Just What the Doctor Ordered

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Ainsley caught the aroma and her mouth watered with anticipation as she eyed the sack.

  He took his time unfolding the top. “You may remember this recipe. I got it a long time ago from—” he paused with one foil-wrapped crabcake halfway out of the bag “—from, um…” he pondered aloud, and it was all Ainsley could do not to reach over and grab her lunch out of his hand.

  “Shoot,” he said. “I can’t remember her name. You know, the chef you had at Danfair when I first came down with Matt for the weekend?” He frowned with the effort of trying to recall the chef’s name. “She made these and it was the first time I’d ever even tasted crab, much less crabcakes. They were about the best thing I’d ever tasted and I ate three of them plus half of yours.”

  “And I didn’t stab your hand?”

  “No, you handed over your leftovers because I enjoyed them so much. That’s what you told me, anyway. You were probably just afraid I was going to eat the plate if I didn’t get some more. What was her name?”

  “I’m not sure I remember either.” Ainsley got another whiff of the spicy aroma and kept her eye on the crabcake, still wrapped, still partially inside the paper sack. “Chefs, like all the rest of the household help, come and go pretty quickly at Danfair, you know. Our house has always been just a stopover on their way to a better life.”

  “I know you’d remember this one. She was amazing. Picked up English a lot faster than I could figure out what she was calling the spices she used.” He snapped his fingers. “The tiny little Korean woman. Lisa? Lily?”

  “Leilana.” Ainsley snatched her crabcake out of his grasp and was peeling back the foil before he quite realized she had it. “Her name is Leilana and she stayed with us almost a year. I remember that now. I think she had a bigger crush on you than I did.”

  She pinched off a bite of the crabcake and popped it into her mouth, too hungry to wait another second. Her eyes widened, then narrowed with bliss. “Wow, this is good. So good, in fact, I could almost believe you had our little Leilana tucked in your pocket.”

  He considered her pleasure with a smile. “When did you ever have a crush on me?” he asked.

  She hesitated, but went on eating—she wasn’t about to stop now—and offered only a slight shake of her head in response.

  “Come on, Ainsley,” he prodded as he pulled out another crabcake and began to unwrap it. “Inquiring minds want to know. You can’t say something like that and then drop it.”

  “Sure I can.” She looked around for something to drink. “These are certainly spicy,” she hinted.

  “That’s what makes them so good.” He broke off a piece of crabcake and chewed it slowly, before he teased, “Come on now…when, exactly, was this big crush?”

  “Obviously, it was while Leilana was learning English at Danfair,” she said in a diffident and indifferent tone of voice, as if she wasn’t mentally kicking herself for having mentioned her sophomoric crush in the first place. “So it must have been that first year you and Matt were at college together.”

  “Hmm. And how long did this crush last?” he asked.

  She broke off another bite of crabcake. “I imagine only until you tried to weasel all her recipes out of her.”

  “I was talking about you, not Leilana.”

  “Mmm-hmm. Did you bring anything to drink?” she asked. “This is making me really thirsty.”

  “I should have thought of that.” He glanced around as if a water fountain might magically appear in front of where they sat. “Wait here. I’ll be back.” And he left her alone with the crabcakes and the paper sack as he jogged up to street level and out of sight.

  Ainsley finished the crabcake in two more bites and, while rubbing her stockinged feet back and forth on the patch of green grass beneath the sun-warmed bench, she pondered why she’d blurted out that she’d once had a crush on him. It had been such a long time ago. She hadn’t even thought about it in years, had kept it a secret all this time, only to bring it up now and remind him of what a silly child she’d been when they’d first met. Her thirteen-year-old self had been certain he was a combination of Prince Charming and all the rock star idols of her youth. She’d giggled, blushed and gushed her approval every time Ivan was within fifteen feet of her. Sometimes, even—a lot of times, actually—when he was only there in her imagination.

