Out of His League

by Cathryn Parry

  Her gaze flicked to Albert, fastidiously dunking his tea bag into the hot water. Up, down. Up, down.

  She gazed back to Jon’s reflection in the mirror. Held her breath. His eyes seemed to burn like ice-blue fire.

  Come over to me. Please come over to me.

  It was insane; it made no sense for her to feel this way. She should not want him in her hospital, should not trust her feelings toward him. He was the absolute wrong man for her.

  She, like Albert, was a private person. She relied on herself and did not want the brand of attention Jon commandeered. Even out of uniform, other women in the shop were gazing at him, drawn to his presence. Jon’s sleeves were pushed up, and the forearms beneath screamed, Strong, capable guy here! His jeans were loose and cut straight, not tight, but snug around his strong thighs.

  She snapped her gaze down to her coffee. Forced her thoughts back to the recent surgery. Her legs had been cramped at her station, but she’d been unable to get up for a break. And somewhere in the middle of the procedure, hunger had crept in, but food wasn’t allowed into the O.R. Even though many anesthesiologists discreetly smuggled in a granola bar here and there, she never did. Classical music had played over the speakers on her cart—Albert liked calming music. Some of the other surgeons were partial to heavy metal or even rousing show tunes or loud pop music, and that had always jarred her. But now, a haunting, old U2 song from her youth played. And she felt...like a hormone-ridden teenager, excited over a bad, completely inappropriate crush. Maybe it was time for that healthy rebellion she’d never allowed herself to undergo when she’d been younger—so terrified as she was of turning into her mother.

  She looked back at Albert. If she were honest with herself, no matter how perfect he seemed for her logically, she didn’t feel drawn to him and the safety he represented.

  And that was too bad for her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  FINALLY THROUGH WITH her double shift, Elizabeth struggled to get into her condominium building with a bag of groceries under her arm, wondering if it was too late and she’d missed the baseball game.

  The thin sliver of an October moon bathed the parking lot in a silvery glow. It had been a long time since Elizabeth had worked evening shifts like this, but Brandon’s presence had wreaked havoc with her work schedule, and she’d been forced to make trades. The nighttime surgery she’d picked up had been emotionally draining—an organ recovery procedure from an accident victim. Elizabeth was drenched in sweat and feeling maudlin—cases where she didn’t have to worry about waking the patient after the surgery was completed tended to do that to her. She wanted nothing more than to trudge upstairs, check that Brandon was okay, pay the babysitter and then collapse in front of her new TV.

  Near the elevator, she called Mrs. Ham to let her know she was on her way.

  “The game finished five minutes ago,” her elderly neighbor informed her. “There’s nothing on your TV but news. I was wondering when you were coming home.”

  Elizabeth sighed and pulled a folded check from her pocket. It was a bitter disappointment to Mrs. Ham that Elizabeth didn’t get all the cable channels that Mrs. Ham received. Elizabeth needed to work to rectify that for her reluctant babysitter. Add it to the list, she thought. “How was Brandon?”

  “Went right to sleep after dinner. Didn’t hear a peep out of him.”

  Interesting. This was not Elizabeth’s experience with her nephew. “Did you give him his gluten-free spaghetti?”

  “Ate it all. That stuff doesn’t taste half-bad. Did you know it’s made out of corn flour? Who eats pasta made out of corn flour?”

  People who are allergic to wheat, that’s who. Elizabeth sighed again. “I’m leaving the elevator now. Why don’t you meet me outside the apartment so we don’t wake him up?”

  “I’m already there. Left your TV on, though. Don’t know how to shut the darn thing off. Your remote is different from mine.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll be right there.” Elizabeth disconnected the call and stepped off the elevator.

  She’d bought the new HD TV over the weekend, just so Mrs. Ham could be convinced to watch Brandon on nights that Elizabeth wasn’t home. How Mrs. Ham had brought up two children was a mystery to Elizabeth. She suspected the woman’s extroverted husband, who had passed last year, must have done most of the nurturing, because Mrs. Ham seemed to live for her television programs and sporting events.

