by Judy Duarte
Nothing Mike felt like sharing. “I’m just sorting through a few things. No big deal.”
“Is Simone giving you fits again?”
Mike wanted to say yes, to lay his heart on the line. But somehow, it didn’t feel right going into detail about the woman he loved, about their relationship—what there was of one, anyway.
“No. It’s not that,” he lied. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”
And he would be—one way or another.
Leif chuffed, then took a seat across the table. “I think you just need to get laid. That ought to put things into perspective for you.”
Oh, yeah? He had gotten laid. And it seemed to have made things worse.
“Come on,” Mike said, getting to his feet and trying his best to pull himself out of a bum mood. “Let’s go watch ESPN. There’s a game on.”
Still, it was going to be tough keeping his mind on anything other than Simone.
Especially when she was frustrating the hell out of him, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could deal with her refusal to give their love—or their family—a chance.
What if she never would?
Chapter Thirteen
On Sunday afternoon, before starting her shift, Simone stopped by the solarium, where Henry Weisfield’s party was being held. She really didn’t feel like celebrating—or mixing—but she managed to put on a happy face, determined to make a showing and to wish the retiring hospital administrator her best.
Upon entering the festively decorated room, Simone surveyed her surroundings, as well as those who’d stopped to congratulate Henry.
She spotted Ella and J.D. mingling in the crowd, so she made her way to the happy couple to say hello and to congratulate J.D. on his new position, which he would assume Monday morning. By the time J.D. entered the hospital for his first day on the job, Henry and his wife would be flying over the Atlantic on their way to Europe, where they would set sail on a Mediterranean cruise they’d been planning for months.
After Simone chatted with J.D. and Ella for a few minutes, she excused herself to speak to Henry. Even though he’d recently been sympathetic toward an NHC takeover, she still appreciated his years of service.
“Enjoy your retirement,” she told the older man. “And have a wonderful time on that cruise.”
“Thank you, Simone. My wife and I are eager to do a lot of traveling.” Henry shook her hand and grinned, then turned to the next person who’d approached to greet him and wish him well.
With the formalities out of the way, Simone stopped by the refreshment table and, using the ladle provided, filled a large glass of punch.
“I hope you’re going to save some for me.”
She turned to see Isobel standing behind her and smiled. “That shouldn’t be a problem. Everyone else seems to be having wine or champagne.”
While in front of the bowl, she prepared a glass for the hospital social worker.
Isobel didn’t usually work on Sundays, so Simone was glad to see that she’d come. It would give her an opportunity to get the referral for a counselor.
“You’re wearing scrubs,” Isobel said, “so you’re obviously working today.”
“My shift starts in a few minutes, so I can’t stay long, but I wanted to give Henry my best.” Simone scanned the room, making sure she could speak in confidence, then lowered her voice. “I must admit, though, it’s probably in the hospital’s best interests that he’s retiring.”
Henry’s empathy toward an NHC takeover had contributed to some of the dissension on the board.
“J.D. ought to be a good replacement,” Isobel said, glancing around the room, as well, apparently satisfied that their conversation would be private. “By the way, I have a growing suspicion about the person who is leaking information about the hospital to NHC.”
“What’s that?”
“I think the mole is in one of the administrative departments.”
That was unsettling, but certainly possible. “Do you think Henry is—or rather was—the mole?”
“I didn’t mean to imply that. But it’s obvious someone in that department has been talking out of turn.”
They each took a sip of punch and watched the people who’d gathered in the solarium—those in street clothes who weren’t working and those in lab jackets and scrubs who were.
“You know,” Simone said, “I want to ask you something. My mom needs to see a counselor. She never sought any professional help after that date rape I told you about. Is there anyone you can recommend? She’d also do well in some kind of support group.”
“If you’ll walk with me to my office, I’ll give you some names and contact numbers.”
Simone agreed, and they left the solarium together.
“I’ve pretty much given up hope that I’ll ever have a close relationship with my mother,” Simone said, “but either way, she still needs to come to grips with what happened to her.”
“Talking it out helps a lot of people.”
Simone walked along in silence for a while, then said, “Sometimes I think I might need to talk to someone, too.”
“You’d be surprised at what an hour or two with a trained counselor can do.”
“I’ll give it some thought.” Simone blew out a sigh. “You know, I’ve always had intimacy problems, so I tend to keep to myself. I was doing just fine until Mike came into the picture.”
“That’s understandable.”
Was it? She hoped so. And she couldn’t help adding, “I’m having trouble trusting him to love the real me.”
“Sometimes, trust is a decision that’s made.”
“Like blind faith?”
“No. Not like that. Trust is earned, but there are times when you must cognitively decide to trust someone.”
“And what if that person lets you down? Or, in this case, what if I disappoint Mike?”
“That’s the risk we take in any relationship.”
Simone offered her friend a wistful smile. “I’m not much of an emotional risk-taker.”
