by Milly Taiden
“I don’t think I’ve had a boring moment since the moment you walked into my art room.”
“Two days ago or two weeks ago?” I asked.
“Either one.”
Her fingers slid across the edge of my ear. Now I wished we’d taken the basket someplace more private. But going slow, being careful, that was the best course.
My free hand moved behind her head to bring her to me. Her lips were cool, but they parted and her mouth was soft and warm. I pulled her in close, still on my lap. I explored the silky curve of her waist and tugged the camisole from the band of her skirt. When my fingertips reached her bare skin, she sighed against my mouth.
I took my time, grateful to be away from the hospital, able to touch her without distraction. Everything about her was delicate and small. It’s what brought out this protectiveness in me. She seemed so easy to break.
Tina shifted on my lap, turning in to me, her legs on either side of my waist. I reached behind her to unfasten the bra, and now I had access to so much more. Her pert breast fit exactly in my hand, and the taut nipple rolled neatly under my thumb.
She gasped against me, her arms encircling my neck. She broke the kiss, letting her head fall onto my shoulder. I kept one hand on her body but let the other drift down to her knee, where her skirt was trapped against the sand. I pulled it free and slid my fingers beneath the heavy fabric, up her thigh.
Her panties were small, just a bit of lace. I tucked my finger inside the thin band, just above her hip.
Now Tina moved against me, slow and hard, rocking her pelvis. I knew she could feel me wanting her. Her hands gripped my arms, holding tight, sliding against me.
I wasn’t sure I could take much more.
***
Chapter Twenty Five: Tina
Whoa, Nelly. I was already moving too fast, grinding against the doctor like a dog in heat.
I knew all the terrible places sand could go. And this doctor had me so primed and ready, I was about to not care. The skirt would hide everything. I was damn near ready to rip his pants off.
Down the beach, someone was playing a guitar. The notes dipped over and under the steady crash of waves on the shore. My feet and knees were buried in sand. But the rest of me was all over this doctor, working him like a stripper in need of rent.
I had to bring this down. If my one-and-done didn’t come off as solid as I wanted, I might be tempted to go for two.
And that would be disastrous.
I was about to pull away, to break this spell, when he moved his fingers just a tiny bit along the edge of my panties. He brushed against a really sensitive part, and that was it, I couldn’t handle any more. I needed him. I wanted more.
I lifted away from him just enough to give him access, and he took it, slipping a finger inside the lace and into my body.
It accepted him greedily, and I clutched his shoulders, my head still buried against his neck, as he began to work inside me.
Lost. I was lost. Maybe a doctor knew all the good spots, or maybe he was lucky, but I was spiraling up so fast that there was no way to stop things now. I was whimpering, ready to beg, and shifting against him. But he got it, he knew the speed and the pressure and just how to curve his finger.
I quit caring what we might look like to spectators, locked together in the sand, and let the tension build, let him take me where I wanted to go. His breathing sped up alongside mine, as I tightened around him.
Then it all released, my muscles clenching and letting go, the pleasure coursing through me. I managed to stay quiet, to keep my voice below the crash of the water and the filtered notes from the guitar. But Darion heard me. He held tight to me, one hand steadying my back while he cupped me from below with the other.
I settled back down and he withdrew, holding my quivering thigh until I calmed. I hadn’t done this sort of thing before. Usually the conquests were streamlined and simple. We meet. We go out. We bang. Then I quit taking his calls.
But here I was with this doctor, fooling around in empty rooms, and now this moment on the beach.
What was I doing? Stalling? Stretching it out? Maybe I knew if I didn’t do the deed, I wouldn’t have to give him up after.
And I had told him about Peanut.
My belly heaved with a tightly held sob. I tried to pretend I hadn’t, but we were locked together, and Darion noticed. He squeezed my leg and turned his face to press his lips into my hair.
I remembered, all those years ago, sitting in the garage apartment my parents set up for me and Arnie after we told them about the baby. Arnie had loved to lie behind me, and run his hands over the fat bump of my belly.
I always thought it was so cool, here he was eighteen years old, and he got it. He knew how special this was. It was a thing. A thing to recognize and hold on to. I thought he was so into it. That we were on this road together.
I believed that he loved me and that he loved Peanut. But he didn’t. He just liked the attention, and the idea that we were rebelling in the most potent way possible. We got to be kids acting like grown-ups. When we actually had to be grown-ups, he blew.
He left me to manage it all by myself.
“What’s going through that complicated mind of yours, Tina?” Darion asked.
I didn’t want to let us get any closer. I didn’t want to be the tiniest bit more vulnerable than I already was. So, I said, “That people suck.”
He released me, taken aback, I’m sure. You don’t get a girl off, then expect her to act all bitchy. But I was good at that.
I lifted my sand-encrusted leg from the ground and rolled off him. “Are we going to eat this fancy food or what?” He’d probably paid some ridiculous sum for the gimmick of a picnic.
Yeah, I was on a roll now. Poor doc. I opened the basket and yanked out the blanket. “That would have been handy,” I said.
