by Lori Leger
After six grueling hours of surgery on the infant, he pushed past his exhaustion to speak with the family members gathered in the surgical waiting room. The toddler’s grandparents, both of whom he recognized as members of the same Mardi Gras Krewe he’d joined several years earlier, rushed up to him as soon as he entered the room.
“Dr. Collins, do you have any news for us?” the woman pleaded.
Tanner stared down into eyes the same shade of blue as her granddaughter’s, dreading what he had to report to this poor woman and her husband. He clasped the grandmother’s hand, his chest already aching with sadness. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Meredith. My team and I tried everything possible to save your granddaughter, but there was just too much trauma to the brain. We’re doing all we can now to insure your daughter retains her cognitive functions.”
He stood back as she crumbled into her husband’s embrace. Within moments they were surrounded by family and friends, leaving Tanner an opening to back slowly out of the room. Before re-entering the surgical ward, he cast one more glance at the devastated family before letting the door swing closed with a quiet swoosh.
He stood still for a moment, pressing the palms of his hands over his eyes as he replayed the key elements of his last surgery, wondering if he could have done something differently. Could he have tried a different procedure for an alternate outcome … a happier ending to this story … preferably, one with an innocent child’s life being saved? A gentle touch to his shoulder brought his head around.
“There are some things you can’t change, Tanner.”
He faced Tiffany McAllister, whose soft brown eyes reflected her sorrow. He covered her hand with his own and stared down at the ex-fiancé he now considered a wonderful friend. “I know, Tiff, but dammit, kids are the worst. Man, I hate losing babies, and I detest having to face the families and admit that I couldn’t do enough to save their child, or in this case, their grandchild.”
Her head cocked slightly at his last comment. “You used to make the nurses do it for you—said it enabled you to avoid family drama and get more work done. I always suspected it was to keep you from getting emotional.”
He shook his head. “I’m not emotional. Just regretful I couldn’t do more.”
“You can’t fool me, Dr. God’s gift to womankind.” She gave his chest a soft poke with her finger. “I always suspected you had a good heart lurking somewhere in there. I know you’re beating yourself up over this, wondering what you should have done differently. I observed that surgery, you know. The entire team did everything right. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“I know you’re right—here,” he said, tapping his head. He lowered his hand to place it on his chest. “Somewhere along the way from there to here, I lose that certainty.”
“If you didn’t, you’d be speaking in computer code, Tanner. Our feelings are what enable us to sympathize and empathize. Families don’t ever want to hear they’ve lost someone they love, but imagine how insignificant they’d feel having to hear it from a robot or a computer screen. We can’t lose our humanity to progress. You showed them yours by telling them yourself.”
He nodded in reluctant acceptance and followed her down the corridor.
Hours later, exhausted and tense, he entered his apartment just as his cell phone chirped with an incoming text. The emptiness of his spacious apartment was too much to handle. He flipped on the big screen and dropped the remote on the couch. Soft country music flowed from the speakers. He remembered his friend, Angelique Baptiste, programming his satellite station to country during her last brief, though energetic, visit. She’d stopped by to tell him she and Mike were going to Dallas for the week and dropped off several houseplants. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d ended up being her personal plant sitter. Angel had barged inside with armloads of Ivy, African Violets, and Tea Roses. She’d proceeded to tell him he had the most room and the best southern exposure of any of her friends. Didn’t ask, just insisted she knew he was capable of not killing her precious plants. She’d stayed long enough to have one cup of decaf coffee and zipped out, leaving instructions on how and when to water.
Tanner kicked off his trainers and dropped to the couch, pulling his phone from the pocket of his scrubs. Simone Taylor’s name flashed across the screen and he pulled up her message.
Hlo baby! Jst trtd mslf to 2 pcs of fdg and divinity. Nd pc of anthr kind…sugr goz str8t to my libido! Up to a L8 pm boo-T call?
