The elevator arrived and the doors opened. Tony stepped inside and pressed the button for the third floor. The critical care ward.
He had worked for and with Harold Risson for almost five years. Their relationship had been strained from the start. He had little in common with the rigid, conservative chief of the department. But their differences had little to do with style or social opinions. Risson seemed to possess a hearty and intense dislike for Tony. Rumor had it that when Risson retired, Tony was in line for Risson's job. Risson seemed to take these rumors to heart, making it clear that he had no intention of retiring anytime soon. In reality, Tony was not "after" Risson's job. He had made a point to stay out of office politics, and had even made it clear to the head administrator that he would never accept the position unless Risson himself nominated him for it. But that simple act hadn't eased the tension between them. In fact, just last month Risson had attempted to transfer Tony to a smaller, less prestigious hospital. Risson had long complained that Tony lacked discipline, but others, including the head of the hospital, disagreed. Fortunately for Tony, not everyone was as conservative as Harold Risson.
Of course, Tony thought, he had to give Risson credit. He had been a trailblazer in his day. A gifted and talented surgeon, he had been one of the first doctors in the state to do transplants. But Risson was from the old school, where doctors were next to God in terms of power. They received their MD, learned their craft, developed their specialty, and that was that. Tony was from the new school of doctors, the ones who viewed medicine as part of a growing field that included holistic and natural approaches to healing. Tony liked to think of medicine as an art, a field that was constantly changing, a field in which he needed to try new techniques just to stay on top. In a field with little room for rebels, Tony pushed the conservative thinking to the limit.
He stepped off the elevator and began walking toward the critical care unit As he approached the waiting room, his thoughts drifted back to Kim. Who would've thought that the woman who had talked him out of his plane ticket was Risson's daughter? It figures. She's probably every bit as tough as her father. He chuckled as he remembered the expression on her face when she demanded he give up his seat on the plane. Like father like daughter.
In fact, he had not even been aware that Risson had a daughter—and the news had surprised him. He had never heard Risson, or anyone, for that matter, mention Risson's family. But then again, Risson never socialized with anyone in the hospital. Tony doubted if Risson socialized much with anyone. He was always working. Always at the hospital. Tony had assumed that the reason why Risson would never step down as chief of the department was because he had no life to retire to. Risson was known as a lonely, unhappy man. In fact, if Tony hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would've bet money that Risson didn't even have a heart.
Still, he thought, remembering the concern he had seen on Kim's face, his daughter seemed to love him.
Tony stopped at the window and peered inside the waiting room. Kim was by herself, sleeping curled up on a couch, using her small sweater as a blanket. The light was still on beside her.
Tony paused for a moment. She was a beautiful woman, with strong yet delicate features. He shook his head. He felt sorry for her. This was a hell of a way to spend a holiday. Alone in the critical care ward, waiting to see if her father would live or die.
He stepped away and walked briskly into an empty hospital room. He snagged an extra blanket and headed back toward the waiting room. Careful not to wake her, he slipped inside the room and laid the blanket on top of her. Turning off the light, he bid her a silent good-night.
* * *
Chapter Four
Kim spent the majority of Thanksgiving day in the critical care waiting room. She was allowed to spend exactly ten minutes every hour by her father's side. By five o'clock that evening, she was ready to fall over. Her father had been in a drug-induced slumber all day and had not even known she was there. As she made her way back to the critical care ward, she waved hello to the nurses, who smiled at her and nodded. She didn't need to check in anymore. She had done this drill ten times so far that day, and everyone who worked there knew who she was and where she was heading.
She walked into her father's dimly lit room. She could see her father lying in bed, his eyes closed. She sat down next to him and took his hand. She could never remember holding her father's hand when she was growing up, and under normal circumstances, she never would have dreamed of such a gesture. But every hour on the hour it was just about the only way she could communicate with him. It was a simple yet universally understood sign of affection.
She looked down at his thin, white hand. "I'm here, Dad." She was beginning to worry that he would never wake up. She glanced up at the heart monitor, watching the regular, steady graphs duplicate across the screen. "Oh, Dad," she said with a sigh. "You've got to get better, I'm sorry we haven't spoken in such a long time. I'm… well, I'm sorry for a lot of things." Kim stopped. She could have sworn she felt something. A slight tightening of his hand, as though he was attempting to communicate. She looked up at him. His eyes were open.
"Dad?" she whispered. She knew he couldn't answer her with the breathing tube down his throat. Again she felt the weak squeeze. He attempted a smile, but the simple act appeared to exhaust him and he shut his eyes again.
"How's he doing?" a nurse asked, popping her head in.
"He's awake," Kim said excitedly.
"Dr. Risson?" the nurse said loudly, leaning over him. She picked up his wrist and took his pulse. "He seems to be coming out of it. That's good. Dr. Hoffman will be pleased."
Kim smiled. She felt a sense of accomplishment and relief. Her father was not only waking up, he was happy that she was here. She could feel it. The nurse motioned toward the clock. Kim nodded as she stood. Her ten minutes were up.
As she left the room, she practically bumped into Dr. Hoffman. "Hi, Kim," he said, flashing her his shy smile. "How's the patient?"
