by Julie Wright
After all those decisions, I firmly, resolutely, definitely made the decision that I had no sense of actual resolve. I yanked down my bedspread and sheets, got into bed, and covered my head with a pillow so I could scream into it.
Weeks later, I found that my path crossed very seldom with Everett’s. My path hardly crossed with Miss Pearl’s, as well. So, despite all the change I'd imagined finding with the two people reentering my life, nothing had changed at all.
Not really.
But it felt like everything had changed. I dressed with a little more care in the morning in case Everett bumped into me in the halls or the cafeteria. I sought out opportunities to be where Miss Pearl might be so she could see how hard I worked and be impressed by my ethic. And I worked like a dog.
If a surgeon position came available, I wanted to be high on the list of candidates.
Because of the minimal interaction between Everett and me, the day he sidled up to me in the cafeteria and whispered, “Hey, Andrea without an E,” my skin goose-pimpled and my face went to the temperature of the sun.
“Everett! What are you doing here?”
He grabbed a tray and put it down in front of him. “I came to eat lunch with my favorite doctor.”
“You don’t get out much if I’m your favorite,” I said.
“I've spent the last seventeen years of my life with doctors. I think I get out plenty.” He pulled a pudding off the shelf in the chilled glass display cases.
I made myself a salad from the salad bar, waiting for him to say something else, something that would explain his presence, the nearness of him, the sudden companionable attitude when it seemed he’d spent the month previous ignoring me.
When he didn’t say anything more, I pointed at his tray and gave him my best lecture-look. “Is that really your lunch?”
Looking sheepish, Everett hurried and made himself a salad as well. At the last moment before it was our turn to pay in line, he also grabbed an apple crisp dessert.
We sat down together at a table and he still hadn’t really said anything, so I began eating my salad. He watched me a moment, but I refused to be intimidated by Everett Covington. He invited himself to my lunch, he certainly had to expect that eating would be involved.
When my lunch tray neared total emptiness, he finally spoke up. “So Hazel is coming into town, and I was wondering if you were going to be available while she was here.”
“Hazel’s coming?” I blinked at Everett, uncertain why his sister’s visit was a matter of concern to me.
“Yes. She caught whiff of a rumor that one the doctors at Boston Children’s makes frequent purchases from her website.”
Had my face felt warm before? Now it felt steamy enough to melt off and drip onto the floor. “Oh.”
“Exactly. Oh, indeed.” He nodded. “Turns out, lots of toys are delivered to this address. Naturally, Hazel is interested. She’s coming with a donation to the hospital to thank that doctor personally.”
We stared at each other a long minute over our lunch trays. “How did you know?”
“You’re kidding, right? Hazel’s my sister. On occasion, I spend time in her toy store while I’m waiting for her. That’s a lot of browsing time when you’re waiting on the owner to get out of an endless line of meetings. I think I know her product line better than she does. So when most of the rooms in this hospital have my sister’s toys sitting their stuffed bottoms on patient’s beds, I put two and two together and called Hazel to see if there was a way to track how many packages were delivered to the hospital over the last few months. When she saw how many, she realized she had an opportunity to do some local social good. Your credit card must be maxed out, Andra.”
I bit my lip and tightened my hands on my mug of hot chocolate, letting the heat seep into my fingers. “I . . . uh, actually use the money from my inheritance. Grams was very generous to me. I carry no debt of any kind.”
Everett’s brow creased ever so slightly, and his jaw tightened with my confession over who really paid for the toys. “I’m sorry, Andra. I’m so sorry about your grams. I didn’t know until the funeral was over and I didn’t know what to say or how to make anything right or how to fix what was so incredibly broken. I am so sorry.”
“It’s water under the bridge, Everett. It’s done, past, no longer an issue.”
His hand flinched like he meant to grab my hand. Instinctively, my hand flinched as well, preparing to dodge any such attempt. The conversation stripped me to raw vulnerability and I wanted to be gone, away from Everett and his apologies that came years too late, and the aching emptiness that swallowed me every time I thought about my grandmother.
Everett did not grab my hand.
I did not flee.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me, Andra. Not trying to contact you as soon as things settled with Liz was unforgiveable, I know that. But I wanted you to know that I was sorry. So incredibly sorry.”
Part of me wanted to ask how long exactly it took to settle things with Liz and wanted to ask why he hadn’t contacted me; the other part of me wanted to rant mad-woman-style about the horror of going through Gram’s death alone and how he could have been there for me if he'd wanted to.
The third part of me was the part that won.
I forced a smile to my face. “There’s nothing to forgive. We had our own struggles to deal with back then. Everything worked out how it was supposed to, and we’re both fine.”
Not fine. Not exactly.
“You can be the better person and go easy on me if you want to, but I know what I did wrong and can feel guilty and sorry if I want to.”
I raised my hand to indicate he could do as he wished and changed the conversation back to something that didn’t splinter and fracture my heart like thin ice in a spring melt. “I don’t think the hospital will be thrilled with a bunch of PR hoopla. Are you sure Hazel coming is such a great idea?”
