by Dianne Drake
“We don’t usually allow dogs in the hospital,” Mark said. Angela stood in the hall, clutching Fred and watching as Mark and his team worked on Richard Whetherby. He was still unconscious, dwarfed among all the machines clicking and clacking around his bed, and all the tubes stuck in him. A monitor overhead traced the rhythm of his heart, a ventilator at his side forced breath into his lungs and measured it into some sort of bellows. It was all a strange, new world to Angela, and while she’d spent a good bit of time in hospitals, especially lately, it was as if this was the first time she’d ever really noticed what went on. And it scared her. Yet it also showed her just how much she didn’t know, and how much she wanted to know. “I probably should have gone on home and taken him with me, but I wanted to see…to know how Richard’s doing. He’s a nice man. I used to come out of the kitchen and have dessert with him when he ate at the lodge.”
“So far, he’s not doing very well,” Mark whispered. “We’re having trouble getting him stabilized. He was hypothermic…too cold…”
“I know what that means,” she said.
“Not sure how long, but it’s causing problems with his vital signs. He’s not warming up the way we’d like. Everything’s sluggish.”
“But isn’t the cold actually good? Doesn’t it slow things down, sort of keep someone in a state of hibernation?” It sounded dumb, but she was curious.
“It does. The body slows down, requires less oxygen, and the cold helps keep things in a more balanced condition.”
“But not Richard?”
“Actually, I think the fact that it’s so cold is probably what saved him, but he’s got another problem, which is causing complications. What we think happened is that he slipped on the ice, broke his hip…a fairly substantial break that caused some internal bleeding. He was probably lying there for quite a while. Went into shock, got too cold for too long…a lot of contributing factors.”
“But he’d probably be dead if it weren’t for the cold temperature?”
“Probably. It saved him, yet it’s making his situation more complicated. He’s alive, though, and that’s the good thing.”
“So he’s going to make it?” she asked, hopefully. Even though she no longer cooked at the lodge, she and Sarah still joined him there most Friday nights for dessert. The routine, as insignificant as it seemed, was part of their lives, like the way so many other seemingly insignificant things were here in White Elk. And none of them were really insignificant at all, not even dessert with a kind old man, as they were the things that made up only a small part of the reason she wanted to raise her daughter here.
“Not sure yet. We’ll know more in the next twenty-four hours. And even then he’s going to require some pretty drastic surgery. Which means that if Mr. Whetherby doesn’t have someone at home to take care of his dog…” he reached out and scratched Fred on the head “…looks like you’re it.”
“No dogs where I live. It’s a rental. That’s the rule.”
“Look, I’ve got about thirty more minutes here before we get Mr. Whetherby transferred to Intensive Care. Maybe in that time you can find someone who will take the dog temporarily, then I’ll drive you home.”
She could have called a cab, could have even walked the mile and a half, although it was getting colder out and the snow was coming down a little harder. But she wanted to ride with Mark, wanted to hear him talk about what had happened tonight, wanted to hear his assessment. Anything to keep her connected to the medical moment. So she agreed to ask around the hospital for a temporary home for Fred, only to be turned down time after time. Allergies, other dogs, not enough time to take care of the pup…in thirty minutes she heard every imaginable excuse. Consequently, when she returned to the emergency department in search of Mark, Fred was still bundled into her arms.
“Richard came round,” Mark said, pulling on his winter coat. “We took him off the ventilator because he’s breathing on his own now, and the first thing he asked was about Fred. Stupid dog means everything to him. Fred’s all he has.”
“And I can’t keep him,” she said, feeling bad. She had so much…her daughter, her sister and family, her friends. Yet Richard Whetherby had…his dog. Even that status was in jeopardy if she couldn’t find a place for that dog to stay. “Which means I may have to send him to a shelter, and I suppose they’ll take care of him for a while, but…”
“I told him I would,” Mark said, almost in passing.
“What?”
“The dog. I’ll take care of him.”
Now, that surprised her. She truly hadn’t expected the man who didn’t want human involvement to take in a dog. But still waters ran deep, didn’t they? Or, in Mark’s case, diverted way off the main course of the river. It pleased her, actually, that he could show a little humanity for something outside his job, and she wondered what other surprises he might be hiding. “He’s very friendly,” she said. “Likes to be carried.”
“He’ll walk, if he expects to live with me.”
Scowl popping out now, but not the one she normally saw. More like one he was trying to force.
“How did you see Richard lying on the footpath, in the snow? It was dark, and he was a good fifty feet off the road. I didn’t see him and I’ve got good eyesight.”
“Training,” he said, resisting her offer of handing over the dog. “I’ve practiced my skills of observation more years than I care to count.” That’s all he said, then he turned and walked toward the exit, taking about ten steps before he turned back to see if she was following.
She was, but slowly. With each step she was looking around. Practicing her own skills of observation. Looking at the various pieces of equipment sitting along the hall walls. Gazing into the various emergency exam rooms to study whatever she could see there, trying to memorize it so she could look it up when she got home.