He finally deciphered the entire hodge-podge of fragmented words in the message. “Is it that difficult to text an entire word?” he grumbled. He’d complained to her before, insisting her shortcut texting took him five times longer to read. She’d given him a blank look, saying, “And your point is what, exactly?”
He dropped his head back on the couch, considering whether or not a visit from his latest go-to-nympho would do the trick for him tonight.
Just as he’d talked himself into it, a country version of an old seventies pop hit stopped him from taking her up on the offer.
Jimmy Wayne belting out “Sara Smile” never failed to bring up the image of soft brown eyes, silken curls, and dimples in a pretty face.
For some damn reason, the thought of this particular Sarah always curbed his appetite for any other woman. God only knew why, because she was on the opposite end of the spectrum as far as his usual “type” was concerned.
He raised the volume and stretched out on his leather couch, eyes closed, and foot tapping the air to the song that reminded him of her. As soon as it finished, he lifted the phone and answered the text with a brief ‘Not tonight’. He grimaced when, almost immediately, she answered back with ‘Y not?’
He frowned, wondering how she’d handle the truth—because you’re not her. Instead, he answered with a generic ‘Need sleep’. He hit send, received an animated sad face emoticon in reply, and dropped his phone on the carpet.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he groaned, rolling over onto his side, his face against the back of the padded, high-grade leather. With the song still bouncing around in his head, and drowsy from exhaustion and a long day of surgeries, he fell asleep.
Tanner didn’t know whether to thank a rare episode of good karma or the grace of God, but he dreamed of Sarah. His fingers flexed, then closed, wrapping around the silky softness of curls highlighted with streaks of gold. She’d just raised her mouth to his for a kiss, her passion infused pink lips smiling, speaking his name softly. She repeated it, over, and over, her voice gradually increasing in volume and getting more insistent.
“Tanner!”
He wrenched to the side and took a short nose dive from the comfort of his couch to the hard, cold floor. “Shit!”
“Open the door, Tanner! I know you’re in there.”
He jerked up, banging his elbow on the end table. “Son of a—”
“Tanner!”
“Wait a damn minute!” he called out, annoyed as hell and in pain, not to mention sexually frustrated, and exhausted. He dug his phone out from under his hip and checked the time. “Midnight?”
Pulling himself to his feet, he rubbed his hand over his face and stumbled to the door to yank it open. “What the hell, Simone? What part of ‘Need sleep’ did you not understand?”
The petite blonde curled herself around him, planting both hands on his butt cheeks and grinding herself against him. “Oh, don’t be mad at me, baby. I tried to go to sleep. I truly did, but I’m too horny. Turns out, it’s justified. A friend of mine just told me that chocolate fudge and divinity eaten together act as an aphrodisiac. Now who would have known that?”
“Somehow I’m doubting the credibility of your fact source. What I do know is that when you’re on a quest for sex, you’ll say damn near anything to get it.”
“It’s true, Tan. Let me start up your laptop and I’ll show you on the internet.”
“And everyone knows if it’s on the net it’s true, right?”
“Well, maybe not everything, but this is
has been scientifically proven.”
“Come on, Simone. Surely you don’t believe that shit, do you?”
Simone pouted prettily, rubbing her hand along his thigh, upward toward his crotch. “How about if we come up with another way to prove it to you? Why don’t you let me climb right on up to this laptop, right … here,” she said, latching onto him through his thin scrub pants.
He sucked in his breath at the feel of her hand wrapped around him. She lifted his shirt simultaneously to bare his chest to her hungry mouth.
“Simone!” he hissed, more annoyed than turned on, which in itself was strange. “What did you do all day?”
“I skipped one class to do some shopping, and then skipped another to take a nap. I wanted to get to the club early, only you weren’t there.” The whine in her voice was as appealing as the tines of a fork scraping along fine china.
“Because I was in surgery all day, not shopping and sleeping, dammit. I work for a living, Simone. You know, in a hospital? Operating on people who’ve been in accidents. Like entire families who’ve been hit by a bunch of kids riding around drunk in their daddy’s car. By the way, the blood alcohol level of their designated driver was probably lower than yours is now.”
