by Marta Perry
“It wasn’t your fault, Jake. Honestly. You can’t blame yourself for turning off your cell phone when you were in a meeting. If you’d known, you’d have gone.”
“Would I?” The words sounded bitter, echoing in the quiet room. The rain had subsided to a gentle patter, making a soft background to their voices. “You have more faith in me than I have in myself if you believe that. Maybe I didn’t want to get any more of those calls. Maybe I wouldn’t have answered even if I’d gotten it.”
She knew the answer to that one, even if she couldn’t make this better for him. “Yes. You would have.”
He blinked, probably at the conviction in her voice. “How do you know that? I’m not sure myself.”
“Anyone who knows you would know. Think about it. Not even your worst enemy could accuse you of neglecting a patient, any patient. No matter what. You might have been angry. You might have wanted to be rid of the complications she’d brought into your life. But you would have gone.”
“I wish I could be sure.” He stared down at his hands—those talented, capable, surgeon’s hands. “That keeps me awake at night sometimes.”
“It shouldn’t.” She tried to project all her confidence into her words. “Maybe you can blame yourself for not handling the situation better, but you can’t blame yourself for that. You would have gone.”
He sent a fleeting glance toward her, and she thought she read hope there. It twisted her heart. She’d thought him so sure, so confident, so fortunate. And all the time he’d been suffering.
“Thank you, Terry.” His voice was grave. “It means something to hear you say that.”
For a long moment they stood looking at each other, and her breath seemed to stop. They’d come so close to each other in the past few moments. It seemed the barriers between them were gone.
That was an illusion, she told herself desperately. Just as it was an illusion that he was looking at her with a warmth she’d never seen from him before.
Slowly, very slowly, he reached out and touched her hair, pushing a wayward strand back behind her ear with as much concentration as he’d give to a complicated bit of surgery. Her breath seemed to have stopped completely, but her heart was thrumming in her ears.
His fingertips brushed her cheek, warming where they touched. His eyes darkened.
She had to do something, say something. But she couldn’t. She could only watch as his face grew nearer and nearer until his lips touched hers.
He didn’t attempt to draw her into an embrace. There was nothing but the light pressure of his palm cradling her face, his lips gentle and undemanding on hers.
But there was longing behind that kiss; she knew it and felt the same yearning in herself. Careful, careful. But she couldn’t seem to pull away.
He did, finally, drawing back a fraction of an inch, so that she still felt his breath against her lips. His fingertips drew a line down her cheek. And then he stepped away, something rueful in his eyes.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
The words were a wake-up call. She shouldn’t have, either. She moved back a cautious step, trying to gather whatever shreds she had left of self-possession.
“I—yes, I mean, it wasn’t your fault, but it—it probably wasn’t a good idea. We have to work together.”
It didn’t mean anything to you, Jake. And I’m afraid it meant too much to me.
“Besides, you don’t like me very much, remember?” His voice had a teasing gentleness that seemed to turn her spine to marshmallow.
“I don’t—” Maybe she’d better be careful not to give too much away. “I don’t dislike you. Now that I understand what happened…”
The sentence died away, because she saw the difference in Jake’s face as she spoke. He seemed to tighten, withdrawing from her, as if moving back behind the shield of the perfect, impersonal surgeon again.
“I’d rather no one else knew about that.”
Now it was her turn to stiffen. Did he really know so little of her as to think she’d blab that around?
“I certainly won’t say anything.” The words sounded just as tight and stiff as she felt.
The moment when they’d stood so close, lips touching, understanding each other without words—it might never have happened. Maybe as far as Jake was concerned, it hadn’t.
Well, if that’s what he wanted, she could pretend, too. But she couldn’t fool herself. He’d kissed her, and her heart was never going to be the same.
Chapter Nine
The next day, Terry turned down the pleasant residential street where Mary Kate and her two children lived, trying to focus on anything except that interlude with Jake. Think about her sister, putting up that bright, impervious facade to hide her grief. Think about the clothes Shawna and Michael had outgrown, that Mary Kate wanted to give the children at the migrant camp. Don’t think about Jake.
Well, that certainly wasn’t the way to forget, by telling herself to do so. That just brought it surging to the forefront of her mind. She slowed to allow a group of boys tossing a football to clear the tree-lined street. In another week they’d be in school, and this block would be silent and deserted during the day except for a few mothers with strollers.
She bit her lip. Poor Jake. Whoever would have expected her to think that of him, the man she’d thought had everything? Instead, he was carrying a burden of guilt that was nearly crushing him.
What she’d told him was true, if he could only accept it. To think that he wouldn’t have answered Meredith’s call was ridiculous. No one who knew him in a professional capacity would believe he wouldn’t fight to the end of his strength for a patient.
As for what prompted that fight—well, there she wasn’t so sure. She’d heard one of the E.R. docs talking once, after having been asked to scrub in on a surgery Jake was performing on a patient they’d treated in the E.R.
“You have to hand it to Landsdowne, like him or not,” he’d said. “It wasn’t just his skill that saved that patient. It was his will. He wasn’t going to let her slip away on his table.” Then he’d added, “It’d be a reflection on him if she died. That’s what he’d think.”
