"Those," he said faintly.
"Ever had any problem there before? Like a hernia?"
He shook his head.
"Any recent trauma? Maybe during the workout a few days ago?"
Another headshake.
"Swelling?"
"No," he whispered.
"So is it one or both that hurt?"
"Just the right one."
"Okay. Let's have a look at your belly first."
Rodney let go of the sheet, and Pearce pulled it down to his hips.
She lifted the stethoscope that was draped over the blood pressure apparatus and put it on the upper left quadrant of his abdomen, then moved it until she had covered the entire surface.
"Quiet in there," she said as she tossed the stethoscope onto the counter. "I'm going to press, and you tell me if it hurts. Okay?"
"Okay."
She followed the path she had previously traced with the stethoscope, probing deeply and letting go rapidly. Rodney showed no evidence of direct or rebound pain until she reached the right lower quadrant, where she felt an infinitesimal tightening of his muscles. She looked up. "Does it hurt here?"
"Just a little."
She didn't feel a discrete mass, but there was a suggestion of fullness in that area. "I'm going to take a quick look at your groin just to make sure there's no problem. If anything hurts, tell me."
Rodney stared resolutely at the ceiling while she palpated each testicle.
"Doesn't seem to be any problem here." She pulled the sheet up and turned to wash her hands. "Are your parents here?"
"Just my mom. I think she went to get a soda. What's wrong with me, do you think?"
"I think you've got appendicitis."
"Then why does it hurt...you know."
"Probably because your appendix is irritating the structures on the inside of your abdomen, some of which lead down to that area. We call it referred pain."
"So I'm going to need an operation?"
"I think so. But it won't be a big deal, and you'll be as good as new in a week or so." Pearce dried her hands and tossed the paper towel into the wastebasket. "I'm going to go find your mom, and then I'll be back."
Thirty minutes later she was wheeling Rodney to the operating room, doing what she did best, and hoping that the challenge of fishing Rodney's appendix out through the laparoscope would be enough to keep her mind off Wynter. She hurt down deep, a little bit like Rodney, but her referred pain struck straight to the heart.
"God, wasn't that fabulous," Rose crowed when Wynter finally found her and Wayne in the lobby.
"It was great," Wynter agreed.
Rose looked around. "Where's Pearce?"
"She had to leave." Wynter tried to sound nonchalant, but she could tell by the expression on her sister's face that she had failed.
When, murmuring something to Wayne, Rose took her by the arm and dragged her a few steps away, Wynter steeled herself. The last thing she wanted to do was talk when her mind was a jumble of questions and her body felt like it belonged to someone else. She'd never reacted to anyone that way before. She didn't want to talk or think until she recognized herself. Maybe then she could make sense of what she'd done.
"What's going on?" Rose asked.
"Nothing. Really. Pearce just needed to leave. I have her car, so I'm fine. You two go on home."
Rose pulled Wynter farther into the corner out of the way of people streaming toward the doors. "Did you have a fight?"
"No."
"You work with her, right? I wasn't paying all that much attention when you said you were bringing a friend."
"Look, Rosie--"
"So why are you so upset if nothing happened?"
"Can we talk about this some other time? I'm really beat. I worked all night last night, and now--"
Rose folded her arms and looked as if she were settling in for a siege. "I never see you, and you're always too busy to talk on the phone. You and Dave get divorced, and then you show up here two months ago without even telling me you're coming. We get together for the first time in forever and you go from being on top of the world to looking like..." Rose squinted and peered into Wynter's eyes. "You look like you're going to cry. Jeez, what did she do to you?"
Wynter's throat burned and she was terrified that she would cry.
She never cried. "She didn't do anything. But I think I might've done something stupid."
"Like what? God, you didn't do drugs or anything did you?"
"No, nothing like that," Wynter said, her voice edging upward toward what she feared might become an hysterical laugh. "I'm a mess, I kissed her. She was upset."
"You kissed Pearce? As in a serious kiss kiss?"
