The M.D.'s Surprise Family

by Marie Ferrarella

  An iron butterfly. That was probably the best way to describe her.

  Climbing up on a seat in the last row, Blue winced ever so slightly before straightening. The action was not lost on Peter. Most children the boy’s age would have whimpered and begun to cry, complaining of the pain he knew Blue had to be experiencing. Yet the child in front of him seemed determined to tough it out. Brother and sister had a lot in common, he thought. For one thing, they were both stubborn as hell.

  There were worse traits to have.

  Blue looked at him eagerly. “What?” he asked.

  “When are you going to fix me?”

  Peter cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

  No, don’t go into it, don’t start explaining, Raven thought, suddenly worried.

  “If you boil away all the explanations, it is,” Raven told him cheerfully as she interrupted anything he might have had to say. She gave him a warning look that clearly told him not to go into any kind of elaborate detail, especially none concerning the odds and the possible downsides of the surgery. She forged ahead to the one question on her brother’s mind. “How soon can you schedule him?”

  Peter looked at her for a long moment. He wanted to give her one last chance to back out. “You’re certain?” he asked. He was fairly sure she hadn’t examined the matter closely, other than deciding to go full steam ahead.

  Raven exchanged looks with her brother and then took the boy’s hand in hers. “We’re certain, right, Blue?”

  “Right.” Blue looked straight at him as he made the declaration.

  Maybe he was just overtired, but it didn’t sound to him as if the boy was parroting his sister. Instead it was as if he was just echoing his own feelings on the subject. Blue seemed to have had a hand in making the choice to go ahead with his surgery.

  But if Blue was clear about what he wanted, Peter still had misgivings. Did the boy truly understand what was at stake? Did he know the possible outcome of the surgery if it wasn’t one hundred percent successful? Or even if it was, even if he removed all the tumors, other things could go wrong.

  But he’d done his talking to Raven and he couldn’t say anything to Blue. It was too much to lay on a small boy’s shoulders.

  Peter suppressed a sigh. This situation brought home how much he didn’t like having children as his patients. It was bad enough having in his mind the specter of what could possibly happen when he operated on an adult. A child had an entire lifetime shimmering ahead of him. A lifetime that might not be lived or enjoyed.

  Just as Becky had never gotten to live hers. The thought came out of nowhere, assaulting him. Wounding him.

  Raven immediately saw the change in his expression. He looked as if he was in pain. She placed her hand on his arm, calling his attention away from whatever it was that was doing this to him. “What’s the matter?”

  He shook the thought, the moment, away. He had no idea why, but taking on this case had become much too personal for him.

  Peter looked at her blankly. “What?”

  “You have an odd expression on your face.” It was gone now, but she knew that whatever he’d been thinking had upset him. “Can I get you something?”

  Yes, get me my life back. Get me back the life I lost. It’s not fair, not fair to let me see what I could have and then to take it away from me in a blink of an eye.

  He straightened his shoulders. “No,” he told her quietly. “I was just thinking how unusually mature your brother sounds.” It was a good lie, he thought, and it fit the moment.

  Blue raised himself up on his toes, as if that could help him grow the added inch. He grinned at the unintentional compliment.

  “Gets it from me, don’t you, puppy?” Raven laughed, tousling her brother’s hair. In response, the boy giggled and suddenly sounded the way a seven-year-old should. Gleeful and happy.

  At that moment something prompted Peter to make a silent promise that the boy was going to have his childhood unencumbered by a wheelchair. Peter focused on this promise as it became, for the time being, his one sole reason for living.

  His eyes shifted toward Raven. “Call me tomorrow morning,” he instructed her. “We’ll schedule his surgery then.”

  Blue moved in front of him, blocking his exit. “As soon as possible?”

  The pain had to be getting to him, Peter realized. No one willingly embraced the idea of surgery unless they were in the throes of pain and felt there was no alternative.

  Awkwardly, he laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder, fleetingly connecting with him. “As soon as possible,” Peter echoed.

  There were too many feelings here; too much going on. He needed to clear his head, to find some solitude. Peter began to back away. But he should have known that the perfect getaway was not within his reach, not with Raven anywhere in the vicinity.

  Abandoning the media room, she blocked his path. “You can hang around and watch Roger Rabbit,” she offered, nodding back into the media room. She laughed at the expression on his face. “Or make your own selection. We’ve got an entire library of movies.”

  He sidestepped her, only to be blocked again. “I don’t really watch movies,” he told Raven. “Not enough time.”

  “That’s the beauty of DVDs and tapes,” she told him as she threaded her arm through his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Blue return and settle back into his front row seat to watch the rest of the movie. To his surprise, Raven began walking toward the front of the house, as if she already knew that he wasn’t going to be talked into remaining tonight. “You can stop anytime you want to and then resume watching whenever you get the chance.”

  “Maybe some other time,” he told her.

  “Okay.” Very slowly, she withdrew her arm. He was acutely aware of how every inch of it rubbed along his arm. Though he wore a jacket, he could still feel her. “I’ll hold you to that.”