He watched her studying the things he took for granted. There was such fascination splashed all over her face…something he remembered in himself years ago. Something so far in the past he’d forgotten that he was once just like Angela was…eager and anxious to learn. Except he didn’t have the natural skills she did. He’d seen those skills this evening. Observed the way she’d been put into a dire situation and seen how she’d responded, not only to instruction but to her own instincts.
It was nice when he’d been that enthusiastic. It had felt like the whole world was just waiting to happen, and he envied her that. But for him it was gone. More than that, he didn’t want that feeling rekindled, and being around Angela he could almost feel the beginning of the embers. “Are you coming?” he asked, but not impatiently. He wanted her to savor the moment, to linger in the face of her first victory. In the years to come, that would be important for her. She wouldn’t forget it.
Neither would he.
“Would you like some hot tea, coffee, hot chocolate? With brandy?” She climbed out of the truck, still clinging to Fred. “And I have a fresh apple pie if you’d care for a piece.” It was the polite thing to do. She didn’t expect he would accept, as the short ride home from the hospital had been tense. Actually, much more than tense. Brutal. Once the truck door had shut, and the engine had been engaged, the cold silence had slipped down, and in that mile-and-a-half ride, it had turned into a frozen block of ice that chilled to the bone. She’d hoped for some chat, maybe for some feedback of what she’d done…right or wrong. But in the darkness of the truck’s cab, even though she couldn’t make out the detail of his face, she could certainly make out the hard set of it. No mistaking the intent either. He didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to be bothered. So apart from reminding him of where she lived, the only noise from inside that truck had come from Fred, who’d settled into the seat between them, his head resting on Mark’s thigh, and gone to sleep. And snored. Staccato, burbly little snores cutting into the icy quiet.
Then they were sitting in front of her rental condo, and now she was waiting for him to turn down her invitation so she could put a good, solid door b
etween them. Except he didn’t turn it down. At least, not right away. In fact, it almost seemed he was considering her offer. “So, what will it be? Apple pie? Coffee only?” Like she needed to ask again. It would only make him turning it down seem even bigger. Poor Angela, couldn’t entice him no matter how hard she tried.
“Apple pie is good,” he conceded, “if management doesn’t mind Fred coming in for a little while.”
“I’m allowed guests,” she said, very cautiously. Still wondering if he’d really accepted. Because her stomach just flip-flopped. “As long as you hide him in your coat when you bring him in. My next-door neighbor complains if the wind blows in the wrong direction, and she’s probably watching us right now.”
“She doesn’t complain about Sarah?”
“Oh, she does. But the owner has grandchildren, and he loves Sarah. So he doesn’t listen to those complaints. But he doesn’t want anything in his condo that will chew up carpet or claw the upholstery. I’m allowed a goldfish, that’s all.”
“Then Fred goes in the coat.” With that, he tucked the pint-sized Yorkie under his coat and stepped out of the truck.
Angela was still stunned. She wanted to ask him why he was accepting her invitation then contented herself with the excuse that a late-night snack must have sounded good to him, that maybe the adrenalin flow from the rescue had given him an appetite. What else could it be?
“Most of the furniture isn’t mine,” she said as they stepped in and Mark put Fred down on the floor to sniff around. “Brad and I lived in a suite at the lodge. We spent our entire marriage living in one lodge suite or another, and when you do that, you don’t accumulate many things. Clothes and necessities, that’s all.”
“It’s nice,” Mark said, looking around. “Small, basic. More than I need.”
“Where do you live? I don’t think I know.”
“I was going to stay in one of the rooms up at the lodge on the Little Sister, but after it caught on fire…well, I’m renting a room with Laura Spencer now.”
“One of her guest cottages, or in her inn?”
“Over the garage to her house. It was a storage room, had plumbing, a bathroom, a place to plug in a microwave. So she shoved all her stored goods down to one end and I’m down at the other. It works.”
“Because you’re temporary, right?” Angela pulled the pie from her refrigerator—a pie she’d baked that morning, not for any particular reason other than she’d been in the mood to try a new diabetic apple-pie recipe she’d found. “Here eighteen months, then gone. No need for a real place to live. Any storage closet will do.”
“Eighteen long months. You need to use the qualifier when you mention it because that’s the only thing that gives me any hope.”
“Any hope?” She glanced over at him as she pulled two plates from the cabinet and grabbed a knife. He was smiling. Simply smiling. “You know, it’s hard to tell when you’re joking or being serious,” she said.
“Just count on me always being serious, and it won’t let you down.”
“Do you frown at home, too? You know, practice in front of the mirror? Get up and put that frown on first thing in the morning? Frown your way through your coffee and hold onto it afterwards when most morning frowners normally relinquish theirs? Because you seem to have raised it to such an art form. Care for coffee with your pie?”
“What I’d care for is a place to walk Fred. He’s a little…hyper. And, yes, I do frown first thing in the morning, as a matter of fact. All the way though my coffee and beyond that.”
She glanced over. He was smiling again. One of the nicest smiles she’d ever seen, actually. Too bad he didn’t do more of it. “Take him out the sliding glass door. The patio is fenced in. He’ll be fine for a few minutes, so long as he doesn’t bark.”