  “Gotta go,” Mrs. Ham said after Elizabeth handed her the folded check she’d written. “It’s past my bedtime.” She hurried off down the hallway to the elevators.

  Elizabeth entered her apartment, kicked off her shoes and put away the groceries, including some gluten-free cookies and a carton of ice cream. Brandon’s last lab test had come in—Elizabeth had insisted on being thorough—and her nephew was officially cancer-free—not that Elizabeth had doubted he wasn’t. She would give the good news to Brandon tomorrow night so they could celebrate. She’d already called her sister’s counselor to inform him, but she wasn’t allowed to speak to Ashley directly. The counselor had said he would relay the message as appropriate, and that her sister was doing well.

  Elizabeth hoped so.

  When she was finished unloading her groceries, she tiptoed over to her office, which she’d made into a makeshift bedroom for Brandon. Part of her longed to reclaim her haven. Just a little over three more weeks, she thought.

  She peered inside and checked her nephew’s sleeping form under the covers, then quickly withdrew. On the dining room table, she looked for his homework so she could check it for him but instead found a note to her, scrawled in Brandon’s childish handwriting, which, she’d been shocked to learn, they didn’t teach in school anymore. Everything was keyboarding. But her nephew had done his level best to keep his message neat and clear—no cursive, just simple printing:

  Auntie, I hope you had a good night. Please wake me up if I am asleep when you come home. Love, Brandon.

  Beside the note, he’d left a plastic footbath, along with two wrapped tablets of fizzy foot soak.

  Aw. She put her hand over her heart. Maybe they really were forming a ritual together, she and her little nephew. He probably did this with his mom, too, because as a hairdresser, Ashley was often on her feet all day.

  Elizabeth ran the tap water at its hottest, and when it was a soothing temperature, filled the tub and dropped the bath fizzies inside. She poured herself a glass of sparkling apple juice, sat on the couch and soaked her aching feet in the warm water, soft from essential oils and smelling like rosemary.

  She closed her eyes and inhaled. Tears stabbed at the insides of her eyelids. Brandon was a sweet kid. It couldn’t be easy dealing with his mom’s absence.

  Brandon’s bedroom door squeaked open. Rubbing his eyes, he padded out in his pajamas. Apparently he was still young enough to snuggle into the couch beside her, his towhead resting against her shoulder.

  Tentatively, she touched his hair. Soft, child’s hair. A bit crusty in places, because she suspected he wasn’t always washing it at night, as he’d promised. Brandon was more of a morning child.

  He yawned. “Auntie, did you get my note?”

  “I did. My surgery went very late, and I’m sorry for that.”

  “Did you save the person’s life?”

  Her hand stilled on the crown of his head. “A little boy is getting a new kidney.” That part was true. She just wasn’t participating in that end of the procedure.

  Brandon hugged her. “I’m proud of you, Auntie.”

  A lump formed in her throat. Nobody had ever been proud of her.

  She patted his back in response. Ashley has done well with him. She hoped she could protect him like Ashley did.

  “I might want to be a doctor, too,” Brandon said.

  “That’s...” Elizabeth didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were getting misty. “What kind of doctor?”

  “A cancer doctor.”

  She almost gasped aloud. But maybe this was normal
for kids who had survived cancer treatment, like Brandon had.

  “A cancer doctor for kids,” Brandon specified. “That’s what I want to be.”

  Elizabeth swallowed. This was getting to be too much for her. She was at the mercy of her emotions, and she didn’t like or trust them. She took a sip of her apple juice.

  “Auntie, can you help me?” Brandon’s big blue eyes gazed up at her. They were rich blue, like the seashore on a sunny day. For some reason she thought of Jon’s eyes. They were a lighter blue—more shocking and bold, like hot fire. His were a man’s eyes. Brandon’s were still little boy’s eyes.

  Why was she thinking about Jon?

  “I’m...” What were they talking about? Oh, yes. Brandon. A doctor.

  She shook off her private doubt.

