“Yeah, I’ll be leaving shortly, too.”
Hmm, he’d said “I’ll,” not “we’ll.” Stop it. Don’t continue to be a fool. “Well, good-bye, then. I’ll be ready with the cryostat bright and early. I promise to get those frozen sections cut, stained and read in record time.”
“I’m sure you will. Well, listen, I just wanted to make sure you knew how stunning you look today. I could hardly take my eyes off you.”
Was he saying this right in front of Yuri? What was with men these days? But Yuri smiled up at him approvingly.
“Well, thank you.” Her head was officially spinning with confusion. “I guess.” She glanced at Yuri again, who continued to smile. “Good-bye now.”
Jackson grinned and nodded and let her leave with a wad of conflicting thoughts clumping up her brain. What was going on?
Once she hit the street and got some fresh air, she inhaled deeply to clear her head, then gave herself a stern talking-to. That’s what I get for letting a man get under my skin. I should know better!
* * *
On Monday morning Charlotte came into work early, hoping to see Dr. Gordon in the hospital before he’d been given his pre-op meds. Unfortunately, he already had, but he wasn’t yet so out of it that he couldn’t squeeze her hand and give her a smile and a thumbs-up as they rolled him from his hospital room toward surgery. His slightly intoxicated grin nearly broke her heart.
The vision of him stripped down to a bland hospital gown, with a little blue “shower cap” covering over his abundant white hair, lying on the narrow gurney as the transportation clerk pushed him toward the elevator, made her eyes blur and her chest squeeze. It also brought back sad memories of seeing her mother in the same position years ago, and reinforced why she’d chosen the safety of the isolated pathology department to the hospital wards after medical school.
To distract herself, she stopped at the cafeteria and bought a large coffee, then headed to the basement to her department, where she’d double-check the cryostat before Dr. Gordon’s first specimen arrived.
Jackson planned to send down from surgery a sentinel node for her initial study, and depending on her findings, they would proceed from there.
By eight-fifteen the OR runner appeared in her lab with the first node from Dr. Gordon. The specimen came with exact directions as to where it had been resected and she made a note of that with a grease pencil on the textured side of the first of several waiting glass slides. She carefully put the specimen in a gel-like medium and placed it in a mold for quick freezing in the cryostat. She helped the process along with special fast-freeze spray, then within less than half a minute mounted the fully frozen specimen on the chuck and set up the microtome to her exact specifications.
After dusting the initial cut away from the blade with a painter’s brush, she made the next cut and got the full surface of the node on the microtome then pressed her labeled glass slide to pick it up. She used H&E stain for immediate results since the hematoxylin and eosin stains worked best for her purposes, then placed a coverslip.
Whisking the now stained slide to the lab microscope, she began her study, and soon her hope for a benign node was dashed. Within five minutes of receiving the first specimen, she had to report the bad news over the intercom that connected surgery to her little corner of the world. The protocol was not to get into histologic details with frozen sections, instead sticking to a “just the facts, ma’am” approach.
“Dr. Hilstead, this is Dr. Johnson reporting that the first lymph node is positive for metastatic cancer.” The words tangled in her throat, and she had to force them out, refusing to let her voice waver in the process.
“I see,” Jackson replied. “I’ll proceed to the next lymph node. Stand by.”
“I’ll be here.”
* * *
Jackson continued with abdominal lymph node dissection, and she dutifully and quickly made her cryosurgical cuts and examined each and every specimen under the microscope, tension mounting with each specimen. The head of histology poked her head in the door, wearing a sad expression. Word soon spread in the small laboratory section about Dr. Gordon. Charlotte worked on in silence. After three positive-for-cancer lymph nodes, her voice broke as she reported, “This one is also positive.”
A lab tech standing silently behind her in the tiny cryostat room moaned and left, grabbing a tissue on the way out. Dr. Gordon was well liked by his staff because he treated everyone decently, and in Charlotte’s case, taking her under his wing and mentoring her when she’d been a green-behind-the-ears pathologist. She owed so much to him, yet all she could do today was be the bearer of bad news on his behalf.