Wynter nodded.
"Is she gay?"
Wynter nodded again, but she was thinking about the kiss. About the way Pearce's body had tightened against hers, about the scrape of teeth over her lips and the hungry plunge of tongues, about the possessive hands that had cupped her butt and tugged her close. She shut her eyes, hoping it would stop her head from swimming.
"Holy. Holy holy holy. So what...are you gay?"
Wynter opened her eyes. "I haven't thought past her. I can't seem to think about anything except her."
"Jeez, Wynter. Maybe you should."
"Yes," Wynter said wearily. "Maybe I should."
v Rosie made Wynter's excuses to Wayne, and Wynter walked to the car, hoping against hope that she would see Pearce somewhere along the way--tucked into a doorway, her ankles crossed and that grin on her face that was an irresistible combination of amusement and cocky self-assurance, or leaning against the Thunderbird, waiting as she had been just the previous evening. Thirty-six hours that felt like forever. Her life was divided into thirty-six-hour segments, it seemed, a repetitive cycle from which she could not shift back into the routine that most of the world followed. She'd never been able to explain her work, or what it demanded of her, to anyone who hadn't experienced it. Now, that sense of alienation extended to the very core of her. She could say the words. I kissed her. It was simple enough. She even knew why. She'd done it because every atom in her body had been drawn to Pearce from the instant they'd met.
There was no one waiting at the Thunderbird except a couple of young men who stood on the sidewalk admiring its sleek lines and dazzling chrome.
"Yo, lady," one of them said. "Some fine ride."
Wynter unlocked the driver's door. "It is, isn't it."
"Your old man do the restoration?"
"Not exactly." Wynter slid in and took a few seconds to acquaint herself with the gauges and gears. Fortunately, she wasn't intimidated by anything mechanical, and although she hadn't driven anything quite like this before, she knew that she could. She pulled out carefully at the first sign of a break in the traffic that crawled down the two-lane, one-way thoroughfare and quickly headed for one of the less populated streets to return to West Philadelphia. She didn't want anything to happen to this car.
Once she felt comfortable, she fished around in the deep pocket of her leather coat and found her cell phone. She had Pearce's cell programmed in, just as she had the numbers of all the other residents on the service, and they had hers. She tried the number, her heart hammering. When she got voicemail, she didn't leave a message. What could she say? What had she intended to say if Pearce had answered? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to kiss you? No, because that wasn't true. She hadn't thought about it, she hadn't made a conscious decision to do it, but she'd meant it.
She disconnected and pushed one on the speed dial for the most important number in her life, the hospital operator. When the call was answered, she identified herself and asked to be put through to Dr.
Pearce Rifkin's home number.
"I can do that, Doctor, but Dr. Rifkin is here in the hospital. Would you like me to page her for you?"
"Yes, please," Wynter said. She wasn't surprised, now that she thought about it. Pearce rarely spent any time at home even when she wasn't on call. She felt a sur
ge of irrational relief that Pearce hadn't gone to O'Malley's or some other place looking for a diversion, then laughed at her own self-deception. Pearce could find all the company she needed in the hospital if she wanted it.
As if to prove the point, a woman came on the line. A woman who wasn't Pearce.
"Are you paging Dr. Rifkin?" the woman asked imperiously.
Wynter tried desperately to place the voice. She thought she would recognize Tammy's, because they ran into each other a fair amount in the OR lounge. Andrea she wasn't too sure of. She snapped, "Yes I am.
This is Dr. Thompson."
"Dr. Rifkin is scrubbed in the OR. Would you like to leave a message?"
"No. Thanks." Wynter disconnected and put the phone back in her pocket.
She rubbed her eyes, feeling them burn with frustration and fatigue. Whatever she was going to say, she had to say in person. Pearce deserved that.
