by Gina Wilkins
As the shops and galleries closed for the evening, more people milled on the sidewalks. The bars and clubs were just getting wound up for the Friday-night crowd. Shannon could hear strains of several types of music coming from open doorways.
“This is on me,” she told James firmly as they stood in line to order. She already had her credit card in her hand and the look she gave him dared him to argue with her.
He tried, anyway. “Dinner is more than the cup of coffee you said you owed me.”
“Don’t care. It’s still my treat.”
He swept her face with an assessing look, then shrugged. “Thank you.”
His unexpectedly quick capitulation made her smile in satisfaction. “Order whatever you want,” she told him magnanimously.
His gaze locked on her mouth, long enough to make her smile quiver before he lifted his eyes slowly to hers. “I’ll do that,” he murmured.
Resisting an urge to fan her face with her hand, she glanced quickly at the menu board, trying to concentrate on burrito fillings rather than the enigmatic and so darned fascinating man at her side.
They were lucky to find a little table right on the railing, an ideal spot for watching the parade of people on the sidewalks. James had ordered fish tacos and a beer, subtly choosing one of the less expensive options on the reasonably priced menu. Shannon had a chicken burrito and a diet cola. Between the delicious, but messy food and the noise and bustle around them, it wasn’t easy to have a conversation, but they managed a little small talk, mostly about her work and his.
When she finished eating, Shannon sipped her cola while James finished his beer. Setting her plastic tumbler aside, she leaned forward, elbows propped on the table. “Can I ask you a question?”
Something about her tone made his eyebrows rise a little, but he set his drink aside and nodded. “Of course.”
“What was it about that watercolor that made you sad?”
He knew exactly which painting she meant, but because her question had caught him by surprise, he stalled for a little time. “Which watercolor?”
Her expression told him she’d seen through his tactic, but she answered patiently, “The one of the rose garden and the watering can. I couldn’t see anything about it that seemed particularly forlorn. So why did it made you sad?”
It was so rare for anyone to read emotions he chose to hide and he’d thought he’d hidden his reaction to the watercolor quite well. He wondered if even his closest friends in the study group would have realized that he’d been struck by wistful nostalgia when his eyes had fallen on that simple little painting.
The fact that she saw things in him that other people seemed to miss was only one of the reasons Shannon Gambill continued to intrigue him. “I wasn’t sad, exactly. But the painting reminded me of my grandmother. My mom’s mother. She loved her roses.”
Shannon nodded in comprehension. “You miss her.”
“Very much.” Sometimes it still surprised him how much random thoughts of her could hurt him.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Almost ten years. I was a senior in college when she passed away.”
“I’m sorry. I was very close to my maternal grandmother, too. She died three years ago. My dad’s mom lives in St. Louis, and I get to see her a couple of times a year. I love her, but I’m not as close to her as I was to my other grandmother, maybe because Grammy lived here in Arkansas and I saw her all the time.”
“I never knew my father’s mother. She died before I was born.”
She toyed with the straw in her soda glass as she asked, “What did your maternal grandmother give you that no one else did?”
An interesting question. He thought about it for a moment before answering simply, “Fun.”
Maybe she interpreted that response a bit more seriously than he’d intended it. Rather than the smile he’d expected, her expressive face reflected concern, and maybe a hint of sympathy. “You didn’t have much fun as a child?”
He had no intention of playing poor-me with Shannon—or anyone else, for that matter. No one was interested in attending his pity party, he reminded himself, hearing an echo of his father’s voice in his head. “Actually, I had quite a nice childhood. I was an only child and my parents were able to provide me with advantages most kids don’t have. Educational and cultural opportunities, extensive travel, that sort of thing.”
“You said you’d visited some of the countries we saw represented in that gift shop.”
“Most of them,” he admitted. “We went on family vacations during spring breaks, Christmas vacations and summers while I was growing up. They wanted me to see as much of the world as possible, especially the countries that are the most culturally and economically different from this one. We toured South and Central America, Asia, Eastern Europe, the South Pacific islands—I never knew where we would spend the next break from school.”
He reached for his beer, hoping he hadn’t sounded boastful. He didn’t want her pity, but he wasn’t trying to impress her, either. She’d asked about his childhood and he’d described it candidly. Simple as that.
“So it was just you and your parents on all those trips?”
He nodded, gazing out at the bustling sidewalk to avoid her too-perceptive gaze. “Just the three of us.”
“But it wasn’t fun.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Yes,” she reminded him gently. “You did.”
This date wasn’t going exactly as he’d expected. Certainly not the way his dates usually proceeded, with him skillfully leading the conversations in the directions he wanted them to go.
“You said you were an only child,” she continued before he had a chance to think of a new topic. “Didn’t you have cousins to play with? My family was always getting together with my aunts and uncles and cousins when I was growing up—like my nieces and nephews play with their cousins now.”
