From House Calls To Husband

by Christine Flynn

  “It’ll be weeks. They’ve just started taking applications. But enough about that.” A shining wedge of her hair swung forward as she leaned closer, her blue eyes sparkling like the sapphire studs in her ears. She still looked as fresh and crisp as she undoubtedly had that morning. Even her dewy peach lipstick was perfect. “I want to know what you’re wearing to the Heart Ball.”

  Lee, who rarely bothered with mascara, much less anything with color in it, paused midbite. “What?” She swallowed, nearly choking. “You’re going to the Heart Ball? With who? Whom?” she corrected, dropping the bread to the plate in front of her.

  “Just Mike,” Dana said before Katie could. “But it’s the idea that she gets to go. It’s like Cinderella night. She gets to wear panty hose and everything.”

  “I can get into the Cinderella part,” Lee admitted, not at all opposed to indulging in a little fantasy. “But you had me worried there, Katie. For a minute I thought you were actually going on a date with a doctor.”

  Katie’s expression turned chiding. “Bite your tongue.”

  “Look, you two.” Dana sighed in exasperation. “There’s no harm in enjoying a doctor’s company if one asks you out. As long as he’s single, anyway. Just because you date someone doesn’t mean you have to marry him.”

  “You can take chances if you want,” Lee informed their reckless friend. “I’m not interested. When it comes to personal relationships, any man with an MD behind his name is a lousy risk. So,” she continued, blatantly changing the subject as she turned back to Katie, “what are you going to wear?”

  Though Katie quietly shared the conviction, Lee was definitely the most militant of the three when it came to the old pledge they’d signed. Despite Dana’s somewhat looser stance, Katie knew that Dana shared it, too. Her mom had regarded doctors as white knights, perfect marriage material for herself and her daughter. But Dana wasn’t about to waste her life the way her mother had, waiting to be rescued. Katie and Lee, however, had seen up close and personal what involvement with a doctor meant. Lee’s father had also been a physician. But he’d abandoned his daughter in a more profound way. He’d used her mother for comfort, companionship and sex, then refused to marry her when she became pregnant, leaving her to raise a child alone.

  Bad risks, indeed. And no one knew better than they did that life was precarious enough without deliberately setting yourself up for a fall.

  The thought of just how precarious life was tugged at the lingering thoughts of what had happened in CICU that morning. But Dana and Lee unwittingly rescued her, demanding her attention as they debated the kind of gown she should wear, and whether she should stick with basic black, or throw caution to the wind and go for red. Something arterial rather than veinous. Bright red, rather than burgundy. It had to be long, of course. And clinging.

  That decision, made by Dana, had Katie wishing she hadn’t reached for the bread, even though she’d only nibbled through half of the piece she’d taken. Once she’d thought of Eva, she found she had less of an appetite than she’d thought.

  “Are you okay?” Dana asked, eyeing her suspiciously. “You haven’t said a dozen words since you got here.”

  She could have told them what was on her mind. They would have understood. But her friends were having a good time. Rather than put a damper on the evening by telling them she’d lost a patient, she kept it to herself, much the way she did a lot of things that had no solution. “That’s because I can’t get a word in edgewise.”

  “You could always interrupt,” Lee murmured.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Dana asked. “Something dramatic or something bold?”

  “I’d say that depends on what either one of you have hanging in your closet. The only things even remotely formal in mine are a memento from our last prom and that gold lamé sausage casing you two talked me into buying during a clearance sale a couple of years ago. The sausage casing is out, and I can’t afford to buy ‘dramatic’ or ‘bold.’”

  “The gold lamé looked stunning,” Dana defended. “It’s just out of style now is all. But you wouldn’t want anything in my closet, either. The only formal wear in there are bridesmaid’s dresses.”

  “Ditto,” replied Lee. “In fact, I think we all have a couple of the same ones. Hey! What about that royal blue number we wore in Candy Schumacher’s wedding last year? You could take off the big bow and the lace from around the neckline.”

