by Radclyffe
“Something wrong?” Pearce said quietly.
“No. Nothing.”
“Would you rather it be just you and…” She nodded her head toward Ronnie.
Wynter smiled. “No. Let’s go. It’ll be fun to take a walk. I just need a few minutes to get her ready.”
“Okay. I’ll give Mina a hand.”
“You don’t have to. You can wait in the living room. Read the newspaper.”
Pearce stood, swinging Ronnie up under her good arm as she did so, making her squeal. When she set her down, Ronnie tried to drive the Batmobile up her leg. “Whoa!” Pearce diverted the car before it scored a direct hit. “Go ahead. Mina and I will be fine.”
“Five minutes,” Wynter said, corralling Ronnie and whisking her away.
Grinning after them, Pearce turned to find Mina staring at her speculatively. She waited, but when Mina said nothing, she asked, “What can I do?”
“Bring me those plates and I’ll get the dishwasher loaded.”
“Got it.”
“Wynter tells me you’re her senior resident.”
“Technically,” Pearce said as she handed off the first stack of dishes. “We’re actually the same year, but…well, I guess you know Wynter got a bit behind because of…that business at Yale.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Mina said noncommittally. “Ken thought about surgery—for about two days.”
“Then he saw the light?”
“Then I informed him that he had a choice—more children or surgery.”
Pearce glanced at Mina’s prominent belly and laughed. “Easy choice.”
“Not everyone thinks so.” She turned away from the sink and regarded Pearce with a friendly smile. “How about you? Are children in your future?”
“I’m not married.”
“That’s not a prerequisite.”
“I’m also gay.”
“That’s not a disqualification.”
“Ever considered becoming a lawyer?”
Mina chuckled. “I’ve given it some thought, when the kids are big enough to stay in school all day. And there’s no law against not wanting kids, you know.”
Pearce stacked another armload of dishes next to the sink. “I didn’t say that. Being a surgery resident makes it pretty much impossible.”
“It sure makes it difficult, I agree. More so than for most residents.”
“Wynter obviously does a good job of it.”
“I do a good job of what?” Wynter said, leading Ronnie by the hand. In her red snowsuit, Ronnie looked like a fireplug with feet.
“Everything,” Mina said fondly and turned back to the sink.
Pleased to be rescued from the odd conversation, Pearce grabbed her bomber jacket off the coat tree by the back door. “All set?”
“We’re ready.”
Outside, they walked side by side with Ronnie between them. She immediately took each of their hands and alternated between running until their arms were outstretched and then picking her feet up and swinging back.
“She’ll do this until you’re worn out,” Wynter warned.
“Me? Not a chance.”
“Uh-huh. I still want to get a good look at your hand. I noticed you kept it out of sight during breakfast.”
“It’s okay.” When Wynter gave her a hard stare, Pearce amended, “All right. It’s much better.”
“Will you be able to operate tomorrow?”
“I’ll probably beg off doing anything in the OR until Tuesday.”
“Won’t your father notice?”
“You can take his cases. He’ll just think I’m being generous.”
“You are generous with the cases.”
Pearce shrugged, but she was pleased. “Thanks. And thanks for the breakfast. It beats the…heck…out of Pop-Tarts.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. I’m sorry it was such short notice. I know you had company.” Wynter blushed, having said more than she intended. “I mean—”
“I couldn’t sleep so I went out for a while after you left.”
“Uh-huh.” Wynter knew she should tell Pearce that she didn’t need to explain, but she said nothing.
“I ran into one of the OB-GYN residents at O’Malley’s, and she was a little under the weather,” Pearce said, wanting Wynter to know it wasn’t what she thought. If she thought anything about it at all. Mindful of Ronnie, Pearce said circumspectly, “I couldn’t send her home alone, and it was already so late, it just made more sense to bring her to my place.”