Had that anonymous doc been right? She wasn’t sure, but that had certainly been the overall impression he’d left at the hospital—that of a brilliant surgeon who’d taken so much pride in his skill that it was an affront if a patient died.
He wouldn’t have let Meredith die, not if he could have saved her. As for the rest of it—well, maybe he hadn’t handled the situation as well as he could have. She could well imagine his impatience with Meredith. Still, he couldn’t possibly have anticipated the situation going so very wrong.
She pulled slowly into Mary Kate’s driveway, watching for abandoned bikes and roller skates. So he probably hadn’t handled Meredith as well as he might have. Hadn’t seen that she got the help she needed. On the other hand, he hadn’t been a relative, just an acquaintance. There were limits to what he could do. And doctors could be just as blind as the next person to psychiatric problems in those closest to them.
Brendan would have handled it differently, but Brendan had unique gifts. She got out of the car, shutting the door and cutting across the grass toward the front door of the white ranch. Mary Kate’s coneflowers and chrysanthemums made a splash of yellow and orange against the siding.
Brendan would say that people were given different gifts so that they could come together in the body of Christ and do the work Christ had commissioned. Probably it was wrong to wish her own gifts, or Jake’s, had been different. But if she had a bit of Jake’s detachment, she might be able to stop feeling a pain in her heart every time she thought of that kiss.
She knocked and opened the door simultaneously, calling out. “Mary Kate? Kids? Anyone here?”
Her sister hurried into the living room from the hall that led to the bedrooms, her arms filled with two large cardboard boxes, her hair disheveled. “Don’t shout, Terry. I’m here.”
“Sorry.” She went t
o take one of the boxes and realized that Mary Kate’s eyes were red and swollen. For a moment, she couldn’t speak. “Where do you want this?”
She was relieved to hear her voice coming out normally. Mary Kate never showed her grief to her little sister. Should she say something or ignore it?
Mary Kate took the decision out of her hands, plopping the box on the dining table and wiping her eyes with the back of her hands. “I climbed up in the attic for these. The dust up there made my eyes water.” She yanked one of the boxes open. “Let’s see what’s in here.”
So they were supposed to ignore it. She couldn’t help but think there were other things besides the kids’ outgrown clothes in the attic—things related to Kenny that might have broken through Mary Kate’s iron self-control.
“These were Michael’s.” Mary Kate was stacking small pairs of jeans and T-shirts on the table. “Do you think they’ll fit any of the kids at the camp?”
“They’d be great.” She smoothed out a blue shirt decorated with trucks and bulldozers. “This would at least fit Juan Ortiz and I’m sure plenty of others.”
“That’s the family with the daughter you were talking about at the picnic, isn’t it?” Mary Kate paused, hands on the pile of clothing. “Was Jake able to do anything about the girl?”
“Jake?” Mary Kate’s casual use of his name startled her, and for a moment she couldn’t respond. She gathered her scattered wits. It wouldn’t do to let her sister know she had any feelings for him. “Yes. He gave Manuela a job at the clinic. She’s done very well there. We’re hoping the family can stay through the fall, so she can get in some regular school time.”
“Sounds like a nice guy, going to that trouble for her.” The comment was accompanied by a sidelong glance from Mary Kate’s bright blue eyes.
She swallowed. “He’s nice enough.” She felt the betraying flush come up in her cheeks and ducked her head, hoping Mary Kate didn’t notice.
“Terry!” Mary Kate swung to face her. “Are you involved with him?”
Obviously that hope had been futile. “No, I’m not involved. We work together, that’s all.”
“You don’t blush at the mention of a man just because you work with him. Come on, out with it.” Her voice had that familiar, I’m-the-big-sister, commanding tone.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said. “Do you want me to take all these things?”
Mary Kate pushed the clothes out of her hands impatiently. “Quit trying to avoid the subject. I know something’s going on. Why won’t you be honest with me?”
Her Flanagan temper, never far away, flared at that. “Maybe for the same reason you’re not honest with me about your feelings.”
“What are you talking about?” Mary Kate’s face whitened, her freckles standing out against her fair skin.
“You.” Maybe it was time this came out. “You put up this ridiculous, shiny barrier that no one can get through, making the rest of us pretend that everything is just fine. Well, it’s not—don’t you think I know that?”
Mary Kate’s face was dead white now, her eyes blazing. “Of course it’s not! Do you think I don’t think about Kenny a thousand times every day? And at night—” Her voice broke, tears welling over.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” She reached for Mary Kate, aghast at what her well-meaning meddling had done. “I’m sorry. I know how much you’re hurting.”
“No, you don’t!” Mary Kate shoved her hands away so hard she went back a step. “I pray you never do.” She grabbed the boxes, thrusting everything inside and shoving them into Terry’s arms. “Take all of it.”
“Mary Kate—”
A decisive shake of the head stopped her. “Leave it, okay? I have to deal with this my way. Now just go.”
She’d made a mess of things. What on earth had made her think she could help her sister? When it came to out-of-control emotions, she couldn’t even help herself.
