Not that she was in the mood for snacking. She was not going to renege on the promise she’d made to herself. No men. Not right now. Her breakup with Patrick was still too raw.
After another five minutes of ducking into the wrong doorways, Monica realized she was on the wrong floor.
Her mind was really screwed up today.
She tried to place the blame for her scattered brain on this morning’s call from the lawyer of the woman she’d rear-ended Monday, although if she stopped kidding herself, she could admit to the real reason behind it. The real reason was six-foot three with an impeccable build and a heart-stopping face.
Why was she so weak when it came to men?
She bypassed the elevators and hurriedly made it down the flight of stairs. Dr. Slessinger was coming out of his office.
“There you are,” he said. “I was just on my way to look for you.”
“Sorry,” Monica said as she walked through the door he held open for her. “I’m still learning my way around the hospital.”
“That’s quite understandable.”
Monica only had time for a cursory glance of the spacious office before her gaze stopped directly on Elijah Holmes.
“I hope you don’t mind my inviting Dr. Holmes to join us.”
Oh no. He was not on the banquet committee. Life could not be this cruel.
“Having worked with Dr. Millgram for years, he’s a veteran at putting on an outstanding charity banquet. I’m sure Eli is more than willing to help you along.”
Eli’s mouth tilted up in an amazingly sexy smile.
“I trust I’m not speaking out of turn, Elijah.”
“Not at all,” Eli answered. “No use in Dr. Gardner reinventing the wheel. We can go over what the banquet committee has done the last few years and build upon the things that have worked.”
“Excellent,” Slessinger clapped his hands together. He went around his desk and sat in the leather chair. “I’m really excited about the two of you working together. Being of the younger, hip generation you can add a different perspective; something to draw in the younger crowd and get them interested in doing charity work. And,” he hesitated.
“What?” Eli asked.
“Well,” Dr. Slessinger pulled his glasses off and started wiping the lens with the tail end of his white coat. “There’s something else.” His voice had lost some of its jolliness. He looked uneasily at Eli then at her, before blowing out a huge puff of air. Monica was instantly on guard.
“What is it?” Eli asked, the urgency in his voice telling her that he’d latched onto the uncertainty suddenly radiating from the chief of staff.
“The Parenting Center,” Will Slessinger finally admitted. “The state has threatened to cut the program.”
“What?” Eli asked, his hands poised on the armrest of his chair, as if he were seconds from jumping out of it.
“The word came down yesterday. Apparently, the state believes its revamp of sex education courses in the area high schools will help curb teenage births enough to negate the need for the Parenting Center.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s the stupidest line of reasoning I’ve ever heard in my life. If the state thinks handing out a few condoms in health class will actually lower the number of pregnancies we see then some of them need to go back to school.”
The passion emanating from Eli was tangible. It was clear to Monica this was a subject close to his heart.
“What about all the people who use the program who are not teenage mothers? What about the young couples just starting out who can’t afford private physicians? With Charity Hospital still closed, these people have nowhere to go.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Eli. I wish you were at the state capital pleading our case to the people making the decisions.”
“Well, someone needs to. There’s no way they can shut down the Parenting Center, Will.”
“There is a way we can prevent it,” Dr. Slessinger said. His calmly spoken words were apparently enough to soothe Eli’s raised hackles. The younger doctor pushed back in his chair.
“How?” he asked.
Dr. Slessinger flexed his fingers several times before folding his hands on his desk. When he spoke, it was with weary agitation, as if he was only at the beginning of what promised to be a lengthy battle. “The Board of Health and Hospitals has agreed to keep the program in next year’s budget if we can fund it for the remainder of this fiscal year.”
“That’s our only option? Raising the money ourselves?”
“I know it’s a long shot, Eli, but at least it’s something.”
In the midst of their debate, Monica found herself focusing not on their words, but their tone. This was not your typical superior and subordinate conversation. It was obvious Dr. Slessigner respected Eli on a deeper level than most chiefs of staff held for their attending physicians. It also confirmed what she’d suspected over the last few days. Elijah Holmes had not only made a name for himself in the delivery room, he’d earned the admiration of his peers—something Monica knew, firsthand, was very hard to do.
Eli was shaking his head. “There’s no way we can raise the kind of money we would need to keep the center going for the rest of the year. The cost in prenatal vitamins alone is in the thousands. The fate of the center cannot hinge on a banquet that has only pulled in, at best, five grand. And that’s during normal times. With everyone still trying to put their lives back together after Katrina, we would be lucky to bring in our usual amount, let alone enough to fund the center.”
“That’s why I need the two of you to really put your heads together on this.” Slessinger turned to Monica, finally bringing her back into the conversation. “I know this is an awful lot to ask with you just taking over Dr. Millgram’s position, but the Parenting Center is vital to this community. It’s all many expectant mothers have around here.”
Monica glanced at Eli. He sat slouched in his chair, staring at something on the far wall. His brow had a distinguishable crease, visible evidence of his frustration.
