasn’t grounded.”
“But you turned out all right.”
Tina turned to look at me. “I’m not so sure about that.”
“You seem fine to me.”
She laughed. “Well, let’s see. I got fired yesterday.”
“But you’re back today.”
Tina hesitated. “Did you have something to do with that?”
“Not a thing.”
She pursed her lips. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
I didn’t know how much to tell her about my father. I was pretty certain he hadn’t stepped in. “What happened with Duffrey?”
“He said I had made a powerful friend who would donate some unspecified amount of money — enough to make Duffrey squirm — if I was back in my classroom by the end of the day.”
“Wow.” I pulled up to a red light. “That is a powerful friend.”
“But not you?”
“I don’t have that kind of money. I don’t know anyone who does.” And it was true. I had a decent trust, the sort that gets you through school and set up in a nice house and lets you take European vacations as long as you are not relying on it for your income. But nothing that would impress a hospital board. Not even if I dumped the whole sum on them.
Besides, I had to save it for Cynthia. It was half hers anyway. If Dad wouldn’t sign it over, I would.
Tina blew loose wisps of hair off her forehead. I had the most intense urge to brush them aside myself. Where could I take her that I could sit close to her? Some place she wouldn’t find pretentious?
She rolled down the window. “It’s a nice night. We shouldn’t sit cooped up in a box of canned air.”
I lowered my window as well. The evening breeze blew across my face. We still had half an hour until sunset. The light turned green, and I knew what to do. “You want to eat outside somewhere?”
“Sure,” she said. “Sounds nice.”
A little place near La Jolla did takeout picnics. You could have the whole thing packaged in a pretty basket. Lots of people did it to propose on the beach, or for special occasions. When we first came to San Diego, I had gotten one for me and Cynthia, before she had to go back to the hospital.
I wanted her to love our new town, this new home. So, we’d done the picnic and spent the day on the beach. She was feeling good then. The blast counts were high in her blood and bone marrow, but she wasn’t really sick. I remember thinking this could be the last good day for a while. She still had her blond curls, like in the picture I showed Tina. Her hair was never long, since the treatments were never far apart, but sometimes it got a chance to grow out a little.
When we stopped at the next light, I pulled out my phone and found the email where I’d ordered the previous basket. I replied with a quick message — Can you have one of these ready in half an hour? I’ll pay double.
While I waited for a confirmation, I drove toward Torrey Pines. Maybe we could walk a bit there first. “You up for a little stroll?” I asked.
“Pretty much always,” she said. She had her elbow resting on the open window, her chin propped on it.
I pulled up inside the park near one of the walking trails. If I didn’t hear from the picnic place, I could find another little bistro with an outdoor section. Right now, the timing was perfect for a moment I sometimes came to witness by myself, when I got a chance, if Cynthia was doing all right and I got away from the hospital in time.
Only one other car was parked nearby. The dirt path crunched as we walked along it, through a smattering of trees, then along rough ground covered in scrubby brush.
“I haven’t made it out a lot since I moved here,” Tina said. “I’ve been to the beach a few times, but not this park.”
I almost blew it again, about to mention the times I brought Cynthia when she was well enough, but said instead, “I like walking here. It’s peaceful after a tough day.”
The ground got a little steeper as we approached a cliff. Another couple sat on the edge looking out.
Tina hurried ahead. “Wow, oh wow,” she said. “This is amazing.”
The cliff overlooked a narrow strip of beach and the wide expanse of the Pacific. The sun was a yellow ball hovering over the water, spreading gold light over the breaking waves.
Tina gripped my arm. “I want to come here every day.”
Her nearness was a comfort and a relief, and I began to come down from the anxiety I’d felt all day after our encounter in the surgical suite. She had her job back. She’d agreed to come with me. The hospital and its troubles seemed very far away.
The evening stretched out like a promise, as endless as the ocean below. And Tina was here.
For this moment, life was very very good.
Chapter 23: Tina
This was the most amazing moment I’d had in San Diego since my arrival several weeks ago. The sunset was incredible, the ocean vast and inspiring. I wanted to paint, to draw, to take a photograph.
