by Diana Palmer
She crossed her long legs in their white knit slacks. “I usually do. But you weren’t supposed to be operating at O’Keefe today,” she explained.
His black eyes twinkled a little. “You avoid me, then?”
“Of course I avoid you,” she replied tersely. “That’s what you want me to do. You don’t even have to say it.” She stared into her black coffee, idly noting that he took his coffee black, too.
His gaze ran over her averted profile. She wasn’t pretty, as Isadora had been. But she was slender and had a nice shape, even though her features were ordinary. Her hair was neither blond nor light brown, but somewhere in between. Her eyes were more gray than blue. She never wore makeup. In fact, she seemed not to care how she looked, although she was always clean and neat in appearance. She might be quite attractive with the right hairstyle and clothes. His eyes narrowed on the thick bun at her nape. He’d never seen her with her hair down. He’d wondered for a long time what it would look like, loosened.
She caught his speculative glance and her cheeks colored. “I feel like a moth on a pin,” she murmured. “Could you stop staring at me? I know you think I’m the nearest thing to an ax-murderess, but you don’t have to make it so obvious in public, do you?”
He scowled. “I haven’t said a word.”
She laughed, but it had a hollow sound. Her gray eyes were full of disillusionment and loneliness. “No,” she agreed. “You never have. You may be Latin, but you don’t act it anymore. You never explode in rage, or throw things, or curse at the top of your lungs. You can get further with a look than most doctors can with arm-waving fury. You don’t have to say anything. Your eyes say it for you.”
His dark eyes narrowed. “And what are they telling you?”
“That you blame me for Isadora,” she said quietly. “That you hate me. That you wake up every morning wishing it had been me instead of her in that casket.”
His jaw clenched, to keep the words back. His eyes glittered, just the same.
“You might not believe it,” she added heavily, “but there are times when I wish I could have taken her place. None of you seemed to realize that I loved her, too. I grew up with Isadora. She could be cruel, but she could be kind when she liked. I miss her.”
He tried unsuccessfully to bite back the cold words. “What an odd way you had of showing your concern,” he muttered curtly. “Leaving her alone in an apartment to die.” The minute the words were out, he regretted them deeply, but it was already too late.
Noreen’s eyes closed. She felt faint, as she did so often these days. Her breath came in short little shallow breaths. She clenched her hands in her lap and fought to stay calm, so that she wouldn’t betray herself. Ramon was an excellent surgeon. She wouldn’t be able to hide her condition if he looked too closely. He might say something to administration…
She lifted her head seconds later, pale but more stable. “I have to go,” she said, and slowly, carefully, got out of her chair, holding on to it for support.
“Have you had any sleep?” he asked suddenly.
“You mean, does my guilty conscience keep me awake?” she said for him, smiling coolly. “Yes, if you want to know, it does. I would have saved Isadora if I’d been able to.”
She was fine-drawn, as if she didn’t eat or sleep. “You never told me exactly what happened,” he said.
The statement surprised her. “I tried to,” she reminded him. “I tried to tell all of you. But nobody wanted my side of the story.”
“Maybe I want it now,” he replied.
“Two years too late,” she told him. She picked up her tray. “I would gladly have told you then. But I won’t bother now. It doesn’t matter anymore.” Her eyes were empty of all feeling as her gaze met his, betraying nothing of the turmoil he kindled inside her. “It doesn’t matter at all what any of you think of me.”
She turned away and went slowly to the automatic tray return to deposit her dishes. She didn’t look back as she went out the door toward the staff elevators.
Ramon’s dark eyes followed her with bitter regret. He couldn’t seem to stop hurting her. It was the last thing she needed. She moved more slowly these days. She didn’t seem to have an interest in anything beyond her work. The hospital grapevine was fairly dependable about romances and breakups, but he’d never heard Noreen’s name coupled with that of any of the hospital staff. She didn’t date. Even when she was living at home with Isadora’s family, she was forever walking around with her nose stuck in a medical book, studying for tests and final exams. She’d graduated nurses’ training with highest honors, he recalled, and no wonder.
