Radclyffe - Turn back Time

by Turn back Time (lit)

  Pearce pulled her key ring from her jacket pocket. "It stays pretty warm in here, but I have a kerosene heater if you're cold."

  "Is this yours?" Wynter asked curiously.

  "I rent it."

  Pearce pulled open the doors and reached inside for the light switch. Unzipping her jacket, she watched Wynter gaze curiously around. Pearce's Thunderbird occupied nearly half the space. The frame of a '65 Corvair stood on cinder blocks next to it. Workbenches covered with neat rows of tools lined one wall, and an air compressor, jack, and other automotive equipment stood on the floor.

  "I take it this is what you do with your spare time," Wynter said, not surprised to see that the space had a certain order and precision, not unlike an operating room.

  "It's relaxing." Pearce squatted down next to Ronnie. "These are my cars. They're just like yours, only a little bit bigger."

  "Mine," Ronnie announced, pointing to a shelf that ran above the workbench filled with classic car models.

  Laughing, Pearce picked her up and carried her to the side of the room. "Which one?"

  Wynter joined them. "She probably means all of them."

  Pearce took down the replica of her Thunderbird. "You like this one?"

  "Pearce," Wynter warned, but it was too late. Ronnie immediately grasped the car and held it tightly.

  "Mine."

  "Ronnie, honey, that's--"

  "She can have it." Pearce leaned against the workbench, holding Ronnie loosely while the child waved her new possession in the air. "I can replace it."

  Wynter turned away, feigning interest in the cars, which she knew absolutely nothing about. Pearce had such an easy way with her daughter, and Ronnie looked so sweetly happy that it hurt. It hurt because it should have been Dave holding Ronnie and making her laugh, and she didn't want it to be him. Realizing that only made her own unexpected sense of joy even more confusing. Her throat was tight, and she hoped her voice would sound normal. "You're careful, aren't you? Working in here alone?"

  Pearce walked up beside her and put Ronnie down. The child sat at her feet and began to drive the car over the concrete. "I've been doing this since I was just a kid. I'm very careful."

  "Did your father teach you?"

  "Hell no," Pearce said with a bitter laugh. She glanced down at Ronnie. "Sorry."

  "It's all right."

  "My grandfather--my mother's father. I spent every weekend with my mother's parents, and some nights during the week too, if my father was working and my mother was busy."

  "What does your mother do?"

  "She was a microbiologist. She taught at Bryn Mawr."

  Wynter heard the careful phrasing and saw the pain in Pearce's eyes. "I'm sorry."

  "Hey, careful, you," Pearce said, quickly stepping sideways to block Ronnie's path before she could bump her head on the undercarriage of the elevated Corvair. Then she met Wynter's sympathetic smile.

  "Thanks."

  "How old were you when it happened?"

  "Nine."

  Wynter reached for Pearce's hand. She squeezed it and didn't let go.

  Pearce resisted the urge to thread her fingers through Wynter's.

  Her hand was so warm. So soft. The garage suddenly felt hot and close.

  She dropped Wynter's hand and stepped away. "I guess we should go get that ice cream for Mina."

  "Yes." Wynter shivered, although she hadn't unzipped her parka, and she wasn't cold.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "Did you have a good walk?" Mina asked when Wynter joined her in the living room. She'd changed into a loose denim jumper and tie-dyed T-shirt but still wore her fuzzy pink slippers and was ensconced in a rocker surrounded by the Sunday papers.

  "It was nice," Wynter said, leaving the door to the adjoining family room open so she could keep an eye on the children, all of whom were sprawled on the rug with their toys and games. "Do you want your ice cream?"

  "In a little while." Mina nodded toward the overstuffed chair next to her. "Sit down and enjoy the fire."

  Wynter settled back with a sigh and propped her feet on a footstool.

  "Is Ken home?"

  "Taking a nap. He said he was up all night."

  Wynter made a sympathetic sound. "I'm not so sure it's a good thing I have two days off in a row. It makes me realize how abnormal my life is."

  "Looked pretty normal this morning," Mina said. "Family breakfast, friendly company, nice quiet walk."