“Of course.” Wynter knew it shouldn’t make one iota of difference to her what the reasons for Pearce having a woman in her apartment overnight might be. But she was unreasonably glad.
“I was going to call and explain, tell you to come by later, after she left.”
Wynter smiled. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ll look at your hand when we get back, before you go inside.”
“Jeez, you’re relentless.”
“What did you expect? I’m a surgeon.”
Pearce laughed. When Ronnie started making car noises—at least that’s what Pearce thought she was doing—she had a sudden idea. “Look, do you have a few extra minutes?”
“Sure. It’s my day off. Why?”
“There’s something I want to show you. Ronnie will like it.”
Wynter gave her a perplexed look but nodded. “Okay.”
They continued a few blocks in silence, and when they passed in front of Pearce’s apartment, Wynter refused to think about Pearce’s company.
“It’s right here,” Pearce said, leading the way down a narrow driveway toward a garage at the rear of a lot two houses away from her building. The white concrete structure with the black tar roof had double wooden doors and small round windows above each one. An industrial-scale lock secured the metal clasps, holding them closed. Pearce pulled her key ring from her jacket pocket. “It stays pretty warm in here, but I have a kerosene heater if you’re cold.”
“Is this yours?” Wynter asked curiously.
“I rent it.”
Pearce pulled open the doors and reached inside for the light switch. Unzipping her jacket, she watched Wynter gaze curiously around. Pearce’s Thunderbird occupied nearly half the space. The frame of a ’65 Corvair stood on cinder blocks next to it. Workbenches covered with neat rows of tools lined one wall, and an air compressor, jack, and other automotive equipment stood on the floor.
“I take it this is what you do with your spare time,” Wynter said, not surprised to see that the space had a certain order and precision, not unlike an operating room.
“It’s relaxing.” Pearce squatted down next to Ronnie. “These are my cars. They’re just like yours, only a little bit bigger.”
“Mine,” Ronnie announced, pointing to a shelf that ran above the workbench filled with classic car models.
Laughing, Pearce picked her up and carried her to the side of the room. “Which one?”
Wynter joined them. “She probably means all of them.”
Pearce took down the replica of her Thunderbird. “You like this one?”
“Pearce,” Wynter warned, but it was too late. Ronnie immediately grasped the car and held it tightly.
“Mine.”
“Ronnie, honey, that’s—”
“She can have it.” Pearce leaned against the workbench, holding Ronnie loosely while the child waved her new possession in the air. “I can replace it.”
Wynter turned away, feigning interest in the cars, which she knew absolutely nothing about. Pearce had such an easy way with her daughter, and Ronnie looked so sweetly happy that it hurt. It hurt because it should have been Dave holding Ronnie and making her laugh, and she didn’t want it to be him. Realizing that only made her own unexpected sense of joy even more confusing. Her throat was tight, and she hoped her voice would sound normal. “You’re careful, aren’t you? Working in here alone?”
Pearce walked up beside her and put Ronnie down. The child sat at her feet and began to drive the car over the concrete.
“I’ve been doing this since I was just a kid. I’m very careful.”
“Did your father teach you?”
“Hell no,” Pearce said with a bitter laugh. She glanced down at Ronnie. “Sorry.”
“It’s all right.”
“My grandfather—my mother’s father. I spent every weekend with my mother’s parents, and some nights during the week too, if my father was working and my mother was busy.”
“What does your mother do?”
“She was a microbiologist. She taught at Bryn Mawr.”
Wynter heard the careful phrasing and saw the pain in Pearce’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey, careful, you,” Pearce said, quickly stepping sideways to block Ronnie’s path before she could bump her head on the undercarriage of the elevated Corvair. Then she met Wynter’s sympathetic smile. “Thanks.”
“How old were you when it happened?”
“Nine.”
Wynter reached for Pearce’s hand. She squeezed it and didn’t let go.