There was no hiding the fact her findings were tearing her up, and her favorite surgeon must have felt compelled to console her. “We’re almost done here, Charlotte. Just a few more, I promise.”
“Of course.” She recovered her composure, knowing the entire surgical team could hear her over the intercom. “I’ll be here, Doctor.”
And so it went until they found a benign node after six specimens.
* * *
Early afternoon, stowed away in the comfort of her dark office, studying yesterday afternoon’s surgical slides, Charlotte sipped chamomile tea. With her heart loaded down with emotions, feeling like a brick around her neck, it would be a long day that she’d just have to force herself through. She’d had plenty of experience willing herself through days at a time, beginning as a teenager and more recently two years ago after her surgery had been done and she’d had to deal with the reality of her decision. She’d stripped herself of part of her female identity and hadn’t yet figured out how to move forward. Derek’s reaction the first time they’d made love after surgery, his expression when he’d seen her, would forever be tattooed in her mind.
A light double tap on her closed door drew her out of the doldrums she’d been intent on wallowing in. “If it isn’t important, I’d rather be left alone.” She went the honest route, hoping the staff would understand, especially since they all seemed to already know about Dr. Gordon’s diagnosis.
The door opened, and Jackson, ignoring her request to be left alone, stepped inside. He was still in OR scrubs, his wavy hair mostly covered with the OR cap as he closed the door behind him. “I thought you could use a friend right about now.”
Not giving Charlotte a chance to respond, he walked to her desk, took one of her hands and, finding little resistance from her, pulled her to standing like a reluctant dance partner, then into his arms. He hugged her tightly and sincerely and the warmth washed over her like a comforting cloud, all soft and squishy, with every surface of her skin reacting to his embrace in goose bumps. Yes, she did need this, and Jackson had no idea how much it meant to her.
They stood together like that for several moments, her breathing in his scent and finding it surprisingly not sterile-smelling at all, even though he’d just come from surgery. She leaned into his solid body, enjoying it, knowing this was a man she could literally lean on. One of his hands wandered to her hair, as if unable to resist the opportunity to feel it. She liked that he was so obvious about it, and smiled against his shoulder.
Before standing in the dim light and holding each other became awkward, Jackson spoke. “Chemotherapy can work wonders these days. I’ve already got Marv Cohen working on Jim’s case, and I feel that already shifts the prognosis into a more positive direction.”
Who was he kidding, trying to cheer her up? He was talking to a pathologist. She was a doctor from the end-of-the-road department where patients wound up after all the great medical plans hadn’t panned out. The thing that hurt was that she knew Dr. Gordon himself had taught her to think that way. “We have to be realistic, Charlotte,” he’d say. How would he feel when he woke up and got the news?
With all her dreary thoughts, she appreciated Jackson’s desire to make her feel better.
But this fight wasn’t about her, it was Jim Gordon’s to fight, and she promised she’d do everything in her power to help him. “I’ll read the slides first thing in the morning, and report directly to Marv, after you, of course, so he can come up with a magic potion and stop this mess.” No matter what, her mother had insisted to the very end, don’t lose hope. Becoming a pathologist had made her cynical.
“I’m sure you will.” His hands slid to either side of her face, fingers gently cupping her ears. Then he studied her eyes. She’d never been this close to him before, and loved looking up into his angled features and, in her opinion, handsome face, into those often world-weary eyes. Distracted by the thickness of his eyelashes, she didn’t see what was about to happen until his mouth lightly kissed hers. Surprising herself, she let him, relaxed and enjoyed the feel of his lips pressing on hers. This kind of comfort she could get used to really fast.
But wait. This couldn’t happen! It meant things, like getting close to another human being again. A man. Which could lead to, well, sex. Which wouldn’t happen because once Jackson found out about her surgery and the fact she’d stripped herself of many a man’s favorite playground, the breasts, he’d be like Derek. Not able to accept her as she was—still a woman, but scarred and different.