“Then I suppose you have to ask yourself if you love each other enough to handle life’s normal disappointments.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know what I feel for him. I think it’s love. And if so, I’m not sure what my love—or his—can handle.”
Isobel placed a hand on Simone’s shoulder. “You can’t change the past, but you can change your perception of it.”
Maybe so. But as usual, she just couldn’t seem to forget about the kind of mother she’d had. The kind of mother she was so afraid she would become.
“Families are created by love,” Isobel said, “not necessarily by blood.”
“I know. You’re right.” That’s why Simone had hoped Millie and Fred could create that kind of special, loving family for her baby.
“I’d be happy to talk to you—as a friend,” Isobel said. “Or I can refer you to a counselor, if you think that might be more helpful. A couple of sessions might be all it will take.”
“You mean you don’t see me needing extensive therapy?”
“In your case, I suspect the answer is already in your mind and in your heart. You probably just need someone to ask the right questions so you can sort through things and come up with your own conclusion, your own game plan.”
Isobel opened her office door, then flipped through her Rolodex and jotted down a few names and numbers. “Give these to your mother. And if you decide you’d like a reference for yourself, let me know.”
“All right. Thanks.”
After Isobel locked up her office, the two women walked down the hall together. At the elevator, they went their separate ways—Isobel back to the party and Simone to work.
On the way to the E.R., she slipped her hand into her pocket, where she’d tucked the referrals, then made a detour to the hospital gardens, where she found some solitude.
She took a seat on one of the benches and pulled out her cell phone. She’d planned to call information to
get Cynthia’s number, but her movements froze.
Instead, she listened to her heart and dialed her mother’s house. They’d been tiptoeing around an emotional quagmire for years, and Simone simply wasn’t going to do it anymore.
When Susan Garner answered, Simone decided to be honest for the first time in her life. “Mom, it’s me. I think you should get some counseling, and I have the names and contact info for some qualified therapists you might find helpful.”
“I…well…actually, I’ve been thinking about it lately.”
Good. They were on the right track, and she felt her heart swell with something she couldn’t quite identify. Relief? Optimism?
“I’m glad to hear it.” So she recited the names Isobel had given her, waiting as her mother made a note of them.
“Thanks,” her mom said. “I may give someone a call. We’ll see.”
Simone decided to go one step further, again making the cognitive decision to trust herself and her instincts. “I never mentioned this to you before, but I know the circumstances surrounding my conception, Mom. And, well, I don’t believe you’ve ever worked through your pain, which has crippled you in many ways. But I want you to know that I love you. And I’ll be there for you…if you want me to.”
For a long, drawn-out minute, the only response was silence.
Then came a gulp. “Oh, Simone…”
And the call ended in tears.
By the time Tuesday rolled around, Simone found herself restless and uneasy.
She also had a growing compulsion to talk to Mike. In fact, she couldn’t get him out of her mind. He’d been on duty Saturday, and she’d had to work on Sunday, so she understood why they hadn’t had any contact. In the past, she would have been happy to have the space, but for some reason she wasn’t.
Then, late Monday morning, he’d called to say hello, but went on to tell her he had a full day scheduled at his new place.
That, too, was a reasonable excuse.
Still, she sensed a growing distance between them, which was unsettling.
She couldn’t help wishing something would bring him to the E.R. Not that she wanted to wish bad health or injury on anyone. In the past, he’d managed to stop by a time or two, even without a patient. So it seemed like a reasonable wish on her part.
Throughout the day, she’d had a growing compulsion to pick up the phone and call his cell, yet she hadn’t.
What would she have said? “I just wanted to hear your voice?”
It was true, though; she was definitely missing him.
But if she told him so, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for what the truth might provoke.
So now Simone was in the midst of a day shift she was covering for Carol Harrington, an RN who’d sprained her ankle while playing with her granddaughter at the park.
As footsteps sounded and someone approached the nurses’ desk, Simone glanced up from her work and saw Owen Randall, the new chief of staff.
Dr. Randall wore a pair of black slacks, a white shirt and a lime-green-and-pink tie that would have been too bold for most men, but Owen was able to pull it off. “I thought I’d spread the word. Neil Kane, the insurance investigator from the state attorney general’s office, arrived today and has begun a preliminary investigation of those allegations of insurance fraud.”
Simone’s stomach lurched. She knew the claims of fraud at Walnut River General made the possibility of a takeover more likely, so now that the investigation had begun, it all seemed real.
And threatening.
“Obviously, I’m not the least bit happy about Kane being here,” Owen said, “but there’s nothing I can do about it. Hopefully, he’ll come to a quick conclusion about the integrity of the hospital, especially in regard to insurance billings.”
“Have you met him yet?”
“Yes. Earlier this morning. I’m sure he’ll eventually get around to interviewing you, so I wanted to give you a heads-up.”
Great.
As Dr. Randall turned to go, Jennifer Dimon, one of the LVNs, approached the desk and called her name.
“Yes?” Simone answered.