  Surely, he’d known. Miranda had nearly guessed right away, although Matt and Andrew had remained oblivious. Which was a good thing since they’d have teased her unmercifully. She’d decided, early on, that dubbing Ivan her extra brother would provide a good cover for her infatuation and keep her family from discovering her true feelings. And over time, she’d come to consider Ivan as more brother than friend.

  But not in the beginning. Oh, no. She blushed now, just remembering some of the entries she’d written in her diary back then, extolling Ivan’s virtues, his flawless perfection, her plans for their fantasy wedding, the names they’d give to their numerous children. No wonder she’d offered him half of her crabcake. Smitten couldn’t even begin to describe her state of mind during that phase of her adolescence. She’d been seriously, creatively, in love.

  And now he knew.

  Even if it shouldn’t, didn’t matter anymore, even if it ought to be—no, was—funny to her now, she didn’t much want to be laughing about it with Ivan.

  Which was odd, since she loved nothing more than to laugh with him over just about anything.

  Already, in the nearly two weeks he’d been back in town, she’d almost told him half a dozen times of her plans to match him with Miranda. She hadn’t, of course, proving that she’d learned her lesson about being discreet. But still, the thought was there from time to time…like a delicious conundrum…that if only she could tell him, they’d have a great time planning just how to put the match together.

  She pursed her lips and let her gaze travel from her own empty tinfoil to his partially eaten crabcake. He probably wouldn’t think it very funny to return from getting her something to drink and find his lunch had disappeared.

  On the other hand, smitten or not, she had given him half of her crabcake all those years ago.

  * * *

  “For you,” Ivan said, handing her the bottle of water. “I had to talk really mean to the vending machine, but I got it.”

  She took the bottle eagerly and, twisting off the cap, suckled down a long drink before she gave him a dazzling smile…which more than made up for his frustration with the stubborn vending machine. “Whatever you had to say, Ivan, it was worth it.”

  “I figured that was how you’d feel about it.” He settled onto the bench beside her again and reached for the rest of his crabcake. The tinfoil crumpled in his hand…empty. Not even a crumb left. His gaze slid to her, tracking his suspicion along with it. “Ainsley? What happened to my crabcake?”

  “I think a duck ate it.”

  He looked up and down the riverwalk, which was—as far as he could see—devoid of ducks. “Must have been a fast one.”

  She took another swig of the water. “They can fly, you know.”

  “Right. I should have thought of that.”

  “Do you want some of my water?” she asked. “I don’t mind sharing.”

  Which was big of her. Considering. “Thank you, yes, I would.”

  She generously handed him the bottle. “Drink all you want,” she offered. “Really. I don’t mind.”

  He was tempted to empty the bottle in one long pull as retribution, but as he raised it to his lips, he tasted a hint of her lipstick—or did the plastic simply retain the scent of her perfume?—and the moment became somehow intimate in a way that startled him. She was smiling at him, her gaze teasing with his, and in self-defense he closed his eyes and tipped the bottle to allow the cool water to trickle down his throat. He felt overly
warm all of a sudden, sweaty almost, and there was a suspicious tingling running beneath his skin. There was also an unexpected clutch in his stomach…and, unbidden, he recognized it for what it was.

  Awareness.

  Which was just plain crazy. This was Ainsley. Ainsley. He was her extra brother. She was like his little sister. He wasn’t aware of her. It must be her mentioning that she’d once had a crush on him that had him acting like such a…guy. Either that or his stomach was just now dealing with the Asian spices he’d put into the crabcakes. Which was the most likely explanation.

  Not that he wasn’t aware of how—well, womanly—she’d become. And it certainly didn’t mean he hadn’t noticed, couldn’t help but notice, the very womanly way she dressed and acted…and yes, looked. But he saw her in the same way he would have looked at Emma had she lived long enough to sit beside him on a bench along the riverwalk…with approval. Pride. He would have been proud of the woman his sister had become. He was proud of Ainsley. That’s all this was. A brotherly sort of pride.