She practically beamed at him. "He was awake."
He nodded. "Good," he said. "C'mon back in. I'm just going to look him over."
He walked past Kim, close enough so that she could detect the faint smell of aftershave. Kim stepped back into the room and watched as he picked up her father's chart and flipped through it. "Good," he repeated matter-of-factly. He put down the chart, took out a small pocket light, and opened her father's eyes, flashing the light in his pupils.
Tony slipped the light back into his white jacket and nodded for her to follow him. As soon as they were out of the room, he said, "Your father's doing well, but he probably won't regain full consciousness until tomorrow. Dr. Harkavey's got him scheduled to have his breathing tubes removed first thing, so he'll be able to speak." He walked with her out of the critical care ward and stopped at the elevator. "If I were you, I'd go home and get some sleep. Hell be all right," he said, pushing the elevator button.
She frowned. Home. That might be a problem. She had no idea where her father lived, or if he'd even be comfortable with her staying in his house.
"Is something the matter?" Tony asked.
"I… urn, I can't remember where he lives."
Tony looked at her curiously. "I'm afraid I can't help you. I've never been there myself."
"I… ah, I haven't spoken with my father in quite a while," Kim stammered. "What I said at the airport, about our being so close… it wasn't exactly true."
"It's okay," he said, nodding understanding. He paused, thinking. "There're some decent hotels around here. Of course, the closest ones are pretty expensive."
Kim hesitated. Her airline ticket had cost her almost all the money she had in her savings. Maybe she should just stay at her father's house. As long as… well, as long as there wasn't anyone else already livinp there. "Is he… uh, my father… Is he married or anything? I mean, I haven't seen anyone around here, but I wasn't sure…"
"No. Your father's definitely not married. And as far as I know, he's not dating a
nyone. At least, no one I've heard of. And I make it a point to stay on top of hospital gossip," he joked.
The elevator arrived and the doors opened, but Tbny ignored it. "Cmon," he said, nodding toward the waiting room. "Why don't you grab your stuff and we'll go find a computer."
He followed her into the waiting room and picked up her suitcase.
"You don't have to…" she began, uncomfortable that he was carrying her luggage.
"I've got it," he said, motioning for her to follow him. He led her out of the waiting room and made a left. "This way," he said, heading toward the nursing station. "Hey, Melva," he said, smiling at the pretty brunette nurse who was sitting behind the desk. "Look up Dr. Risson's address for me, will you?"
She walked to the computer and leaned over, typing in some information. "222 Sycamore Street."
Kim exhaled. Easy. "That's where we used to live. I guess he never moved." She looked at Tony and smiled. "Is there a place where I can rent a car around here?"
He shook his head. "They won't be open today. If I were you, I'd just drive your father's car."
"I don't have keys."
"Hey, Melva," he said, calling the nurse back. "Where are Dr. Risson's valuables? His keys and stuff. Do you guys have them? If so, cough 'em up."
She raised an eyebrow. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.
"Because I want to go to his house tonight and rob him. I figure it's a good time since he'll be busy for a whle."
Melva shook her head as she put a small plastic basket in front of him that held a wallet and a set of keys. "If anyone's head rolls because of this, it better be yours."
"I'm taking full responsibility. By the way," he said, fishing out the keys. "Have you met his daughter?"
She nodded, making it clear by her cold, stony stare that it made little difference that it was his daughter who was taking the belongings. She was still holding Tony responsible.
Kim smiled politely. She had seen the nurse quite a few times, but she had never introduced herself.
"Nice to meet you," Melva said curtly.
Thank you for doing this," Kim said appreciatively.
"Yes, thank you, Melva," Tony said, pushing the little plastic basket back toward her. Melva raised an eyebrow as if she definitely did not approve.
"Do you know which car is his?" he asked, focusing his attention back on Kim.
Kim looked at him blankly.
"C'mon," he said, nodding toward the elevator. 'I’ll show you. You cant miss it." He led her to the elevator and caught it just as the doors were closing. They stepped inside and he pressed the button for the lobby.
Her eyes wandered toward his ring finger. No band. When she glanced back up at him, he was looking at her with a little smile that let her know he was fully aware of what she had been trying to determine. Embarrassed, Kim glanced away and busied herself by focusing on a piece of lint on her pants.
"You must be exhausted," he said quietly.
She nodded as she picked lint off her sweater. "It's been a rough few days."
"I bet" He paused. "Do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
She nodded. "Go ahead."
"Do you have anyone that could help you with this?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean family."
She shook her head. "My mother is dead. And I'm an only child. So," she said, tilting her head to one side and shrugging, "I'm afraid I'm my father's only family."
He gave her a small, admiring smile. "He's lucky to have a daughter like you."
She blushed. "He's lucky to have a doctor like you." She inwardly winced. What was she doing—flirting?
"I don't know that he'd agree."
Kim glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"
Tony hesitated. "Your father and I have had our issues."
"He can be difficult," she said diplomatically.
Tony smiled appreciatively. Risson's daughter was very different from her father. Despite her obvious personal strength, there was a softness in her demeanor that Tony found enticing. "He's a damn good surgeon, though," Tony said. "One of the best. He's the reason why I came here. I wanted to study under him."
