by Marta Perry
Dixon gave Jake a short nod, his eyes a little uncertain, as if not sure he knew him.
“Dr. Landsdowne is in charge of the clinic,” Terry said. “And I’m Terry Flanagan. Remember me?”
“Joe Flanagan’s girl. ’Course I remember you. Didn’t I see you someplace lately?”
The old man was failing, obviously. More surprising was the fact that his son had let him out alone. But even as he thought that, he spotted Andy working his way through the crowd, balancing two coffee cups.
He could only be relieved. Dixon didn’t apparently remember anything about the situation with Manuela. Or at least, didn’t know that he and Terry had interceded. Presumably Andy was handling the situation.
Getz clapped him on the shoulder, startling him. “I’ll tell you why I wanted this young man to head up our emergency services, Matt. He gave up an important position to work in an African medical mission. Anybody who’d do that has his priorities in the right place.”
He froze. He couldn’t look at Terry. She knew why he’d really gone. If Getz found out, he’d lose that respect for Jake’s priorities in a hurry.
“I guess somebody has to do it.” Dixon’s voice was grudging. “I wouldn’t want to go rushing off to Africa.”
Jake gave him a meaningless smile. All he could think was that he wanted to get out of here.
But Getz’s hand still clasped his shoulder. “You know, hard as it is to believe, I was actually in medical school with Jake’s father. He went on to fame and fortune, and I’m right back here where I grew up. Funny world, isn’t it?”
Funny wasn’t the word for it. His stomach was churning, the coffee turning to acid. Getz. And his father. There couldn’t be a worse combination.
It’s a coincidence. Stop overreacting. No one here knows about your relationship with your father. No one ever will.
But Terry was looking at him with concern in her face, and he was afraid she was beginning to read him entirely too well.
Chapter Eight
Terry glanced out one of the small windows at the clinic. The sky was dark with low clouds, the air so heavy it was almost hard to breathe. The narrow lane that led toward the migrant housing lay dusty and empty.
Manuela sat in one of the metal chairs in the waiting area, bent over the heavy book in her lap. Her long hair, loose today, hung down over her shoulders like a curtain, and she twisted a lock around her finger.
“Looks like we’re not getting any customers today.” She slid onto the chair next to the girl, the metal clammy to the touch. “We may as well close up early.”
Manuela seemed to come back from a long way away. “¿Que? Oh, yes, I see.” She closed the book slowly. “I’m sorry if I am wasting time. Do you want me to do something?”
“Reading isn’t wasting time. Are you studying something for school?”
Her dark lashes swept down, hiding her eyes. “Not exactly. I’m not in school.”
“Well, not now, I guess. But school will start next week.” Hard to believe the summer was over already. The days had been flying by since she’d been busy with the clinic.
“I won’t be going.” Longing showed in her face for a brief moment. “My father says we won’t bother to start school here, since we will be leaving in a few weeks.”
“I see.” Tread carefully, she warned herself. You don’t really know what life is like for Manuela. “You’re studying on your own, then.”
Manuela drew her hands away to show her the cover of the book she held. It was a tenth grade biology text. “Your mother got this book for me. So I could try to keep up with my studies. She says if I want to go into a medical field, I must do well in science.”
Trust Mom to come up with some practical way to help Manuela. Guilt pricked at her. She’d been so preoccupied with the clinic that she hadn’t followed through on her intention to do more to help Manuela realize her dreams.
“I’m glad she did that. Isn’t it hard to study something like science in English?”
“Something that’s hard is worth doing. Besides, I love it.” She flipped open the book to a chart showing a diagram of the human body. “Look. This shows how the blood travels in the body, and there’s another that shows how the heart works.”
“I wish I’d been that enthusiastic about learning things when I was your age.” Manuela should have her chance to achieve. If only she could stay long enough to get some uninterrupted schooling…. “Isn’t it possible for your family to stay a bit longer, so you can start school here?”
She shrugged. “Some workers will stay through the fall, to work the fruit harvest, but so far my father has not been chosen.”
“Who decides that?” She was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.
Manuela didn’t look at her. “The farmer says how many workers he needs. The crew chief gets to pick.”
And Jordan wouldn’t pick her father, that was what she didn’t say. Because Terry had made too many waves. It had never occurred to her that Jordan had the power to retaliate against the Ortiz family.
“I see.” She suppressed the words that sprang to her lips. She couldn’t hold out false hope to the girl. “If Mr. Dixon wanted your father to stay, would he?”
Manuela nodded. “But it’s up to Mr. Jordan.”
“Maybe so. But maybe Mr. Dixon would intercede with him.”
“If you asked him?” Manuela’s eyes shone. “Would you, Terry?”
“I’m not sure he’d listen to me, but maybe if my cousin Brendan talked to him.” She put her hand over the girl’s. She didn’t want to encourage Manuela too much, but surely a little hope was good for her. “Would you like to go to school here?”
“More than anything. I’m always so far behind when I am able to attend school.” Manuela’s fingers clung to hers. “If I could do well in school, maybe I could be a paramedic, like you, and help people.” Her tone made that dream sound as faraway as the moon.