He sipped his coffee, remembering his first glimpse of her. He’d met Isadora at a charity dinner, and they’d had an instant rapport. Isadora’s date had been appropriated by his boss for a late sales meeting, and Ramon had offered to drive the beautiful blonde home. She’d accepted at once.
She lived in a huge Georgian mansion on the outskirts of Atlanta, in a fashionable neighborhood. Her parents had been in the living room watching the late news when she’d introduced Ramon to them. They were standoffish at first, until Isadora told them what he did for a living and how famous he was becoming.
Noreen had been at home. She was curled up in a big armchair by the fireplace with an anatomy book in her hands, a pair of big-rimmed reading glasses perched on her nose. He remembered even now the look in her eyes when he and Isadora had approached her. Those soft gray eyes had kindled with a kind of gentle fire, huge and luminous and full of warm secrets. He’d made an instant impression on her; he saw it in her radiant face, felt it in the slight tremor of her small hand when they were introduced. But he had eyes only for Isadora, and it was apparent. Noreen had withdrawn with an odd little smile.
And in the weeks that followed, while he courted Isadora, Noreen was conspicuous by her absence. She hadn’t been invited to be part of the wedding. Later, it shamed him to remember how insulting Isadora had been about her cousin. She hadn’t wanted to include Noreen among her entourage. Isadora had been viciously jealous of her cousin. She seemed to delight in looking for ways to put Noreen down, to make her feel unwelcome or inferior.
Isadora had been beautiful, socially acceptable, poised and talented. But she was empty inside, as Noreen wasn’t. That jealousy had led to a bitter argument before Ramon’s trip to Paris just before Isadora’s death. He closed his eyes and shuddered inside, remembering what had been said. He’d blamed Noreen for everything, even for that, when the blame was equally his.
The movement of people at the next table brought him back from his musings. He glanced at his watch and hurriedly finished his lunch. It was time to go back to work.
Noreen was anxious to get back to her apartment after she finished her day’s work. She was feeling weaker by the minute, breathless and faintly nauseous, and her heartbeat was so irregular that it bothered her.
She got into bed and lay down. She was asleep before she realized it, too tired to even bother with so much as a bowl of cereal for supper.
But by morning, she felt better and her pulse seemed less erratic. She had to continue working. If she lost her job, she could lose her medical insurance, and she had to depend on it for the valve surgery she needed. It was an expensive operation, but without it she might not live a great deal longer. She knew that the damaged valve was leaking, the specialist had told her so. But she also knew that people could live a long time with a leaky valve, depending on the amount of leakage there was and the level of medical care and supervision she had. Until now, she’d had very few problems since Isadora’s death.
She sipped orange juice and grimaced as she recalled how sick Isadora had been and how desperate she’d been to get help. Ramon wanted to know all about it now, and that was tragic, because she wasn’t going to tell him a thing. She had no place in his life at all, nor did she want one. She’d paid too high a price for her feelings already. She wasn’t going to fall back into the trap of loving him. Loneliness was safer.
Sometimes Noreen wondered about the argument with Ramon that had sent her cousin out into the cold rain with pneumonia. She’d had antibiotics for the bronchitis, which she insisted that she could give herself, without Noreen’s help. Later, Noreen had discovered the full bottle of antibiotic tucked between the mattress and box springs.
Isadora had been furious with Ramon for not taking her with him to France. Or at least, that was what she said. But the maid had alluded to a furious argument before he left, and that had never been mentioned again. At least, not to Noreen. Ramon had said something about Isadora punishing him for not letting her go along. There had been the mention of a lover, as well. Despite Isadora’s attempt to portray her marriage as perfection itself, Noreen had known better.
Odd how Ramon tried to idolize the marriage, now that Isadora was gone.