“We’ve got a three-year-old little girl in bed five, and both parents are with her. She has an arm injury, and while I was getting her vitals, she claimed that ‘Mommy did it.’”
Simone stiffened. She’d seen her share of child-abuse cases, and they never got easier. “I’d better talk to them.”
Jennifer nodded. “Should I call Isobel?”
“Yes, we need to follow protocol.” Simone stood. “I’ll go back into the exam area with you.”
Once behind the curtain, Simone introduced herself to the parents.
“It was an accident,” the mother said, tears welling in her eyes. “I was trying to hold her hand, and she threw a fit. I didn’t mean to jerk up as she was pulling away, and…”
The father slipped his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “Lisa is a strong-willed little girl. And sometimes, she does that when walking with me. She’ll just decide she doesn’t want to go and lift up her legs.”
“Those things happen,” Simone said, still not sure if the mother had been abusive or whether it had been a routine accident.
They’d seen similar injuries before, when a child’s shoulder or elbow was dislocated. But there were other situations in which the arm was twisted or jerked in an unnatural direction—the result of parental anger and abuse.
The pediatrician would have to make that call.
Still, her heart went out to the little girl, and she hoped this was merely the accident the parents claimed it was.
Simone couldn’t help thinking back on the times when she’d been spanked or slapped for no apparent reason, times she’d cried herself to sleep, thinking she was a bad girl and trying to figure out what she’d done wrong.
Looking back now, though, she realized that her mother sometimes drank in the evenings, most likely as a way to cope with her own terrible demons. And that she probably hadn’t been sober on those occasions that she’d lashed out at Simone.
But that hadn’t made her actions less abusive.
Nor did it chase away the fear about her own mothering skills. Could her maternal instinct have been hampered or tainted by lack of bonding with her own mother?
One thing was certain, though. Simone would never strike a child—hers or anyone else’s. So she wasn’t the least bit afraid of that happening.
But would she have intimacy issues with her own son or daughter?
At this point, she hadn’t heard a heartbeat or felt any movement. So it was hard to imagine a living, breathing child growing inside of her.
But there was a baby, a child who needed a loving mother.
Thirty minutes later, Dr. Wiley, the pediatrician on call, determined that the little girl’s injury—nursemaid’s elbow, he’d determined—was consistent with a normal parent/child incident and not a sign of abuse. And so there’d been nothing to report, which had filled Simone with a sense of relief. She was glad of the positive outcome for the family.
Isobel, who’d come to the E.R., was on her way back to her office, when she stopped to talk to Simone. “Did you have a chance to give those telephone numbers to your mother?”
“Yes. And she even admitted that she thought she needed some counseling, but when I told her that I knew about the date rape, she grew silent for a while. Then she started to cry, telling me she had to hang up. I have no idea what she’ll do.”
“Give her some time,” Isobel said.
That’s about all Simone could give her at this point. She’d taken the first step toward communicating with her mom on a different level, and now it was up to her mother to respond.
Was that what Mike was giving Simone? Some space and time to sort things out and decide what she needed to do?
Or was he making his own decision and trying to end their already rocky relationship?
That possibility sent a wave of nausea rolling through her tummy, and while the urge to c
all him grew stronger than ever, it was stilled by fear that it was too late.
Maybe she’d lost Mike already.
Mike arrived at the hospital at a little after four that afternoon, hoping Simone could take a break.
Over the past couple of days, he’d expected her to reach out to him. To miss him. To call.
But she hadn’t.
He’d wanted to give her the time she needed and was willing to wait. But not if she didn’t love him and didn’t expect to ever have a future with him. If that was the case, he was spitting into the wind.
So the way he saw it, he’d been as patient as he could be. Now they needed to talk.
He entered the double doors that led to the waiting room, then stopped by the registration desk, while the woman in front of him signed in.
“I need to talk to Simone,” he said when it was finally his turn. “Can you please tell her I’m here?”
The clerk, Carla Hawkins, nodded, then got up from her seat.
Mike stood to the side, arms crossed, and waited.
Several minutes later, Simone came to the window and motioned him to the security door, which she opened to let him inside.
“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Can you take a break?”
Simone glanced at Jennifer, the LVN who was seated at the desk. “Can you cover for me a little while? I’ll be in the garden. I have my pager, so let me know if you need me.”
Jennifer nodded.
They walked side by side in silence to the door that led out to the hospital gardens, separated by more than the space between them.
Once outside, Mike crossed his arms and snared her gaze with his. “How do you feel about me?”
Her lips parted. “I…care about you. A lot.”
“Do you love me?”
She seemed to ponder the question for a while, then slowly nodded. “I think so.”
Damn. He’d told himself everything would be okay if she cared about him, if she thought she could grow to love him. But now he wasn’t sure if what she might—or might not—be feeling would be enough.
“I want to create a family for our baby,” he said. “And if marriage scares you, then I’m willing to try living together for a while. We can take things slow and easy, if you think that will help.”
