by Ann Gimpel
“He is not my son,” Brice ground out. She knew him sell enough to sense the fury pounding through him. “He’s a patient. I happened to be there last night when he and his mother were in a horrible accident.”
“N-not your son?” she stammered. “But he looks so much like you.”
“So do a hundred other fair-haired little boys,” he countered. “Now that we have that straight, I have work to do.” He pushed past her, moving full-steam ahead.
She wanted to call him, tell him to wait, but what right did she have? None. He wasn’t hers anymore. Maybe he never had been. Emotions buffeted her from a hundred different directions. At least she’d apologized, but she didn’t feel like she’d done enough.
“Wait!” She ran after Brice.
“What?” He glanced over one shoulder, not even turning around.
“Where is the little boy?”
“Why?”
Julie stood taller. “I want him to know I wasn’t running away from him.”
A corner of Brice’s mouth twisted downward. “And how are you going to phrase things so a two-year-old understands it wasn’t him but leftover baggage from you and me?”
“Easy,” Juliana shot back, anger displacing her earlier angst. “I’ll tell him my sister is sick, and I’m worried about her.”
“Nice of you,” he sneered. “Slightly more compassionate than the woman I remember, but the answer is no.”
Before she could come up with an argument, he was gone.
“Damn him.” She curled her hands into fists until her nails cut into her palm.
Her phone rang, and she fished it from a pocket. “Hi, Dad. I was just on my way back upstairs.”
“Good, honey. Sarah’s been asking for you.”
“Be right there.” Julie tapped the end call button. What could Sarah possible want? She’d been planning a heart-to-heart with her twin, but now wasn’t a very good time. Not when she felt ashamed and humiliated by her reaction to the child in Brice’s arms.
Brice had dismissed her like yesterday’s trash, and she didn’t blame him. He’d always had a streak where he stood up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. It was one of the things she’d loved about him. His altruism and his principles.
Shaking her head, she trudged toward the elevator that would bring her up one floor to the ICU. What on earth could Sarah want? Maybe to tell her to go back to the dig. Julie had told her enough about it for her to recognize what an important find it was. A few papers with first authorship would be enough to set Juliana up for life. She’d be able to write her own ticket. Teach anywhere she wanted and have major research institutions underwrite her next digs with the full court press of photographers and enough underlings to fill a small town.
The names of her cult heroes marched through her mind. Men and women she’d idolized from girlhood. Louis Leaky. John Lloyd Stephens. Gertrude Bell. Jesse Fewkes. Kathleen Kenyon. Jane Goodall.
It was easier than thinking about Brice dressing her down, never mind she’d deserved everything he’d dished out and more. She was lucky he hadn’t ordered her out of the hospital. If it weren’t for Sarah, he might have.
If it weren’t for Sarah, I wouldn’t be here.
She reached the glassed-in ICU and pressed the buzzer for entrance. Erika let her in and handed her a mask, gloves, and a gown. “Everything all right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Fine.” Julie’s voice was muffled by her mask.
Erika hooked a hand beneath her arm and moved her mouth close to Julie’s ear. “I’m plainspoken, Dr. Wray. Always have been. You do not look like everything is fine, but no matter what else is wrong in your life, you will put on a pleasant face when you see your sister. She’s far from out of the woods, and she does not need to worry about you—or your parents—but they’re always upbeat from what I’ve seen.”
“Got it.” Julie glanced pointedly at the nurse.
“Good. I’ve been at this for longer than you’ve been alive. It’s the smallest things that sometimes mean life—or death.”
A chill slid down Juliana spine, and she turned toward Erika, no longer angry. “Sarah’s tired, isn’t she? I picked that up earlier.”
“How would you feel,” Erika countered, “if you’d been sick your whole life? Not just sick, but wondering if this bout of pneumonia will be the one that does you in. Or this particular round of pancreatitis, although that hasn’t bothered Sarah much until recently.”
“I’d wonder if it was worth it,” Julie murmured.