Noreen wondered if Isadora had really meant to die, or if she’d just miscalculated about the dangers of any such drastic exposure with pneumonia, and she’d died because of it. Perhaps it hadn’t occurred to her that damaged lungs could collapse and become fatal. Despite living with a surgeon for four years, she hadn’t seemed to know much at all about medicine or illness.
Ramon didn’t know that Isadora had deliberately exposed herself to the rain and cold. The maid, after finding Isadora’s body, had collapsed in hysteria and never came back, even to get her check. Noreen hadn’t seen her again. So Ramon only knew that Noreen had left Isadora alone, and Isadora had died. Neither he nor Isadora’s parents would let Noreen tell her side of the story. They grieved and cursed her and even two years after the fact, they all still blamed her.
It wasn’t as if they loved her, of course, or as if they cared about her own grief for her beautiful, selfish cousin. Despite their spats, Isadora and Noreen had grown up together, and they felt some sort of affection for each other. But the Kensingtons locked Noreen out of their lives. It had come as a gigantic surprise when her aunt had invited her over for coffee and cake the week of her uncle’s birthday. The conversation had been stilted, and Noreen hadn’t enjoyed it. She supposed that people were talking about their avoidance of Noreen and their refusal to forgive her. She couldn’t think of any other reason they’d have wanted her company. Her aunt did hate gossip.
She went to work and managed to get through her shift without much difficulty, but the amount of breathlessness she was having disturbed her.
That afternoon, she got an appointment with a colleague of her Macon surgeon, and was worked in at the end of the day.
He had tests run, and he listened to her heart. He was a tall, fair man with an easy smile and a nice disposition.
“You’re a nurse,” he reminded her. “Can’t you tell when a heart isn’t working properly?”
“Yes. But I hoped it was just overwork.”
“It is,” he said. “And that valve is leaking a little more than it was. You need to schedule the surgery, and it should be soon. I don’t want to alarm you, but if that valve goes all at once, there may not even be time to get you to a hospital. Surely you know that?”
She did. How could she tell him that at times she thought it might be a relief not to have to face another day of Ramon’s cold antagonism and accusation?
I’m dying of unrequited love, she thought to herself and laughed out loud at the whimsical thought. I have a broken heart, in more ways than one.
“It isn’t cause for levity,” the doctor said firmly, misunderstanding her chuckle. “I want to talk to Dr. Myers, the surgeon, and get you scheduled for surgery.” His eyes narrowed. “Your late cousin was married to Dr. Ramon Cortero. He’s the very best heart surgeon around. He trained at Johns Hopkins. Why can’t he do the surgery?”
“He doesn’t know there’s anything wrong with me, and I don’t want him to know,” she said flatly.
“But why not?”
“Because he hates me. He might let something slip about my condition and I could lose my job,” she told him. “I can’t afford to let that happen. My medical insurance is critical right now. I don’t dare let them know that I’m having such terrible problems with my health.”
“They wouldn’t fire you,” he said.
“They might,” she snapped back. “I wouldn’t blame them. A nurse should be in the peak of health when she’s responsible for patients in an intensive care unit. I’m keenly aware of my limitations. That’s why I insisted that they have another RN on duty with me, just in case.” She smiled faintly. “I didn’t tell them why, of course.”
He shook his head. “You’re playing a dangerous game. You could die.”
She got up from her chair. “We all do, eventually.”
He got up, too, scowling. “Don’t wait too long,” he pleaded. “They love you at O’Keefe. I have patients there, so I hear all the gossip.” He studied her wan face. “You never told Cortero why you weren’t with his wife when she died. Why not?”
“Because he wouldn’t listen,” she replied. “And now, it doesn’t matter.” She pushed back a loose wisp of blond hair. “It’s easier for me if he goes on hating me. Please don’t ask why.”
“I won’t. But promise me you’ll do something soon.”
“I will,” she agreed. She drew in a long breath. “It’s just thinking about the length of time I’ll lose from work. I don’t know how I’ll survive.”
