by Radclyffe
“You don’t think it’s surgical, I take it.”
“No, I don’t. At first I thought it was a simple case of viral gastroenteritis,” Quinn said, frowning. “But the symptoms seem too marked for that.”
“Food poisoning?”
“That’s my working diagnosis, but it just doesn’t feel right.” Quinn ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “She says she thinks it’s from bad seafood that she had last night at a friend’s house.”
Honor nodded, watching Quinn’s eyes darken to nearly purple. She’s so intense. So focused. So... Abruptly, Honor reached for the chart that Quinn held in her right hand, dragging her eyes from Quinn’s face and forcing herself to concentrate. “Does she have a fever or a headache?”
“No. And she says the pain only started two hours ago.”
“Where is she? There’s something off about this.”
Quinn led Honor to the patient’s cubicle. When they entered, she said, “Karen, this is Dr. Blake. I’ve asked her to take a look at you.”
The girl, pale and shaking, looked frightened. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“We’re just trying to figure that out,” Honor said kindly. She took the young woman’s wrist and felt her pulse, which was weak and racing. The skin beneath her fingers was clammy and damp. As she watched, a tear slid from beneath the girl’s lashes. Then another. The girl seemed unaware of the steady trickle.
“We can’t take care of you properly if we don’t have all the information,” Honor said, her eyes fixed on the girl’s face. Another tear slid down the pale cheek. “Did you eat anything strange, besides the...seafood?”
Quinn stood across the bed from Honor, watching. Honor’s eyes were compassionate, but she exuded a sense of strength and command that was compelling. She had an air of certainty that made you believe you could lean on her. Jesus, where did that come from?
“What do you mean?” The girl’s voice was tremulous now.
“Are any of your friends sick, too?”
Friends? Quinn couldn’t figure out what was going on, but it was clear that Honor was after something.
“I don’t know. I left...” The young woman looked away.
“...the party?” Honor finished.
The girl nodded miserably.
“When was this?”
“This afternoon. A pool party this afternoon.”
“And you all took the mushrooms?”
Mushrooms? What the hell? Quinn shook her head. I sure missed the boat on this one.
At the girl’s pitiful expression of assent, Honor turned to Quinn. “A. muscaria poisoning...excessive tearing, nausea, vomiting, acute abdominal pain, excess salivation, and a host of other symptoms. Kids take the mushrooms thinking they’re going to be hallucinogenic, but most of the time they’re just poison.”
“Treatment?” Quinn asked sharply.
“She’ll need an IV, a gastric washout with activated charcoal to bind whatever toxin hasn’t been absorbed from her stomach already, and some medication to counteract what has gotten into her system. I’ll go over the meds with you in a minute.” She turned back to the young patient. “I’ll need the address where the party is, and we’re going to have to call your parents.”
“They’re in Martha’s Vineyard.”
“I guess they’ll need to come back, then.”
It took close to three hours for Honor and Quinn to stabilize the young woman and the two friends whom the police found in a comparable state of toxicity at the home of one of the teenagers. By that time, it was close to nine p.m.
“Man, am I glad I asked you to take a look at her.” Quinn arched her back and groaned. “If I’d sent her home, who knows what would have happened. Christ.”
Honor heard the self-recrimination in Quinn’s voice. “Listen, Quinn, the important thing is that you sensed that something unusual was going on, and that’s what counts down here. No one expects you to know everything.”
“You seem to know it all.”
“Yes, but that’s because I’m the boss.”
Their eyes held for a second, and then they both laughed.
“So, can I buy you a late dinner?” Quinn asked impulsively. When she saw Honor flush, she realized that the invitation was inappropriate. What the hell is wrong with me?
“Uh, thanks. But I should get home. My mother-in-law is with Arly, and—”
“That’s okay. I understand,” Quinn said quickly. “Thanks for your help, Honor. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” For a second, Honor hesitated, thinking that she could call Phyllis and ask her to stay with Arly a little while longer. Then she caught herself. What am I doing? I can’t go out to dinner with her! Mixing business with pleasure is always a bad idea, and Quinn Maguire has trouble written all over her.