“So does she.” Erika skewered her with eyes that had seen a whole lot. “The only thing keeping women like her alive is hope. When it sinks in that this is all there’s ever likely to be, hope dies. After that...”
“What can I do?”
“Listen to her. Don’t preach. Don’t judge.”
Julie nodded solemnly. “I’d already come to that conclusion. Before, I’ve always tried to humor her along.”
Erika patted her arm. “It’s never easy,” she said. “For the patient or their loved ones. You’ll be here after she isn’t. What you do now will make that possible to bear—or not.”
Juliana winced. She’d always known Sarah would die, but hearing it out loud held a finality that drove a stake through her heart.
“Lecture’s over,” Erika said. “Thanks for hearing me out. Oftentimes, folk cut me off long before where we got to.”
“I can see why.”
Erika offered a sad little nod but was done talking.
Julie walked to Sarah’s enclosure. Her parents stood on opposite sides of the bed, chatting with their daughter. After taking a deep breath, she walked inside.
Sarah nodded her way. “Thanks for coming, Sis.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“We’ll see you outside, honey,” Ariel said.
“Yes, Sarah wants some twin time with you.” Chris inclined his head and left the room with his wife.
Julie perched on the edge of Sarah’s narrow bed. “Holler if my sitting here causes you discomfort.”
“It’s okay.” Sarah stretched out a thin hand, the skin over her fingers pale and translucent.
Julie laced her fingers with hers. “What’s so important?”
“Lots of things. But, mostly, I can’t pretend anymore. I’m dying. No matter what rabbit Brice pulls out of a hat, I’m still dying. I feel myself slipping into a shadow world. I’ve been there lots of times before, but this time it feels different. Soothing. Not threatening like it once did.” She inhaled shakily. “Not sure why, but I’m not scared to let go anymore.”
Julie bit back words. She wanted to urge Sarah to fight harder, not to let go, but this wasn’t her battle. “Go on, sweetie. I’m listening.”
Sarah nodded, her eyes clear, her gaze direct. “You’ll leave for Egypt. Not right away, but in a couple of weeks. The next time you come back, I probably won’t be here.”
Tears threatened, but Julie blinked them away. “It’s all right, Sis. I didn’t truly understand until a little bit ago because I never put myself in your place, but I do now.”
“Really? You’re not going to—”
“No. I’m not. I love you, Sarah. No conditions. No requirements. Even if it means I have to let you go.”
Sarah’s blue eyes glistened with tears. “Thank you. There’s one more thing.”
Julie didn’t trust herself to speak, but she held eye contact.
“Brice told you the truth. I didn’t plan it, but when he showed up that night and mistook me for you, well, things got out of hand.” Her grip on Juliana’s hand tightened. “I only meant to kiss him, but”—she looked away—“it won’t make sense, but I wanted what you had. Someone to love me. A life filled with possibility and light and love and children and a future.”
Sarah was panting. Her words had cost her, or maybe it was the emotion behind them.
Julie waited for her sister’s breathing to even out. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
&
nbsp; “I was ashamed. I had no idea you’d never forgive him, and by the time I figured it out, so much water had flowed under the bridge, I wasn’t willing to face your anger.” She smiled crookedly. “You always had a legendary temper.”
“Still do, but I’m better at keeping it under lock and key. It’s okay, Sarah. Truly it is. I forgive you. It I hadn’t been such a stiff-necked, self-righteous bitch, I’d have listened to Brice.”
Sarah’s eyes fluttered shut. “Thank you for hearing me out. It was my last piece of unfinished business. I was scared I’d die and never get a chance to come clean.”
Something about the words unfinished business grabbed Julie by the throat. “Promise me.”
“Maybe.” Sarah opened her eyes.
Julie licked dry, chapped lips and picked her words carefully. “Give this new treatment a chance. I looked it up, and it might buy you a few more years. Death is pretty damned permanent. Don’t hurry it along unless you believe you’ve truly run out of options.”