  “And get rid of the ruffle on the cuffs,” Dana added, apparently seeing the possibilities. “And lose that flippy little train thing in the back.”

  “I think the flippy, train thing is the back,” Katie observed. “The only thing that dress had going for it was the color.”

  “You’re right.” Lee propped her elbow on the table and plopped her chin into her hand. “You’re going to have to buy something, kiddo. No way around it. Maybe we can hit a sale.”

  “Sale?” a female voice asked from behind Katie. “Where’s a sale?”

  All three women glanced up to see Melba Martin, one of the OR nurses Dana worked with, drop her coat over a chair at the next table. Right behind Melba was Alice from Katie’s unit and the impossibly young-looking resident she’d taken under her wing.

  Granetti’s was not a place for privacy. It was where people went to wind down, or to connect. Unless heads were together in serious conversation, anyone was free to pull up a chair, which was exactly what the newcomers did. More bread was ordered, along with fresh drinks for everyone—except for Katie who, within minutes, was searching desperately for a graceful way to leave without looking as if she were bolting. Everyone’s spirits were up, laughter prevalent as conversation shifted from shopping to a quick round of the jokes that had circulated through the hospital that day. She tried her best to get into the party mood, but her best just wasn’t good enough.

  “What’s going on?”

  She didn’t have to turn around to know who’d come up behind her. Mike’s voice was as familiar to her as the feel of her own heartbeat.

  “Want to join us?” Dana asked, scooting over to make room for another chair.

  “There’s room here, too,” Melba quickly offered, smiling hopefully at the darkly attractive surgeon.

  “Thanks. I just came in to pick up some dinner, but I’ll hang around until it’s ready.”

  He wedged a chair into the open space by Dana, since she’d offered first, tactfully avoiding the other nurse’s obvious invitation. Though he kept his overcoat on, open over his suit jacket, he immediately loosened his tie. Lines of fatigue etched the corners of his eyes, deepening with his quiet smile when he told the waitress who appeared at his elbow that he wouldn’t be staying.

  The topic presently under discussion was the Trailblazers’ chances at the Western Conference title. Basketball was a passion in Honeygrove. And during basketball season, signs rooting the Blazers could be seen in store and car windows all over town.

  Katie was a fan herself, but tonight her enthusiasm simply wasn’t there. She wasn’t even saying much, which wasn’t like her at all.

  Mike caught her eye, his own narrowing in question at her silence.

  Are you all right? that glance seemed to ask.

  Her only response was a shrug and a halfhearted smile.

  She hadn’t seen him since Eva had coded. He’d been in surgery when his patient had turned critical. And once Eva had been sent to CICU, Katie had no longer been involved in her care. She hadn’t even known Eva had died until she’d called over to CICU a couple of hours later to see how the patient was doing.

  By now, Mike would have reviewed the chart and talked with the family. She knew he’d gone back to his office to see patients that afternoon, too. One of the nurses in the telemetry unit had called him there to verify a change of medication.

  “Here you go, Dr. Brennan.” A waiter set a white paper bag on the table in front of Mike. “You have a nice evening, sir.”

  The arrival of Mike’s dinner-to-go jerked Katie from her
thoughts. Lee and Dana were engaged in a hot debate with Alice over the Blazers’ new coach. Melba and the bespectacled resident, both eyeing Mike’s takeout, were trying to figure out which appetizers to order. Behind her, all around her, customers were filling tables and bellying up to the long, mahogany bar with its gleaming brass rail. The drone of conversation was turning to a din.

  “Are you sticking around for dinner?” Mike asked her.

  “No. No,” she repeated, realizing just how far removed from the program she was. Seeing the out she was looking for, she murmured, “I have other plans. I should be going, too.”

  “If you’re ready now, I’ll walk you out.”