“As a member of this staff, I have a vested interest in the well being of this community, Dr. Slessinger. I’m confident we can raise enough money to keep the Parenting Center running,” Monica finished.
Elijah straightened and turned to her. “This is a state-run hospital. We don’t have the same donors as the fancy private hospital you probably worked at before coming here.”
“I worked at a university hospital, which was funded by the state of Missouri,” Monica clarified.
A shadow of annoyance floated across his face. “I’m just trying to be realistic here. The event’s past supporters have been the people who live in this community, and I can guarantee attending some hospital banquet is not high on their priority list this year.”
“Then we take it out of the community. The entire city can be in on it,” Monica countered.
“Did I mention the time constraint?” Slessinger interjected. “The Board of Health and Hospitals isn’t on the same fiscal calendar as the rest of the state departments. Funding for this year ceases at the end of the year. We have to have our proof of payment by the end of November. We have a little over three months to pull this off.”
“Forget it.” Eli bounded from the chair.
“No,” Monica said. “This can be done.”
The beeper in the breast pocket of his scrubs went off. Eli unclipped it and read the small LCD readout. “It’s OB.” He looked over at Dr. Slessinger. “I don’t know what to tell you, Will. Millgram worked like a dog on this banquet every year, and the amount he cleared would hardly pay for the center’s utilities.”
“Just think on it, Eli. We can’t let the center go down without a fight.”
The beeper sounded again. “I have to go,” he said. “The last thing I want to see is the Parenting Center close, but unless we can pull off a miracle, we need to start informing patients that they’ll need to look for alternative care.”
He left the offi
ce and a heavy feeling remained; the foreboding scent of doom acrid in the confined space. Dr. Slessinger rested his fingertips on his lips, and sighed. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right. I need to accept the fact that the center is going to close.”
“No, it won’t.” Monica said.
This banquet was her golden ticket; the opportunity she’d been hoping for. Her skills in the emergency room may get her foot in the door, but after being passed over countless times back in St. Louis, Monica knew being a good doctor would only take her so far. Those who went the extra mile, who presented the whole package, were the doctors who became a part of the team.
So what if her personal life was boring as hell? Being at the top of her profession more than made up for it. And if she really wanted to make the kind of impression that got her name on a parking spot, she needed to save the day, or in this case, Methodist Memorial’s Parenting Center.
She could do this. She had worked on campaign fundraisers for Patrick’s father. Raising money, even during hard times, could be done if you took a clever approach.
Monica refused to let Slessinger’s enthusiasm die, not when he’d just delivered her way into the old boy’s club on a silver platter. “I don’t care what it takes,” Monica said, fierce determination etched in her words. “I won’t let them shut the door to the Parenting Center.”
Chapter Seven
For the third time, Jeffrey placed the cellophane-wrapped roses back in the refrigerated display case, then took them out and put them in his shopping cart. He looked at the price sticker and almost returned them to the cooler again. It was an expense he could not afford, but with so much at stake, he was willing to pay the price.
He’d do just about anything to get Amanda back.
Jeffrey maneuvered his cart around a fresh fruit display and made his way to the refrigerated shelves, picking up a sealed container of fresh melons cubes. It seemed like a healthy dessert. Tonight he wanted to surprise Amanda with a meal she couldn’t resist.
The instructions from Dr. Holmes said she needed to increase her iron intake to help with the anemia. He studied packages of plastic encased meats, trying to decide between beefsteaks and boneless chicken breasts.
Wait. Didn’t he hear somewhere that fish was a good source of iron?
He moved over to the seafood department. Studying the selection behind the clear display, Jeffrey asked for a couple of grouper fillets. He would make his special tartar sauce, and steam a few fresh vegetables for a side dish.
Carrots.
Amanda loved carrots. She could do amazing things with them when she was in a playful, sexy mood.
Jeffrey nearly broke down in the middle of the grocery store.
God, he missed his wife.
How could two people who had been so crazy in love get to where they were now? They barely spoke. Hell, Amanda could hardly look at him most of the time. How could they have allowed this to happen? How could it have gotten this bad?
Jeffrey stopped the self-deprecation and forced himself to get back to his game plan. Tonight was about wooing Amanda. He wouldn’t think about the downward trend of his marriage over this last year and a half. He still loved her. They had a baby on the way.
His marriage was not over.
When Jeffrey arrived home, Amanda’s car was parked in the driveway. It felt good just seeing it in its usual spot again. It felt glorious having her back home. And it was hell on Earth.
As much as Jeffrey had wanted her here, he was beginning to regret ever making the suggestion. Because it just wasn’t the same.
It pained him to no end to walk into their old bedroom and not see her lying in the bed they’d shared for so many years. He’d offered to take the spare room, just to have the chance to see her on their bed.
But Amanda refused. She’d flinched when he had mentioned it; as if she couldn’t stomach the sight of the place where they had expressed their love in the most primitive of ways.