"Oh," she said, trying to hide her disappointment. "You aspire to be like him?"
He laughed. "You don't sound as though you think that's a worthy goal," he said as the elevator doors opened.
"No, of course not," Kim said vaguely and followed him toward the front door.
He stopped suddenly and looked at her. "Where's your coat?"
"I stuck a windbreaker in my suitcase. I don't really have a winter coat," she said.
"No coat?" he said incredulously. "Where are you from?"
"Florida."
"Wait here," he said, setting her suitcase down. He took off running down the hall.
"I don't need one," Kim called out, but he didn't bother to stop. He returned a few minutes later carrying a warm-looking down jacket. "Take this," he said, holding it out to her.
"What's this?" she asked, looking at it.
"Boy, you do live in Florida," he said, laughing. "This is called a winter coat," he said, holding it open for her.
Kim paused and smiled at him. "I know what it is. Who does it belong to?"
"Me."
"I can't take your coat," she said, putting up her hands in protest. "It's very sweet of you to offer, but if I take your coat, what will you wear?"
"I’ll be fine. I've got a ton of sweaters in my locker, and I've got plenty of coats at home."
Just then a man walked into the hospital and a blast of cold air shot down the hall. It was enough to make Kim reconsider.
"Take it," Tony said, handing her the coat.
"Are you sure?" Kim asked, impressed by his generous and chivalrous offer.
"Absolutely," he responded, helping her put it on.
Despite the chilly air circulating in the hall, Kim felt a warm, cozy feeling melt through her as he slipped the jacket onto her arms.
"Thanks," she said, feeling awkward and embarrassed, although she wasn't sure why. "Thanks very much."
"You're welcome very much," Tony said as he finished helping her on with the coat. He nodded toward the door. "Shall we?"
Kim stepped outside and experienced the same sense of frozen lethargy she always felt in cold, miserable weather. "It's freezing," she said.
"It's not freezing. It's just a little brisk."
"It's freezing," Kim repeated matter-of-factly, hurrying to catch up with him.
She followed him to a large, blue Cadillac. "This is your father's car," he said, his arms crossed in front of him to keep himself warm.
Kim glanced at the car with disbelief. It looked like the same car she remembered her father driving. Perhaps it was the same car. After all, they long ago stopped making cars as big as this.
"I hope you have gas money, because this car probably goes through a tank in about five minutes," Tony said.
Kim stepped forward with the key. She felt uncomfortable, as if she were breaking into a stranger's car.
Tony opened the driver's door for her. "I think the button for the trunk is…"
"Right here," Kim said, popping open the glove box and unlocking the trunk.
Tony smiled as he walked around to the back and set her suitcase inside the ample trunk. He walked around to the front just as Kim was using the windshield wipers to scrape off the light dusting of snow that had fallen. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked, leaning over the top of the door. "You remember how to get home?"
"Like it was yesterday. That's the problem." He nodded as though he understood, though what she had said really didn't make any sense, even to her. He stood up straight.
"Thank you," she said. "For the coat, for everything." "No problem," he said, still leaning over the door. His teeth were chattering and his lower lip was turning a shade of blue.
"You better get inside," she said. "Before you freeze." He shook his head. "Nah," he said, looking up at the sky.
"I like the cold. I'd stay out here all day… and night, if I could." He smiled at her as he stood back from the door.
"Have a good Thanksgiving evening." Thanksgiving. She had forgotten about that. "Same to you," she said as he shut the door. She smiled and waved good-bye as she fired up the Caddy.
Kim drove through the deserted, eerily familiar roads. She felt funny driving her father's car. Especially this car. This car made her feel tiny, which was not a simple feat. At five feet nine inches, she didn't often feel small. But in her father's Cadillac, she had to lean forward to be able to see out the window.
This was not the first time she had been behind the wheel of this car. She had driven it once before, when she was fourteen years old. She had been angry that her father had not allowed her to go on a date with a boy three years her senior, so she had retaliated by getting up in the middle of the night and driving her father's pride and joy, his brand-new big blue Cadillac, around the block. That was it. She had simply driven it around the block and parked it back in the driveway and he had never found out. It hadn't been much of a retaliation, but the truth of the matter was, her father scared the hell out of her, especially then. Not because he had a temper, but because he didn't have one. He was always so controlled. So cold. Even when he was angry.
Kim glanced at the mileage. The car incident was almost seventeen years ago, and her father had only 70,000 miles on the odometer. It was obvious he only used the car to drive to and from work.
Kim turned onto Sycamore Street, and her breath quickened. She stopped in front of her father's house—the same house she had grown up in. She looked at the willow tree in the front yard, the same tree she had fallen out of, breaking her leg. Feeling as though she had stepped back in time, Kim nestled her nose in Tony's jacket, his deep musky scent bringing her back to the present day. She loved the fact that he had given her his jacket. It had been a gallant, sweet act on his part, and she respected that. Whatever happened to the "Hey, it's cold out here, let me give you my coat" type of guy…?
Jude Deveraux, Linda Howard et al - Anthology - Upon A Midnight Clear Page 11