  She gave him a nod, turning a quick smile to Alice. Interrupting the animated conversation only long enough to sneak in quick goodbyes to everyone, she promised Dana and Lee that she’d call and gathered her purse and coat. The debate was back in full swing within seconds. The only lull came a moment after she heard the resident’s quiet inquiry about what was going on with Katie and Dr. Brennan as Mike guided her between the rapidly filling tables.

  Katie heard Lee casually dismiss the speculation with a flat, “Not a thing. They’re just friends.”

  The warmth of the restaurant gave way to damp night air; the animated clatter to the drone of tires on wet pavement and the honk of a horn. It wasn’t raining at the moment, but it hadn’t been long since it had stopped. Droplets dripped from the building’s awning and lights gleamed in streaks on the wet, black street.

  “So...” Mike began, pulling his overcoat closed as they headed for the parking lot. “What are your plans? Meeting? Joining someone else?”

  “Video. I thought I’d get one on the way home and veg in front of the TV for a while.”

  He tipped his head, studying her face in the yellow light of the street lamps. “You weren’t having a good time in there.”

  “Not really.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  She lifted her shoulder in a shrug. “It’s just been a long day.”

  Katie kept her glance on the ground, listening to the soft slap of leather on the wet sidewalk. As long as Mike’s legs were, he could have easily outpaced her. But he checked his long, athletic stride, deliberately matching his footfall to hers.

  “Want to try again?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “To tell me what’s bothering you. It’s obvious something is.”

  She made a face. “I hate being obvious.”

  Her attempt at lightness didn’t quite work. He touched her arm, stopping her when she would have stopped anyway because they’d just reached her car. “You can’t let it get to you, Katie.”

  His dark eyebrows were drawn in a disapproving line, his expression part admonishment, part understanding. “It” was death. The enemy. The demon they fought at all costs—sometimes long after they should have given up the battle. But that was another debate, another thorn that festered on occasion. That he knew her well enough to understand the reason for her mood didn’t surprise her. What did was how grateful she felt that no explanation was necessary.

  “You’ve told me that before. And I’m working on it,” she assured him. Apparently, she was just slow. But then, she’d always been a late bloomer. She’d been the last of her friends to need a bra, the last to get a first date, the last to have a serious relationship. Apparently, she was going to be the last to develop the armor necessary to insulate herself from certain experiences at the hospital, too.

  “I don’t know how you block it so well,” she murmured.

  “Sure you do. I do it the same way we all do.” He nudged the hair back from her face, and chucked her under the chin. Despite the encouragement in his touch, his voice held very little. “You just shut that part of yourself down.”

  She glanced from the regret in his eyes to the sack in his hand. The trick was to keep from shutting down too much. “And go home to eat takeout alone?”

  The smile tugging at his mouth conceded nothing.

  “Tell you what.” Settling his arm companionably over her shoulders, he steered her to the driver’s side of her little red Altima. “You share your video,” he said, holding up the bag. “And I’ll share my dinner.”

  Her spirits kicked up a notch. “What are we having?”

  “Chicken picatta and grilled vegetables. What are we watching?”

  “Whatever I can find at the video store by my place.”

  “Make it a thriller. That’ll get your mind off the day.” Dropping his arm, he pulled his keys from his pocket and headed for his own car. “Guaranteed.”

  Chapter Four

  Had Mike gone home as he’d planned, he would have changed into sweats, dumped the takeout on a plate, and headed for his study to consume the meal while watching the news, then going over Eva Horton’s chart.

  Since they were at Katie’s place, which he had to concede was far more comfortable than his, she was the one who headed off to change clothes. After a minute of obligatory kiss and cuddle with her cat when they arrived at her duplex, she left him to shed his coat and jacket and ditch his tie while he searched her cabinets for the bottle of wine she’d said was there somewhere.

  He couldn’t say it bothered him to have his plans altered. Even before he’d run into Katie, even before he’d guessed why she wasn’t enjoying the evening with her friends, he’d decided to call her tonight.