“Very politically correct and spoken like my sister. I’ll take it under advisement.” Her eyes closed again, and moments later she was snoring softly.
Julie stayed for a few more minutes before letting herself out of the room. After divesting herself of the mask, gloves, and gown that protected Sarah from infection, she walked into the corridor feeling at loose ends.
Brice had told the truth.
She’d been wrong not to believe him, but too much time had passed. He didn’t love her anymore. Hell, she probably didn’t know the man he’d grown into well enough to love him, either. Love took being together. Sharing your lives and hopes and dreams. It was way more than the instant attraction he engendered when she looked at him. If she expected to find true love, she needed to look elsewhere, but the point was she needed to look period. Love wasn’t going to drop out of the sky and find her.
Feeling surprisingly steady, and at peace with her sister for the first time since that night in their apartment, she walked out of the hospital. She and Sarah had done a great job pretending. Hell, they both deserved Oscars for stellar performances, but their bond had cracked that night. Badly. They’d shored things up, talked around the fissure, pretended it didn’t exist.
Except it had.
Until now.
She should hunt down her parents, but she needed to be by herself. Sarah didn’t require her presence, and she had to figure out who the hell she was beyond the title archaeologist. She’d shut the door on the parts that made her human when she kicked Brice out of her life. Whether she could resurrect any feelings beyond anger and resignation remained to be seen.
Chapter Eight
Brice exited Skype and pushed his laptop off to one side of his cluttered desk. Journal articles, papers, charts, and graphs were inches deep in places. His hospital office was tucked into a corner between the doctors’ lounge and the Med-Surg unit. He’d declared it off limits to the cleaning crew after a critical journal article disappeared a few months back. He’d replaced it easily enough, but he’d wasted hours hunting for it before breaking down and looking it up online.
Most of the limited floorspace was taken up by an antique mahogany desk. The rest contained shelves heavy with resource texts he’d been collecting since medical school. Everything was digital these days, but he’d begun his training studying material on paper. He still mapped out equations to determine dosage and other critical issues by hand, not fully trusting the many programs that had popped up to get it right.
The MacBook dinged again, the Skype icon pulsing.
He clicked accept and smiled at his colleague, a Scotsman working at the Paris Institute. They’d just hung up, but a key point must have slipped Angus’s mind. Usually, he was more organized.
“Forget something?” Brice asked.
Angus MacDuff’s brusque demeanor slipped briefly. He almost smiled back before he cleared his throat. “Aye, that I did.” He spoke with a deep, melodic brogue. “You’ll recall I worked with your patient, Ms. Wray. Years back, when she was in medical school, I was a freshly minted professor.”
Brice angled his head to one side. “You may have told me, but I didn’t remember. Why is it relevant?”
The other doctor shrugged. “Perhaps it’s not. I met her before the strain of managing her class load proved too much along with her illness.” He took a measured breath. “You are going to introduce gene remodeling, are you not?”
“As soon as her labs fall closer to normal parameters. Your ideas were sound, and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t excited to see how this pans out.”
“What if I feel the same way?” Angus raised one dark brow. Coal-black hair fell across his brown eyes; he brushed it aside. He was dressed in scrubs and a white lab coat, the only garb Brice had ever seen him in. “We’re in uncharted waters, colleague. I want to be there when we push off.”
Brice stared at his associate. “You’d come across the Atlantic to wait on the outcome of a few procedures?”
“Aye, that I would. I haven’t had a holiday in years, and Christmas is soon. What better time to—?”
Brice laughed, cutting off Angus’s words. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt. Seems to be my season to entertain. If you don’t mind sharing my home with my mom and her new boyfriend and soon to be stepson, you’re welcome to stay with me. There may be a two-year-old as well—he’s the son of an accident victim I bailed out—but he should have left before Christmas.”
“You always were kindhearted.” Angus cast a speculative glance across Skype’s airwaves. “Let me guess. The parents were injured more severely than the boy, and he needs a place to stay.”