Jake tried to concentrate on the charts he was reviewing, but the headache that pressed on his temples and clamped the back of his neck made focusing difficult. Giving up, he slid them back into the chart rack and headed for the break room. The E.R. was late-afternoon still, the only patient a nursing home resident who was being transferred upstairs. The staff could spare him, and caffeine might help his head.
Maybe the headache was the aftermath of yesterday’s mistakes. He should never have let things go so far with Terry. He’d blurted out far more than he’d intended about his own affairs. He’d never told anyone that much about what happened with Meredith. Never. His head pounded in time with his footsteps on the tiled floor. It was his burden to carry.
Her confession that she’d fled Philadelphia, considering herself a failure even after the inquiry had cleared her, had shaken him. He should have talked to her about that, tried to draw her out and repair some of the damage he’d done.
Instead, he’d just soaked up all that warmth and empathy she provided so selflessly and given her nothing. And then he’d compounded his mistakes by kissing her. Any one of her brothers would probably be happy to give him the punch in the jaw he richly deserved.
He shoved open the swinging door to the break room, stepped inside—and there she was. Terry turned from the coffeepot, mug in her hand, her cheeks brightening at the sight of him. It was too late to retreat now. Maybe, if his head would just stop pounding so much, he could try to make amends.
“Jake—Dr. Landsdowne.” She gestured toward the cup. “Harriet said I could help myself to coffee. I mean—”
“It’s okay, Terry.” He managed a smile. “So far, the budget axe hasn’t fallen on our coffee fund. Help yourself. Did you and Jeff bring the nursing home patient in?”
“Our last run of the shift.” She took a sip of the coffee. “I have to confess, this is better than the coffee we’ve been making at the clinic. My mother took one taste and insisted she’s bringing in a new coffeemaker. And some decent coffee.”
“It certainly couldn’t hurt.” He gulped, feeling a touch of relief the instant the hot liquid hit. “Is she at the clinic today?”
Terry nodded. “She was also taking some more books for Manuela. That kid must be a speed reader, and in a second language, no less.”
“She’s a bright girl.” He needed to say something to her about the previous day, but his brain seemed fogged. “Listen, Terry, about yesterday—”
“Please, don’t.” Anything that had seemed relaxed about her manner toward him vanished in an instant. “It’s fine. Really. It’s forgotten.”
She thought he was talking about that kiss. Oddly enough, that was the one thing that had happened between them that he didn’t regret.
“I just wanted you to know I think you’re a fine paramedic. I’ve been saying all the wrong things about that lately. We’ve worked together long enough that I don’t doubt your skill or your devotion.”
She flushed, but this time he thought it was with pleasure. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll still have to put me in my place from time to time.”
He managed a smile, but the buzzing in his head was so loud he didn’t think he could say a word. He put the mug down, rocking it so badly that coffee sloshed onto the table.
“Jake?” Terry grasped his arm, her grip firm. “You’re sick.” She put her hand on his cheek and then jerked it away. “You’re burning up. You shouldn’t be working in this condition. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“It’s nothing.” It wasn’t nothing. He knew what it was, but no one else must know.
“You have a fever. You can’t treat patients. I’ll call Harriet.”
“No!” He grabbed her hand. “Don’t. You’re right. I shouldn’t be here. I’ll go home.”
“Let her check you out.”
He tightened his grip, his head spinning. “Nobody can know. I have to get home. My meds are there. But nobody can know.” He tried to push himself erect, but the walls were wavering oddly. “I’ll go.”
Terry slid his arm across her sho
ulders, bracing his body with hers, and he was surprised at the strength of her. “Not by yourself,” she said firmly. “I’ll drive your car for you.”
He tried to concentrate. “You can’t leave work—”
“My shift is over. Jeff will take the rig back to the firehouse.”
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let Terry, of all people, see how weak he was. Panic flooded through him, giving the momentary illusion of strength. He couldn’t let anyone know. He had to pull it together long enough to get to his car, get home.
“You don’t have to drive me.” He tried to put some energy into the words. She’d never release him if she guessed how bad he was.
“I’m not letting you get behind the wheel of a car in this condition, so get used to the idea. If you don’t want me to take you, fine.” He heard the hurt in her voice. “Just give me the name of someone else I can call for you.”
He couldn’t. That was the barren truth. There was no one else in Suffolk that he could call to help him.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Please. Help me. When he opened them, he still felt like passing out. And Terry still watched him with anxiety clouding those clear green eyes.
Maybe God wasn’t answering him. Or maybe that’s why Terry was here at just this moment.
“All right,” he muttered, trying to shrug out of his lab coat.
Terry moved quickly, pulling it off and hanging it on one of the hooks. He picked up the phone, dialing Harriet.
“I think I’m coming down with a cold.” He rushed the words out. “Can you hold the fort if I go home early?”
“Of course.” Her cool, professional tone didn’t allow her to sound pleased. “Do you want me to have a look at you?”
“No. Thanks. I’ll be fine.” He clicked off. She’d think him rude, but that was better than having her know the truth.
No, it seemed that Terry was the one person destined to know the truth about him. Well, if she’d ever nursed a secret longing to see him at his worst, at his weakest, she was certainly getting her chance today.
