by Dianne Drake
“I know,” she said. “Isn’t that great? Since you recognized it, that means I passed my first test at being like you!”
“Are you always this direct?” he asked.
“No, but that’s one of my off-limits subjects.”
“Like why you’re here is?”
She stared at him point-blank. “I already told you why I’m here.”
“And I told you I don’t believe you.”
“So, let’s add that to the list. Also my family, and my family’s hospital.”
“Which would all be interrelated with your reason for setting limits on what we can talk about, I’m guessing. And that’s probably off limits, too.” She was different. Fresh. He liked the honesty, even if it was a bit quirky and definitely brutal.
“You’re right. Off limits.”
“Which pretty well limits us to medicine.”
“And the weather,” she added, smiling. “I’m always up for a good, rousing discussion on heat and humidity.”
“Unless it’s one of my off-limits subjects.” Said with a deadpan face.
“In which case, I’ll talk about this really advanced case of lupus I treated in one of my patients a while back, and what happened when we—”
He thrust out his hand to stop her. “We would imply your medical colleagues or your hospital, and I don’t want you breaking any of your conversational boundaries. Just trying to stick to our rules of engagement.”
“So, in these rules of engagement, medicine’s basically out?”
He faked a frown. It was silly chatter, he knew that, but it was the first time he’d just let himself go in a conversation other than with Amanda and Jack in so long he couldn’t remember. With Shanna, it was fun. Nonsense, but fun. “Not out, totally. But I think we’ll have to be very careful how we proceed.” Very careful, indeed.
CHAPTER FIVE
“YOU barely touched it,” Ben said as the server was clearing the table of dishes. “If you didn’t like it, I’m sure there’s something else on the menu...”
Laughing, she held out her hand to stop him. “That’s not it. Everything was delicious. But they served me enough to feed a family of four for a week. How’s anybody supposed to eat that much?” Shanna glanced over at his plate, saw it was empty. Practically licked clean. She shrugged a fake wince.
“Except you, apparently. And, might I add, I’m impressed, unless you have the metabolism of a bird. In which case, I’m still impressed, but not as much.”
“I think I skipped a couple meals today, maybe one or two yesterday, probably all of them the day before.”
“Sounds like you need a keeper.” Which sounded way more involved than she’d intended it to. Of course she was safe on the domestic count, being a woman who’d never cooked a complete meal in her entire life, to the annoyance of her ex-husband, who’d wanted both professional status as well as a domestic diva in his little woman.
“Or maybe I could simply use four more hours in the day, with an extra day tagged on at the end of the week.”
“Four more hours and one more day in which you’d forget to eat. So, I have a question.”
“Off limits?”
“Shouldn’t be, but I don’t really know since we never got around to discussing what’s off limits for you. Anyway, it’s about Tuscany. You don’t seem like the type of person who’d ever want to take a holiday, yet there you were, all relaxed...”
“Until you sat down at my table.”
“That did disrupt you, didn’t it?” she said with a smile.
“Not as much as looking up and seeing you standing there in my emergency room a few weeks later.”
“Unavoidable. Both times, actually. You were sitting at the table I’d sat at every morning for a month, and I didn’t want to miss my view. It’s spectacular. Something I looked forward to. And there was nothing I could do about barging into your Emergency because I had a dying patient and yours was the only Emergency in a hundred miles. Anyway, back to Tuscany. What was that about? Because men like you who won’t take time off to eat also won’t take time off to go skiing.”
“It was about a Christmas gift from my sister and her husband. We’d had a stressful few months, learning things about our parents we didn’t want to know. Amanda and her husband had their time away when they married and they thought I needed some downtime, as well. I’m not so much of a recluse that I could turn it down. Besides, I’d always wanted to go to Tuscany.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed you for the Tuscany type.”
“Me neither, actually. But even now and then even someone like me has a need for something nice.”
“Ben, I didn’t mean...” Too late. The moment her words were out, that little bit of abandon she’d caught a glimpse of in him retreated to distant icebergs. Now there he was, all rigid and brooding, just like the way he’d been that morning in Tuscany. In other words, her evening with Dr. Ben Robinson had ended the way it had started. Badly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply you wouldn’t want something nice, like a holiday in Tuscany.”
“You’re right, though. It wasn’t me. It was the person who stepped outside me for a few days.”
“We create who we want to be, Ben. That’s the easy part. The hard part is figuring out who that is. And I liked the man I met in Tuscany, otherwise I wouldn’t have spent time with him. But I like the man in Argentina, as well. He’s different. Not as relaxed. Underestimates himself in huge ways, but every bit as likeable as the man I met in Tuscany when he wants to be...which isn’t enough.”
“When he wants to be. See, that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? I don’t really care if I’m liked as a person. Being respected as a doctor is more important, and as often as not it’s easier not being liked.”
“Really? You’re serious?”
He shrugged. “I’m not a disagreeable person, Shanna. At least, I try not to be. But as far as extending myself so someone can like me, or be my friend...it doesn’t matter. Being alone is fine. I’m used to my own company, and I can accept that.”