  Wynter smiled, thinking just how right that had felt. Spending time with Ronnie. Being with Pearce. Pearce. She had no idea how Pearce had become part of her life outside of the hospital, but she was glad. The last month had brought so many changes, sometimes she felt as if she couldn't keep up. "I just wish there were more mornings like this."

  "It won't be forever. You're more than halfway done."

  "I know," Wynter said, staring at the ceiling. "It was just so nice to take Ronnie out and spend an hour just having fun."

  "You were gone for a while. I was starting to worry."

  "Sorry. Pearce took us by her garage where she restores old cars.

  Ronnie loved the place."

  "If it had anything to do with cars, she would."

  Wynter laughed. "I think I'm raising an auto mechanic."

  "Well, maybe it's hereditary. That's a lot like surgery."

  "If I had the energy, I'd throw a pillow at you."

  Mina reached for the cup of tea resting on the reading table beside her. "Pearce was good with her."

  "She was great."

  "So you all had fun."

  "Yes." Wynter felt a ripple of apprehension for which she had no explanation. Almost every minute they'd spent together had been effortless and enjoyable. They'd conversed easily about Pearce's cars and Wynter's family. She'd told Pearce about growing up on a farm, and how shocked her parents had been when she'd said she wanted to be a doctor. Neither was a college graduate, and in their small community, many of the young people still married and settled down within walking distance of their parents. Even the ones who went away to college frequently returned, preferring the quieter life they had grown up with.

  Ronnie seemed taken with Pearce. Although Ronnie rarely stopped babbling, she and Pearce seemed able to communicate even without words. Everything had been perfect, and yet the closer they had drawn to Pearce's apartment on the return trip, the less they'd talked and the more heavy the silence had become.

  They'd climbed the front porch and stood facing one another, Ronnie between them, one of her small mittened hands on each of their thighs. Their breath hung like mist, an uninvited guest. Wynter had the urge to brush it away, as if it prevented her from seeing Pearce clearly.

  "Let me check your hand," she said.

  Pearce glanced up at the porch ceiling, as if she could see through the structure. "I'd ask you up, but..."

  "No problem." Wynter tried to sound nonchalant, but she knew her words had come out harshly. She smiled to take the sting away. "Let me see your hand. Please."

  Without another word, Pearce pulled her ungloved hand from her jacket pocket and held it out, fingers splayed. She slowly made a fist and opened it again. Wynter pulled off her own gloves and stuffed them into her pockets. She kept Ronnie trapped between her knees so she could use both hands to examine Pearce's. She repeated the procedure from the day before, gently probing, flexing and extending each finger, and studying the scrapes and bruises. Finally she was satisfied. "It's still very swollen, but better."

  "It'll be okay." Pearce withdrew her hand from Wynter's grip.

  "You should get going. It's freezing out here. Have a good one--I'll see you tomorrow."

  As Pearce turned toward her front door, keys in hand, Wynter blurted, "What about you? What are you going to do today?"

  Pearce gave her an inscrutable look over her shoulder. "I'm going in to make rounds, see what's going on. If I'm lucky, a good case will come in." Pearce glanced down at Ronnie and smiled. "Bye, kiddo."
>
  Ronnie waved her new car and giggled. "Bye, kiddo."

  Replaying the scene in her head, Wynter continued to stare at the ceiling. She still couldn't figure out what bothered her. She knew that someone waited for Pearce upstairs, but that didn't have anything to do with her.

  "You look kind of lost, honey," Mina said. "Something wrong?"

  "No, not really." Wynter frowned. "I guess I just don't know what to do with myself. Too much time on my hands. If you don't mind watching Ronnie, I'll go next door and do some unpacking."

  "Want some company? I'll be over as soon as Ken wakes up. He can watch the kids."

  "Sure," Wynter said, wondering what Pearce was doing and wondering why she couldn't get her out of her mind. "Company would be great."

  v "Where did you go?" Tammy asked petulantly the minute Pearce walked into her apartment.

  "Just for a walk. How are you doing?"