Abruptly, Honor stepped away. “Good night, Quinn.”
Quinn just nodded, feeling supremely foolish and inexplicably disappointed.
Chapter Seven
“So what happened with the mushroom kids?” Linda asked as she arranged carrot and celery sticks on a serving platter. “Sorry I couldn’t work overtime and help out. Robin had bowling.”
“No problem. Quinn stayed. We finally got them all washed out and stabilized around nine.” Honor stirred the sour cream and chives dip and scooped it into a small bowl. “I haven’t seen anything like that since I was in college. Thank God I was smart enough then not to try it.”
“I’m amazed you recognized it yesterday.”
“Classic presentation.” Honor shrugged. “It’s right there in the ER manual.”
“Sure, and so are about a thousand other things.”
“I’m lucky. I have a memory for esoteric facts.”
“Uh-huh.” Linda knew that there was a reason that Honor was the ER chief at such a young age. Honor had been a star, even as a med student. She just had that uncanny sixth sense that made some people true physicians. Honor had the art as well as the skill for healing. “But we both know it takes more than memorizing what’s in the book to recognize it when you see it.”
Embarrassed by the praise, Honor kept her eyes down, busying herself with peeling potatoes for the salad. “Besides, Quinn was the one to pick up that something was off. I was just the cleanup batter.”
“Right.” Linda snorted, separating chicken pieces into separate bowls. “I agree with you about Quinn, though. She not only has good hands, she’s got good instincts.”
Honor thought about Quinn’s hands, about how they were a microcosm of the woman herself. Certain and sure in the midst of a crisis, moving with a surgeon’s self-assured touch. Then, surprisingly, so gentle and tender when she had cared for Arly. A heady mixture, especially in a woman so confident and attractive and—
“Honor? Hello?”
“Huh?” Honor jumped, startled. “Sorry. I was...wandering.”
“I noticed.” Linda cocked her head and gave Honor a long stare. “What’s up?”
Honor shook her head and reached for the onions. “Absolutely nothing.”
Quinn stood in the middle of her living room and turned slowly, surveying her progress. “Not bad.”
She’d jockeyed the two bookcases against the wall opposite the windows and unpacked most of her books. The sofa and the television were situated so she could sit on one and see the other. She needed a coffee table, she realized. She had nowhere to put her feet or her dinner while watching the news. She hadn’t acquired much furniture while in Manhattan, because she had subleased a furnished apartment during her year of trauma training. She had planned to buy a place once she had settled into her new position as an attending at St. Michael’s. Now, she wasn’t sure what she would be doing in another year.
No point going there. Time to start on the bedroom. She tried to remember where she had seen the box marked Sheets and, on her way down the hall, glanced at the plain, round clock she had hung from a hook in the kitchen. Almost noon. She skittered to a stop.
“Hell. I still have to
shower, get dressed, and figure out where to buy wine.” A surge of happiness caused her to smile. “Guess I can’t do any more unpacking.”
Thirty minutes later, she was clean and dressed in faded jeans, Nike running shoes, and a navy blue polo shirt. She spread out the plastic city street map on the kitchen counter and opened the neighborhood guide next to it. She found an ad for a wine and liquor store in her zip code and traced the street names on the map until she knew how to get there. She slid her wallet into her rear pocket, her keys into her right front one, and set out for the barbecue.
Once in the liquor store, she took a few minutes to choose both a bottle of red and a bottle of white wine. Then it occurred to her that she should bring something for the hostess.
“Where’s Jude when I really need advice?” she muttered to herself. Saxon Sinclair had been more than just Quinn’s former boss. The chief of trauma at St. Michael’s, and her partner, Jude Castle, a documentary filmmaker, had been good friends. The year of her trauma fellowship had been an intense time when she had spent nearly seventy-five percent of her waking hours in Sinclair’s company. In addition to their constant physical proximity and similar professional goals, they had discovered a number of other interests in common. Now Quinn owed her present job to Sax and a great deal of her sanity to Jude.