She pushed her lower lip out in a manner the old him would have found seductive once upon a time. “Don’t be such a downer, baby. I’m sure you patched everybody up just fine,” she purred, rubbing her palm firmly against him.
“No,” he growled, and yanked her hand away. “I didn’t. As a matter of fact, a ten month old baby girl died on my table during the surgery. But hopefully, we kept the thirty-year-old mother of two—or one now—from having permanent brain damage so she can recognize her broken-hearted husband and three-year-old son after losing her daughter.”
Simone stared at him as though he’d suddenly turned into a complete stranger. She sighed with resignation and rolled her eyes.
“Bummer.”
He clenched his jaw tightly, grinding out the one word he could manage without a curse attached to it. “Go.”
She pulled back a diamond-clad hand, and fluttered her eyelashes coated with mascara. “You can’t be serious!”
Tanner held open the door and gave her a gentle, but firm nudge toward the opening. “I’m serious. I can call you a cab, but I’d prefer you wait in your own car so I can get back to sleep. I’ve got patients to attend in the morning.”
“I’m not drunk, you asshole. But I am pissed!” She stepped out onto the stoop and turned back to face him, flourishing her hand along the length of her skin tight designer jeans. “Hope your taste buds have a long memory, buddy, because you will never get a taste of this again.”
“I find my taste has changed in a lot of things lately. Don’t take it personally, Simone. It’s long overdue—but I’ve finally realized how futile it is to resist.” He raised his arms and let them drop to his sides. “Sooner or later, we all have to grow up.” Tanner couldn’t help but laugh as her face took on the characteristics of someone who’d just sucked on a green persimmon.
“I don’t wanna grow up, and they can’t make me,” she said, shaking her fist dramatically at an invisible enemy. She crossed her arms across her chest and finally cracked a big grin at Tanner.
“Still mad at me?” he asked.
“Nah, I can’t stay mad at you. Every girl needs at least one older lover in her life. Someone I can think about fondly, years from now when I see your obituary in the paper—”
“Arrgh! If I can just … get … this … out!” He tugged at an imaginary stake in his heart before joining in her laughter. “Just more proof that I can’t keep up with you.”
She sobered, took a step forward, and gently caressed his face. “Just because you don’t want to anymore, doesn’t mean you can’t.” She rose to her tiptoes and planted a kiss firmly on his lips. “Goodbye Tanner. Just remember, if your new taste fails to satisfy that voracious appetite of yours, I’m only a text message away.”
He gave her a hug then backed away and bowed at the waist. “Goodbye, Simone. I wish you the best.”
Chapter 3
Tanner pushed Angelique’s doorbell then took a knee to re-tie his loosened shoelace. When the door creaked open he spoke without looking up. “I hope red goes with whatever we’re having, since you guys didn’t tell me what was on the menu.”
“I’m not sure Angie figured it out until a couple of hours ago. If you’re talking about wine, I’m sure red will suffice.”
Tanner paused at the totally unexpected sound of Sarah’s voice. He glanced up, seeing her curious gaze trained on him. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
She gave him a tentative smile. “Same here. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? What’ve you been up to?”
He stood, handing her the bottle of merlot. “That depends … what’ve you heard?”
Her laughter rang through the space, sounding much lighter, more carefree than he remembered, but why wouldn’t it be? She wasn’t faced with looking over her shoulder and hiding from an abusive husband for the rest of her life.
“I don’t need to ask how you are. You look fantastic; even better than when I saw you at the restaurant last week.” She did, too, having finally gained back enough weight to make her look fit instead of frail. Her cheeks were flushed a bright pink, a color that definitely looked good on her. Though he’d like to claim credit for it, if he was to guess, he’d say alcohol played a small part in it.
“Thank you. I feel fantastic.” She ushered him inside and picked up a half filled crystal wine glass. She raised it to eye level. “A couple more of these and I’ll really feel good,” she giggled.