Jeffrey opened the door, expecting to find her on the sofa in the den. It’s where she spent most of her time, probably because it was the farthest room from their old bedroom.
He was right. She was curled up on the end of the tan and green-striped couch, her feet tucked under her.
“Good evening,” Jeffrey said.
She turned her attention from whatever she was watching on television and stared at him. After a long moment, she answered with a soft, “Hello.”
It was the first time in months she had addressed him without that tired, cynical drawl; had looked at him without scorn.
Jeffrey balanced the grocery bags in his hands and kicked the door closed with his foot.
“I thought you had class tonight?” he asked. He knew she was on a Tuesday and Thursday night schedule this semester.
She stared at him, not saying anything, and Jeffrey’s good mood plummeted. He was hoping, for once, they could have a civil conversation, like a husband and wife were supposed to have at the end of a long day.
“I pulled out of school weeks ago,” she finally answered. “It was too much for me to handle right now.”
It took all he had not to shout for joy. Ever since Amanda started having the dizzy spells, Jeffrey had been scared to death that she would pass out while heading to class, but he’d been afraid to voice his opinion. Knowing Amanda, she would have continued attending the night courses just to spite him. But she had made the decision to stop on her own, and God, was he grateful. It was one less thing to worry about.
Jeffrey felt a twinge of guilt. He should be at least a little remorseful. Earning a degree in Social Work and becoming a child advocate had been Amanda’s dream. She wanted to be a voice for those too little to speak up for themselves. Expensive fertility treatments had made college out of the question until one day when Jeffrey had just said screw it. He’d taken on a second job in order to pay for Amanda’s education. After losing a semester due to Hurricane Katrina, it was no doubt killing her to have to put school on hold yet again.
“Do you plan on starting back next fall?” he asked.
She shrugged.
Jeffrey went over to the kitchen and deposited the bags on the counter. Dinner could wait. After all, he’d accomplished what he had sought to achieve with his gourmet meal.
His wife was speaking to him again.
He walked back into the den and took a seat on the armchair.
“How are you feeling today?” Jeffrey asked, mentally crossing his fingers that his question didn’t set her off. She didn’t take too kindly to his inquiring about the baby, but he wanted to know. He’d suffered through the same hell she had all those years as they struggled to get pregnant, and then last year’s miscarriage. He wanted this baby just as much as she did, and he deserved to know what was going on with her pregnancy.
“The nausea’s been more bothersome than usual,” she answered. She looked over at him. “It used to be just in the morning, but for the past few days, it hasn’t been going away.”
Concern skirted up Jeffrey’s spine. “Do you need to see Dr. Holmes?”
“I doubt it. All the pregnancy books say it’s not unusual.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure, Jeffrey,” she said, a hint of aggravation in her voice. Then it softened. “Don’t worry. If it gets too bad I’ll go and see the doctor.”
“Promise you’ll let me know.”
“Why?”
“I want to be there, Amanda.”
She stared at him, a solemn, sorrowful expression crowding her eyes.
“But for how long, Jeffrey?”
She unfolded her legs and rose from the couch, leaving him with the same question that had plagued him for the last year and a half.
What had gone wrong?
To say the culinary selections in Methodist Memorial’s cafeteria were lacking was a definite understatement.
Monica pulled a bowl of lime Jell-O from under the Plexiglas shield and placed it on her tray. She filled a plastic cup with ice
from the dispenser and opted for Diet Coke. The caffeine would be a blessed gift.
Monica debated whether or not to get two glasses of soda. After yesterday’s bombshell about the fundraising, she’d had the hardest time falling asleep, and now she was dead on her feet. All she could think about was the banquet, and how it could be her foot in the door...or a nail in her coffin. But there was no way she would allow that to happen.
She wanted to show that she had more to offer than just being a stellar ER physician. This was her chance to prove what she could do outside of the emergency room. And if she could save a vital program to the community in the process...well, that was just the chocolate icing on a very sweet cake.
The only sour part of the deal would be working with Dr. Pessimistic.
“Want to know why most of these tables are empty?”
Speak of the devil.
Monica nearly dropped her tray. Eli had come from out of nowhere, sneaking up behind her like some thief in the night. She had to take several quick breaths before she could speak. The scent of his subtle cologne wafted through her nostrils, spurring a sudden burst of wanting. When her heart returned to a normal rhythm, Monica turned.
“You must get a secret thrill from scaring the living daylights out of people?” Her voice came out more calm than she’d expected. Good. She didn’t want him catching on to the fact that he could fluster her. Lord knows he could.
“I apologize,” he said. “My intention wasn’t to frighten, but to inform. Most of the people who work here eat at Ethel’s, the little shop across the street. At least, those of us who have taste buds do. They sell a good roast beef poboy.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Thus, why I am here right now, telling you,” he said with a bow, as if he were a faithful servant and she, a queen.
Monica looked down at the Jell-O and cold pasta salad that had seemed the lesser of two culinary evils.
“I’ve already paid for this,” she said with a hint of sadness.
Deliver Me Page 6