“There are all sorts of agencies that can help. Your aunt and uncle endowed a whole pediatric wing at St. Mary’s. Surely they’d help you.”
She laughed. “They hate me even more than Ramon does,” she told him. She shrugged. “It’s just as well. If I die on the operating table, nobody’s going to grieve for me. Nobody in the world.”
She thanked him for his time and went out, clutching the prescriptions she’d persuaded him to give her, to stabilize her heartbeat and thin her blood, and buy her just a little more time before she had the surgery. In another three weeks, she’d have enough saved to pay her rent for two months in advance. If her insurance paid eighty percent of the hospital bill, which it was supposed to, she could almost manage financially.
“You look like death warmed over,” Brad Donaldson muttered as she came onto the ward. Brad was a technician, and a good one. He’d started at O’Keefe about the same time Noreen had, four years ago. He was the only real friend she had, although it was just the friendship of colleagues. Brad was eating his heart out over a young lady doctor who was working as a resident in the emergency room. She couldn’t see him for dust. It made for fellow feeling that they were both dying of unrequited love, even though Brad didn’t know who Noreen was pining for.
“I feel like death warmed over,” she told him.
He cocked his blond head and watched her closely. “Your color isn’t very good.”
“I know.” She took a steadying breath. “I’ll be all right. The doctor gave me something to help stabilize my heartbeat.”
“Talk to me,” he said.
She smiled, and shook her head. “No. It’s my problem. I’ll handle it.”
“You worry me,” he murmured. “What is it about nurses that they never admit when they’re sick?”
“All guts, no brains?” she ventured, and smiled. “Come on. We’ve got treatments to give and lunch on the way, and doctors about to make rounds. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“After you,” he said with a flourish.
A female valve patient was brought up to the ward an hour before Noreen was due to go off duty. She supervised the porters as they got the woman to bed, and then connected the oxygen and the drip, checking the chart for any other medications that the surgeon had ordered. This was one of Ramon’s patients. She knew the signature scrawled on the white form.
The woman’s eyes opened. She looked white and sick and frightened.
Noreen put a hand on her forehead and gently stroked her gray hair back from the clammy skin. “You’re on the cardiac ward. We’re going to take wonderful care of you. I’m Noreen. If you need anything at all, just push
this button.” She guided the woman’s thin fingers to the button on the bed rail. “Okay?”
“Dry,” the woman croaked. “So…dry.”
“Do you have any family to stay with you?” Noreen asked.
“Nobody,” came the wan reply. Her eyes closed on a sigh. “Nobody…in the world.”
Noreen’s heart ached for the poor soul. That’s how she felt, and this was how she was going to be after surgery, too—all alone without even a friend to sit and hold her hand. She was going to have her surgery in Macon, to be sure that Ramon knew nothing about it. So even Brad wouldn’t be there to sit with her. It was a sobering thought.
“I’ll get you some ice,” she promised the woman. “It will help a little. You’re due for medication, too. I’ll bring that back with me.”
“Thank you,” the woman whispered hoarsely.
“It’s my job,” she replied with a gentle smile. “Back in a jiffy.”
She went to the ice machine and found one of the other patient’s wives there filling a bucket.
“I’m superfluous,” she told Noreen with a weary grin. “He can pour his own juice and get his own ice now, so I’m just company in between television programs.”
Noreen’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t suppose you’d like to feed cracked ice to the new patient down the hall from you? She has no family and she’s dying of thirst.”
“I’d love to” came the reply. “Poor soul. There are so many of us in my family that we had volunteers for every hour of the day, but Saul just wants us to stop bothering him so that he can watch his soap operas.” She chuckled. “You don’t know what a joy it is to see him sitting up in bed and smiling again. I thought we were going to lose him.”
“He’s tough. I’m glad he came through. Mrs. Charles would be very grateful for any time you could spare to sit with her.”
“I’d love to. It will give me something to do with all my spare time.”
They filled ice buckets and Noreen took her in to introduce her to the elderly woman. They struck up an immediate friendship, as well.