“Did somebody get a reprieve from being a hard-working mom for the night?”
She gave him a thumbs-up. “Not just the night, but the entire weekend! Leah and Daniel practically packed a bag for me and pushed my butt out the door. They made reservations for me at a swanky hotel here in Lafayette, and said they didn’t want to see my face until Sunday afternoon. I’m on vacation for the first time since my babies were born!”
Angelique entered the room, carrying a tray of cheese, crackers, bite-sized pieces of Andouille sausage, and smoked boudin, sliced into two-inch sections. “And who did she decide to visit first? Me—the woman who drove her crazy while training her for her job for two weeks.” She set the tray down on the cocktail table and threw one arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “And boy, am I glad she did.” She planted a loud kiss on Sarah’s cheek before the two of them burst into laughter.
Tanner snorted. “Both of you are on your way to shit-faced drunk. Please tell me Harper’s here, or I’ll have to shoot myself.”
“He’s taking the rest of the boudin off the pit. And shit-faced is entirely possible.” She retrieved a glass from the cloth covered buffet she’d set up as a makeshift bar area. “That’s the benefits of having this supper at my house. I don’t have to worry about getting home. I’ve already told Sarah if she’s tipsy she can stay here for the night. Unless you—” she said with emphasis, while jabbing a finger in Tanner’s chest, “—want to be the sobering influence and drive her back to her hotel.”
He nodded, watching Sarah dance barefoot on the plush rug to country music playing softly from Angel’s sound system. “That’s a possibility. I’ll hold it to one glass of wine, in case she decides she needs me.”
The sound of Angel clearing her throat got his attention. He had to chuckle at the dark look of warning she wore. “To drive her to her hotel, Ang, that’s all.”
“Hmph! That better be all.” She sidled up next to him and spoke in a voice low and menacing. “I’m warning you now, Tanner. You hurt that girl, and I’ll have an old voodoo priestess I know in New Orleans put the gris-gris on you—guaranteed to shrivel your nuts to the size of two itty-bitty raisins.” She held up two fingers pinched closely, for emphasis.
Tanner grabbed her hand and lowered it. “Calm down, Marie Laveau. She’s not my type.” He turned, deciding even the company
of Mike Harper, was better than two tipsy women and Angie’s suspicious mind.
“Not yet, anyway,” she said.
The last thing he heard as he headed to her patio was another round of her drunken giggles accompanied by slightly off-key singing.
Sarah leaned back in her chair and placed both hands on her belly. “The lasagna was delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.”
“As long as you eat enough to absorb some of that alcohol,” Tanner said. “You sure as hell don’t need to be hung over and sick during your first personal vacation since you’ve given birth.”
“You know, now that I think of it, I’ve never had a hangover.” She sipped from her water glass. “It makes me wonder what other kinds of things I missed out on.”
Mike Harper, Angelique’s fiancé, swigged from his beer bottle and set it down. “You mean like the bubonic plague and scurvy?”
Tanner nodded. “Or tuberculosis and cholera?”
She waved them off. “No, I mean like going on spring break to Florida or camping in a cabin in the woods with a bunch of girlfriends.”
“Spring break sounds good, but that cabin in the woods thing sounds like the perfect setting for a slasher movie.” Angel grasped the large bread knife and waved it in the air.
“Yeah, complete with a hockey mask wearing guy who’s recently escaped from a hospital for the criminally insane,” Tanner added, throwing a paper napkin over his face with three holes torn out for his eyes and mouth.
“During a horrendous storm,” Mike threw in.
“Yeah, the kind that knocks out all the power, including the phone lines, of course.” Tanner blew the napkin off his face. “Come to think of it, I believe I saw that flick.”
Sarah sobered, thinking of a particular nightmare she’d experienced once, when Troy was still on the loose, and out to get her. “None of that stuff scares me,” she admitted. “Not after what I’ve gone through.”