Giving herself a shake, Quinn took the wine to the counter and paid. Then she stepped out onto the sidewalk and looked around for some kind of shop where she could pick up a small thank-you gift for Linda.
“Honor, could you get that?” Linda, up to her wrists in potato salad, asked when the doorbell rang.
“Sure.” Honor reached for the dish towel and dried her hands on the way through the house to the front door. She pushed the screen door open and regarded the woman who stood on the other side with her arms laden with packages. She took in the dark blue shirt that matched the gorgeous eyes and the long, clean lines of her, liking the way she looked with that half-shy, half-cocky grin on her handsome face. “Hi, Quinn.”
“Hi.” Quinn’s initial surprise at seeing Honor at the door was quickly eclipsed by the sight of Honor in casual clothes. She wore cargo shorts and a cotton T-shirt that displayed her smoothly toned arms and legs. Her hair was pulled back with some kind of tie at the back and she looked about twenty. For some reason, Quinn always had difficulty not looking at Honor’s breasts, and today was no exception. The T-shirt clung to her curves in all the right places, leaving just enough to the imagination to make Quinn’s throat go dry and her pulse race.
Both women jumped at the sound of Linda’s voice behind them.
“I thought maybe you got lost out here, Honor. Hi, Quinn.” Linda looked from her friend to Quinn and back again, noting the simultaneous blushes and shuffling feet. Smiling to herself, she reached out her arms. “I take it those are for me?”
“Yeah,” Quinn mumbled as she shifted bags around, handing over the wine. “I got red and white, because I couldn’t figure out what else to do.”
Both Honor and Linda laughed. Honor finally stepped aside so Quinn could enter.
“And this is for you and your family.” Quinn held out a rectangular package about the size of a shoe box.
“Oh, a present!” Linda shamelessly clutched the box to her chest while simultaneously pushing the wine into Honor’s arms. “I love presents. Let’s go into the kitchen so I can open this.”
Not waiting for a reply, Linda turned and hurried away, leaving Honor and Quinn to follow.
“How did you know?” Honor asked, laughing gently.
“Know what?”
“That she adores surprises.”
“Just lucky.”
Honor glanced up at Quinn, aware that Quinn had been watching her intently as they walked through the house. “That was very nice of you.”
“It was kind of her to invite me.”
Yes, and I didn’t want her to. At the moment, Honor couldn’t remember why that was. She was inexplicably happy to see her new colleague.
“Will you two hurry up,” Linda called from the kitchen.
“Go ahead, open the darn thing,” Honor said affectionately as she and Quinn crowded around Linda at the kitchen table.
Linda lifted the lid from the box and carefully folded back the tissue paper, giving a small cry of pleasure. Carefully, she lifted out a small crystal wind chime. The delicate glass rods, suspended from a polished silver disk by clear nylon strands, varied in length from four to ten inches and sparkled with a rainbow of colors. When she gently brushed them with her fingers, the tinkling sounds were high and pure.
“It’s beautiful,” Linda breathed. She glanced at Quinn in delight. “Thank you so much. That was so kind of you.”
Quinn blushed. “My pleasure.”
“I think we should put it in the tree in the backyard, don’t you, Honor?”
“Sure. You’ll be able to hear it inside when the windows are open.”
“Could you put it up now?” Linda gave Honor a hopeful glance. “Pleeaase?”
Honor smiled, shaking her head. “Can anyone ever say no to you?”
“Not that I can ever recall,” Robin said fondly as she came through the back door. She nodded at Quinn and extended her hand. “Hi. I’m Robin, Linda’s spouse.”
“Quinn Maguire.” Quinn took the sturdy hand and shook it firmly. “Nice to meet you.”
“Look, honey.” Linda held up the wind chime, causing the rods to ring melodiously once again. “Quinn brought it for us. Isn’t it great?”
“Beautiful.” Robin slid her arm around Linda’s waist and kissed her cheek. “I’d put it up for you myself, but I just fired up the grill. Aren’t I supposed to be cooking something?”