Instead I soaked it in, trying to commit it to memory. The slight chill, the salty breeze, the golden light on the water, and this man, tall and strong and warm, right beside me.
As so often happened when I felt overcome by beauty, I thought of Peanut. He’d be five years old, big enough to recognize the enormity of this view. A painting came to me, fully formed, this ocean, this sun, the cliff, and a mother and her boy. The woman would be three-dimensional, colorful, edged in gold. The boy would simply be a shadow, suffused in light, a memory at her side.
I would start it tomorrow. With Albert. I’d pick up some canvas, real paints. He was shaking less. He would paint too. Or help me. I surged with this. I couldn’t wait. I hadn’t done anything for weeks except go to the hospital and work.
I wanted to create again, fall into that heady space where vision and reality collided.
I was so excited, my hands were shaking. It became hard to stay in the moment, but then, everything I was feeling was tied to this experience, this place, and Darion.
He pulled me against him. “What are you thinking about, so serious and intense?”
I let my head fall on his chest. I felt surrounded by him, protected. What had he said in that message? Let me shelter you.
It had seemed so out of place at the time, overwrought. But now, it made sense. Despite how little we knew of each other, and this major secret he was trying to keep from me, we had been drawn together like a string closing a bag.
Maybe if I told him about my baby, he would talk about Cynthia.
“I had a baby once,” I said, surprised, a little, to hear a tremor in my voice. I hadn’t sounded so vulnerable, been so vulnerable, since those days.
He squeezed my arm. “What happened?”
“He was born prematurely.” I realized I was talking to a doctor, so I could be more technical. “Nineteen weeks.”
Darion let out a long breath. “That’s early.”
“His foot descended. They couldn’t stop him from coming.”
“How old were you?”
I looked out over the setting sun, glad for something beautiful to focus on. “Seventeen.”
Another long breath. “Was he stillborn?”
“No, he lived for three hours.”
“The father?”
“Took off during labor. I didn’t see him again for weeks.”
Darion gripped me more tightly. “I’m sorry.”
“He was beautiful. So small. I could hold his little head with my fingertips, and his little butt would fit right in my palm. Not even a pound. Have you seen one like that?”
“I did a few obstetric rounds, but most everything I saw was routine. I never did the NICU.”
“Babies this small don’t get to go to NICU.”
He squeezed me again.
“They let me keep him with me. Checked on his heartbeat occasionally. I’m not sure he actually breathed.” I pulled away a bit. Darion was a doctor. One who might give me answers to the questions I never got to ask. “Do they breathe that early? Does it take a long time for the heart to stop, even without breathing?”
“He must have been getting some oxygen,” Darion said. He looked down at me, and the sun reflected gold in his eyes. “Otherwise, your heart will stop pretty quickly. Within minutes. As soon as the oxygen in the muscles is depleted.”
“Then he did breathe.”
“If he lived three hours, then yes, his lungs had some functionality.”
“Then why wouldn’t they save him?”
“There’s so much to it,” he said, and his voice took on a softer tone. “The biggest one is bleeding in the brain. The real world is no place for babies who are supposed to be growing in amniotic fluid. We just can’t replicate that perfect environment.”
“Do you think that one day babies born that early will be saved?”
“We’ve already gotten the threshold so much younger than before. Just twenty years ago, even two-pound babies were sometimes not resuscitated. Now that would be considered robust. One pound is the minimum.”
“Peanut weighed thirteen ounces.” I held Darion’s gaze, as we both considered how close he had been. A couple more weeks. Just a little more time.
He knew what I meant. “How different your life would be,” he said.
The sun dipped into the water. We watched it kiss the surface, then Darion said, “I don’t have a flashlight. We should head back to the car before it gets fully dark.”
I grasped his hand. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s beautiful. A good end to a complicated day.”
It seemed the right moment for him to kiss me, and I wanted him to. The emotion of telling him about Peanut and asking my long-held questions pulled me in. I had none of the distance that usually allowed me to pull off a one-and-done.