“Who’s Hazel?”
Everett and I both looked up to see the new visitor to our table. “Becca, hey . . . what are you doing?”
She sat down without waiting to be invited. “Eavesdropping like the good friend I am. Who’s Hazel and why won’t admin like her?”
“Becca,” I said, “have you met Dr. Covington?”
She smiled wide for Everett. “I do work here, don’t I?”
I laughed.
Everett did as well. “Becca has been unlucky enough to be forced into giving me frequent tours when I get turned around in this place.”
Becca swept back her blonde curls and waved at both of us as if shooing away any side conversations she had no interest in. “So what hoopla? What Hazel? What admin?”
“Admin will be fine,” Everett assured us both. “In fact, the whole thing was almost their idea. Miss Pearl said that with our excellent recovery rate in cardiology, this other exposure will bring nothing but good to the hospital for all the other departments as well. I made sure to clear it with anyone who might object before I greenlit the project.”
Becca buttered her roll. “What project?”
“The Grandmother Foundation,” I said at the same time Everett said, “The Heart Stone project.”
We both flashed surprised glances at each other. “You made this a project?” I asked.
“Did you actually create a foundation?” he asked. Then we laughed together, and Becca smiled like she’d been let in on a secret no one else knew about.
“Yes,” I said. “I created a foundation with my inheritance. I wanted to spread her love a little.” My eyes blinked back the tears and the back of my throat burned and tightened. “It seemed like the right thing to do.”
“It sounds pretty right to me,” Everett agreed. “And to answer your question, yes, Hazel made this a project. Once I told her of Miss Pearl’s idea of making it something bigger, something that we could invite other people to participate in, she grew the whole thing from one event to something that would be ongoing.”
Becca smacked her hands on th
e table demanding our attention. “I’m still lost, people. It’s kinda hard to butt in to a conversation if those conversing refuse to provide backstory. How about filling me in?”
Everett explained his sister, her business, and my quietly giving gifts to the children of the hospital.”
“You really do that?” Becca asked.
“He makes me sound far more heroic than I really am,” I insisted.
“And you never invited me to play? I would have helped.” She looked actually sad that I hadn’t ever included her.
“Well, you’re invited now,” Everett said. He turned back to me. “So are you on board?”
“I’m not really sure what this is,” I confessed.
He shrugged. “It’s a couple interviews, some video footage of you at work, and your approval of the media being shared.”
“Of course I will if I’m really needed, but wouldn’t it be better to have someone in admin take care of it? Someone like Miss Pearl? She has tons of personality and charisma and would be great in an interview.”
Everett laughed. “Miss Pearl actually flat out refused to be a part of any interviews. She said if anyone puts a camera in her face, then she will put a slap on their face. She sounded sincere. I think we should believe her.”
Becca nearly spit out her food as she laughed at the mental image of Miss Pearl slapping a cameraperson.
“So will you?” Everett asked me again.
I agreed, wondering what it was I was getting myself into.
Everett, apparently feeling like his work was done, dug into his dual desserts of apple crisp and pudding.
I stared at him until I had the feeling someone was staring at me. I turned to Becca. She smiled and slid her glance to him, then back to me. She mouthed the word hot. She even fanned herself, then jabbed a thumb at him, which made me scoot my chair back abruptly and grab hold of my tray. I did not want to be around for Everett to see her mentally setting us up together.
Everett stood as well. “You’re leaving?” he asked.
I glanced at Becca, who rolled her eyes. “I’ve got an appointment.” I wasn’t even sure if the words were true or not, just sure that I didn’t want my best friend flirting with my serial-ex-boyfriend on my behalf. “Go ahead and finish your lunch. I’ll talk to you both later.”
I hurried away before Becca could do or say anything that would make my ear-tips burn. She’d likely do and say plenty, but at least I didn’t have to witness any of it.
I ran into Miss Pearl on my way to my office. She smiled wide at me and said, “We’re done marinating, aren’t we? It’s definitely time, Andra. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Time for what?” I asked.
“I told you I’d come back when you were ready. And I think you’re finally there.”
“Finally there?” My heart rate quickened. “Are we talking about a job?” Maybe the position for surgeon was already open. Would they have opened it without any of us knowing?
She started walking toward my office; I followed along since I was going that direction anyway. She pressed her lips together before opening them again to reply, “For my job, yes. I need you to spend some time with Dr. Covington, to help him feel welcome here at the hospital.”
“He’s been here a month. If he doesn’t feel welcome by now . . .”
“I want him to feel like we’re taking a personal interest in him, to make sure he belongs and that he’s planning on staying with this new situation for the long duration.”
The long duration?
Did she mean for Everett to take the new surgeon position?”
“I also want to make sure his sister has everything she needs while she’s visiting. You will be very important in bringing some wonderful media attention to this hospital and to the cause of children’s needs everywhere.”
“About that . . .”