“If that’s what you want, I’m sure you could. Let me talk to Brendan and see if there’s anything he can do, okay?” Brendan wanted to find some specific way to help the Ortiz family. This might be it.
Raindrops spattered against the windowpane, startling her. “Uh-oh. Looks like the storm is coming. Maybe you’d better run home.”
Manuela jumped up. “My mother will be worried.” She slid the book onto the high shelf that ran above the chairs. “I’ll leave the book here, where it will be safe. Thank you, Terry.”
She turned and darted out the door, running down the path toward the cement block building that was her temporary home.
There was no point in wondering what the girl had meant about leaving her book here so it would be safe. Maybe she just hadn’t wanted to risk getting it wet.
Now she was the one who’d better hurry. The narrow road that twisted its way to the clinic was barely passable at the best of times. During a hard rain, it would be downright dangerous.
She started through her checklist for closing up the clinic, trying not to listen to the spatter of rain on the tin roof. Just a few more things, and she could leave.
The sound of a car engine distracted her. She wasn’t expecting any of her volunteers at this hour. But it was Jake who hurried through the door, the shoulders of his navy windbreaker sparkling with raindrops.
“No customers?” He lifted his eyebrows.
Are you checking up on me, Jake? Despite the fact that their relationship had eased in recent days, it was impossible not to think that.
“It’s been a quiet afternoon, so I sent Manuela home. I was just trying to get out myself before the storm hit.” She picked up the clipboard. “Do you want to see today’s records?”
He moved toward her, slipping the wet jacket off and tossing it over the desk chair. “Anything unusual?” He glanced quickly through the entries.
“Nothing much.” Lightning cracked, and her nerves seemed to jump in response. “The road gets pretty bad in a storm, so maybe we should go—”
Anoth
er lightning crack, a boom of thunder, and the skies opened up. Rain poured down, thundering on the tin roof so loudly that it deafened her until her ears adjusted to the sound. Water streamed down the windows and turned the trees to a deep, iridescent green. The dirt clearing in front of the clinic changed in moments to glistening mud.
Rain and wind rattled the screen door, and Jake hurried to close the heavy inner door. He gave her a rueful look. “Sorry. If I hadn’t interrupted you, you might have gotten out before this hit.”
“Or I might have been sliding off the hill into the gully about now.” She shrugged. “I’m afraid we’re stuck for the moment.”
“Sorry,” he said again. “That wasn’t my intent in stopping by. Is there any coffee left in the pot?”
She nodded, starting toward it, but he got there first and poured his own.
“Some for you?” He lifted the pot, looking at her questioningly.
For a moment, she couldn’t seem to respond. In jeans and a blue polo shirt, his hair ruffled from the rain, Jake looked far too approachable for her peace of mind. Concentrate, she ordered herself fiercely. Don’t act like some sort of medical groupie.
“No, thanks.” Thank goodness her voice sounded casual. “I drink too much of that stuff when I’m on duty.”
He nodded, taking a mouthful and making a face. “Every first responder I’ve ever known has been the same.”
“I’d argue at that sweeping statement, but I’m afraid you’re right. If my partner had his way, we’d stop for coffee and doughnuts after every call.”
A gust of wind sent rain clattering against the window. Something—a branch, maybe—hit the roof with a crash. She shivered and rubbed her arms, despite the fact that it wasn’t really cold.
Jake crossed the room to her, leaning against the desk next to her, and his nearness had her nerves standing at attention. “Are you cold?”
“No. Just never too fond of being out in the middle of nowhere in a storm.” She took a breath. Maybe she could turn the fact of being stuck here to good account. “Speaking of paramedics, Manuela told me this afternoon that she’d like to become one. I’d love to clear the way to get the training for her, when she’s old enough.”
Jake frowned at the muddy liquid in his mug and set it down on the desk. “She’s a bright girl. Maybe she ought to aim higher than that.”
For a moment, she couldn’t respond at all. Really, she didn’t need to worry about feeling too attracted to him, since he managed to make her furious on a regular basis. She shoved herself away from the desk.
“Aim higher? Meaning that paramedics are at the bottom of the totem pole, as far as you’re concerned.”
“That’s not exactly what I said.”
He wouldn’t think of apologizing, of course.
“Paramedics are on the front lines in medical emergencies. We go into situations other professionals never dream of, and we help people at the time of their greatest crisis.” She shouldn’t have to defend her profession to Jake, of all people.
Suddenly it hit her, like a blow to the stomach. The words Jake had spoken in the aftermath of Meredith’s death seemed to ring in her ears. “Or maybe it’s just me you don’t want Manuela to emulate. Maybe you think she shouldn’t aim to follow a poor excuse for a medical professional like me.”
Jake could only stare at Terry. This storm between them had blown up more suddenly than the one that battered the building from outside. Could he possibly pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about?
He put the cup aside, the coffee turning to acid in his stomach. No. He couldn’t ignore this. He owed Terry more than that.
“Did I say that to you?” It took an effort to keep his gaze on hers.