The pain from Derek’s walking away had sliced too deep.
She ended the kiss, not abruptly, just not allowing it to go any further. She prepared a quick cover, with a single thought planted in her head since yesterday. “Didn’t I see you with Yuri yesterday?” By his confused expression, it seemed like she had the perfect antidote to stop this kiss cold.
“You did. I was doing her a favor.”
Charlotte was very aware that even though they were no longer kissing, he hadn’t let her out of his arms. “A favor?” Did he really expect her to believe that line?
“She’s got a thing for Stan Arnold.”
“The head of the medical lab?” Trying to picture petite Yuri with tall, gangly Stan made Charlotte smile.
“He would be the one. Apparently she’s had a thing for him for years, and recently found out his wife had dumped him. So she cooked up this plan to make him jealous.”
“I don’t remember seeing Stan at the party yesterday.”
“That’s the joke. Yuri sets up this elaborate plan, me pretending to be her date, and the guy doesn’t show up.” He smiled and shook his head. “She’s got it bad.”
“I guess I shouldn’t listen to everything Antwan tells me.”
His eyes widened, as if amazed she’d listen to anything Antwan said, let alone everything. “Like what?”
“That you’re a ladies’ man, and you’ve dated a lot of women from St. Francis.”
An odd look crossed his face. “Not at all true. I’ve had only a couple of dates since I’ve moved here, no one from the hospital, and once they got to know me, neither lady bothered to stick around.” What was he telling her? Was there a Mr. Hyde to his charming Dr. Jekyll? Before she could delve into that loaded statement, Jackson spoke again. “And by the way, I noticed Dr. Dupree hanging around you a lot yesterday. If you hadn’t already told me you don’t have anything going on with him, I might have thought you were there together.” He’d expertly changed the subject.
“Oh, no! I hope no one else thought that.” She was well aware of still being in Jackson’s arms, and was also dying to know if she’d made him feel jealous yesterday, even though she knew it was pointless, just a little ego bump.
“I don’t really care what anyone else thinks, but I’m relieved.” He kissed her again, this one far from a comfort kiss and sending shivers dripping down her spine. If she’d had any doubt about his interest before, he’d sure proved her wrong now. This kiss felt intimate, like they kissed like this every day, and she liked it. Kissing Jackson shut down her never-ending thoughts and questions, allowing her to stay in the moment and enjoy the soft yet persistent feel of his lips on hers. At first he kissed like a gentleman, but something she did—she’d got carried away and opened her mouth and pushed her tongue between his lips, to be exact—had fired him up. She reeled with the feel of him getting a little wild with the kisses because of something she’d set off. How long had it been since she’d done this to a man?
As his mouth worked down the side of her neck, finding many of her trigger points and setting loose chills, his hands began to wander over her shoulders and down her arms, soon skimming the sides of her chest down to her waist and back up. As much as she was enjoying everything, he’d moved into “the zone” and it shocked her back to reality.
This can’t happen. Not here. Not now. Not ever?
She pulled herself together and stepped back, letting him know they’d crossed a line for which she wasn’t ready. She searched for and found her voice, barely able to whisper the words. “Though this is really nice, it probably isn’t the best way to work out my concerns for Dr. Gordon.”
“Seems like a pretty damn good replacement, though.” Jackson, like the perfect gentleman that he usually had been until about five minutes ago, took a second to pull it together. “I’m pretty sure Jim will be out of Recovery by now. Want to go visit him with me?” It had been spoken as if nothing monumental had just happened between them, like he kissed women in their offices all the time.
“I’d love to.” She’d also love to continue kissing him, but only in her dreams could she have what she really wanted from Jackson. Just like the reality of Dr. Gordon with metastatic cancer, some things weren’t easily worked out.
