Perfectly Reasonable

by O'Connor, Linda

  “Hmmm …”

  “Would you ever donate to a sperm bank?”

  Trace sat back and looked at her. “I’ve thought about it. I read an article about a woman who had trouble conceiving. How grateful they were to have access to a sperm bank.” He shrugged. “I thought it was something I could do. Why?”

  “I just wondered.” Margo looked away.

  “Do you think it’s a good thing? Or bad?”

  Margo frowned and tried to turn away. But he held her shoulder. “I think there are a lot of women who would welcome your sperm,” she said finally.

  Trace grinned.

  “I just don’t like the thought of sharing. I know, truly, it’s none of my business. But I’m a one-person-sperm-recipient at a time, kinda girl.”

  Trace kissed her lips. “I’m a one-person-sperm-giver at a time, too. I decided not to do it in the end.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, really. All my sperm are yours, babe.”

  “Thanks,” she said gratefully.

  “But you’re using birth control, right?”

  “Oh God, yeah,” she said with grin.

  Chapter 27

  Margo pulled a warm sweater over her head as the doorbell rang. She ran her hands through her curls trying to tame the worst of it and went to open the door.

  Trace stepped in and pulled her close, crushing his lips to hers. She pushed aside his ski jacket and ran her hands under the soft cotton jersey he wore. Skin. Beautiful skin.

  Why had he stressed that she should dress for the outdoors? There were too many layers. She was ready to start peeling them off.

  Trace stepped back after one more short kiss. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he said, his blue eyes twinkling.

  “Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.”

  “Ready to go?”

  Margo raised her eyebrows. “Where are we going?” She didn’t really expect an answer. They had been playing this game for the last three days.

  “It’s a surprise,” he said, his standard answer.

  She gathered her hat and gloves and wound a scarf around her neck. “Okay, all set.”

  “Bring your snow pants, too,” he said.

  Margo shrugged and tossed her snow pants over her arm as she locked the door to her apartment. “I guess I’ll finally get to see what kind of car you drive,” she said smugly.

  He smiled back, followed her outside, and steered her toward a sleek black limousine.

  “Courtesy of Bennett Homes,” he said as the driver opened the door for her.

  Margo laughed as they climbed in together and settled back. Champagne was chilling, and a mini-plate of cheese and crackers and chocolate-covered strawberries sat on a tray in front of them.

  “Nice car,” she commented as Trace fed her a strawberry.

  “It’s a special occasion. We have a half-hour ride, and I thought I’d enjoy the champagne with you.”

  “Good thinking,” she said as she clinked her glass with his. “To Valentine’s Day surprises that start with champagne and chocolate. It’s already perfect.” She leaned over and kissed him softly, tasting the champagne that lingered on his lips.

  They sat back and enjoyed the smooth ride. The sun was getting low in the sky, but was still bright enough to glint off the snow covering the ground. They drove north into the countryside until solitary farmhouses were separated by acres of land.

  They turned down a country lane and Margo caught a glimpse of a hot air balloon. “Oh. Look at the colors of that balloon. Gorgeous. Blue, green, orange, red. Look at the way the sun hits it. It’s almost glowing. Wow,” she said with a sigh. “I bet there’d be a spectacular view from a balloon.”

  Trace smiled. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  “Really?” Margo said, grinning from ear to ear. “Really? I would die to go up in a hot air balloon.”

  The limo came to a stop.

  “You are so getting lucky tonight,” Margo whispered to Trace as she stepped out.

  Trace chuckled and squeezed her hand. “I’m already lucky,” he whispered back.

  Trace walked, Margo skipped, hand in hand over to the balloon tethered in a field and introduced themselves to the pilot. Sean, a quiet man in his mid-forties, smiled broadly at Margo’s enthusiasm and indicated they could climb inside the basket. He made a few adjustments to the ropes outside, tested his walkie-talkie, and then climbed in with them. As he opened the burner, he motioned for the two grounds crew to release the tether lines.