“Yes. Don’t you remember?” She’d taken a few steps away from him, and she stood braced, her hands tensed into fists as if ready for a fight.
“I remember saying some things I shouldn’t have when I—” he stopped, swallowed “—when I realized Meredith was dead.”
Pain flickered in her face. “You meant what you said. That she might have lived if a more experienced crew had responded to the call.”
He shoved his hand through his hair. His head was starting to pound with the effort of revisiting those memories. “I don’t know what I meant, Terry. You must have had patients’ families lash out at you before this. It may not be pretty, but it happens.”
“It’s a lot more serious when a doctor does the lashing out.” Her eyes flickered. “I’ve been through worse things than that inquiry, but not many.”
He shook his head, his throat tightening. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. I know. But it was all right. Your team was cleared. You didn’t suffer any consequences from it.”
Her eyes widened. “No consequences? Only that it sent me scurrying back to Suffolk with my tail between my legs. But I’m sure that’s what you intended.”
Had he intended that? He’d just known he hadn’t wanted to see her again in his hospital. But then, it hadn’t stayed his hospital for long, had it?
“I’m sorry.” He had to force the words out. “It wasn’t fair to you. I know.” The words he’d never said to anyone hovered on his lips, wanting to be released.
“Then why?” Her face twisted, and he realized that she was still hurting. “Why did you blame us? It wasn’t our fault.”
“No.” He knew then he’d have to say it. Terry was the one person in the world he couldn’t pretend to about this. “It wasn’t your fault Meredith died. It was mine.”
The words seemed to echo in the shocked silence between them. There was no sound but the drumming of the rain. That, and his own ragged breathing.
“Why?” The word sounded strangled. “Why was it your fault?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, where the tension was building. It didn’t help. “You deserve to hear this, don’t you? You’re the one who was caught in the fallout of my mistakes. What did you know about Meredith?”
“Just what everyone knew. That she was a Main Line socialite. That she was crazy about you. That you two were going to be married.”
He shook his head. There it was again—he’d never understood how that misperception had flown through the hospital. “We weren’t. I dated her, yes. My sister had known her at school, had introduced us. But it was never that serious between us.”
“Everyone said it was.” Terry watched him, eyes serious, as if weighing his words for truth.
“The notorious hospital grapevine, in other words.” He leaned back against the desk, trying to relax the tension that rode him. “That’s really a reliable source.”
Something flared in her gaze. “It wasn’t my only source. She—Meredith—she said that, the first time we were called to her apartment. That we should take her to General, because her fiancé was a resident there.”
He was smothering again, caught in the lies Meredith had spun around them. “Terry, I’m asking you to believe me. I never asked Meredith to marry me. I never had anything more than a brief, casual relationship with her.”
“Then why did she say that?”
She wasn’t going to believe him unless he told her everything, and he wasn’t sure he could. He shook his head slowly.
“Look, I’m still not sure how it happened. We went out a few times. I enjoyed it. Going out with her was a link to my old world, a break from the hospital. But it didn’t take long to figure out that there was no future for us. She was completely uninterested in everything that was important to me—my work, my patients, my future. I knew I had to break it off before it got serious.”
“She thought it was already serious,” Terry said.
It wasn’t much, but it was a faint indication that she might understand. “She didn’t listen to me. She kept calling me, even at the hospital. I couldn’t seem to make her understand.”
He remembered, too well, how his discomfort had given way to irritation and then finally to a yawning fear that Meredith would never accept the truth.<
br />
“One night she called.” Every instant of that time was engraved on his memory. “She said she couldn’t live without me. That she’d taken an overdose of sleeping pills. She was calling to say goodbye.”
In the stillness, he heard Terry’s breath catch. “Had she really taken an overdose?”
“I was sure she had. I rushed over there, raced her to the emergency room, terrified of not being in time. They pumped the drugs out of her, suggested counseling, which she refused. She said she’d been depressed, foolish, she was all right now. I believed her, probably because I wanted to.”
He couldn’t easily forgive himself for his stupidity. If he’d insisted on counseling, tried to be her friend…But he hadn’t.
“I thought she was all right. Until it happened again. And again. And finally the doctor who treated her broke all the rules out of his pity for me and told me she’d never taken enough to kill herself. Enough to make herself sick. Not enough to kill.”
“I’m sorry.” Terry’s voice was very soft. “Sorry for her. Sorry for you.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and the warmth that was Terry seemed to reach out and touch him.
“You must have known some of it,” he said, trying to keep the pain and shame out of his voice. “You answered the calls a couple of times.”
“Yes. But the last time—”
“The last time I was in a meeting. I’d turned my cell phone off. And she’d taken a different medication, one it turned out she was allergic to. By the time your team got there, by the time I knew, it was too late.” His throat was so tight he didn’t think he could say much more, but one thing had to be said. “It wasn’t your fault, Terry. It wouldn’t have made any difference who answered that call. The only fault was mine.”
Her heart was breaking for him. Terry moved closer, wanting to comfort him, afraid she was the one person who never could. The pain in his voice, his face, was indescribable. The cool, detached, unfeeling man felt only too much.