  Brandon’s teacher had told her that the boy was bright and clever, but he didn’t apply himself to his lessons. He spent too much time “visiting his neighbors” and “helping them with their work.” He was his mother’s son, for sure.

  But the intellectual ability was there. He was her nephew, too.

  “I’m...thinking I can help you with your schoolwork,” she said. “That’s the only way to get accepted into the universities you’ll need to attend in order to become a doctor.”

  She settled into the cushions, more sure of herself now. Yes, she could assist Brandon on the proper path to medical school, the steps he should be taking—

  “Auntie, there’s a program at the hospital, and I talked to the lady in charge today—she wants me to help. I need you to sign the forms so I can do it.”

  “What is the program?”

  “It’s with the Sunshine Club.”

  “The Sunshine Club?” Elizabeth looked at him. She stared at her feet in the footbath. Was she being manipulated by a budding manipulator? “All of this?” She motioned to the water. “Were you softening me up?”

  His eyes grew large. “I don’t know what you mean, Auntie.”

  Elizabeth reconsidered. He was just an eight-year-old kid. He wasn’t necessarily like her father. Biological father, she corrected herself. And Elizabeth wasn’t naive, like she and Ashley’s mother had been when they were children.

  “Brandon,” Elizabeth said, aiming to keep her voice calm. “You were at the hospital today only because you had no school due to a teachers’ training session. Your district only schedules one or two of those per term. It’s not a regular occurrence. Your schedule simply doesn’t allow you to—”

  “I can get a ride to the hospital.” Brandon’s lip protruded. “After school. Mrs. Ham can take me.”

  “Mrs. Ham has cataracts. She should not be driving herself, let alone a child.”

  “I’ll find somebody else to drive me.”

  “Who?”

  “I have friends,” he said stubbornly.

  She gave him a look. To have “friends” was to risk confiding. It was bad enough that Caitlin’s son had told two other little school chums that Brandon’s mom was in alcohol rehab. Elizabeth had suffered through the resulting meeting in the principal’s office. She dreaded what Ashley would do when she found out.

  “Brandon,” she said softly. “Your mom loves you. And in order for her to heal, she has asked that what is happening with us—with our family—be kept private.”

  He bit his lip and looked down. She could tell he was trying not to cry.

  “How is your school going?” she asked kindly. If he really was thinking about becoming a doctor, that was the best thing for him to concentrate on. “What are you working on in math? May I see your homework?”

  He jutted out his chin. “We don’t have homework. We’re just little kids.”

  That wasn’t entirely true. “How about your project on Scotland?” They were supposed to be doing a report on a country where somebody in their family had their roots. She’d been explaining Braveheart and the system of clans and kilts last weekend. She had rather enjoyed herself.

  “I want to talk about the cancer program,” he said between his teeth.

  She sighed. “Was there an administrator involved? Do you have a name?”

  “Susan Vanderbilt,” he said without hesitation.

  Elizabeth didn’t know who she was. It was a big hospital; she would have to look her up. “I thought you were supposed to be in the day care doing your homework today?” she asked.

  “They let me play with the kids in the cancer ward.” He drew his finger around the Superman figure on his pajamas. She had a feeling he was fibbing.

  “Did you wander off from day care again?” she asked.

  “No.” He shrugged. “The nurse said that I’m good with the kids because I know what it’s like.”

  “Ah.” Elizabeth settled back. What was she supposed to say to that? It was true he had a talent she would never have. Tonight, for example, her chief had asked her to speak to the mother of the organ donor she’d worked on. Elizabeth had deferred...she had no idea what to say. And she felt terrible. More so because her chief had shaken his head at her.

  “I just don’t see how it can work,” she finished lamely. “I’m sorry. Maybe when your mom gets out—”

  “My mom isn’t here! You’re here! Why do you have to be so mean!”

  * * *

  THE NEXT DAY during a break between cases, Elizabeth girded herself before heading upstairs to the children’s cancer clinic she so rarely had reason to visit anymore.