As she sliced through the pie, then arranged it on plates, she wondered what could make a man who was such a good doctor, and someone who was so observant he knew when a pup had to go out, so distanced from life in general. Divorce could do that, she supposed. That might have been her, actually, if half the population of White Elk hadn’t swooped in to take care of her after Brad had gone his merry way. And if she didn’t have Sarah. Sarah was the real lifesaver. Sarah…she already missed her.
On impulse, Angela rang her sister to check in. “I know it’s kind of late but—”
“I heard you had quite a little adventure tonight,” Dinah interrupted.
“It was Mark’s adventure. I just stood off to the side and did what I was told.”
“Not according to what Mark told Eric. He said you were really good…very quick for someone who’s not trained. He told Eric you get as much credit for saving Richard’s life as he does.”
“He really said that?”
“Eric wouldn’t lie.”
No, he wouldn’t. And while Angela was flattered, she wondered why Mark couldn’t have said those things to her himself. “How’s Sarah?”
“Probably exhausted. My daughters kept her busy practically every minute she’s been here. And when I put her down, she went right to sleep.”
“I’ll be by in the morning, before work.” Thank heavens for the hospital child-care center. It was a blessing for all the parents who worked at the hospital.
“You sound funny, Angela. Are you OK?”
“Just getting ready to warm a couple of pieces of apple pie.”
“Two pieces? Who’s there with you, if a nosy sister can ask?”
“Sure, she can. Mark’s here with me. Outside walking Richard’s dog right now. When he brought me home, I asked, didn’t expect him to accept, but even the most reclusive of men have to eat, I suppose.”
Dinah laughed. “It’s about time you start getting out.”
“I’m not getting out. I’m fixing apple pie, à la mode if he likes ice cream. Then he’ll go home, and I’ll go to bed, and in the morning we’ll barely speak when we bump into each other in the hospital. That’s all it is.” She glanced over, saw him standing in the patio door, Fred under his arm. “Look, kiss Sarah for me and tell her I love her. And as for you, get it out of your mind.”
“You’re right. We’ll barely speak,” Mark said from behind her, putting Fred down a minute later.
She popped the plates of pie into the microwave, then turned around and stared at him, hand on her hip. “And why’s that?” she asked, frowning.
“First of all, let me just point out that you’re frowning. Second, no particular reason. It just seems to work out better for me that way.” The seat he chose was a hard wooden one at the tiny kitchen table…a table for two. He didn’t take his coat off, didn’t relax. Simply sat, folded his hands on the table, and went into his silent mode.
“You know you’re not very good company, don’t you?” Angela finally said, taking care not to frown again.
“You wanted good company? I didn’t hear that mentioned in the invitation.”
She gave him a long, hard look to see if there was any hint of amusement there. And she did see it once again. It was subtle, but there was a little glint in his eye, if she caught it from the right angle. “If I’d wanted good company, I’d have left you in the truck and only invited Fred in.”
The corners of his mouth turned up, but barely noticeably. “You begged,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“You begged. The offer of coffee was polite. The pie…definitely begging. Down on your knees for sure, if not for the snow.”
“Wishful thinking, Doctor. Because I was still at the polite stage. Had I been begging, you’d be getting more than apple pie. I’d be serving it a la mode, and tonight you’re not getting a la mode.” She emphasized that by putting the carton of ice cream she’d pulled from the freezer to soften back into the freezer. “And just so you’ll know, the pie is a leftover. And leftovers signify being polite. That’s all.” Good words, but her heart was racing a mile a minute. More than that, she could feel a flush rising in her cheeks. Whatever he was doing to her wasn’t anything any m
an had ever done before and she was scared to death it would show. So she sidled up to the refrigerator, hoping it would cast some kind of shadow over her. If not, she’d have to crawl in.
“So, do you cook like this for yourself all the time? Pies, sea bass puttanesca?”
“Sometimes. Not always. It’s a release…an outlet. Helps calm me down when I’m upset or frustrated. Gives me time to think.”
“You’ve been frustrated or upset lately? Is that what begot the pie?”
“A little. And before you ask, yes, you’re the cause of it. I’d counted on getting into your class. And your rejection has actually brought about a lot of cooking—new recipes for diabetics I hope to introduce at the hospital.” The flush was subsiding now that she was reminded of how he’d turned her down. Then, of all things, praised the abilities that weren’t good enough.
He eyed her objectively, the crinkle of a smile returning to his lips. “You pack it in well.”
“I don’t eat it all. I give it away…friends and family.” She removed the pie from the microwave. “And, occasionally, grumpy men who rescue dogs.”
“I suppose Dinah told you what I said to Eric, didn’t she? Sometimes I forget what a clannish place this is, that everybody is connected to each other in one way or another.”
“She told me,” Angela said stiffly, as she set the plate in front of Mark, practically threw a fork at him, then choose not to sit across from him. It would be too uncomfortable. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want any kind of personal involvement. Which was what compelled her to pull a high stool over to the kitchen counter. “And it would have been nice hearing it from you.”
“I compliment you, then what? You think you’re going to get a spot in my class? One thing leads to another, we save a life together and naturally you’re the most likely candidate to sit front and center, rightfully? Is that what would have happened?”
