by Ann Mcintosh
As they hurried across the busy street toward the Intracoastal, where they’d catch the water taxi, he took her hand again. She gave his fingers a squeeze, then slanted him a glance.
“Why did you decide on general practice instead of a specialty?”
The question took him aback, and his first impulse was to avoid it. “Why did you? I would have thought with your family connections you would have gone in a different direction.”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” She gave his hand a shake in emphasis. “Didn’t anyone tell you answering a question with a question is an obvious sign of deflection? Why would you be defensive about something so simple?”
He groaned. “Analyzing me again?”
“Asking another question?” she shot back.
“Okay...okay.”
He changed his grip on her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell her, just that he was sure she’d think he was nuts.
“I’ve always thought that eventually I’d want to move back to South Carolina and set up a practice near where my parents are. There aren’t enough doctors in the area, and the hospital is a ways away—especially for some of the more rural communities.”
He struggled to find the appropriate words.
“The people support each other every way they can, and my family benefited from that way of thinking. It’s what neighbors do there, even when they have little themselves, so I’ve always wanted to give back.”
He didn’t tell her about the charity he’d been saving toward setting up since he’d first started making decent money, or that he had been talking to Dr. Hamatty about how he arranged his free clinics, hoping to do something similar one day. Yet even without that the look she gave him, so full of admiration and joy, made him feel as though he were suddenly ten feet tall.
“How lovely. I think that’s wonderful!”
She beamed, as if he’d given her a gift, and his heart ached, feeling suddenly too big for its place in his chest.
There was nothing he could say; his throat was tight with emotion. During the day he’d opened up to her more than he had to anyone else for a long time, speaking about his parents and siblings, and the home he’d run from and yet often longed for. Even about Kitty, although he hadn’t been able to bring himself to say why the marriage had failed. That was a conversation he thought might happen soon, but he’d prefer to have it somewhere other than in public.
He wasn’t sure he wouldn’t break down telling her about Natalie. Even though time had made the pain more bearable, there was something about Nychelle that brought all his emotions close to the surface. As though she were some kind of magnet, which drew from him all he sought to hide or hide from.
They were near the dock when Nychelle said, “Whoops!” Tightening her grip on his hand, she continued, “Look. The next taxi is coming. Let’s go.”
She broke into a run and he fell in with her, the sound of her laughter, the gleam of her smile, making that sweet ache in his chest expand, filling him with contentment.
Breathless, they threw themselves onto a bench at the prow of the boat, exchanging smiles.
“Just a moment! Please—just a moment!”
At the shout from the dock David looked up and saw the same family they’d shared the trip with that morning running toward the boat, the two older members bringing up the rear. The taxi waited, and one after the other they clambered onto the boat, the adults red-faced with exertion.
This wasn’t the calm, happy group of the morning, David thought. The older children were obviously exhausted and, as often happened with siblings, were squabbling and baiting one another. The father was now holding the baby, who squealed in outrage, while the mother and grandparents corralled all the various bits and pieces the family had needed for their excursion.
After watching them get settled—which involved the stowing of equipment, the swapping of the baby from hand to hand, and a few sharp words to the older kids from Dad—David turned to Nychelle with a wry grin.
“I always tip my hat to parents. Just watching the chaos sometimes makes me tired.”
His own words took him by surprise. Normally he avoided any reference to children, and any jokes about what parents went through, since they brought with them regrets for what he was missing.
“It’s wonderful chaos,” she retorted, and there was an edge to her voice. “There’s nothing I love more than taking care of Leighann and MJ. It’s crazy, but rewarding.”
“No doubt it is.” Her vehemence was startling, pulling him out of his own contemplation. “I didn’t mean it as a—”
“I look forward to experiencing it.”
Her interruption was fierce. Although she still spoke softly, all pretense of indifference was washed from her tone, and the hand she held up was defensive, as if she expected him to object or argue.
“I don’t understand why children are suddenly seen as a burden—something to be put off and a cause of problems in peoples’ lives. No matter how chaotic, I think people should be thankful for their kids.”
“They should be.” That he knew for a fact. He took her hand, squeezed gently, wanting to calm her.
“Some aren’t, though.”
Now she just sounded sad, rather than angry, and an ache formed in David’s chest.
“It’s sad when so many people are longing for kids and can’t have them. I can’t wait to be a mother.”
As she pushed her sunglasses firmly up on her nose and turned to look out over the water David was left wondering. Was that a general observation about infertility, or was she thinking of someone specific? Perhaps herself?
Before he could decide how to best broach the subject Nychelle rolled her shoulders, as though sloughing off the conversation. She drew in a deep breath and turned to him, smiling a somewhat wobbly smile.
“So, what do you think of Fort Lauderdale now you’ve seen a bit more of it? How does it compare to Chicago?”