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Wynter slept fitfully. The new house was too quiet with Ronnie gone. With just the two of them now, Wynter kept both of their bedroom doors open to monitor the small sounds her daughter made in the night. The bedroom was hot, stuffy, and she irritably kicked off the covers in a light doze. Her skin burned, despite the damp film of stress sweat. She was used to this anxious half sleep from being on call, when every night resembled this one; but usually when she was home, she slept like the dead. Tonight, her mind wouldn't stop racing, replaying every minute of the evening until she was once again in Pearce's arms, their mouths and bodies cleaved. Each time she relived the memory she grew aroused, her thighs tight and her stomach twisting with need.
At 5:00 a.m. she finally got up, showered, and went next door to Mina and Ken's. She let herself in and crept quietly up the stairs to the room where Ronnie slept with Winston when she stayed overnight.
When Wynter peeked in the room, she saw what she expected: Ronnie was awake, carrying on an earnest and animated one-sided conversation with a stuffed rabbit. Winston, apparently used to Ronnie's early morning monologues, slept on. Stepping carefully over toys, Wynter scooped Ronnie up and tiptoed out. She left a quick note in the kitchen for Mina, writing one-handed while she balanced Ronnie on her opposite hip.
On the short trip home, she said, "How would you like to go out to the diner with Mommy for breakfast, honey?"
Ronnie and the rabbit thought it was a great idea. Thirty minutes later, with Ronnie washed and dressed and carrying Mr. Bunny, Wynter buckled her into the child seat in the rear of her Volvo wagon and headed for the Melrose Diner in South Philly. Open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, it was a perfect place for a fast meal and a chance to think. Unfortunately, by the time she returned home an hour and a half later, her stomach was full but her head was no clearer.
She took Ronnie inside and settled her on the bed with her favorite books and toys while she curled up next to her with a newspaper. It was all for show, because she couldn't concentrate on anything. Fortunately, Ronnie required little in the way of focused conversation. When her cell phone rang Wynter snatched it up, trying not to be disappointed when she recognized the number.
"Hi, Mina," she said.
"I take it that really was you who kidnapped our little darling before sunrise this morning."
Wynter couldn't help smiling. "Guilty. Are you interested in the ransom demands?"
"Of course. How much are you going to pay me to take her back?"
"I don't think I've got enough saved." At that moment, Ronnie crawled into her lap and closed her eyes. "However, right this minute, she does resemble an angel. Maybe we could negotiate price."
"Must be nap time."
"You've got it." Wynter nuzzled the top of Ronnie's head, soothed by the smell of Johnson's Baby Shampoo and innocence.
"How come you didn't stay for breakfast?"
"It was early. I knew we'd just wake up the whole house."
"Did you eat?"
"We went to the Melrose."
There was a moment of silence. "The Melrose. On a Saturday morning."
"Uh-huh."
"Something happen I should know about?"
"How do you do that?" Wynter closed her eyes and stroked her daughter's soft hair.
"Doctors, especially surgeons and anesthesiologists, are creatures of habit. You have very few and very predictable responses to stress.
Ken eats ice cream out of the carton by the gallon and forgets about sex.
You go to the Melrose and brood."
"Ken really forgets about sex?"
"Get Ronnie settled. I'm coming over."
Wynter was in the kitchen making tea when Mina arrived. She looked over her shoulder and said, "Do you want some toast?"
"I'm fine. So tell me what happened, and don't dance around."
"We went to the concert," Wynter said as she carried two mugs of tea to the table. "It was wild. I don't know if it was that place or the music or the fact that I haven't been out on a date in years, but I..." She stopped and stared at Mina. A date. "Well. I guess that answers your question from last night."
Mina sipped her tea and said nothing.
"I felt so good. A little bit crazy. She put her arms around me and every nerve in my body fired at once." She smiled, remembering how alive she'd felt. "I turned and kissed her. I couldn't seem to get enough of her." Her voice drifted off as she tried to recognize herself in that kiss and failed. Confused, she met Mina's warm, kind gaze. "I think I scared her. She left in a hurry, and I haven't talked to her since."