Darion didn’t say anything, just sat there with his elbows on his propped-up knees. I wouldn’t look him in the eye. I already knew he was halfway out of my life. We’d do the deed, probably some other night, and I would move on.
It just didn’t matter.
***
Chapter Twenty Six: Dr. Darion
The next morning, I sat in my car a little longer than necessary before going into the hospital. I didn’t know what to do with Tina after last night. She had become a whole different person after our emotional encounter. Like she was a sullen teenager stuck with some boring grown-up who didn’t “get” her.
I took her home and didn’t go in. Didn’t let anything progress. It seemed wise to punt and try again a different day.
I couldn’t dwell on it. Today was Cynthia’s chemo day. I had pulled strings in Houston and gotten her in the trial of a new drug. We couldn’t even attempt a second stem cell therapy for months. I had to get her in remission. Had to. She didn’t have time to wait.
I walked inside the hospital and paused at the desk to check her morning stats. ANC was still low. No fever, thank God, so nothing had gotten to her despite her running around the hospital with no white cells to fight infection.
Still an alert on her urine. Damn. I had ordered a PET scan, but it wouldn’t be until after her treatment. If she had an adverse reaction, she wouldn’t even make the test.
I drew in a deep breath. Pretend she’s someone else. Don’t think about her expressions or her pain or her upset. Just worry about the treatment, the test results, the response to the medication, and take one problem at a time.
“Dr. Marks?” A woman I had never seen before waved at me from the other side of the desk. She was in her forties, friendly looking, like a den mother for a Boy Scout troop. I glanced at her badge. She was from administration. That explained the street clothes.
“I had a question about one of your patients going into a clinical trial today,” she said.
My senses went on alert, but I played it cool. “Jerry Fresno?” I asked.
“No, a girl, a pediatric case.” She glanced at her folder. “Cynthia Miller.�
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I kept my face very neutral. “What was your question?”
“The consent forms aren’t all filled out. No mother or father.”
“Her mother is deceased.”
“And the father?”
“She has no father of record.”
“Is there a birth certificate available?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not in charge of records.” I gave her a quick smile.
“Who is her legal guardian? I can’t even make out the signature here.”
“Would you like me to handle it? Since I’m supervising the administration of the trial?” I held out my hand for the file.
“I can talk to the family.” She held on to the folder.
I expected this. “I believe she has an aunt with her. Amy or Angela or something. She’s been signing the documents.”
“Perfect. I’ll take care of it.” The woman nodded at me and took off down the hall.
Damn it to hell. I’d carefully gotten all the documents in order so no one would look too carefully. I needed to get a medical proxy for Cynthia to handle these things, but I had no one, and I had hoped to have Angela around for a while before I could be certain I could trust her.
I could not let her trial be jeopardized. This drug was a breakthrough, a whole new way of fighting lymphoblastoma.
I pulled out my phone and texted Angela. “Busybody en route. Just smile and sign.”
This was the worst part. Lying. Involving a paid person in a lie. Relying on someone else.
I’d step up as her brother before I let them take away this trial.
My hospital phone buzzed. I was late for rounds. I had to get my head together. At least with all this going on, I had no time to think of Tina. In fact, I’d stay away from her hall entirely. Once I had Cynthia through the chemo round and she had gotten her PET scan on the kidney, I would think about my own life again.
I was fine. I would be fine. I could handle this. I had to.
Despite this fine proclamation inside my head and my razor focus as I met with three patients and their families, when I had to walk across the hospital to the pediatric ward, I couldn’t help myself. I took the hall that held the art therapy room.
I slowed down as I approached the wide window that allowed visitors to see the patients at work. Tina had a group of very small children right then, all under five. Two aides helped corral the kids and keep them coloring. One little boy kept tugging on Tina’s sweater, and she smiled patiently down at him, putting the fat crayon back in his hand.
She seemed like her normal self again, happy and busy and willing to help. I didn’t know what to do to keep from upsetting her again. She didn’t seem to want anyone to get any closer than she allowed. I hadn’t even intended to let the evening get so emotional and passionate.
Or maybe I had. She had me in knots, that was for sure.
I realized I had stopped in the middle of the hall and was just staring at her. I had to go, or she would see me. And that wouldn’t help matters.
But I was too late. She turned toward the window, and I knew the minute she saw me. Her hand pressed against her chest. She must have made some sound, as two of the kids and one aide turned to follow her gaze.
I didn’t wave or anything. I just stood there like a big stupid statue. I didn’t even smile. She shook herself and bent down to the kids again. I waited a moment to see if she would glance back my way, all the time knowing that the aides were getting curious, but she never did.
***
Chapter Twenty Seven: Tina
This had been the crappiest day ever. I rushed out during lunch to pick up painting canvases for me and Albert, struggling with the oversized bags on the bus. And then Albert had been too sick to come. I got a message from the nurses that he wasn’t well.
I asked if I could visit him, and they said no. And wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. I wasn’t family. I didn’t have clearance.