He had no choice but to follow her lead, and yet her remark about longing for children of her own had cast a shadow over the day. Over his heart. She had no idea how that drive to be a parent, the longing to bring another life into the world, could cause an agony beyond anything she’d ever experienced.
The ache in his chest intensified, and even as he answered her question he felt the peace he’d only just experienced evaporate in the glare of the setting sun.
Nychelle’s need to be a mother put paid to any hopes of him being anything more to her than just a friend. And that hurt more than he wanted to admit even to himself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
NYCHELLE’S HEART WAS POUNDING, and a sour taste settled at the back of her throat as David talked about the comparative merits of the two most recent cities he’d lived in. She nodded at what seemed to be the appropriate times, although she was only minimally following what he was saying.
What on earth had come over her to go on a rant like that?
But she knew what had caused her to lose her cool. David was, in her opinion, perfect father material. He was kind, calm, beautiful of spirit. The knowledge that he didn’t want kids rankled. And when he’d seemed to be denigrating parenthood altogether...
She was overreacting. Also, she was the one who had imposed the rule about not discussing anything intimate, and she had broken it.
There was no way she could continue on the way they were. Too much simmered between them. Over the last few weeks she’d grown more and more intrigued by him, had felt attraction smoldering beneath her skin. Today had fanned it into a wildfire. He was all she’d ever wanted in a man. Yet once he knew she was pregnant there would be nothing left between them—maybe not even friendship—so she wanted to get it over with. Deal with it now rather than later, as Aliya had so wisely counseled.
It was hard to find the words, though, hard to trust him with her new
s, even though in her heart she knew it was the right thing, and they switched over to the New River line in silence.
The loss of camaraderie was no doubt her fault, and she withdrew into herself, trying to come up with the right words to make her decisions make sense to him the way they had to her.
Finally she turned to David, still unsure, but determined to do the right thing. “Listen,” she said, having to stop and clear her tight throat before she could continue. “I feel as though I owe you an explanation.”
He raised his hand, but she didn’t let him interrupt. If he said it was okay, she’d probably wimp out.
“From when I was a little girl I loved babies and other children. The ladies who looked after Olivia and I used to call me Little Momma.”
She pronounced it Lilli Mumma, the Jamaican way, out of habit, and saw him smile.
“I would get up before school and go to check on Olivia before I got dressed or had my breakfast. It just came naturally to me. I wanted to make sure she was okay, and felt as though it was my job to ensure she was. I was even like that with Aliya—which annoyed the heck out of her, since she’s actually a couple months older than me.”
David leaned back, his intense focus on her causing distracting shivers to run across her shoulders and down her arms, as happened every time she had his full concentration.
“So you’ve wanted to be a mother from when you were a little girl?”
“Yes.” She nodded, facing him head-on rather than looking away, the way she really wanted to. Their stop was coming up. People were rising, preparing to get off the boat. There might not be enough time to tell him everything she wanted to.
“But there’s more to it than that. You see, when I was thirteen I developed dysfunctional uterine bleeding. Eventually, because medication wasn’t working, I ended up having a D&C and there was some scarring. The doctors warned I may never get pregnant.”
The boat bumped the dock and people crowded around, getting closer to the exit point. Suddenly self-conscious about airing her personal business in public, she stopped talking. David was still staring at her, and she wished she could understand his expression, but he was keeping it carefully neutral; it was his professional face, as if she were a patient.
Tension making her feel almost nauseated, she got up. “Can we finish this conversation later?”
“Sure,” he replied.
But his gaze lingered on her face, making heat climb up her neck and into her cheeks.
The family group, which had changed over to the second water taxi with them, were getting ready to disembark too, and she turned to watch them. The father had taken hold of the older kids, helping the eldest put on his knapsack and carrying the other one. Mom juggled the now squirming baby and the ubiquitous diaper bag until the older lady said, “Let me take the nappy bag,” and relieved her of it.
As the younger woman said, “Thanks, Deana,” the older gentleman reached for the stroller, which had been folded up and stowed beneath the bench.
“I’ve got the buggy,” he said.
Nychelle was about to comment to David on the older folks’ English accents when the older man straightened, stroller in hand, took a staggering step back and then collapsed.
For a moment everything seemed to slow as the elderly man fell backward, and then she heard the crack of his head hitting the bench on the other side of the water taxi.
“George!”
The older woman was a step ahead of Nychelle, and fell to her knees beside the man’s crumpled body. She grabbed his shoulders, but Nychelle held on to her hands, stopping her from shaking the unconscious man.
“Wait—”
“I’m a doctor.” David was there, bending down, already reaching for the patient’s wrist. “Let me take a look.”
“Give us some room,” Nychelle said to the woman, hoping she’d back away. When she only continued crying out her husband’s name, and wouldn’t release her grip on his shoulders, Nychelle turned to the rest of the family, who were standing as if turned to stone. “Someone help this lady up. And call 911 immediately.”