  With a sigh, he stopped at the front door. “Why?” he asked. “Why would you hold me to that? Why do you want me to watch Magnum Detective—”

  “‘Magnum P.I.,’” she corrected, doing her best not to laugh at him.

  He took no offense at the laughter in her eyes. What worried the hell out of him was the sudden, almost overpowering urge to sweep her into his arms and kiss her. He just didn’t behave that way. And even if he’d ever been that way, everything was different now in this solitary world he’d dwelt in since Lisa’s death. He couldn’t feel that way about anyone else.

  What the hell was happening to him, anyway?

  “That—” He waved his hand impatiently at the title she’d just supplied, feeling like a man on the brink of insanity. “Why are you trying to carve a niche into my life?” He realized he was shouting.

  If he’d meant to intimidate her, he’d failed. Nothing blunted the look of compassion in her eyes. And maybe that was the worst part of all. Compassion was synonymous with pity in his mind and he didn’t want her pity, didn’t want anyone’s pity. He just wanted to continue as he had, separate from everyone.

  “Because you look like you could use a friend, Peter,” she explained quietly. “You know that old saying, if you see someone without a smile, give him one of yours—”

  “No, I don’t know that old saying.” He bit the words off impatiently.

  She only smiled. “Well, there is one, trust me. And if I ever saw someone who needed a smile, or a friend, I’d say it was you.”

  Damn it, he didn’t need a do-gooder. He needed to be left alone, to do the work he could and just go on, nothing more, nothing less. He glared at this woman who was burrowing a hole into his life. “And what’s in it for you?”

  Her answer came without any hesitation. “A friend, I hope.”

  The simple statement ripped into him. “You’re serious.” He stared at her.

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Was she for real? Didn’t those parents of hers teach her anything while wandering around the country? Didn’t their deaths teach her anything?


  “Because people just don’t act that way.”

  Two small words completely negated the point he was trying to make. “I do.”

  Peter shook the head that she was so completely messing with. He didn’t understand her. But then, he supposed he didn’t have to. All he had to do was to operate on her brother and then move on, the way he’d always done before. A few weeks from now, this would all be a blur in the past.

  He opened the door and glanced at her. “Call my office tomorrow.”

  Her eyes held his until he managed to pull them away. “I’d rather come by.”

  He had to remain firm on this. Capitulating would only jeopardize his ability to focus. “And I’d rather you called.”

  To his surprise, she let him get the last word in. At least, he didn’t hear any coming from her as she closed the door behind him.

  He felt oddly hollow again. But then, it was a familiar feeling.

  He couldn’t help but feel uptight, invaded. Unsettled.

  It made no sense to him. Raven Songbird was, after all, just a slip of a thing. One lone woman in a sea of people who flowed in and out of his offices within the year. Why was she lingering on his mind like the lyrics of a song that refused to fade away?

  He had no answer for that. All he did was continue to feel unwanted sensations all through the night. They accompanied him to the hospital the next morning, giving no indication of leaving anytime soon.

  Supported by a minimum amount of sleep he was still trying to sort it all out when George Grissom walked into his office after one short, perfunctory knock. There was no greeting, no preamble as the six-foot-five hospital administrator entered, ducking his head under the doorway. “I had no idea you were operating on the Songbird boy.”

  Peter turned from his desk, surprised. Was his entire life on the Internet these days? “Until yesterday, I wasn’t. I haven’t even called to schedule yet. How did you find out?”

  “Because Raven Songbird just called to say she was writing a sizable check to the hospital so that we could get another one of those full-body scanners, not to mention several other pieces of cutting-edge equipment we’ve had our eye on.” He looked at Peter with admiration. “She said it was because she was grateful that you’ve decided to operate on her brother.”

  She was doing it so that he wouldn’t suddenly decide to change his mind and back out, Peter thought. In effect, she had him surrounded, bringing in reinforcements in the guise of a very vocal, very dedicated hospital administrator. Grissom liked nothing better than receiving donations he hadn’t had to break his back to get.

  Peter took his hat off to her even as she annoyed him.

  “I haven’t checked to see when the next available slot is,” Peter informed him. It was just past eight. The scheduling office wouldn’t be open for another half hour.

  “Any time she wants,” George informed him. “I want her treated with kid gloves,” he emphasized. “Her parents donated the entire cancer wing to the hospital. I’m glad to see that she’s going to be carrying on in their memory. You’re to do nothing to make her change her mind.”

  Peter swung his chair around to face the administrator. He took offense at the implication he perceived. “What, like operate at a level that’s other than my best?”

  The scowl on the florid face told him that George was offended by the implication. “You know I didn’t mean that, Peter. I was talking about your less than charming bedside manner.”

  Peter blew out a breath. “You’re too late. I’ve already tried it out on the woman. I’m sorry to say it had no effect on her. She continued to come on like gangbusters.”

  George shook his head. “And my wife wonders why I’m gray.”

  “You were born gray, George,” Peter quipped as the man left his office again.