“You go tend to the barbecue,” Honor said, reaching for the wind chimes. “I’ll put this up. Where’s the ladder?”
“In the garage,” Robin said. “If you give me a minute, I’ll get it for you.”
Honor shook her head. “Never mind. I can find it. The tools are in there, too, aren’t they?”
“Wait until Robin can help,” Linda cautioned. “I don’t want you climbing up in that tree by yourself. All we need is for you to fall and break your ne...”
Linda’s face paled as her words trailed off. She looked stricken.
Honor blinked, then gave her friend a kind smile. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Not to worry.”
“I’ll give her a hand,” Quinn volunteered into the silence that ensued. She glanced at Honor, trying to decipher the expression on her face. Not unhappiness exactly—more like a poignant sadness. Hesitantly, she added, “If that’s okay.”
“Perfect,” Linda said, squeezing Honor’s hand and then making shooing motions with her own. “Everybody out so I can get the rest of this organized. Robin, who has kid duty?”
“Phyllis is playing Trivial Pursuit Junior with the older ones, and Bill and Sue are taking a lifeguard shift by the pool.”
“Okay, then. All bases are covered. Go. Go.”
Obediently, the three trooped out. Quinn and Honor headed for the garage behind the house while Robin returned to the center of activity in the backyard.
“Looks like quite a crowd,” Quinn observed, taking in the gathering of men, women, and children of all ages. She had a moment of feeling completely out of place, but when she glanced at Honor, she didn’t care. She just liked being around her.
“Linda and Robin's parties are legend. Plus, once they invite all their kids’ friends, then they have to invite all the parents. Most everybody knows everybody else because of soccer, anyhow.”
“Soccer is big here, I take it,” Quinn remarked, standing aside as Honor rolled up the garage door.
“You could say that.” Honor laughed. “From the middle of the summer until the snow falls, our lives revolve around soccer. Afternoon practices, Saturday morning games—which, by the way, start next weekend—and all of the events surrounding that. It’s a social phenomenon.”
“Sounds like fun.” Qui
nn realized that she meant it. She hadn’t done much of anything except study and work for over a decade. She had participated in organized sports in college, but once involved in the clinical portion of her medical training, followed quickly by residency, she hadn’t done anything except work. It occurred to her as she watched Honor sorting through a toolbox that she’d never had anything approaching a normal life. She wasn’t sure she wanted one. Or that she’d know what to do, even if she had one. That hardly matters, since it’s not likely to happen.
Honor turned abruptly, a hammer in her hand, and caught the contemplative look on Quinn’s face. Those piercing blue eyes were fixed on her, but Honor didn’t think the other woman was actually seeing her. She appeared lost in thought, and there was a hint of both melancholy and resignation in her expression. It surprised Honor and just as quickly touched a chord in her. For one wild moment, she had the irrational urge to reach out and stroke Quinn’s cheek.
“Found it,” Honor said softly.
Quinn gave a small start, then smiled sheepishly. “How about the ladder?”
“Over there,” Honor indicated with an index finger. “Can you handle it? I’m going to hunt for a hook of some kind.”
“No problem.” Quinn took the ladder down from the double hooks that held it to the wall and rested it over one shoulder. She carefully maneuvered it out of the garage, taking care not to pivot abruptly and endanger Honor’s head. “Ready when you are.”
Honor, carrying the tools and the wind chime, led the way around the periphery of the crowd toward a large maple that loomed high above the rear corner of the house. A horizontal limb stretched out above the back deck below and arched over the slanted roof toward the rear bedroom windows. Honor pointed upward. “That’s Linda and Robin's bedroom. If we get this up on that branch, they'll be able to hear it in the house.”
Quinn craned her neck and estimated the distance. “It’s probably twenty feet up to that limb. How are you on heights?”
“Piece of cake.” Honor studied Quinn speculatively. “Why?”
“I...uh...I hate being more than two feet above sea level. I have to take Valium to get into an airplane.”