There was a flurry of activity: the younger man rushed forward to pull the distraught woman away, one of the deckhands shouted to the captain to tell him what had happened. As soon as the other woman was out of her way Nychelle concentrated on the patient. He was partially seated, slouched against the base of the bench, held up by a jut in the gunwale.
“Pulse is elevated, but strong. Respiration within normal range. Pupils responsive.” David straightened from his examination. “Stabilize his head. Let’s get him flat on the deck.”
Nychelle did as she was told, holding the gentleman’s head and neck while David supported his upper torso, so as to shift him away from the bench without risking any additional injury to his spine.
“Gently. Gently...” he said. “And down we go.”
As soon as they had the gentleman flat, Nychelle said, “Scalp laceration,” although she was sure David would have noticed the blood on the bench, and the spreading pool on the deck where the man’s head now lay.
David reached around to palpate the wound. “No obvious sign of fracture.” He straightened. “Apply pressure.”
None of the towels in her bag was clean, so Nychelle looked over her shoulder at the baby’s parents. “Give me a clean diaper. Hurry.”
The mother moved first, bending to scrabble in the bag for one, handing it over with a shaking hand.
Folding it inside out to create a pad, Nychelle pressed it to the wound, glad they didn’t need to lift the man’s head for her to do so.
David leaned closer to the gentleman. “George? George? Can you hear me?”
When there was no response, he flicked his finger on the patient’s cheek and called to him again. It was only on the third try that George’s eyelids fluttered and he moaned.
When his eyes opened a crack, David said, “Hey, there. You’re all right, but stay still for me.”
“Wh-what happened?”
Despite David’s injunction for him to stay still George made a move to sit up, and David stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Where am I?”
“You fell and hit your head. The ambulance is on its way, but I need you to stay still.” David’s calm voice had the patient relaxing, although his face was lined with pain. “Can you answer a few questions for me?”
“Y-yes.” George scrunched his eyes closed for a moment, but then opened them slightly again.
“How old are you?”
“Eighty-three,” he replied, with only a fractional hesitation before the words.
“Do you have a heart condition?”
“No. High blood pressure, though. Take pills for that.”
“Any other medications?”
“No.” He squeezed his eyes closed again, and a little groan followed his reply.
“Where does it hurt, George?”
“Have a cracking headache. And someone’s using a damned blowtorch on my leg.”
“Left or right?”
“Left.”
Nychelle was glad to hear the distant sound of approaching sirens. There was only so much they could do for this gentleman. David had asked George to move his leg, and although he could a bit, it obviously caused him a lot of pain. Nychelle suspected a broken hip and, while most people might assume the fall had caused the break, she knew that more often than not the break actually happened first, causing the fall. Many older people weren’t aware of the dangers of bone loss caused by aging and other chronic, sometimes undiagnosed, conditions until a situation like this one arose.
Having finished his exam, David offered no opinion other than to say, “The ambulance should be here any minute. Would you like your wife to keep you company until the paramedics get here? She’s been very worried about you.”
“Yes.” Geo
rge’s English accent was even more pronounced than before. “Let her see I’m not done for yet.”
David looked over to where the rest of family were all huddled together on the dock. Everyone but a deckhand had disembarked in preparation for the EMTs’ arrival. “What’s her name?”
“Deana.”
Nychelle knew that with each question and reply David was testing the injured man’s mental abilities.
“Pretty name,” David said, eliciting a small smile from the patient.
When David called and gestured to Deana, the deckhand helped her back on board and she hurried over. Kneeling beside her husband, she grabbed his nearest hand.
“It’s all right, darling.” George tried to be reassuring, although his voice was weak. “Just a little fall.”
“What happened to him?” Deana asked David, her voice quavering. “Was it a heart attack?”
“The ambulance is on its way. They’ll be able to better tell you what happened when he gets to the hospital.”
“Why won’t you tell me?” Her voice rose beseechingly. “You said you were a doctor. You should know what’s happened. I need to know what’s happened to my husband—”
“Stop it, Dee.” George’s voice was firm, and he gave his wife’s hand a little shake. “Enough. The poor doc was just having a nice day out with his lady. I doubt he has a stethoscope or any other equipment hidden in his shorts, do you?”
His voice was a little breathy, and Nychelle was relieved that the wail of the ambulance had stopped. The EMTs should be there soon. The diaper was already heavy with blood, and Nychelle could see the first signs of incipient shock; George had paled, his respirations were quickening, and a touch of his face revealed he was clammy.
“It’s okay, George.” David was as calm as ever. “Deana, here come the paramedics. They’re going to need you to go back onto the dock so they can do their job.”
Instead of moving Deana added her other hand to the clasp she had on her husband. “No. I—”
It wasn’t unusual to have family members be more difficult than the patients, so Nychelle tamped down her frustration. Looking Deana in the eyes, she said, “If you truly want to know what’s happened to George, let the EMTs get him to the hospital as quickly as possible.”