  With a whoosh and a roar, the balloon filled and rose above the treetops. Margo gripped the edge and watched, fascinated, as the balloon caught the wind and soared silently across the field. Cool air brushed her cheeks. With Trace’s arm around her, she was warm.

  The occasional roar of the propane burner broke the silence as they glided along. Snow on the fields, tall evergreens, an array of bare deciduous trees, their branches like art in the sky, Margo drank it all in. The air was fresh with the occasional whiff of pine as they skimmed the treetops.

  The pilot explained that the course they took varied with the wind, but a crew on the ground followed their path and would meet them with a truck where they landed.

  Margo wished it would never end.

  The sky lit up in layers of color. A wide band of pink changed to bright orange and mixed with burnt yellow as the sun set behind them.

  After an hour, the pilot aimed for a field in the distance to bring them down. The ground rushed closer as the balloon lowered and finally touched down with a bump.

  “Perfect.” Margo leaned into Trace. “That was perfect.”

  The pilot secured the basket and the grounds crew rushed over and anchored the tether lines. Trace and Margo hopped out of the basket and were handed glasses of champagne.

  “To a safe and successful ride,” Sean said, raising his glass.

  They clinked glasses and drank. Margo caught Trace’s eye. “Thank you. I loved that,” she said.

  The limousine pulled up to where the balloon sat, slowly deflating.

  “Thanks very much,” Trace said as they shook hands with the pilot and crew. “We may be back for more.”

  The pilot grinned. “Hard to stay away once the bug catches you.”

  They waved good-bye and climbed into the limo.

  Margo sighed. “It’s going to be hard to top that.”

  “A challenge?” Trace asked with a grin.

  She looked into his blue eyes and let her gaze travel over the square jaw, the broad shoulders. Remembering what was underneath all the layers, and what his hands and tongue and lips were capable of, she said, “You’re right. It can only get better.”

  Chapter 28

  The following Tuesday, Margo was up to her elbows in hot dishwater, still reliving the Valentine’s Day evening. The balloon ride had only been the beginning. It had been followed by a limo ride to a cozy restaurant in the country for a five-star, four-course meal in a casual setting.

  A wood-burning fire had crackled in the fireplace, soft music had filled the air, and the muted conversations of the other patrons in the small dining room had made it intimate and elegant.

  They had ended up at Trace’s condo with more soft music, dancing by the moonlight streaming in the windows, and a dreamy evening in bed.

  He was thorough. He could definitely write that on his resume. Great with his hands, excellent skills with his tongue. She tingled thinking about it and told herself to stop. She was in the middle of a shift at Breaking Bread, and Hattie would be calling her out for daydreaming if she didn’t start paying attention.

  Trace was out in the dining room, doing his usual sparring with Ottie over hockey. She heard the occasional burst of laughter from the dining room when someone swung through the door to replenish the food or carry in the dishes.

  First work. Then play. She looked around at the dwindling pile of dishes left to wash. It wouldn’t be long.

  The kitchen door swung open and Trace poked his head
in. “Margo, can you come, please? Ottie’s having chest pain.”

  Margo grabbed a tea towel and dried her hands as she hurried to the dining room. A small crowd of people hovered around Ottie, who sat in his usual chair. They parted to let Margo through.

  Margo knelt down beside him. “Chest pain, Ottie?”

  Ottie grimaced and nodded. “Here.” He held his fist against the center of his chest. “And here.” He motioned up his neck and down his left arm.

  Trace stood beside him, frowning. He lifted Ottie’s hat off. Ottie’s face was pale, sweat gathered on his forehead, and he struggled to speak.

  Margo looked up at Trace. “Call an ambulance.”

  Ottie looked even more distressed and became agitated. “No. I don’t want that,” he said.

  Hattie clucked around. “Let’s give him some room, everyone. Take a seat and give him some space.”

  Margo placed her fingers at Ottie’s wrist and checked his pulse. “It could be your heart, Ottie. Have you had heart problems?”

  “Years ago. Not recently.”

  Trace stepped back to the circle around Ottie. “They’re on their way. Is there anything else I can do?”