  “Thanks,” he said, handing the bottle back. “I needed that.”

  “Oh, you’re welcome.” She squeegeed off the top of the bottle with the palm of her hand and raised it to her lips.

  His throat went tight all over again and a renewed sense of awareness knotted inside him as he watched her lower the bottle and lick the moisture from her lips. “Thanks for lunch, Ivan,” she said, unaware her extra brother was struggling with a totally inappropriate impulse to kiss her. “Anytime you feel like cooking for me…or the duck…just let me know.”

  Crossing his arms at his chest in denial, he stared out at the river and took a moment to discipline his wayward thoughts. “You remind me of my little sister,” he said, but his voice sounded almost defiant, so he lowered its intensity a notch. “Did you know that?”

  “No,” she said. “What was she like? Your Emma?”

  “Seriously sweet,” he said instantly. “Happy. Never a complainer, even though she had plenty of reason.”

  “Did she look like you?”

  The question should have brought Emma’s face immediately to mind. But he couldn’t seem to bring her into focus. She’d been gone a long time, and it struck him suddenly that he’d known Ainsley longer than he’d known his own sister. “Not really,” he answered. “She looked more like my mother.” But he didn’t know that for certain, and not knowing made him feel anxious, edgy, oddly abandoned.

  Turning, he gathered up the aluminum foil and tossed it into the sack. He needed to move around, dispense with this restlessness by walking. Or a long, hard run. “Don’t you need to get back to your office?”

  “No.” She leaned back, as if she had all afternoon, and stretched her willowy legs toward the water. “Lucinda’s covering for me, although honestly, since Ilsa’s been away, clients aren’t exactly beating down the door.”

  Clients. Men and women looking for love. Marriage. Happily ever after. For no good reason, that thought brought him to his feet. “I feel like walking,” he said, springing off the bench. “Let’s go.”

  She squinted up at him. “I know what you’re doing, Ivan, and it won’t work.”

  “What am I doing?” he asked, half-afraid she could read his thoughts. His completely insane thoughts. “Trying to help you walk off your lunch? Crabcakes are fattening, you know.”

  Her blue eyes very nearly snapped at him. “Are you suggesting I need to exercise? Because if you are, I only have two words for you.”

  “And those would be?”

  “Dead duck. Now sit back down and let me digest my lunch in peace.”

  She sounded like a sister scolding a brother. And curiously enough, that unsettled him even more. “I’m a doctor and I think a walk would be a good idea.”

  Her opinion appeared in the frown lines bunched across her brow. “I’m sitting,” she said, closing her eyes in relaxation. “And I really wish you would do the same.”

  He sat, careful to keep the distance between them neutral—not too close, but not too far, either—and for long moments the silence stretched between them. Gradually, though, by degrees, the nonthreatening lack of conversation and the easy quiet of the interlude tranquilized his lapse into lunacy. What had he been thinking, imagining something that wasn’t even there? Getting worked up over thoughts not even fully formed? He’d experienced a simple stomach cramp and reacted as if it were a major shift in his perspective. Next time he’d be a bit less generous with those Asian spices.

  “You really shouldn’t have eaten my crabcake,” he said, the tension slipping away like a shadow on a suddenly cloudy day. “It wasn’t a very nice thing to do.”

  “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.” Two planes, traveling in different directions, scored the sky overhead with a wispy vapor trail. “It really wasn’t fair, though, to leave me alone with it. You know how susceptible I am to temptation.”

  “I do,” he agreed. “Which is why I ate two before you got here.”

  “Ivan!”

  He laughed, quickly and completely comfortable with her again. The way they always had been. The way he hoped they always would be. “It’s Leilana’s fault for being such a good cook and for giving me the recipe. I wonder whatever happened to her.”

  “She went to culinary school,” Ainsley said, a fount of information now that she’d placed the woman. “And recently opened her own restaurant in…Florida, I think. We get letters through the Foundation from practically all of the refugees who’ve worked at Danfair over the years. Even the ones who only stayed a week or two.”