“I have one cousin, on my mother’s side. My mother’s sister, Beverly, has a daughter, Kelly. Kelly’s quite a bit younger than I am, though—she’ll turn twenty in a couple of weeks and I’ll be thirty the first week of October—so we weren’t really close growing up. She has cystic fibrosis,” he added with the tinge of sadness that always accompanied thoughts of his fragile cousin. “Her health is very precarious.”
Shannon’s expressive green eyes turned to liquid emerald in sympathy. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she the reason you’ve considered going into pulmonology?”
He was a little surprised she’d remembered that passing comment. He nodded. “I thought about it, but I’ve pretty much decided to stick with a pediatric infectious disease specialty.”
“Do you see your aunt and uncle and cousin very often? Do they live in this area?”
“My uncle died a few years ago in a car accident. Aunt Beverly and Kelly live an hour south of Little Rock, but they spend quite a bit of time with Kelly’s doctors here. I see them occasionally when they’re in town, though it’s been a few months since we’ve had a chance to get together.”
“Your poor aunt.” Shannon’s expression was even more sad now. “She’s had to deal with a lot of tragedy, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, she has.”
“Are she and your mother close?”
“Not really. She’s several years younger than my mother and—well, Aunt Beverly has never gotten along with my father. So I haven’t spent much time with Kelly, especially since our grandmother died and she was just a little girl then.”
He hadn’t talked about his family or his background so much with anyone, and especially on such short acquaintance. Shannon had a way of finding out things from him that he usually kept to himself. Most people weren’t as persistent in penetrating what he thought of as the Stillman family reserve.
“If you’re finished, we should probably let someone else have our table,” he said, deciding there had been enough dissection of his childhood. “Would you like to go hear some music? The piano bar across the stre
et is always lively.”
Though she stood obligingly, she didn’t look particularly enthusiastic about his suggestion. “Could we just walk some more, instead? I guess I’m not in the mood for lively tonight.”
He wasn’t, either, for that matter. They wouldn’t be able to talk in a noisy bar and he was enjoying talking to Shannon. But maybe it was time for him to take charge of the conversation, he thought as he walked out of the burrito restaurant beside her. Shannon had a way of leading him into areas he wasn’t really comfortable discussing.
He couldn’t help wondering if she, too, would rate his communication skills as “needing improvement.”
A welcome breeze wafted off the river as Shannon and James strolled the Sculptural Promenade that wound along its bank behind the River Market pavilions. The Junction Bridge, a one-hundred-year-old former railroad bridge that had been converted to a pedestrian walkway over the river to link Little Rock and North Little Rock, loomed ahead of them against the darkening sky, but they weren’t interested in climbing the steps or taking the elevator to the top.
With the twin cities skylines spreading on either side of them and a few other couples taking advantage of the perfect weather to stroll ahead and behind them, Shannon and James focused on each other during their walk. Shannon freely admitted she was trying to get to know him better—she wasn’t sure what James’s goal was. He asked a few questions about her, but they were rather superficial, maybe because he didn’t want to encourage her to get too personal with him in return. It seemed to make him very uncomfortable to share too much of himself.
Remembering his vague description of a childhood filled with “educational and cultural” opportunities, but little fun, she suspected that explained why he seemed to be more of an observer than a participant in life. He was pleasant, congenial, very good company—but there was most definitely a wall surrounding his emotions.
“We’ve talked a lot about my birthday-party business,” she said as they leaned against a railing overlooking the flowing river. “Tell me more about doctoring.”
He chuckled at her wording. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you like it?”
“For the most part. I haven’t actually practiced medicine yet, of course. Not on my own, anyway. Students are closely supervised. But I’ve seen enough to believe I’ll find it a challenging career.”
She turned to face him, studying his profile in curiosity. “That’s important to you? To be challenged in your career?”
“Of course.” He seemed a bit surprised by her question. “Isn’t it important to everyone?”
“Not necessarily. Some people like having a job that doesn’t require too much of them. A job where they can put in their hours, then leave it all at the office when they go home to their private lives. I doubt that many of those people are drawn to medical careers, though,” she admitted.
“You aren’t like that or you’d be content with your toy-store job and not interested in starting your own business,” James pointed out.
He was trying to direct the conversation to her again, but she wasn’t having it this time. “Infectious disease. That’s a very challenging specialty, isn’t it? Trying to match symptoms with possible diseases?”
He nodded. “The diagnoses are usually evident, but occasionally a more difficult case comes along. Patients who don’t show typical symptoms, who don’t seem to fit the established checklists.”
“Are you the type of person who gets bored easily?”
He shrugged in lieu of an answer.
“Success has always come relatively easily for you, hasn’t it? Grades and awards and such, I mean. I mean, you’re not even quite thirty and you already have a Ph.D and almost an M.D. I bet that’s why you’re looking for a career that isn’t cut and dried.”
He frowned. “I’ve had to work for the grades and degrees I’ve gotten. No one gave them to me.”
“I didn’t say you haven’t worked for them. I said they’ve come relatively easy, especially compared to some people, I’m sure.”
He shrugged again.