“I know,” she interrupted before I could form the words. “You wanted those gifts to be something done privately, but I believe you have a cause here bigger than you can imagine. You and Dr. Covington will be quite a team, quite a force for good in a world of exhaustion.”
We were at my office.
She patted my arm. “I’m counting on you, Dr. Stone.” Then, per usual Miss Pearl fashion, she was gone in an eye blink.
She counted on me. Did that mean she considered me for the new position as well, or just Everett?
And was there even a position available?
I squared my shoulders and entered my own office.
If a job did exist . . . well, I would prove to her I was capable of doing that job and that she could count on me, even if that meant purposely throwing myself into the path of Everett Covington.
Chapter Eighteen
I started the very next day, showing up at Everett’s office and knocking on his door. My heart thumped louder than the knock “Dr. Covington?” I said, peeking my head inside.
“Did you just call me Dr. Covington?” he asked from somewhere inside the room.
“Well, you did earn it,” I answered.
“It’s still weird to hear it out of your mouth.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, entering the room a little more so I could see him.
He stood on the back of one of the chairs, balanced in a way that if he leaned in any direction, the chair would probably topple. His hands held a picture to the wall. I had to enter the room altogether to see the picture fully and could not contain the gasp of surprise when I saw what the heavy wood frame held.
The picture of us at a pretend tea making a toast over a stuffed bear. He’d had it enlarged into a poster sized and printed it up on canvas.
“What are you doing?” I asked again, only I felt certain the question seemed far more alarmed this time around.
“Claiming my office as mine,” he said like it was no big deal.
“But that? That picture can’t go up in this office, in this hospital . . . I have to work here too, you know!” Even though I lowered my voice, he had to know I was yelling at him.
But he completely, totally did not care.
He shrugged, making his chair wobble. I almost hoped he’d topple over after all and break some bones. Then I could hide the picture before anyone saw it. “What does it matter where you work? This picture is a work of art. It’s my favorite picture. It goes where I go.”
While I agreed that it had a look of actual art to it. I did not agree that it should go wherever he went. On that, I absolutely disagreed.
“Everett, this picture makes us look like we . . .” I sputtered for words and ended up sounding like an old car that wouldn’t start.
He finally got the picture to snag on the hanger he must have inserted into the wall before I arrived. “Makes it look like we what?”
“Like we’re . . . friendly.”
“Are you saying we’re not friends?” He stepped down from the back of the chair in a way that made the chair rock and tilt but not tip. So much for the broken bones option.
“Of course we’re friends, but that picture looks like more than friends. It makes us look intimate, which is not professional at all.”
He put his hands on my shoulders and drew me to him, which was also not professional at all. “Andrea without an E, this picture cannot come down until after the PR team has had its field day, done all of the interviews, and declared itself through with us. I’m sorry if it makes you feel uncomfortable, but Miss Pearl insisted.”
His fingers were gentle on my shoulders. His eyes shifted color like they usually did but managed to stay brown longer than anything since they were emphasized by the brown of the shirt he wore under his lab coat.
“People will talk . . .” I tried again.
“Not any more than people talk about everything else. And when they’re done talking, they will move on to something else. And this picture reminds me of one of the nicest days I’d ever had in my life and it will stay on my wall and make me feel some peace when I’m alone in my office—emphasis o
n the my part of that. You can put up pictures of waterfalls in your office, and I promise I won’t complain.”
He released me and moved behind his desk so he could survey his handiwork. “I’m awesome. It’s not even crooked. But you aren’t here to weigh in on my décor. What can I do for you, Andra?”
After another sputtering start, I managed to spit out, “I was just wondering how you were getting along here at the hospital and wondered if you needed any help with anything or if you needed any introductions.”
Last night, I'd decided this was how I would approach Miss Pearl’s assignment. Standing in his office underneath a picture that looked like a professional engagement photo, the idea of being seen in the halls with him filled me with dread. People would connect those dots fast, and how would that look?
Everett looked absurdly happy to have me suggest interaction and contact. I gritted my teeth and thought about Miss Pearl and her desire that the new doctor feel comfortable at Boston Children’s. Miss Pearl would get what she wanted.
“I’ve seen pretty much everything, I think, but there are always things a guy misses. I have rounds to do this morning but can take a walking lunch before patients this afternoon? Sound okay?”
“Sounds great.” I exited the office taking care not to look back in the direction of the picture.
Later, Becca helped me with a young girl who had come in complaining of chest pain that turned out to be a problem with her esophagus and not the angina her mother insisted the girl experienced. I took the few moments between the time the girl left and when the next patient would show up to tell Becca about the picture on Everett’s wall.
“Hot doc has a picture of you on his wall? Can I start calling you pin-up girl?”
“Does everything have to go awkward with you? It’s not that kind of picture! It’s more a sweet, cozy . . .” as I sought for synonyms to describe the picture, I trailed off and thought about the fact that the picture did make me feel peaceful, just not when it was on Everett’s wall! “Anyway, what the picture is isn’t the problem. The problem is that the picture exists.”