by Robin Gianna
“Turkey sandwiches—mine with hot pepper cheese and yours with that yucky Swiss you like.”
“Swiss is a classic cheese that many people around the world love.”
“Yeah, well, they’d like pepper jack better if they tried it.” He loved to tease her, if only to see her roll her eyes and the way her lips tipped up at the corners. “Potato chips, carrots—and, of course, dill pickles just for you.”
“You like pickles, too.”
“Not the way you do.” He held one up to her lips and she took a smiling bite. Without planning to, his lips followed, pressing hers, and he gave them a tiny lick. “Mmm... On second thought, maybe I do like the taste of them as much as you do. In fact, I like it lot.”
Their eyes met for a suspended moment, and he was about to go in for another kiss when she turned her face away and gently shoved her shoulder into his. “Then I hope you brought plenty of pickles, because I expect my fair share.”
“More than your fair share, I promise.”
He pulled the rest of the food out of the pack as those mixed emotions kept on rolling around his chest. Sitting here with Jill so close to him it seemed every sensory sensation was heightened. The feel of the warm sun on his skin and the cold breeze on his face... The sight of her beautiful eyes smiling at him... It had him thinking about how wonderful she’d felt in his arms. About the taste of her mouth that he’d never get to enjoy again after today.
“I had them cut your sandwich in four pieces, so it would be easy to eat with one hand,” he said.
“I have to tell you,” she said, her suddenly serious gaze meeting his, “I would never have guessed you could be such a thoughtful caregiver. I mean, you’re good with patients, and a great surgeon, but that’s not the same as thinking ahead to someone’s needs. You’ve really done that with me through all this.”
“Can’t claim to have spent much time thinking about other people’s needs—which you know very well. But I’ve been glad to be here to help you as I could.”
“Maybe it’s time to rethink that about yourself,” she said softly.
“Believe me, I—”
He saw her sit up straighter and stare over his shoulder, frowning, which had him turning, too.
“What?”
“Somebody just fell off their bike on that path over there. And they haven’t gotten up yet.”
CHAPTER NINE
CONOR COULD CLEARLY see the bike lying on its side, and someone flat on the ground next to it. After a full minute or so the person still hadn’t got up, and Conor pushed to his feet. “I’m going over there to see if they’re hurt.”
“I’ll come with you. But don’t lag behind for me. I’ll catch up.”
He reached down to help her up, then strode to see what the situation was. When he got closer he could see it was a man lying there, clutching his wrist and staring at it as he struggled to sit up.
Conor covered the final distance at a jog until he stopped in front of the guy, instantly seeing that his index finger was turned sideways at the joint.
“I guess I don’t need to ask if you’re okay, because I can see you’re not.” He crouched down and helped him to a sitting position. “I’m Dr. McCarthy, an orthopedic surgeon. It’s possible that it’s broken, but my guess is that you dislocated your finger when you fell.”
“Look at it!” The man looked up at him, his eyes wide, obviously distressed. “It hurts like hell and it’s freaking me out.”
“Dislocated fingers do tend to freak people out, but hopefully it’s not too serious.” Conor gave him a smile he hoped would reassure him a little, because his skin had blanched to a pale gray and he was listing to one side so much it looked as if he might pass out. “Want me to take a look?”
“Oh, God.” The guy stared down at his hand again and didn’t respond to the question.
“What’s...? Oh, I see,” Jillian said, kneeling next to the two of them with the cooler bag in her good hand. She looked up at Conor, and as their eyes met it was clear that she, too, saw the guy was feeling seriously upset over the way his hand looked.
“Try not to worry. It’s gonna be okay.” Conor grasped the man’s wrist and leaned in close to examine the finger as best he could, at the same time feeling for his pulse. “Jill? Can you get some ice out of the cooler? And maybe one of the paper lunch bags.”
Their eyes met again, and hers telegraphed loud and clear that she knew exactly why he’d asked for the bag. The man’s breathing was quick and heavy, and his pulse way too fast. Definitely beginning to hyperventilate. The sooner they could get it under control, the better.
“You’ll have to help me get it unzipped.”
“Sorry. You’d think I’d remember by now.”
He shook his head and got it open for her, before he turned his attention back to the injured man, helping him sit more upright.
“Hang in there. I know it looks scary, but try to breathe a little slower, down into your belly instead of your chest. You feel lightheaded?”
The man nodded, and seemed to have listened as he obviously attempted to alter his breathing. But the way he started to lean to one side again made Conor worry that he might completely faint.
“You’re starting to hyperventilate—which is totally normal when something looks as weird as a dislocated finger. I’m going to have you breathe into a paper bag. In and out...real slowly.”
“How about you hold it to his mouth while I ice the finger?” Jillian said as she emptied a paper bag and handed it him.
Conor realized there was no way she could hold it to his face with her current handicap, so he worked to get it open and around the man’s lips in just a few seconds.
“Breathe in, then out. Slower. Like I said, breathe all the way into your belly. That’s the way.”