“Close enough.” Brice didn’t mention the operative term would be parent, singular.
“I swear, my man, you really should move across the Atlantic. We have excellent resources to address such circumstances.”
“So do we. You practiced in the States, so you’re aware of them. This is a rather special case. I’m not in the habit of providing temporary housing for kids.”
“Touché!” Angus did smile that time. “Back to the topic of staying with you. Are you sure? It sounds crowded. I can book a hotel if you’d be so kind as to recommend something close to the hospital.”
“Won’t be crowded at all. It’s a big house, and it’s usually just me and my housekeeper.”
“Brilliant. I’ll be close at hand and receive news of Ms. Wray’s progress the moment you do. It’s settled, then.” Angus reached for his display.
“Hang on,” Brice said. “I’ve known you a long time. What aren’t you saying? Did you leave something out about how you anticipate gene splicing will unfold in her case? Is that why you want to be front and center? In case something you’ve omitted goes awry?”
“Just tell Ms. Wray I look forward to renewing our acquaintance.” Angus disconnected.
Brice stared at the monitor. Renewing their acquaintance? Had Angus been interested in Sarah? It wasn’t the type of thing he could ask his patient, but he’d watch carefully while he delivered the news of Angus’s impending visit.
He raked both hands through his hair. It was past time to call it a day. He’d had a decent conversation with Social Services, and things were looking good for Timmy, pending the outcome of a home visit tomorrow.
He slapped a palm across his forehead and picked up his phone to call Lupe and tell her. She answered on the first ring. “Doctor. Will you be home for dinner tonight?”
“Yes. I will.” He sketched out the Social Service visit slated for ten tomorrow morning.
“Wonderful, wonderful. A child here.” She switched to Spanish, sounding as excited as he’d known she would be.
“While I’m delivering news, my mother will be visiting.”
A burst of Spanish obliterated his next words, so he waited for Lupe to calm down before adding, “Mom finally met someone. He’s coming too, along with his teenaged son.”
“You make me very happy. I love having people to take care of,”
Lupe gushed, practically crowing her delight.
“See you in maybe an hour,” he said and disconnected. He could add Angus to the guest list after he got home. What was one more?
He did an abbreviated version of rounds, hitting the ICU last. Sarah was sitting up eating Jell-O and crackers. He donned a gown and slipped into her cubicle, casting a practiced eye over her from head to toe. “You’re looking much better. Labs are improving too.”
She offered him a shy smile. “For someone who’d come to terms with meeting her maker, I’m feeling surprisingly decent.” She narrowed her eyes. “I told Julie.”
“Told her what?” Brice felt confused. The last few days had been far too full for him to puzzle through her meaning.
Sarah set her spoon on the tray. “About your telling the truth that night. That I’d led you to believe I was her.”
He made a grab for his M.D. demeanor, the one he hid behind when the going got rocky. “She never knew?”
Sarah shook her head and looked away. “The more time that went by, the harder it was to revisit. After a few months, I stopped trying.”
His heart skipped a few beats, but he said, “It’s like I told you yesterday. None of it matters anymore. That was a long time ago. All of us have moved on.”
Sarah dragged her blue eyes—eyes the same shade as Juliana’s—back to his face. “She never found anyone else. All she has is her work.”
He almost said, kind of like me, before he stopped himself. Just because he’d known Sarah from childhood, it wasn’t appropriate to bring the personal into their conversation. To cover his discomfiture, he said, “An old friend of yours will be here soon.”
“Wasn’t aware I had too many of them,” she muttered. “Who?”
“Angus MacDuff.”
The joy that suffused her too-thin face was genuine. “But how? Why?”
Brice nodded, relieved to have redirected their communication to safer ground. “He’s a colleague of mine. I worked with him at Johns Hopkins, and then he went to the Paris Institute for some advanced work.
“He’s from Edinburgh,” she murmured. “He was one of my professors in medical school.”
