Pearce wanted to run her fingers through Wynter's hair. She wanted to trace her fingers along the edge of Wynter's jaw as she had that one time years before. She wanted to close her eyes, believing that she would awaken to the smile in Wynter's eyes. "I should get home."
Wynter straightened, carefully releasing Pearce's hand. She wanted Pearce to stay so that she could check her hand throughout the evening and just...watch her. Watch her sleep, watch her laugh, watch her stretch her long body in that lazy animal way she had. "I'll drive you. Where is your car parked?"
"I walked."
"You live near here?" Wynter had not expected that the chief of surgery's daughter would live in the off-campus student enclave.
University City was an eclectic mixture of beautiful old homes that had been converted into student apartments, gentrified sections cheek by jowl with blocks where it wasn't safe to leave any items in a parked car.
It was convenient to the hospitals and campus and cheap by comparison to many other areas, but not the first choice of those with enough money to live in Center City apartments with all the amenities and close to the night life. Many of the residents like Ken and Mina lived there, and Wynter needed an apartment with proximity to the hospital so that she could minimize her time away from Ronnie. Adding an hour-a day commute to her already overburdened schedule was simply not acceptable.
"About five blocks," Pearce said. "A ten-minute walk."
"I'll walk you home, then."
Pearce grinned. "Do you think I need an escort?"
"No," Wynter said with exaggerated emphasis. "I think you've taken a muscle relaxant and the effects have not worn off. You have a badly injured hand. And you shouldn't be walking around at night alone when you're incapable of protecting yourself if you have to."
"I'll be fine." To prove it, Pearce kicked the foot extension down and stood. She swayed, instantly dizzy.
"God, you're stubborn," Wynter snapped as she jumped up and wrapped an arm around Pearce's waist. When Pearce sagged against her, Wynter knew she must really be feeling ill. "You don't have to prove anything to me. I already know how tough you are."
"Not trying to prove anything," Pearce muttered, desperately willing her head to stop spinning.
Yes, you are, if you know it or not. Wynter rubbed her palm in circles in the center of Pearce's back, supporting her until she saw the vacant expression on Pearce's face disappear and her usual focus return.
"Okay now?"
Pearce, embarrassed by her weakness but enjoying the contact with Wynter, settled her arm around Wynter's shoulders and squeezed.
"Yeah. Thanks."
"Let me go next door and tell Ronnie I'm going out for a while, and then we'll get you home. I'll just be a minute."
"You're going to introduce us, remember?"
"You sure? We can do it some other time when you're feeling better."
Pearce shrugged. She liked the idea of there being another time, but she didn't want to wait. She might not have anything else in her life except work and her car, but Wynter did, and she wanted to know something about it. "No, come on. I'll go over with you."
"All right," Wynter relented dubiously, "but take it easy, okay?"
Pearce looked down at her hand. It was discolored and raw, the knuckles crusted where the skin had been crushed between the desk and the banister. Just remembering it made her queasy. "You don't think this will scare her, do you?"
"Ronnie understands about owies, she just doesn't appreciate that some could be much worse than others. She won't be frightened because she's used to bumps and bruises."
"Some fucking owie," Pearce muttered.
"Come on, Chief," Wynter said, squeezing Pearce's good hand.
"Let me take you over to meet my little angel."
v The little angel, looking cuddly and sweet in soft flannel jammies covered with Scooby-Doo and friends, was in the midst of demolishing a fort, which she and Mina's son Winston had built out of blocks, by crashing a red fire truck into it and screaming boom each time more blocks scattered across the floor. Plastic action figures that had been perched atop the blocks flew willy-nilly through the air. Winston, his face set in studied concentration, carefully picked up each fallen body and placed it into a white plastic ambulance.
Pearce stood in a doorway observing the carnage, thinking that the beautiful child with the red-blond hair might very well be angelic under other circumstances. At the moment she looked like a little terror. "They make a good pair," she whispered to Wynter, who stood beside her looking amused. "Ronnie runs them down and he resuscitates them."