Pearce resisted the urge to thread her fingers through Wynter’s. Her hand was so warm. So soft. The garage suddenly felt hot and close. She dropped Wynter’s hand and stepped away. “I guess we should go get that ice cream for Mina.”
“Yes.” Wynter shivered, although she hadn’t unzipped her parka, and she wasn’t cold.
Chapter Seventeen
“Did you have a good walk?” Mina asked when Wynter joined her in the living room. She’d changed into a loose denim jumper and tie-dyed T-shirt but still wore her fuzzy pink slippers and was ensconced in a rocker surrounded by the Sunday papers.
“It was nice,” Wynter said, leaving the door to the adjoining family room open so she could keep an eye on the children, all of whom were sprawled on the rug with their toys and games. “Do you want your ice cream?”
“In a little while.” Mina nodded toward the overstuffed chair next to her. “Sit down and enjoy the fire.”
Wynter settled back with a sigh and propped her feet on a footstool. “Is Ken home?”
“Taking a nap. He said he was up all night.”
Wynter made a sympathetic sound. “I’m not so sure it’s a good thing I have two days off in a row. It makes me realize how abnormal my life is.”
“Looked pretty normal this morning,” Mina said. “Family breakfast, friendly company, nice quiet walk.”
Wynter smiled, thinking just how right that had felt. Spending time with Ronnie. Being with Pearce. Pearce. She had no idea how Pearce had become part of her life outside of the hospital, but she was glad. The last month had brought so many changes, sometimes she felt as if she couldn’t keep up. “I just wish there were more mornings like this.”
“It won’t be forever. You’re more than halfway done.”
“I know,” Wynter said, staring at the ceiling. “It was just so nice to take Ronnie out and spend an hour just having fun.”
“You were gone for a while. I was starting to worry.”
“Sorry. Pearce took us by her garage where she restores old cars. Ronnie loved the place.”
“If it had anything to do with cars, she would.”
Wynter laughed. “I think I’m raising an auto mechanic.”
“Well, maybe it’s hereditary. That’s a lot like surgery.”
“If I had the energy, I’d throw a pillow at you.”
Mina reached for the cup of tea resting on the reading table beside her. “Pearce was good with her.”
“She was great.”
“So you all had fun.”
“Yes.” Wynter felt a ripple of apprehension for which she had no explanation. Almost every minute they’d spent together had been effortless and enjoyable. They’d conversed easily about Pearce’s cars and Wynter’s family. She’d told Pearce about growing up on a farm, and how shocked her parents had been when she’d said she wanted to be a doctor. Neither was a college graduate, and in their small community, many of the young people still married and settled down within walking distance of their parents. Even the ones who went away to college frequently returned, preferring the quieter life they had grown up with.
Ronnie seemed taken with Pearce. Although Ronnie rarely stopped babbling, she and Pearce seemed able to communicate even without words. Everything had been perfect, and yet the closer they had drawn to Pearce’s apartment on the return trip, the less they’d talked and the more heavy the silence had become.
They’d climbed the front porch and stood facing one another, Ronnie between them, one of her small mittened hands on each of their thighs. Their breath hung like mist, an uninvited guest. Wynter had the urge to brush it away, as if it prevented her from seeing Pearce clearly.
“Let me check your hand,” she said.
Pearce glanced up at the porch ceiling, as if she could see through the structure. “I’d ask you up, but…”
“No problem.” Wynter tried to sound nonchalant, but she knew her words had come out harshly. She smiled to take the sting away. “Let me see your hand. Please.”
Without another word, Pearce pulled her ungloved hand from her jacket pocket and held it out, fingers splayed. She slowly made a fist and opened it again. Wynter pulled off her own gloves and stuffed them into her pockets. She kept Ronnie trapped between her knees so she could use both hands to examine Pearce’s. She repeated the procedure from the day before, gently probing, flexing and extending each finger, and studying the scrapes and bruises. Finally she was satisfied. “It’s still very swollen, but better.”