"Were you scared?"
"Scared." Wynter tried the word on for size, then shook her head.
"No. No, I wasn't. Or uneasy or embarrassed. I was just...nuts for her."
Mina drummed her fingers lightly on the tabletop, a slight frown of concentration breaking the smooth contours of her forehead. "It's funny, the things we don't know about our friends. I've known you, what? Going on eight years, maybe?"
Wynter nodded and pushed her tea aside. Her stomach had tied itself into a knot.
"Have you ever been with a woman before?" Mina asked.
"No," Wynter said softly.
"Ever wanted to?"
"If you'd asked me three months ago, I would have said no."
Wynter looked at Mina, but her gaze was unfocused as she searched the past. "I always had a lot of friends growing up. Our community was small and pretty tight. All the kids hung out together in one big social group all the way through high school, boys and girls both. We didn't pair off the way a lot of kids seem to do. I thought of boys as friends first, I guess, and boyfriends second. Naturally, I was closer to my girl friends."
"So you never had any indication that maybe you liked girls as more than friends?"
"No," Wynter said, but she sounded uncertain.
"What?"
"I told you about Match Day. I bumped into Pearce," Wynter smiled, "literally. She looked a little younger and tougher then. Still just as beautiful as she is now, though. I just kind of got lost in her." She looked at Mina and shook her head, unable to find the words to describe what she felt. "I just wanted to be with her. When she started to kiss me that day, I wanted that more than I'd ever wanted anything in my life. It made no sense, and I never even questioned it."
"What happened?"
Wynter snorted. "Dave called at the critical moment. And I suddenly realized that I was about to kiss a woman who happened to be a total stranger. I left her there, and I didn't see her again until a couple of months ago."
"But you thought about her."
"Yes."
"That way."
"Yes. Sometimes. For just a second, and then I'd brush it away."
Wynter sighed. "I was pregnant when I met her, Dave and I were ready to move to Yale and start our residencies, and I thought it was just a fluke. Just a moment of perfect insanity."
"Like last night."
Wynter shook her head. "No. Last night was a thousand times better."
Mina laugh
ed. "Woo-ie, you are in a bad way."
"This is serious, Mina. Pearce was really upset. She walked out of the concert in the middle of the night, left her car, and went to the hospital."
"She's probably scared right down to the tips of those big black sexy boots of hers."
Wynter frowned. "Why?"
"Oh come on, sweetie. You're a divorced mother, straight as far as everyone including you can tell. She probably thinks you're just...
playing--you know, experimenting."
Wynter rose quickly and strode to the sink, dashing the now-tepid tea into the drain so forcefully it splashed out. "That's ridiculous. I would never do that."
"Well, she probably doesn't know that."
"Well, she should."
"Honey," Mina said, rising slowly, "you might have to do some explaining. Because I'll tell you one thing. She's got a serious case for you."
Her heart racing, Wynter asked softly, "You think?"
"I know. It's written all over that beautiful face of hers."
v As soon as Mina left, Wynter retrieved her phone from the bedroom, called the page operator, and asked for Pearce.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Rifkin has signed out for the day."
"Sorry, didn't I say Pearce Rifkin? She's on call for the chief's service," Wynter said, knowing Pearce's schedule as intimately as she knew her own.
"Just a moment."
Wynter tuned out the background chatter of the page operators, four women who occupied a glassed-in booth on the first floor opposite the admissions office. Most of them looked like they'd been with the hospital since the first brick was laid, and they knew every person on staff by name. She was certain they could tell stories that would top the New York Times Bestseller List for years.
"Dr. Rifkin is not on call today. Dr. Dzubrow is covering for Rifkin's service."
Wynter frowned. She was certain Pearce was scheduled to be in house today. "Can you page her to--"
"She left word that she would be off beeper for the entire day. Do you want to leave a message in case she calls in?"
"No," Wynter said slowly. "Thanks."
She closed her phone and stared at nothing, wondering what to do.
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