The man nodded and breathed, and after a minute or so Conor was relieved to see some of the color begin to come back to his face. He glanced down to see that Jill gently held a bag of ice on his hand, and as their eyes met again he saw hers filled with a warm smile.
“Are you going to try to reduce it?” she asked.
“No. I think it’s probably just dislocated, but we should get an X-ray to make sure before it’s moved back into place.” He slowly lowered the bag from the man’s face, glad that he seemed calmer. “Feeling a little better?”
He nodded, and Conor gave him a smile. “Good. You’re going to need to see an orthopedic surgeon. You can go to an ER and have an X-ray done there, or you can go straight to the hand and arm orthopedic center where I work. Honestly, that would be the most efficient thing, with less wait time, and I can call ahead to tell them you’re coming. They’re open for another hour, but it’s whatever you want to do.”
“ERs can have an awful wait,” the man said, with a grimace. “Your orthopedic center sounds a lot better. Where is it? Close enough that I can walk?”
“Not a good idea for you to try to walk there when you’re hurting and a little light-headed. You might even have your finger jostled by pedestrians on the way, and you definitely don’t want that. Do you feel up to taking a cab, or do you want me to call an ambulance?”
“Seems stupid to call an ambulance for a messed-up finger.” The guy shook his head. “I feel better now. I’ll take a cab. But...can you lock up my bike? The lock’s around the handlebars. I’ll send my son to come get it later.”
“Will do. I’ll call HOAC to tell them to expect you, then I’ll walk you to Fifth Avenue and make sure you get in a cab safe, give them the address. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks so much. Sorry I was such a baby about the way my finger looks—but, wow. Never seen anything like it.” The man managed a weak smile. “I appreciate all you’ve done. And for taking care of my bike, too. Very nice of you.”
“Glad to be here to help. And I can assure you most people are distressed by dislocated limbs
and the way they look.”
Conor pulled out his phone to call HOAC, then grasped the man’s arm to help him stand.
“Hold that bag of ice on there, okay?”
The guy was definitely a little shaky, but he held the bag against his finger when Jill let go of it, and seemed okay to walk with Conor close to him.
Conor turned to Jill. “I’ll be back shortly.”
“Okay. I’ll get the bike locked up over there.” She pointed at a rack. “Will your son be able to find it, do you think?”
“Yeah. And if not I can come back myself, after whatever they’re going to do to my finger—even if it’s tomorrow.”
Conor reached for Jill’s hand and smiled at her as he gave it a quick squeeze. “See you in a sec.”
After he’d got the man safely into a cab he came back into the park to see Jillian sitting on the blanket where they’d eaten their lunch. Her head was tipped back and she had her eyes closed, probably enjoying the warmth of the sun. The sunlight caught the golden highlights in her hair as it fluttered around her face, and his chest squeezed at how beautiful she was.
It seemed she must have felt his gaze on her as he stepped closer, because she opened her eyes and curved her pretty lips into a smile.
This would probably be the last time he’d see her looking exactly like this. Relaxed and appreciating the simple pleasure of being outdoors in Central Park. Enjoying being with him, almost like they’d used to be and yet not quite. They might have talked through their history and come to a new understanding, but some of the pain of those days still lingered. Probably always would.
Some of the love did, too. At least, it did for him.
As he approached and her smile widened the emotions pressing on his chest told him he would always love her. It was just too damn bad—crushingly pathetic, really—that he wasn’t a different kind of man. There wasn’t another woman in the world as special as Jillian Keyser, and a part of him wanted to grab her up and kiss her and beg her to come back to him.
But he wouldn’t. He’d just hurt her again, and he couldn’t bear to do that to her. What he could do was cherish these last hours with her and then keep the many perfect memories close to his heart, accepting the ache that would follow.
His throat closing, he glanced at his watch. “It’s going to be getting dark soon. How about we head to the Rockefeller Center now?”
“I’d love that.”
“It’s about two miles from here. You feel up to walking that far, or do you want to grab a cab?”
“As I said before, I’m no invalid.” This time she was the one who tucked her hand into his arm and stood close. “And walking in the city is one of my favorite things to do—especially since I can’t run at the moment.”
“Then let’s go.”
Their trek down the crowded sidewalk felt perfect in every way. They laughed together about the dogs’ antics, about funny things that had happened where she’d been working, about all kinds of lighthearted subjects—which was exactly what Conor wanted for their last day or two together.
As they approached Rockefeller Center the lights of the tree glistened all the way down the street, and a cute squealing sound came from Jillian’s lips.
“It’s so beautiful! I never, ever get tired of looking at it. Do you?”
She lifted her face to his, her wide and happy smile making him feel beyond glad he’d been smart enough to take the afternoon off. That she’d wanted to come here tonight.
“Never. I’ve lived in the city for a long time now, but it wouldn’t be Christmas without this tree, would it?”
“No. It wouldn’t. And I just might have to change my mind and come back to the city every Christmas after I move away. Just to see it again.”
He knew she wouldn’t want to see him again, but refused to let that thought ruin the rest of the night.