Then of course Cynthia wasn’t in her group. I remembered Darion had said that she had chemotherapy today. I expected him to drop by the room, say hello. I wasn’t sure how to talk to him after last night. I knew I had behaved badly. Some things I still didn’t do very well. Almost all of them involved men.
But he had just stood in the window, staring at me like I was a display in a zoo. Homo sapiens. Female. Prefers the wild. Gets vicious when trapped in emotional corners.
I wasn’t sure what to do about Cynthia either. I wanted to separate my relationship with her from the one with her father, or whatever he was.
But I knew going to her room was a risk. Doing anything that involved him was a risk. I sat at my desk and just stewed, shoving all the social work paperwork around.
I couldn’t explain to him what I was going through. I knew I was a mess. I couldn’t do anything about it. We all had histories. We all had baggage.
The room was stuffy, so I pushed up my sleeves. Then I saw the scars again and shoved them back down. I didn’t need any reminders of how screwed up I was.
The form “Consent for Psychological Evaluation” slid off the desk. I reached down to pick it up. This one scared me. They’d probably rule that I was too crazy to be a therapist. Then all this would be for nothing. The Big Rich Honcho would have to deal with me not working at the hospital, and Duffrey the jerk wouldn’t get his fat payday.
I should go work at the coffee shop. So much simpler.
But when I closed my eyes, I could hear the waves and the guitar. The sand crunched beneath my knees, and Darion’s hand worked its magic. My blood ran hot again, and I pushed the papers out of my way to lay my head on my desk. I just needed to get this over with. If I could just do the one-and-done, I’d be better. It always worked. I could shut all these feelings off. It had never failed me before. See the guy. Do the guy. Leave the guy.
In fact, we’d do it now. I’d find him, drag him to Surgical Suite B, and we’d just get it all out of the way. Bone in. Fade out.
I glanced at the clock. Six p.m. That’s when he left yesterday. He was bound to be in his daughter’s room. Uggh. Liar. He should fear me, really. I could cost him his job. Maybe his license.
I jumped up from the desk and snatched a set of markers I’d picked up at the art store when I got the canvases. I thought Cynthia might like them. If you crossed one ink over the other, it created an entirely new color.
I had a plan. See Cynthia. Give gift. Get doc to suite. Bang him against the wall. Walk away with a clear conscience.
This felt better.
I picked up my bag and closed up the art room. The halls were quiet, and I began to calm down. I actually looked forward to our moment. I’d never had sex in a hospital before, and certainly not with a doctor. It would be a great story to regale Corabelle and Jenny with over boxed wine.
Yes, this was exactly right.
When I knocked on Cynthia’s door, no one answered at first. I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew she was still there. Her art covered the door. Tons of pictures of a woman I assumed was her mom, and Darion, with herself between them. Sometimes she drew herself with hair, sometimes not. I figured this was probably significant. Maybe once I started classes in psychology, I would learn why. The hospital was right. I needed training.
I knocked again.
Finally the aunt opened the door. “Oh, Tina!” she said. “I’m sure Cynthia would like to see you. I’m just not sure…” she trailed off, glancing back at the bed. “Come in.”
I felt a little anxious going in. The woman was rattled.
Inside, a nurse stood over the bed, where Cynthia was curled in a ball on her side. “I’ve put on a temperature monitor so we can watch this fever,” the nurse said, pointing at a little sensor stuck to Cynthia’s head. “Let us know if she gets worse, starts vomiting, or has any swelling in her hands or feet. This is a new drug for us. I’ll let Dr. Marks know how she is doing.”
The nurse glanced at me. “I would keep as few people in here as possible. Her infection risk is very
high.”
I backed away to leave, but Cynthia saw me. “Hi, Tina,” she said. She was shivering, and her eyes were rimmed with red.
“Hello, sweet Cynthia,” I said.
The nurse left, and I turned to Angela. “Should I go?”
“No,” Cynthia said. “I want you to see a picture I made.”
I set my bag on the floor and pushed up my sleeves to scrub my arms and hands at the sink harder than I ever had before. Now that I’d seen the girl, I was shaking myself. She looked terrible, in such misery. It wasn’t right that children had to go through things like this.
I had to pull myself together.
I tossed the paper towels in the trash and mustered a solid smile before I turned back around. Angela was arranging gel packs against Cynthia’s back. The monitor next to her read 101 degrees.
“I brought you something,” I said. I pulled the package of markers from the bag. “It’s a special kind of marker. You can cross two different colors to make a third color.”
Cynthia looked over at Angela, and they shared a smile.
“What?” I asked.
“Dr. Marks brought us those markers too,” Angela said. She opened the drawer of the cabinet next to the bed and showed the package. “Great minds think alike.”
“You’ll be set up for a long time, then,” I said. “You won’t have to worry about running out of red.”
“Or purple,” Cynthia said.
I kneeled down on the floor next to the bed. “That’s right. Purple is your favorite color.”
“Your favorite color is black,” Cynthia said.
“That’s right. You remembered,” I said. I now regretted saying it. I should have shut my old goth mouth and said something normal, like pink.
“You’re funny,” Cynthia said. “Nobody picks black.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Maybe you can help me pick a new one.”