  He’d already known she’d called the code when Eva had gone into respiratory arrest that morning. He’d known from studying the patient’s chart—that precise, unemotional detailing of readings, drugs administered, actions taken—that the staffs brisk efficiency had kept the patient alive long enough to get her to intensive care and call the family to the bedside. He also knew that nothing more could have been done for Eva. She had simply been too sick to survive.

  That was what his logic told him. That was what medical school, seven years of training in thoracic surgery, a year and a half in private practice, the patient’s chart and her test results would tell a prudent man to believe. And he was a prudent man. He just hated like hell to lose a patient.

  He didn’t take the loss personally, as if it were an affront to his skill. There were powers infinitely greater than his own. But he wouldn’t simply accept her death, either. He would study Eva’s charts again, along with the results of her postmortem, and learn what he could from her. Then, he would silently thank her for whatever knowledge she shared by her passing and he would move on, using what he’d learned or confirmed for the benefit of another patient down the line.

  He found the bottle he was looking for—a gift from Alice, Katie’s unit secretary, according to the Christmas tag on it—just as Katie padded into the kitchen in navy leggings and an old University of Oregon Health Sciences Center sweatshirt. After handing him a corkscrew, she bent down to scoop cat food into a dish, then turned her attention to collecting plates from a cupboard and silverware from a drawer.

  Moving around her to get glasses, he skimmed over her delicate profile, and watched her give him a soft smile as she slipped behind him to put the plates on the coffee table in the living room. She looked far more at ease than she had at Granetti’s, her smile less strained. But he suspected from the way she muttered to herself when she doubled back to get place mats, that she was still as preoccupied as she’d been at the restaurant. As preoccupied as he was himself.

  They’d each been through such days before. Though, thank God, they didn’t happen often. And they’d both been around long enough to know that there was nothing for either of them to say. They’d acknowledged the loss. It was enough for him now just to know that there was understanding in silence; to know they could empathize without the words. So, while she set the coffee table, he sidestepped the cat winding itself between his legs, tossed the foam containers in the microwave to heat their cooling contents and took a measure of comfort in knowing that while they both saw Eva Horton differently, each was thinking of her. To him, she was a seventy-four
-year-old, female, open-heart with cholesterol readings that went through the roof. Katie, he was fairly certain, would be more likely to remember the woman by the way she’d gripped her hand when she’d been frightened, and to recall the little jokes, whatever they were, the two seemed to have shared. Because of that, she would hurt for the family, and for the temporary friend she’d let the patient become.

  She knew better than to get too close, he thought, picking up the fur ball meowing at his feet. She just couldn’t always help it. Any more than he could help wanting to make sure she was all right tonight. He never questioned his concern for Katie. Because she’d been part of his life forever, he could let himself feel things with her that he needed to steel himself against with everyone else. A man—a physician—only had so much emotional energy. If he didn’t channel it, he’d burn out faster than a sparkler on the Fourth of July.

  Spike pawed his way up his chest, seeking a hug. Obliging the shameless little beggar, Mike was rewarded with a sandpaper lick on the side of his neck. The cat smelled like Katie, he thought, like her perfume or soap or whatever it was that hinted of sunshine and softness and always reminded him of her. The spoiled little animal must have picked up the scent from her clothes and her skin when she held it.

  He didn’t know why the thought made him smile.

  “Better?” she asked, her glance moving from the open collar of his shirt and rolled-up sleeves to the way he cuddled her pet.

  “It always helps to ditch the tie.”

  “I was referring to what you’re doing.”

  She didn’t look smug. Not exactly. As she reached up and scratched behind the cat’s ear, her expression was more like quietly pleased.

  “Are you trying to get me to admit there’s something to be said for holding something soft and warm?”

  Her eyes met his, gentle and knowing. “The only thing that keeps you from admitting it is stubbornness.”