They joined the crowds around the tree, watching the skaters on the ice rink next to it and listening to a band that had just begun to play. For a long time they stood together and soaked in the moment without speaking.
Gusts of wind whipped through the streets, more than earlier, and he moved to wrap his arms around her, pulling her back up against his chest.
“Are you cold?”
“No. I’m perfect.”
“Yes, you are.”
He rested his cheek against her temple and thought about how true that statement was. Jillian Keyser was as perfect as a woman could be.
“I’m not, you know.” She turned in his arms and looked up at him, her eyes deeply serious. “We’ve talked about your past and how that affected you. But I haven’t confessed about my own past and how that’s affected me. And I think I should, so you know that all that was part of why our marriage failed, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know about my leg surgery... But I only shared the basics with you—like how old I was when I had the surgery, which as an orthopedic surgeon you would have known anyway. You assumed I’d left it all in my past. But I never really did.”
He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, and decided to stay mostly quiet and let her talk. “So it was traumatizing?”
“Yes. Growing up with one leg a lot shorter than the other, living with that kind of abnormality, was horrible.”
“Why didn’t you talk about that when I asked you? You told me it was so long ago you hardly remembered.”
“That was a fib.” She sent him a rueful smile. “I guess I just didn’t want to talk about it. Which proves I’ve never fully dealt with how that felt, even though I thought I had.”
“Did other kids make fun of you?”
She stared up at him. “How did you know?”
“Kids can be mean little things. Somebody stands out in some way...it makes them a moving target for bullies, unfortunately.” The wind lifted her hair, and he gently ran his hand over its softness. “What did they do?”
“Called me lovely names—especially on the playground, where I had trouble doing some of the things the other kids did. You’d think that being called freak or peg-leg would be the worst. Believe it or not, though, the ones that hurt the most were Jumpin’ Jill or Jumpy Jillian. Isn’t that silly?” She shook her head. “I mean, it’s such a stupid nickname I should have let it roll off my back. But I hated it.”
“God, that’s horrible. Makes me wish I could find them now and kick their butts—if they were guys.”
“Both boys and girls called me those names. And, since I’m going into true confession about this whole thing, when I was about fourteen, the year before I had the surgery, was the worst. Not a single boy was interested in me other than those who wanted to torment me and make fun of me—and you know how self-conscious teenagers are anyway. It was awful.”
“Damn. What idiotic fools.” He tightened his hold on her, tucking her close. His chest tight for Jillian and what she’d gone through when she was young. “Why didn’t you tell me this when I was giving my own true confession last night? We both had some rough times as kids.”
“I know. Which brings me to what else I want to say to you.”
He waited. Her beautiful eyes were so serious he wondered what could possibly be coming next.
“I blamed you for everything that went wrong in our marriage. Your working too much. Your extreme focus on making money. Your making me feel less important than all the other stuff in your life. It was all your fault—or so I convinced myself.”
“We’ve already agreed I was a lousy husband,” he said quietly.
“But now I’m admitting that I know that I was part of the problem, too. These past ten months I’ve thought a lot about what happened and how I reacted to it. I’ve come to see that all the insecurities of my physical abnormality have made me deeply insecure in a way I didn’t understand. Didn’t realize was still there. I was ash
amed of the scars on my legs. That’s why I always wore long dresses to the gala events we went to. Not just because some of the other women did, but because I didn’t want those people—your wealthy, glamorous friends—to see them. To know how much I didn’t belong there. That I didn’t fit into handsome, wealthy Dr. Conor McCarthy’s life the way your wife should.”
“Jill...” He was so stunned at what she’d said he could barely speak. “I had no idea. You’re always the most beautiful woman in any room. Your scars show nothing except that you’re a warrior. That you dealt with something difficult and overcame it. Took up running. Trained for marathons, for God’s sake! You—”
“Stop.” She pressed her cold fingers against his lips as she leaned up to kiss his cheek. “I’m not telling you this to have you reassure me or compliment me. I’m telling you because I want you to understand that I know my issues were part of our problem, too. My insecurities had me wanting you to constantly prove that you loved me, that you found me desirable despite my scars. I’d lived with my wallflower status my whole life. I wanted to prove that I was the most important thing in your world, despite my inability to fit into it. I kept pushing you to let me do that, and when you didn’t it dumped fuel all over those awful insecurities. Which made me push you harder about your work hours, which made you feel angry and frustrated. It was a vicious circle that couldn’t possibly end well.”
“I’m sorry.” He pressed his forehead to hers, still reeling from all she’d said. “More than you’ll ever know. I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you needed. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you deserve. And you deserve so much, Jillian. You deserve the world. You’re the most special woman I’ve ever met. I don’t know what else to say...”
“Don’t be sorry.” She pressed her palm to his cheek. “As much as our breakup and divorce hurt, it’s helped me see how much I need to work on my inner self-confidence. Find it for real, in myself, and not expect to get it from anyone else. It has to come from me. That’s the very important lesson I’ve learned from our relationship, so thank you for that.”