With more questions about Jackson than she’d ever had before, and a boatload of mixed-up feelings, both mental and physical, for him, she still managed a daring last kiss. She’d call it a gratitude kiss. Granted, it followed a quick hug of thanks and was only a buss of the cheek, but at least it was something.
After graciously accepting her parting gift, and searching her stare for an instant, he headed for the door and she followed him toward the elevators for the post-op ward. Something significant had happened between them. Figuring out what it meant would be left for another time.
Before just now, never in her wildest imagination could she have seen that kiss coming.
* * *
Dr. Gordon’s eyes were closed. The head of the hospital bed was elevated slightly, and the white over-starched sheets seemed to bleach what little color he had from his face. Oxygen through a nasal cannula helped his shallow breathing. The sight of her mentor looking so vulnerable made her stomach burn. She took his hand, the one with the IV, and his eyelids cracked open. He needed a few seconds to focus before he smiled.
“Hello, Jim. Glad to see you survived surgery,” Jackson said, as if he’d had nothing to do with it.
“Yeah, some lunatic tried to kill me today.” His gaze shifted to Charlotte rather than look at Dr. Hilstead any longer, and his tough facade softened as he did.
“How’re you doing?” She could hardly hear herself.
“Besides feeling like I’ve been shot with BBs in my gut, okay, I guess.”
“When was the last time you had pain medicine?”
“I lost track of time a while ago. I’m supposed to push this.” He nodded toward the medicine dispenser attached to his IV pole, which allowed the patient to regulate pain control on the first day post-op. He pressed it. If enough time had passed since the last dose, he’d get more now, which of course would put him back to sleep.
“Can I give you some ice chips?”
“Sure.” He let her feed the ice to him from a plastic spoon, and it struck her how over the past few years he’d spoon-fed her knowledge as her mentor. Helping now was the least she could do. She found a pillow on the bedside chair, fluffed it and exchanged it for the flattened one behind his head, just like she’d learned to do with her mother. He groaned with the movement but let her do it.
Their eyes met briefly. Ap
preciation, with flecks of hard-won wisdom, conveyed his thoughts. Jackson had probably already talked to him about the findings, and Dr. Gordon had assigned her to the frozen sections for the surgery. They all knew the outcome. There was no point in bringing it up.
She tried to keep sadness from coloring her gaze as they shared a sweetly poignant moment, almost like father and daughter. Emotion reached inside her and gripped until her throat tightened and she feared she’d start to cry. She inhaled as reinforcement. “You probably feel like sleeping.”
He let her use the excuse, squeezed her hand one last time and let her go. “Thanks for coming by.”
“I’ll be back later, okay?”
He nodded, snuggled back on the pillow and shut his eyes again.
Jackson guided Charlotte at the small of her back from the bedside out the door to the nurses’ station. “He knew before going in what the likelihood was of his having mets.”
She hated this part of her job, verifying the worst outcome. Seeing her mentor’s tired face just now, looking nothing like the strong head of the department she’d always looked up to, had knocked some of the air from her. She gulped and the swelling emotions she’d tried to ward off with little bedside tasks took hold. Her eyes burned, and her chest clutched at her lungs. Memories from nearly twenty years ago threw her to the curb, and she broke down.
Jackson swept her under his arm and walked her to a quiet side of the ward, back near the linen cart. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee, okay?”
Trying her best to get hold of her runaway feelings, she nodded and swiped at her eyes. He handed her some nearby tissues, and she used them. Then, with his arm around her waist, he led her back to the elevator, which they had all to themselves.
“I didn’t realize how close you are to Jim.”
“He’s been like a father figure to me. I lost my mother to breast cancer when I was fifteen, and my dad a few years after that. Dad just couldn’t go on without her, I guess. I still miss them.” Jackson’s grasp tightened around her arm. “Dr. Gordon pretends he’s an old grump, but I knew the first time I met him that he was a teddy bear. I guess I let him step into that vacant parental role. I don’t know what I’ll do—”
Wedding Date with the Army Doc Page 3