“It’ll be okay.” Pearce withdrew her hand from Wynter’s grip. “You should get going. It’s freezing out here. Have a good one—I’ll see you tomorrow.”
As Pearce turned toward her front door, keys in hand, Wynter blurted, “What about you? What are you going to do today?”
Pearce gave her an inscrutable look over her shoulder. “I’m going in to make rounds, see what’s going on. If I’m lucky, a good case will come in.” Pearce glanced down at Ronnie and smiled. “Bye, kiddo.”
Ronnie waved her new car and giggled. “Bye, kiddo.”
Replaying the scene in her head, Wynter continued to stare at the ceiling. She still couldn’t figure out what bothered her. She knew that someone waited for Pearce upstairs, but that didn’t have anything to do with her.
“You look kind of lost, honey,” Mina said. “Something wrong?”
“No, not really.” Wynter frowned. “I guess I just don’t know what to do with myself. Too much time on my hands. If you don’t mind watching Ronnie, I’ll go next door and do some unpacking.”
“Want some company? I’ll be over as soon as Ken wakes up. He can watch the kids.”
“Sure,” Wynter said, wondering what Pearce was doing and wondering why she couldn’t get her out of her mind. “Company would be great.”
*
“Where did you go?” Tammy asked petulantly the minute Pearce walked into her apartment.
“Just for a walk. How are you doing?”
Tammy sat up, the blanket falling to her waist. She was nude. “I’m still a little wasted. What time is it?”
“Just after eleven. Are you working today?”
“I’m the night float. I don’t have to be in until eight.”
Pearce hung her jacket over the back of her desk chair. “You want something to eat?”
“Are you on the menu?”
“Not at the moment.” Pearce went into the kitchen to investigate the food situation. Knowing what Tammy was like under these circumstances, eggs would probably do. She opened the cabinet above the sink and was in the process of taking down a bowl when Tammy’s arms came around her from behind. Carefully, she set the dish on the counter, ignoring the play of Tammy’s fingers over her abdomen. Without turning around, she said, “Why don’t you take a shower? I’ll leave some of my sweats for you in the bathroom and by the time you’re done, I’ll have breakfast ready.”
Tammy adroitly opened the button on Pearce’s fly with one hand and pulled her shirt loose
with the other. “You know I’d rather fuck first and eat later.”
Pearce caught both wrists and stopped Tammy’s errant explorations. “Cut it out, Tam. You need something to eat, and I’m not in the mood.”
Tammy stepped back as Pearce turned around. She stared, mouth agape. “You’re not kidding, are you?”
Pearce shook her head.
“Since when aren’t you interested in sex?”
“Since right now.” Pearce leaned against the counter, wincing when she tried to curl the fingers of her left hand around the edge of the counter.
“What the hell did you do?” Tammy reached for Pearce’s hand. “Jesus. You really did a number on this.”
“I jammed it up yesterday.”
“How?”
“Just helping someone move.” The last thing Pearce wanted to do was discuss Wynter with anyone, but definitely not anyone from the hospital. And not one of the women she used to sleep with. She wasn’t exactly sure why, because Wynter was just a friend. A fellow resident. That’s all. But she just didn’t want to talk about her.
“Helping someone move.” Tammy enunciated each word as if it were a foreign language. “Let me see if I get this right. Pearce Rifkin, the senior surgery resident who never does anything except work and screw, spent her day off helping someone move.”
“Come on,” Pearce said, grinning despite herself. “I do more than that. I read a book sometimes. I’ve even been known to watch a movie.”
“When?”
“Once. Look, aren’t you cold?” It was hard not to look at Tammy’s naked body, especially when her nipples were puckered and hard. She had a beautiful body, muscular and compact, her narrow waist leading to subtly curved hips and smooth thighs. Pearce recalled vividly what that firm, smooth flesh felt like in her hands. “Besides, you’re not legal, looking like that.”