  Tammy sat up, the blanket falling to her waist. She was nude. "I'm still a little wasted. What time is it?"

  "Just after eleven. Are you working today?"

  "I'm the night float. I don't have to be in until eight."

  Pearce hung her jacket over the back of her desk chair. "You want something to eat?"

  "Are you on the menu?"

  "Not at the moment." Pearce went into the kitchen to investigate the food situation. Knowing what Tammy was like under these circumstances, eggs would probably do. She opened the cabinet above the sink and was in the process of taking down a bowl when Tammy's arms came around her from behind. Carefully, she set the dish on the counter, ignoring the play of Tammy's fingers over her abdomen.

  Without turning around, she said, "Why don't you take a shower? I'll leave some of my sweats for you in the bathroom and by the time you're done, I'll have breakfast ready."

  Tammy adroitly opened the button on Pearce's fly with one hand and pulled her shirt loose with the other. "You know I'd rather fuck first and eat later."

  Pearce caught both wrists and stopped Tammy's errant explorations. "Cut it out, Tam. You need something to eat, and I'm not in the mood."

  Tammy stepped back as Pearce turned around. She stared, mouth agape. "You're not kidding, are you?"

  Pearce shook her head.

  "Since when aren't you interested in sex?"

  "Since right now." Pearce leaned against the counter, wincing when she tried to curl the fingers of her left hand around the edge of the counter.

  "What the hell did you do?" Tammy reached for Pearce's hand.

  "Jesus. You really did a number on this."

  "I jammed it up yesterday."

  "How?"

  "Just helping someone move." The last thing Pearce wanted to do was discuss Wynter with anyone, but definitely not anyone from the hospital. And not one of the women she used to sleep with. She wasn't exactly sure why, because Wynter was just a friend. A fellow resident.

  That's all. But she just didn't want to talk about her.

  "Helping someone move." Tammy enunciated each word as if it were a foreign language. "Let me see if I get this right. Pearce Rifkin, the senior surgery resident who never does anything except work and screw, spent her day off helping someone move."

  "Come on," Pearce said, grinning despite herself. "I do more than that. I read a book sometimes. I've even been known to watch a movie."

  "When?"

  "Once. Look, aren't you cold?" It was hard not to look at Tammy's naked body, especially when her nipples were puckered and hard. She had a beautiful body, muscular and compact, her narrow waist leading to subtly curved hips and smooth thighs. Pearce recalled vividly what that firm, smooth flesh felt like in her hands. "Besides, you're not legal, looking like that."

  "It's about time you noticed." Tammy slid her arms around Pearce's waist and pressed against her. "Now, where were we before you lost your mind?"

  "Tam," Pearce said, embracing her gently and kissing the top of her head. "I really don't want to. It's got nothing to do with you. I've just got..." Wynter. I've got Wynter on my mind. Jesus Christ. What am I doing? Tammy tilted her chin up, studying Pearce's face. "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Sure." Tammy's nipples were firm against her chest, Tammy's body warm in her arms. One kiss was all it would take. One kiss and she could lose herself the way she always had in the sounds and sensation of passion. For a few minutes, an hour, there would be no expectations other than pleasure, no goals other than satisfaction.

  She could be no one--or anyone--whomever she chose. No legacy, no promises. Just the moment burning bright, and then gone. She eased out of Tammy's grip, resting her hands on Tammy shoulders. "I gotta get over to the hospital."

  "I don't care if you're seeing someone else," Tammy said, her tone surprisingly serious.

  Pearce's heart began to pound. "I'm not seeing anyone at all."

  "You're lying. To me. Or yourself. But I can see it in your eyes.

  Somebody's got ahold of you deep inside."

  "No," Pearce said hoarsely.

  Tammy ran her fingers down the center of Pearce's chest, then put both hands on her waist and stood on her tiptoes to kiss Pearce hard.

  Even when Pearce didn't respond, she kept her mouth against Pearce's for a long moment, as if imprinting the taste of her. Then she let go.

  "You don't have the slightest idea what a woman can do to your heart. You're in trouble, baby."

  Pearce didn't argue.