  Margo watched Ottie relax as Trace drew close. “Stay close by.”

  Trace knelt down beside Ottie. “Don’t think I’m going to forget about our bet. This doesn’t change anything.”

  Ottie gave a weak laugh and reached for Trace’s hand.

  The paramedics arrived within minutes and whisked Ottie onto a stretcher and into the waiting ambulance. He looked so small and frail, his little round face peaking out from under the blankets.

  “We should go with him,” Trace said with a worried glance. He picked up Ottie’s top hat and brushed it off. “I wouldn’t want to be on my own at the hospital, and he seems scared.”

  Margo watched the ambulance pull away. Her stomach burned with acid. Memories of Trace’s grandfather filled her head. “Yeah. Yeah. We probably should.”

  Hattie hovered. “You go, honey. I’ll finish the washing up. Everyone will feel better if they know you’re with Ottie.”

  Margo smiled weakly. “Okay. I’ll get my keys.”

  Trace followed on her heels.

  Margo’s mind was reeling. Back to the hospital. She vowed never to go back. It was going to be okay. She wasn’t the doctor. She was just the friend of the patient. The moral support. She would watch what came out of her mouth. Think twice, speak once. Be very careful.

  Ottie had chest pain, and it didn’t look good. It sounded like angina. Could be a heart attack. It was possible he’d need a stent. What if she said the wrong thing again? She shouldn’t reassure him. She shouldn’t not reassure him. He was so anxious, poor thing. What if she messed up? What if it was Ernie all over again?

  Margo felt the burn in her chest and wished she had an antacid in her car. Her pulse raced and her palms were sweating despite the cold air blasting through the vents.

  They pulled up to the emergency department, and Margo slowed the car. She looked over at Trace. He was as pale as Ottie. His brows were together in a deep frown. He stared silently out the window and rubbed the brim of Ottie’s hat.

  “I’ll drop you off at the door and park the car. Go find him and sit with him,” she encouraged.

  Trace nodded and stepped out. He strode through the emergency department entrance, his shoulders squared. He’ll be there for Ottie.

  She parked the car and made her way inside. Slowly. Any slower and she’d be walking backward, she chided herself. She looked around the room and didn’t see Trace. She checked with the nurse and learned that Ottie was in a room and was only allowed one visitor.

  She took a seat in the waiting room and picked up a magazine but couldn’t focus on the stories. The words blurred on the page.

  It was taking too long.

  Margo was about to get up and pace when the door opened, and Trace walked through. He looked around and made a beeline for her. She stood up and walked into his hug.

  “He’s stable,” Trace said. “It was touch and go for a while, but he’s stable.” He sighed as he held her. “It’s his heart, and they want to put a stent in. I don’t get all of what they were saying, but the gist is they want to put a little tube to hold the clogged artery open?”

  Margo nodded. “Yes, that’s right. When are they doing it?”

  “They’re waiting for a doctor, and as soon as he gets here, they’re going ahead.” He squeezed her and stepped back to look in her eyes. “Can you talk to him? He has a million questions, and I don’t know the answers. You could explain it to him.”

  Margo’s gut clenched and she felt lightheaded. “I … I can’t.”

  Trace frowned. “Why not? I can wait out here if you’re worried about the one visitor rule.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  Trace snorted. “You gave me a dozen scenarios easier than this and knew exactly what to say.”

  “That was different.”

  “How? You’re great with stuff like this.”

  Margo cringed. “I had time to think about those. I can’t do it on the fly,” she said, her voice rising with panic.

  “That’s ridiculous. Just do the same thing.” He tugged her hand and pulled her toward Ottie’s room.

  Margo dug her heels in. She started to see black. Her head was floating away from her body. “I can’t,” she whispered. She blinked back tears.

  “Margo, he needs you. He’s scared. He has a million questions, and you can help him.”

  Margo stood still, her eyes filling. “I can’t,” she repeated.