“Because of your scars?” she asked, and instantly regretted it, because he tensed up. The strain was obvious at once in his face, in the way he squared his shoulders and sat up straighter in his chair. “Or is that an off-limits topic?” she asked quickly,
“My scars have nothing to do with anything and, yes, I prefer not to talk about them.”
His voice couldn’t have been any stiffer. And just like that, their evening together was over. He distanced himself and she could see he wasn’t coming back around anytime soon because he was exhibiting all the telltale signs—looking around, glancing at his watch, huffing out impatient sighs.
She hadn’t meant to turn a pleasant time into one where half the people involved didn’t want to tolerate the other half, and it was painfully obvious Ben didn’t want to tolerate her right now. Fighting himself not to show it, and losing the fight.
“Okay, I’ll add it to the list. Anyway, I, um...I need to get back. Reading to do... And sleep. Lovely dinner, though. Very...” She stood, pushed the chair back so hard it toppled over, hitting the plank floor with a hollow thud. One of the
servers pushed through the crowded tables to right the chair, and she was grateful for the distraction as Ben was simply sitting there, staring at her, so untouchable on any level that all she wanted to do was get away. “Thank you,” she managed, after the server had scooted away.
“Wouldn’t you care to stay and have dessert or coffee?” he asked, trying hard to force pleasantries into the clumsy moment.
“If I go now, I can read one journal article and still have ten hours of uninterrupted sleep before I’m back on duty. Win-win for me.” She smiled, but the sentiment behind it was...well, she wasn’t sure. Let down, maybe?
Finally, he stood. “Look, I’m sorry this is so awkward. Like I told you, I don’t do this, Shanna. Don’t go out, don’t socialize. Don’t have pleasant conversations with beautiful women. Now you see why.”
“Or I know how people view me, and I’ve put myself in a place where it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters, Ben. And I’m sorry for your isolation. So now I’m going back to my room. Please, stay here. Have your dessert and coffee. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine getting back on my own.” It wasn’t the worst date she’d ever had. That would have been the one where she’d met her ex-husband—a night of business transactions, pure and simple. Oh, he’d been charming enough. Hadn’t checked out on her like Ben just had. But he hadn’t really been there, either. Probably because he had been daydreaming his way to Chief of Surgery at Brooks, a sure promotion when you married the collective owners’ daughter, granddaughter, sister, whatever you wanted to call her. The thing was, that bad date had ended in marriage two months later. This one...it wasn’t going to end in anything. Ben wore his intentions looped around his neck the way he did his stethoscope.
On her way down the road Shanna glanced back at Ben, who was paying the server and probably thinking about the faster path back to the hospital. Admittedly, she was disappointed to see him concentrating on counting out change and not even watching to see if she’d taken the correct road back. Which she had, but it would have been nice to see him return a glance with a little bit of concern when she’d looked back at—
Shanna stopped in midthought, blinked. Automatically switched into doctor mode. Sucked in a deep breath and spun round, then covered the fifty or so yards back to the restaurant before the server had collapsed all the way into Ben’s arms. “Symptoms?” she shouted at him over the gasps of the crowd.
He was holding her, half suspended in the air, lowering her gently to the plank floor by the time Shanna literally hurdled over the stone wall surrounding the restaurant’s outdoor tables and was at his side. Ben went to his knees with the girl, starting his first assessment of her. “Fever,” he said as several patrons came running over to watch, tightening into a narrow circle around Ben and Shanna. “Pale. Shallow respirations. Clammy. Shanna, could you get these people to move back?” he yelled to her over the din.
Without a moment’s hesitation she stood and took command of the crowd. “Por favor. Todos retroceden. Somos médicos. Debemos alojarnos para revisar a esta chica. Por favor, retroceda.” With her words she stepped into the crowd, literally spreading her arms and forcing them back, farther and farther, until the restaurant owner, Señor Raul Varga appeared, and asked everyone standing around outside to, please, go back into the restaurant and have a yerba maté or a licuado courtesy of the restaurant.
“Thank you,” Shanna said, on her way back to help Ben.
“Will she be okay?” Varga asked. “She’s my daughter. Graciela.”
“You daughter...” Shanna mused. Then asked immediately, “Has she been sick lately? Doing anything different from what she normally does? Anything out of the ordinary?”
He shook his head. “Nothing that I can remember, except she’s been complaining she’s tired. My wife usually knows these things better than I do, but she’s away, taking care of her mother. And I think my daughter is doing this for attention because she has to take over some of her mother’s duties for a while and she doesn’t like it.”
Not likely, Shanna thought. Not with Ben down on the floor with the girl, doing a frantic check. “But other than tired, have you noticed anything else about Graciela?” Varga was not a wealth of information, and she understood he was frustrated with a situation he didn’t know how to control—a teenage daughter—but she had to keep pressing him. “Think about it. Was there something you wouldn’t normally pay any attention to?”
He frowned. Rubbed his forehead. “Maybe. It was a nosebleed. Is this bad? Is she really sick?”
“When was that?” Shanna asked anxiously. “The nosebleed. When was it?”