  Wynter hit the knee switch to turn on the water at the scrub sink next to Pearce's. It was the first time she'd had a chance to talk to her in over thirty-six hours. Monday had been the day from hell. They had just begun dry rounds at five thirty in the morning when Pearce had been STAT paged to the emergency room. The entire team had been racing down to the ER when Wynter had been STAT paged to the SICU.

  It had been nonstop surgery and emergencies the rest of the day, and the only time she'd seen Pearce had been at sign-out rounds that evening, which were truncated because there were three scheduled cases still to be done. Those cases had been bumped from the OR schedule during the day to accommodate the emergencies, and the attendings were insisting that they be done that night so as not to back up the next day's cases. The entire service had worked until midnight, even the residents who hadn't been on call. Now it was a new day, and it looked like it might be more of the same. "How does your hand feel?"

  Pearce glanced around, but the adjoining scrub sinks were empty for the moment. "It hurts like a son of a bitch. I didn't want to operate yesterday, but it held up okay. I was too busy to notice that it hurt."

  "It still looks swollen."

  "It looks worse than it feels today. Really."

  Wynter smiled. "Good."

  "You're post call, Wynter. You need to go home. Why are you scrubbing?"

  "Because we've got three rooms running, the first-year is taking McMurtry on rounds, and we need someone free to do floor work."

  Pearce shook her head. "Anderson can start that mastectomy by herself. When Liu is done with rounds, he can scrub in and help her out. Go home."

  It annoyed Wynter that she could only see Pearce's eyes above the surgical mask, and they were flat black disks, completely devoid of emotion. " You wouldn't go home."

  "That's different."

  "And why would that be?"

  "Because I'm the chief, and I don't have a kid waiting for me."

  "You can't be serious," Wynter said, her voice laced with acid.

  "Are you suddenly going to become a jerk because you know about Ronnie? Like all the male residents and attendings who think that women shouldn't go into surgery because they should be home raising children?"

  "What I think," Pearce said, her voice still steady and calm, "is that you were on call last night, and you're supposed to be going home this morning. You should take advantage of that and do whatever you might like to do with your time off."

  "You are being a jerk. You never tell the guys to go home."

  Pearce stepped on the kick bucket and threw h
er scrub brush into it. "Maybe I would if they had anything to go home to."

  "I'm not leaving."

  "Suit yourself." Pearce turned and started for room seven and the carotid endarterectomy that awaited her, not even certain why she was pissed. Wynter looked beat, and it bothered her.

  "Pearce," Wynter called.

  Pearce turned around, one eyebrow raised in question.

  "Thanks."

  "For what?" She walked back and leaned one hip against the scrub sink, her hands held out in front of her, the water dripping from her elbows onto the floor.

  "For thinking about me...and about Ronnie. I appreciate it. But that's my responsibility."

  Pearce blew out a breath, making her mask puff out like a tiny sail in a brisk breeze. When she breathed in, it molded itself to the contours of her lower face. "You're right. It's none of my business. Did you get any sleep last night?"

  "A few hours."

  "Will you go home after this case?"

  "Yes."

  "Okay."

  Wynter moved closer, keeping her voice low when several residents stepped up to the scrub sinks adjacent to theirs. "My sister called me last night. Rose--the one who goes to law school at Temple."

  "Uh-huh? Something wrong?"

  "No," Wynter said quickly. "She and her boyfriend are going to the TLA on Friday night to hear Patti Smith. Friends of theirs were going with them, but they can't make it. So Rose is giving me the other tickets."

  "That's cool."

  "So I was wondering...you want to come with us?"

  "Me?" Pearce couldn't hide her surprise.

  "Yes. Do you like rock?"

  "I like Patti Smith. You sure? I mean...don't you want to ask..."

  She couldn't bring herself to say, Don't you want to ask a guy to go with you? because she didn't want to think about that reality. Stupid, she knew. But if she didn't think about it, maybe it wouldn't happen. At least not for a while.

  "No," Wynter said firmly, as if she had heard the rest of Pearce's question. "I want to go with you. Okay?"