Laughing, Wynter picked her way across the toy-littered floor and squatted down by the absorbed children. After a few whispered words to her daughter, she stood, Ronnie in her arms, and crossed back to Pearce. "Honey, this is my friend Pearce. We work together at the hospital."
Ronnie studied Pearce solemnly, her enormous blue eyes the exact color of Wynter's. Then with a squeak, she buried her face in her mother's neck.
"Oops," Pearce said.
Wynter rubbed Ronnie's back and rocked from side to side in a motion that was second nature to her. She shook her head. "It's just the age. Nothing personal."
"If you say so."
"Let me get her settled and then we can go."
"You sure? Because I can--"
"Stop," Wynter said firmly and returned Ronnie to the play area.
Within seconds, the two children were once more absorbed in their demolition activities.
As they walked outside, Pearce said, "She's gorgeous. She looks just like you."
"Thank you." The sidewalks were dry, but snow banks lined the walkways, remnants of the last storm. In the dark, with only the street lights for illumination, everything looked clean and oddly peaceful.
Wynter took a deep breath of the cold night air and felt good all over.
She did not have to work the next day, her child seemed to be settling into their new living circumstances well with the help of Ken and Mina's extended family support structure, and she was walking with a person whose company she enjoyed. An attractive, intriguing person.
A woman. A woman who occupied far more of her thoughts than any person in recent memory. She was going to have to think about that soon, but right now, she just wanted to be happy. "She's a really solid little kid."
"Uh...what about her father?"
Wynter looked straight ahead, her expression remote. "What about him?"
"Does he...you know...get to have her part of the time?" Pearce unzipped her army jacket halfway and slid her left hand inside against her body, letting the material form a makeshift sling. The cold was making her hand ache.
"Is your hand okay?"
"I know it's there."
"I want to take another look at it when we get to your place."
"It's just around the corner." Pearce recognized evasion. She was an expert at it. "Ronnie's father?"
"I have primary custody. He gets unlimited visitation--which he apparently has no desire for." Wynter pushed her gloved hands into the pockets of her coat. "He also has a new wife and an infant. He started that family before our divorce. I haven't seen or heard from him in six months."
"Fucker," Pearce said vehemently.
"Yes."
"I can't imagine anyone looking at another woman when they had you."
Wynter blinked, speechless, and tried to remember when anyone had ever said anything as nice to her before. And the funny thing was, Pearce hadn't said it to get anything from her. Not a date, not a kiss, not a promise of anything at all. In fact, she'd said it in an angry tone as if deeply affronted by the very thought. "Thank you."
Pearce whipped her head around and frowned at Wynter. "He was obviously a jerk."
"He was," Wynter agreed. "I feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.
He wanted a stay-at-home wife, but I never saw that, even when he tried to talk me out of surgery."
"But you were married when you were a medical
student. He must've realized you weren't going to be that kind of wife." Pearce stopped in front of what had once been a huge single-family home.
It was set back from the street with a slate sidewalk that bisected the front lawn. Four mailboxes were lined up on the wall next to the double wooden front doors. "I'm in here."
"We met when we were freshmen in the combined BS/MD program. I don't think either one of us realized what medicine was going to be like--we were only eighteen years old. We got married in med school before I'd even had a surgery rotation. My choosing surgery was our first big issue, because he wanted a family right away and my residency was going to be a problem. My hours weren't conducive to easy child care."
"And what about him? Couldn't he have helped out there?"
"He's an orthopedic surgery resident at Yale. That's why I ranked Yale surgery first--he already had a promise of a spot outside the match, and obviously, I had to go where he was going." She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice. She'd followed him to Yale, even though it wasn't where she wanted to train. Her fault. She'd ignored all the signs that they were a bad match until it was far too late.
"You should have dumped him then."
Wynter smiled wryly. "Probably. But I was pregnant. I didn't mean to be--but the Pill never agreed with me and he hated condoms and sometimes--" She colored and looked away, realizing how pathetic she must sound to Pearce. "I made some stupid choices."