  On her way to the administrative offices, she bypassed the bright wall murals and whimsical activity centers in the children’s outpatient waiting area. Brandon had spent several days a week here for over two years. Elizabeth had frequently met Ashley in these rooms while her sister sat with her sick child. It had been the hardest time of their lives. That Brandon wanted to help other kids in this position was a testament to his generosity of spirit, but, unfortunately, with his mother undergoing the crisis she was enduring, this was not the time for it.

  Elizabeth walked the corridor until she found the nameplate for the administrator Brandon had spoken with: Susan Vanderbilt. Elizabeth waited outside her open office door while the woman finished up a telephone call on speakerphone. She sat on the edge of her desk, wearing a short skirt and a tight jacket, her fashionable shoe dangling from her toes as she laughed and chatted with her caller. So easy for her to express herself. Obviously hired for her public relations expertise, Susan was about Elizabeth’s age and she seemed bubbly and dynamic, the opposite of Elizabeth’s personality.

  Elizabeth had brought her iPad with her by force of habit. She pressed it close to her chest, as if the barrier between machine and other people could magically protect her from awkwardness. She ought to know better.

  “May I help you?” Susan asked, smiling, once she’d finished her call.

  Elizabeth licked her lips and entered the bright office adorned with green plants, which felt natural given the sunlight streaming through the blinds. Such a different atmosphere from the windowless O.R. where Elizabeth worked. Here, she was a fish out of water.

  “I...understand you met my nephew yesterday. Brandon LaValley.”

  “I sure did,” Susan said. “We’re looking forward to working with him on the video we’re producing.” She reached over and pulled a form from her desk. “He said you were stopping by, so I got this ready for you.” Her beautifully manicured nails with cinnamon-red polish shone as she offered the paper to Elizabeth. “All you need to do is sign and return it to me by the end of the week. If it’s all right with his parents, we’re set to go.”

  “That’s just it,” Elizabeth said softly. “It’s not all right with his parents.” She jerked her gaze from Susan and her trendy fingernails and fixed it on the wall, at a point above Susan’s head, so she would not get disheartened or sent off track by any resistance Susan offered.

  “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Susan paused. Elizabeth was just about to turn around and leave—because what more could she say?—when Susan asked, “Do you mind if I ask why?”r />
  Elizabeth did mind her asking, very much. But unlike a tourist on the street, Elizabeth could hardly ignore a member of the hospital staff and hurry away. Elizabeth was responsible for maintaining a professional working relationship with everyone from janitor to Chief of Surgery. She nibbled her lip and weighed a response. “It’s...just a bad time right now. The situation is delicate. Everything I’m doing is for the child’s best interests.”

  “I understand,” Susan said in a small voice. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “No!” Elizabeth suppressed the shudder. “Thank you.”

  “Okay. I mean, as long as I didn’t offend you.” Susan glanced at Elizabeth’s name, embroidered on her lab coat. “Because I certainly don’t want to offend a doctor from Anesthesiology.”

  “You didn’t offend me. It’s just...” Elizabeth was trying so hard not to be “prickly” anymore. “It really is a difficult time for us. And we’re much too busy.”

  “You don’t have to explain.” Susan clasped Elizabeth’s hand, still cradled around her iPad.

  Elizabeth nodded, slowly exhaling, releasing herself from the woman’s grip. She could leave now, go back to her job. The encounter had turned out...okay. She was still on track with her sister’s wishes. All she had to figure out was a way to tell Brandon about her decision. Maybe during the drive home she could think of how to make it easier for him to accept. She turned—

  And smacked right into Jon Farell.

  She sucked in her breath. By error, she’d placed a hand against Jon’s sternum. His chest was flat and broad, warm with his heartbeat and the hot blood that coursed beneath his skin.

  Unable to move her hand, she stared at her plain, short-clipped fingernails pressed against the row of buttons on his collared shirt. Her pulse jittery, she lifted her gaze to his. Ever since she’d seen Jon in the cafeteria yesterday afternoon, she’d been thinking about him, hoping he would call. Wondering why he hadn’t responded to the voice mail apology she’d sent him.