“A few days ago. Then she was sick to her stomach. Vomiting a little. But I think it was on purpose.” The increasing worry on his face said just the opposite.
“Anything else?”
“Let me think, please.” Varga shook his head, shut his eyes.
“Has she had a headache?”
He nodded. “Yes! A little, maybe. She’s been working hard, complaining because she wants to do other things. But I thought she was playing sick so she could go to Buenos Aires with her friends. They had a trip planned to visit the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano, and I wouldn’t let her go because I needed help here. So I thought she was being...how do you say, petulante?”
“Petulant,” Shanna said, realizing this was far more than a case of a teenage girl trying to get her own way. “Look, I’m pretty sure Dr. Robinson’s going to want Graciela in the hospital, so if you have a vehicle...”
“A truck,” Varga said, full concern finally registering on his face.
“Good. Go bring it to the front of the restaurant. And let me tell Dr. Robinson we’ll be ready to go in a few minutes.” After she told him what she suspected.
“My Graciela is that sick?”
“I think she is.” She gave him a reassuring squeeze on his arm. Poor man had thought he was dealing with a contentious teenager, not a very sick one. “But we’ll know more once we get her up to Caridad.”
“Slow pulse,” Ben said, when Shanna returned to him and knelt down. “Respirations still labored but not getting worse. And without a thermometer I’m guessing three or four degrees of fever.”
“Specifically, yellow fever,” Shanna said.
Rather than questioning her, Ben looked over at her, frowning. “How so?”
“History of bloody nose the past few days, nausea, headache...with a slow pulse and a fever... Am I wrong?” she asked, wondering what his intent stare was about. “Is that why you’re frowning at me?”
“That’s a frown of admiration,” he said, “because I think you’re spot on.”
“But you already knew, didn’t you?”
“Saw her having some back spasms earlier, so I was guessing. Nothing confirmed, though.”
“Well, I may be late with the diagnosis, but I’ve got a truck ready to take her to the hospital. Unless you beat me to that, too.”
He smiled. “It was a brilliant catch, Shanna, for someone who’s never practiced in the jungle before. You, um...you haven’t practiced in the jungle before, have you?”
A brilliant catch? That pleased her, actually. She’d had compliments before. Lots of them, some because she’d done something good and more than a fair share of kiss-up compliments because she was a Brooks and someone wanted something from her, or her family. But Ben’s praise was genuine, and it felt good. “No, I haven’t. Just imagine what I could do if had,” she said just as Varga rolled up outside in his truck.
Forty minutes later, Graciela Varga, who was floating in and out of consciousness, was isolated in a small hospital room as far away from the rest of the patient rooms as possible, one of three Ben used as his intensive care. He was overseeing the administration of IV fluids when Shanna entered the room. “What’s next?” she asked him. Except for the last few minutes, trying to explain to Graciela’s mother, by phone, what was going on with her daughter, and at the same time trying to console an unconsolable Raul Varga, she hadn’t been more than a few feet away from Ben since they’d admitted the girl.
“Wait and see. Since there’s no treatment, we treat her symptoms, keep her fever down, keep her hydrated and make sure she doesn’t get a urinary infection or pneumonia.”
“What about the village? If we’ve got one case, aren’t we at risk here fo
r more?”
“In the two years I’ve been here, I’ve made sure as many people as were willing were vaccinated. So I’m not expecting an outbreak. Maybe some isolated cases, but nothing we can’t deal with.” He looked point blank at her. “Have you been vaccinated?” he asked.
Her reply, “It left a tiny pinprick scar. Want to see where?”
He didn’t answer, of course. Instead, he handed her the chart. “She’s yours. If you have any questions about what to do, ask.”
“And I’ll bet you’re off to do a midnight run of yellow fever vaccinations. Right?”
“Am I that transparent?”
“Of course you are,” she quipped, then headed off to the medicine room to see what kinds of antibiotics they had in large supply, just in case. The thing was, Ben wasn’t really transparent in any sense of the word. In fact, if ever she’d known anyone who’d be difficult to see through, it would be him. He held tight to every little nuance of himself, didn’t let anything go without a fight.
The reason she’d known he’d go back to the village to administer vaccinations was because that was the little piece of him he’d let her see. He was a humanitarian, so human-centered that the needs of the village came first. “And tomorrow you’ll sleep,” she murmured.
Ben was someone to admire in a world where people like him usually went unnoticed. In Ben’s case, unnoticed by choice. Another of his off-limits subjects, she guessed as she started counting the various vials and pill bottles of penicillin.
“So, why am I here?” she mused as she shifted her count to the doxycycline. “To be like Ben.” The thing was, she wasn’t seeing Ben in the same light she had when she’d come here. And that was where it got complicated, because what Ben displayed on the outside and who he was on the inside weren’t anywhere close to being the same.
And the more she watched him the more she wondered if she might not be patterning herself after the wrong perception of Ben Robinson. Because the man coming into view wasn’t the person she wanted to be but one she might want to...have. Yes, that was definitely complicated.