"Maybe, maybe not. But you have the little angel to show for it,"
Pearce said quietly, gratified to see Wynter's smile deepen to one of pleasure. "Look, do you want to come in for a minute?"
"I'd like to see your hand again."
"Come on, then." Pearce led the way up the sidewalk and unlocked the front door. She stepped into a small granite-tiled foyer with beaten tin wainscoting painted eggshell white. When Wynter followed her in, she felt the press of Wynter's body close against her side. She never wanted to move. She wanted to stay in that warm secluded space where they had nowhere to go except up against one another. She wanted Wynter to hold her injured hand again, to cradle it against her breast, to ease the pain with the force of her caring. She couldn't think of anything except Wynter and the smell of her hair and the soothing tones of her voice, and she fumbled for the doorknob on the interior door with its leaded glass windows. Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears.
"One flight up."
"Okay," Wynter said softly.
Pearce led the way up the wide curved wooden staircase to the central hallway on the second floor. She unlocked a door on the right side that opened into what once had been a formal sitting room. It was now her bedroom, living room, and study all rolled into one. A dark burgundy sofa bed sat in front of the bay windows, facing into the room.
A stone fireplace was centered on the opposite wall, a desk next to it, and an archway beyond that led into a small kitchen. A dresser stood in the far corner of the room next to another door that undoubtedly led to the bathroom. There were books and journals everywhere, and the room reminded Wynter of the abandoned residents' lounge in the hospital. It was definitely Pearce.
"I like your place," Wynter said.
Pearce was busy making space on the sofa, awkwardly stacking textbooks and stapled articles into piles on either side with one hand. "I don't get many visitors."
Wynter wondered whether Pearce brought women here. Dates or...whatever. The thought unsettled her, because it was so unlike her to even go there, let alone to have the quick surge of jealousy that accompanied the visions. "That's okay. Don't fuss."
"I have..." Pearce ran a hand through her hair, looking flummoxed.
"I don't know what I have. Beer for sure. Maybe a bottle of wine somewhere. Hot chocolate?"
"You have hot chocolate?" Wynter asked with pleasure.
Pearce grinned. "Yup. It's a weakness of mine."
"Mine too."
Relieved to have something to do, Pearce indicated the sofa.
"Sit down. I'll have it in a minute. I like mine with warm milk. Is that okay?"
"It's perfect, but let me help. You're one-handed, remember?"
The kitchen, although tiny, was impeccably clean. Probably, Wynter surmised, due to the fact that Pearce obviously didn't cook.
The refrigerator held a container of milk, a pizza box on the bottom shelf, a six-pack of beer, some cheese, and a half dozen eggs. While Pearce got mugs and cocoa, Wynter warmed the milk. "How long have you had this place?"
"Since I was a medical student."
"You didn't live at home?"
Pearce carefully placed the mugs on a metal tray with a Coca Cola sign painted in the center. She didn't look at Wynter when she answered. "No. I haven't lived at home since I was seventeen."
Wynter leaned one shoulder against the refrigerator, watching the shadows flicker over Pearce's face. "Did your father and your grandfather go to Penn too?"
"Yup. And my great grandfather, and my great great grandfather."
"Did you ever think about going somewhere else?"
"No."
"It must've been tough."
Pearce pointed to the refrigerator. "I should make another ice pack."
"I'll get it." Wynter opened the freezer door and jiggled the ice tray to free it from the accumulated frost. Pearce was very adept at deflecting the conversation away from the personal. At least her personal life. Wynter realized she'd shared more with Pearce in a few brief conversations than with anyone other than Mina. Pearce had a way of listening that made her feel heard. "That's quite a legacy to live up to. Did it bother you?"
"I always knew what I would be. I always knew where I would end up." Pearce spoke quietly as she searched in a cabinet for a dish towel. "It never occurred to me that there was any other choice."