“So you’ll graduate in May. Then what?” she asked. “How long is the residency program for infectious disease?”
“I’ll do a three-year pediatrics residency, followed by a three-year fellowship in infectious disease.”
“Six years. Wow.”
“I’ll be practicing medicine during that time, so it’s not so bad.”
“Will you stay here in Little Rock for those six years?”
“I doubt it. I’ll start applying to residency programs in December. I’m submitting applications to programs in several different states. I’ll probably return to Arkansas at the end of my residency, though. The children’s hospital here is a great place to work.”
“I see.” So he’d be leaving the state in a few months, for at least six years. This made him even less of a candidate for a long-term relationship. Not that she was looking for anything like that, anyway, she reminded herself hastily. “What are your top choices?”
“I’ll spend the month of October doing an away rotation in Seattle, which will give me a chance to look at the program there. In November, I’ll be doing an Acting Internship in Boston. I’m also submitting applications to Stanford and Cincinnati and New York and several other programs. I’ll probably do my residency at one hospital and my ID fellowship at another, just so I’ll have a range of experiences before starting my career practice.”
In his own way, James seemed as restless as she, Shannon thought with a flash of insight. She wasn’t the traveler he was, but she had sampled several jobs while he tested himself with educational goals.
She’d recently figured out what she was looking for from her career pursuits. A sense of satisfaction. Of accomplishment. Of independence.
What drove James? Why was it so important to him to keep proving himself?
He fascinated her and that meant that maybe he wasn’t the only one intrigued by a puzzle.
“So you’ll be gone for two whole months?”
He nodded. “I’ll leave at the end of this month and be back the first of December.”
She nodded and spoke lightly. “Then I’m glad we got to spend this evening together. I’ve had a very nice time, James.”
He glanced down at her. “Does that mean it’s over?”
“It’s getting late. And I have a party tomorrow evening. I have to start setting up early.”
Without protest, he accompanied her to her vehicle. She wondered during that brief, silent walk if he would ask her out again before they parted. Not that he’d asked this time, she reminded herself. This outing had been her idea. But if he did suggest another meeting?
She’d probably agree, she decided on impulse. She enjoyed being with him, and it wasn’t as if this was going to lead anywhere, so she didn’t have to worry about repercussions. Had she known that from the beginning, it would have made it much easier for her to say yes to his dinner invitations, she mused. Her bruised ego’s qualms would not preclude her from having a few good times with a handsome, interesting man as long as they both knew from the beginning it was only temporary. Neither had to worry about being hurt or losing their hard-won independence or…well, or anything like that, she added, knowing exactly which of them suffered from those particular fears.
She pressed her key fob as they approached her car, hearing the loud click as her driver’s door unlocked by remote. “So…”
“I had a nice time tonight. I’m glad you suggested the gallery walk, Shannon.”
“It was fun.”
Other people milled around them in the parking lot and down the more distant city sidewalks. Laughter and conversation, car engines and entangled strains of music, booming bass and trolley bells—all those sounds faded into a muted background as Shannon looked up into James’s dark eyes, finding herself suddenly unable to move away. His expression hadn’t changed; his features were still schooled into a pleasant smile that could have been direct
ed at anyone. Had he moved nearer to her, or was she the one who’d stopped so close to him? It would take very little effort to place a hand on his chest, just over his heart.
Maybe he saw something in her expression to cue him in to her wayward thoughts. His eyes darkened, and his faint smile faded. Her breath caught in her throat when he leaned his head toward her, closing that short distance…
The cell phone she carried in an outer pocket of her small purse suddenly blasted a raucous chorus of Weird Al’s “White and Nerdy,” effectively destroying the mood.
Grimacing, Shannon stepped back and fumbled in her purse for the phone, her cheeks warming as she quickly silenced it. “My brother,” she mumbled to James, then lifted the phone to her ear. “Hey, Stu, can I call you—”
Her brother interrupted grimly. “Shannon, Kyle’s been taken to the children’s hospital. He was hit by a car.”
Her throat clenched into painful knots. It was all she could do to choke out a few words. “I’m on my way.”
Chapter Six
James half expected the entire Gambill family to be gathered in the children’s hospital waiting room when he entered behind Shannon. He noted quickly that her many nieces and nephews were absent, which he privately considered a wise call. Other children whined and dashed recklessly through the large, open area filled with couches, chairs and magazine-littered tables, but he’d never considered a hospital lobby a healthy or appropriate environment for kids. He supposed there were times when parents couldn’t find other care for their offspring, but Shannon’s family seemed to have managed.
At a glance, he identified her parents, Hollis and Virginia, her brother, Stu, her sister, Stacy—the distraught mother—and a uniformed man he’d never met before, whom he assumed to be Stacy’s police-officer husband. Only Stu’s wife, Karen, was missing—she must be on child-care duty.
The names came easily to him and it was obvious they remembered him, too. Virginia reached out to him immediately, as if greeting a longtime, trusted friend. “James! I’m so glad you’re here. We need a doctor’s input to help us understand what’s going on.”