  Trace gave an impatient shake of his head. “What do you mean, you can’t? You’re a doctor. Of course you can.” Trace sighed. “What are you going to do when you have patients who need you? Don’t think of Ottie as a friend. Think of him as a patient.”

  Margo shook her head, her lips pressed together. She swallowed. “I’m never going to have patients. I’m a painter.”

  Trace snorted. “Right.” He waved his hands impatiently. “Of course you’ll go back to medicine. How can you not? Even Daniel thought you’d return.”

  Margo gritted her teeth. “It’s not a passing thing. I’m not going back.”

  Trace stared. “You’re going to throw it all away?” he asked, incredulous. “People apply for years, spend thousands of dollars to be a doctor. You have it in the palm of your hand, and you’re going to throw it all away?”

  Margo bit her lip and focused over his shoulder.

  “That’s a waste. And this is a cop out. Ottie really needs you.” Trace threw her a scathing look and turned on his heel. He pushed through the door to the patient exam area and didn’t look back.

  Margo sat down heavily on a waitingroom chair and bowed her head in her hands. She couldn’t be here.

  She rose on shaking legs and walked out into the cold air.

  Chapter 29

  Ottie did okay. Margo’s classmate was rotating through the cardiology service, so she called her each day for an update.

  Three of his cardiac arteries had been blocked, and he had needed a stent. He had sailed through it with flying colors but stayed in the hospital for an extra few days because he lived alone. Now he was up and about and ready to go home.

  She wasn’t doing okay.

  She hadn’t heard from Trace.

  She had stalked his Facebook page until yesterday, when he had unfriended her.

  She followed him on Twitter, but his posts had become sparse. Except for one tweet the night before.

  He got an interview. Only one, he tweeted.

  But one was all you needed. Well, good luck to him. He was still keen. Probably cuz he hadn’t killed anyone lately. His foray into the medical world with Ottie apparently hadn’t turned him off medicine. Just her.

  He was definitely turned off her. Unfriended. Disliked. Disdained. She was person non grata. Whatever the hell that meant.

  She glared at the lime green Vo
lkswagen Beetle in front of her. Why would anyone want to drive a happy car all the time? People weren’t happy all the time. And that color looked like spring. It was the middle of the freakin’ freezing winter. The car needed a giant scarf.

  She turned into the parking lot at Breaking Bread, and her car slid two feet when she tried to stop. Time for some salt and sand.

  Hattie was at the stove when Margo went in.

  “Welcome, honey. Come in and get warm,” Hattie shouted with a smile.

  Margo breathed in the scent of spicy chili and baking bread. “Smells delicious, as usual,” she said as she wrapped an arm around Hattie’s shoulders.

  Hattie squeezed her back. “Thank you. I made a big batch so we can freeze some. Maybe save us some cookin’ and cleanin’ one day next week.”

  “You always say that Hattie, but there are never any leftovers.”

  Hattie laughed and looked at Margo closely. Margo fidgeted with the scrutiny.

  “What’s with those dark circles? Where’s your ready smile?”

  “Rough week,” Margo said, hoping to brush it off.

  Hattie looked serious. “Yeah, I hear ya. Ottie sure gave us a scare last week, didn’t he? But I hear he’s doin’ all right.”

  Margo nodded and tried to smile. “He is. He’s pestering them to go home. But he did score some butterscotch ripple. I think he’s charmed the nurses.”

  Hattie gave a deep laugh. “Sure, or maybe it was that boyfriend of yours. I hear he’s been staying with Ottie, visiting him twice a day, making sure he’s got a TV so he can watch the games. Keeping a real close eye on him.” She stirred the chili. “And Trace would charm the butterscotch ripple out of the kitchen.”

  “He would.”

  “Never mind that. I’m still thanking the heavens that it happened on a night you were here. You knew what to do. Organizing it all, going with Ottie to the hospital, that meant a lot. He was pretty scared and a familiar face is always reassuring. We’re lucky to have a doctor so handy,” she said with a laugh.

  Margo rubbed absently at the ache in her stomach. She was a fraud and a coward. “I think Trace did more.”