Wynter turned with the ice cube tray between her fingers, trying not to freeze her hands. She held it out. "Are you happy with the way things turned out?"
Pearce settled the tray onto the palm of her uninjured hand, studying the orderly alignment of the rectangular cubes. "I don't know.
I've never stopped long enough to think about it." She looked into Wynter's eyes. "How about you?"
"I'm pretty happy with where things are right at this minute."
Wynter smiled. Standing in Pearce's kitchen with the smell of cocoa in the air, she realized just exactly how much she meant that.
* * *
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"Oh, God," Wynter murmured, stretching her stocking feet toward the fireplace. "If I stay a minute longer, I'm not going to be able to get up and go home."
Pearce turned her head lazily on the sofa, her heavy white mug of hot chocolate balanced on her knee. She had forgotten to drink it as they had talked about medical school and Wynter's residency at Yale, sharing the many experiences they had in common. They had not mentioned Wynter's ex-husband again, although Wynter spoke often and freely about Ronnie. Pearce found she could easily discount the shadow of a husband if she didn't think about it too hard. She could sometimes even forget that Wynter was very likely to have another husband before very long. She was too beautiful and bright and dynamic to be without a partner. But those were thoughts for lonely nights when she stared into the fireplace and saw only dying embers, not the promise of light and warmth. Tonight, Wynter was beside her, and nothing had ever felt quite so right. "I'll walk you home."
"I believe I see a pattern forming here." Wynter tipped her cup and drank the last of the bittersweet chocolate. "No. We already established that you shouldn't be wandering around by yourself."
"I'm fine now. The Valium has worn off, and"--she held up her hand--"this feels a lot better."
"What are you going to do if you have to operate tomorrow?"
Wynter tucked her feet up under her on the sofa and studied Pearce, who lounged a foot away on the opposite end, her head tipped back against the sofa, her back relaxed into the curve of the cushions, her legs splayed. So comfortable in her own body. So apparently unaware
of how beautiful she was.
"I'm backup call. Hopefully it will be quiet. If not, I'll get a glove on somehow and fake it with my good hand. I'd only need to scrub to second assist anyhow."
"Pearce," Wynter said with real worry. "It will kill you to scrub with those open wounds. Your hand will be a bloody mess before you're done."
"I'll use one of the scrubless chemical disinfectants." She grinned at Wynter's groan. "Okay, so it'll still sting like a mother, but I won't tear anything open with a brush. I'll survive. Besides, chances are I'll get a few phone calls during the day and nothing else, so I won't even need to go in. How 'bout you? What are your plans for tomorrow?"
"You know that you're an expert at changing the subject?"
Pearce frowned in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Wynter leaned toward her and rested her fingertips on Pearce's knee. She tapped for emphasis as she spoke. "Whenever we talk about you, if it gets the least bit confrontational, you change the subject. Or if we're sharing secrets, you manage to turn everything back on me. You know more about me than my mother at this point. And I don't know anything about you."
"Okay," Pearce said with a hint of challenge in her voice. "Ask me something."
"It doesn't work that way," Wynter said in exasperation. "It's not about twenty questions. It's about...it's about..." She stopped, uncertain what it was about. She'd never been bothered when her other friends had been overly private. She'd never wanted to know everything about one of them. What made them happy. What made them sad. What they dreamed about. She had no idea why it annoyed her that Pearce would not easily disclose those things to her. "Never mind."
"You know things about me too," Pearce said quietly. "Secret things."
"Really? What?"
Pearce tapped the back of Wynter's hand where it now rested on her thigh. "You know about my secret room. You know about the hot chocolate. You know about..." She searched her mind frantically and then looked into Wynter's inquisitive eyes, knowing that she had told Wynter her story in fragments over dinner the night Wynter had arrived, in the abandoned residents' lounge, in the operating room as they teased and bantered, and this evening, as they talked in desultory tones about growing up with the knowledge they would always be doctors, and nothing else. "You know that I am everything my family expected me to be...except a son."
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