  He turned back around to his desk. At least George had a wife, he thought darkly.

  Pulling back from the thought before it could drag him down to the tarry depths of depression, Peter began to go over his schedule.

  Chapter Seven

  It wasn’t Peter’s custom to stop by a patient’s room just before surgery. As a rule, the last time he would see a patient before surgery would be on the day the arrangements were made and the surgery was scheduled. There would be a desk between them and antiseptic words to help preserve the distance he liked to maintain.

  In all the time that he had been a surgeon, he’d never acquired that comforting manner of glad-handing someone, of standing next to their bedside and assuring them that everything would be all right. It wasn’t within his power to give those kinds of guarantees. He would do the very best he could, that was understood. It was a tacit given that he didn’t feel he had to repeat.

  However, there were things that went beyond his control, things that happened in a realm that defied rhyme, or reason, or the very best of precautions. Those “things” fell under the unnerving heading of Chance or Fate. Or whatever it was that explained the occurrence, to some degree, to the patient and/or to his or her family.

  It wasn’t up to him to dip into that. His function was to use the best of his skills, honed and perfected with each operation he’d performed, or assisted with, or watched. He used his skills to do the impossible, or at least, whatever he could to correct what was wrong. He was a body mechanic, pure and simple.

  So he was more than a little surprised to discover that the steps he took from his hospital office did not lead him directly to the third-floor operating salon. Instead, they led him to the first floor, taking him past the reception area to the tiny rooms that were grouped under the all-encompassing title of “Pre-op.”

  It was here, to these cheery-looking, sun-drenched rooms that patients were taken before their operations. They were asked to abandon their own clothing and to don breezy one-size-fits-all gowns that ultimately made them seem like an assembly line product. These products would be worked upon for a measure of time, then set aside as the next assembly line item came down the conveyor belt. All in all, it was a rather dehumanizing process, but that was the way he liked it. He performed best at a distance.

  He was operating on Blue today.

  Less than a week had gone by since the boy had first popped his head into the office, asking him if he was God. Five days to be exact.

  He felt as if it had been longer.

  Normally he had no feelings one way or another about patients. What usually filled every part of him was a determination to do the best he could. To “fix” them, as Blue had put it.

  This time, no matter how much he tried to pretend that there weren’t, there were feelings. That was the boy’s doing.

  The boy’s and his sister’s.

  Was he God? Blue’s question echoed in his brain. He knew that he’d never felt as if he were God. Unlike some neurosurgeons who believed that they walked a little above all the other surgeons, he had never felt that way, never felt as if there was the slightest bit of deity within him.

  He was the most ungodlike creature to have ever walked the earth.

  But if there was any truth to the notion that neurosurgeons were the right hand of God, then he hoped it would be true today, for the length of time that it took to complete Blue’s operation. He freely, if silently, admitted that he would need help today. Because this surgery was going to be as delicate as they came.

  The boy was small for his age. Peter knew without reviewing his records that he had never operated on anyone younger than eighteen before and even the most diminutive of his patients did not hold a candle to Blue.

  Peter looked down at his hands. For the first time since his first year in surgery, he wondered if his fingers were skilled enough. If they were perhaps too large for the task.

  That was what feeling got you, he thought in annoyance. Doubts. Doubts that could get in the way.

  The door in front of him opened. A young, male lab technician emerged from the room. He was holding a tray in his hands that contained fresh samples of the boy’s blood.


  Thrown off, the technician, whose name tag proclaimed him to be Javier, did a little sidestep, trying to get out of his way but managing only to block his every move. Flashing a sheepish grin, the technician took one more large step to finally get out of his way.

  “Sorry,” Javier mumbled into his chin as he hurried away.

  Putting out his hand to keep the door from closing again, Peter grunted something in response.

  The room only had one occupied bed. Grissom at work, Peter thought. In his desire to cull their continuing favor, George had seen to it that Blue was given a private pre-op room rather than having to share the space with five other people scheduled for surgery around the same time, the way normal procedure dictated.

  Peter breathed a small sigh of relief. He didn’t care for crowds.

  Framed by the early morning sun that pressed itself through the window behind her, Raven stood by her brother’s bed, holding Blue’s hand in hers. She murmured something to the boy Peter couldn’t quite make out. It took effort for him not to stare at her, transfixed.

  Both Raven and Blue looked at him as he crossed the threshold. The door closed softly behind him, as if nothing on this side of the hospital could make a loud noise.

  Raven seemed relieved to see him. She gestured toward him with her free hand. “And here he is now. See? I told you he’d stop by before you went in,” Raven said to her brother.

  The woman knew more than he did, Peter thought.

  Moving closer to the bed, he noticed that her face was just the slightest bit drawn, as if she were struggling to stay brave. For the most part, she was winning, but there was just a hint of turmoil evident beneath the surface. Raven Songbird was deeply worried about her brother.

  Nodding at Raven, Peter looked at the boy who sat propped up in the bed. Meant for adults, the bed succeeded in dwarfing him, making him appear even smaller than he was.