  “I’m certain they’re very appreciative of what you all did for them,” he said.

  “Letting them work for us, you mean?”

  “Giving them opportunities they would never have had otherwise,” he clarified. “Your folks have always managed to offer a helping hand in the guise of a bargain. A ‘we help you…you help someone else,’ kind of deal. A ‘we’ll teach you…you teach another’ approach. I don’t understand quite how they do it, but they’re able to empower one person to help one more and the chain of helping hands keeps fanning out through the world.”

  He loved that. It was probably his favorite thing about Charlie and Linney Danville’s mission. They believed their responsibility was to help one person at a time and, over the course of their lives, that had translated into helping thousands more that they themselves would never meet. It was the philosophy of the Foundation, their personal creed, and Ivan admired its simplicity and endless, ongoing effect. “I guess I should share the recipe for the crabcakes,” he said. “To keep my end of the chain going.”

  She slanted a glance at him. “Yes, you’re such a sluggard in that area. Never sharing a bit of yourself with those in need.”

  He knew she was teasing, but there was an edge to her voice, an underlying thread of…resentment? But that couldn’t be right. Ainsley was one of the most unselfish people he knew. “I have a long way to go to reach the level your family has cultivated so well.”

  “My family has a long history of self-sacrifice,” she said, and this time it was too definite to be his imagination. Something was bothering her.

  “Anything on your mind, Ainsley?”

  “No, why?”

  But he knew her well and recognized the innocent smile that always appeared to chase the flashes of guilt from her expressive face. “You just sounded a little edgy, and that isn’t like you.”

  “It is when I’ve been with my sister. She’s getting really bossy, Ivan. I’m worried about her.”

  “Miranda?” he asked, because the shift of topic had been swift and somehow, pointed. “What’s wrong with Miranda?”

  Ainsley sighed dramatically. “I think she’s… lonely.”

  “Lonely? Miranda?”

  “She hides it w
ell.”

  Extremely well, but then Miranda was her sister and Ainsley probably knew what she was talking about. “I suppose you could be right,” he said noncommittally.

  She turned toward him on the bench, blue eyes probing. “You think so, too? Has she said anything to you about it?”

  The questioning felt just a tad intense. “No, but then I can’t imagine Miranda confiding that sort of thing to me.”

  “But she really likes you, Ivan. I know she does.”

  This was curious, he thought. “That’s good, because I really like her, too.”

  Ainsley nodded, encouragingly. “Maybe you should talk to her…about being lonely.”

  “I don’t think I’d be comfortable doing that and I’m almost positive she wouldn’t be responsive. Not to me.”

  “Oh, I think you’re wrong. I think she’d be more inclined to share her feelings with you than with anyone else.”

  Now where had Ainsley picked up that idea. “I’m not sure that’s true, Baby.”

  She stiffened up like a newly starched shirt. “Don’t call me that! It’s bad enough I can’t break the rest of them from thinking I’m still a child, but I thought you, at least, knew better.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, startled by her vehemence. This wasn’t like the Ainsley he remembered, either. “It just slipped out. You know I almost never call you that. However, I do know better and I promise it won’t happen again.”

  Her head bobbed. “Thank you. Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes. Miranda.”

  “Miranda,” he repeated and turned, draping his arm along the top of the seat back, pulling one knee toward the back of the bench so he could face her and gauge her expressions. “You were talking about Miranda being lonely.”

  “Yes. Uh-huh.” Ainsley’s curls caught the sunshine. “I was saying I think you’re the perfect person to talk to her about it.”

  This felt a little like one of those conversations in which a patient describes a condition as if another person had it, but in reality it was the someone who was describing the symptoms who actually suffered from the ailment. He considered that possibility, but couldn’t see Ainsley as lonely. Or rather, he couldn’t believe she would ever see herself as lonely. “And why do you think I’d be perfect for that?” he asked, genuinely curious.