“I just remembered something I did over the weekend.”
“Did you get hammered?” The young one’s bright black eyes suddenly seemed far too mature for twelve.
“No. And how do you even know what ‘hammered’ means?”
“My sister goes to college.” She tossed half of her hair over her shoulder, in a gesture that advertised she knew everything about being a grown up and drinking too much in college.
As if that explained and closed the topic, Polly let the subject drop, but not before she noticed John Griffin’s signature on the girl’s cast and she felt her cheeks flush again. Did the man sign every single cast on the ward?
As promised, at nine o’clock sharp a raucous brass quartet blustered onto the ward playing circus music, as if a parade would follow. Polly had gotten each of her patients into wheelchairs and rolled them to the center of the ward just in time. One of her girls wasn’t the least bit interested in the music, instead staring at her cell phone, until the trombone player swung by and hit a low note by extending the slide right under her chin. It shocked and delighted her and Polly laughed along with the patient, especially when the girl glanced up and saw a good-looking college guy, and her eyes brightened.
In mid-laugh, Polly glanced up and caught John’s gaze from across the room. It seemed a trapdoor had opened in her chest, and her heart skidded to her ankles. Maybe it was the circus music.
She couldn’t inhale.
Attempting and falling far short of the mark, she gave some semblance of a smile, and in return he gave that half grimace, half smile he was so adept at then quickly looked away.
Could things get any more awkward?
By Wednesday afternoon, having great sex with John Griffin had started to seem more like a figment of Polly’s imagination than fact. He’d drifted in and out of the hospital ward like a ghost leaving hints of things out of place, or the tell-tale scent of his woodsy aftershave, or an icy chill spiraling down her spine. Not once did he try to confront her, and she’d vowed to steer clear of his office no matter how much she wanted to chew him out for being so cold and inconsiderate for leaving her dangling and insecure since Friday night.
On Thursday morning the pet therapy Dalmatian made rounds, stopping beside Polly’s toddler patient, Eugenia. The child had fallen from a two-story window and broken both arms, and had been taken into protective services after being admitted to Angel’s. She was withdrawn and moody, and Polly didn’t know how to reach her or make her comfortable. But Dotty the Dalmatian brightened the child’s gray eyes with interest, and soon a smile crossed her lips as Dotty licked her fingertips.
Warmth washed through Polly’s down mood, and she grinned at her young charge, then was rewarded with Eugenia smiling back. Simple things. Small steps. This was the way to put a life back together, as Polly only knew too well from her own childhood.
“May I talk to you?” From behind, the familiar voice made her eyes go wide. It was John. Adrenaline sprayed like scattershot throughout her chest. She schooled her expression before she turned.
“Sure,” she said, acting as if nothing, especially her ego, had been flipped sideways since they’d had mind-blowing sex.
Leaving her patient with Dotty and the pet therapy lady, she followed his long and purposeful strides toward the supply room.
When they arrived, he took a deep breath. “I don’t want this to be offensive or anything,” he said in a nearly inaudible voice, “but I think you should take some STD tests.”
So this was all about medical business, about the messy little clean-up committee for being reckless with the new girl. He may not have wanted to offend her but pure insult made her send him a cutting glance. “Why, Doctor? Have you jeopardized me?”
“No!” he rasped. She could see the vein on the side of his neck pop out.
“But you worry I may have …”
“No,” he said, in a strained whisper. “I’m just being practical.”
She latched onto his eyes and stared him down. “For your information, I don’t sleep around. I don’t have any surprises to give you, so I’ll skip. Thanks.” She turned to walk away, trying her best to save what was left of her pride, but he caught her by the elbow and held her back.
“We were completely careless.” He spoke quietly, directly into her ear. Even now, under the worst possible circumstances, the touch of his breath on her neck made her skin prickle. She looked up at him. His dark eyes peered into hers in warning. “As a doctor, I can’t be negligent. I’ve ordered some tests for you.”
“What about you?” she said, hackles fully raised and ready to fight.
He looked thoughtfully at his OR clogs. “I checked out okay.”
“Then what’s the point of me—?”
His flat expression warned she wasn’t about to like his answer. “Because I’m not the one who can get pregnant, even if you’re on birth control pills.”
Stunned by reality, she swallowed around a dry knot. She’d already told him there wouldn’t be a problem—didn’t he believe her? Since he was being such a jerk about everything today, she wouldn’t argue.
Desperate to save face, she shrugged free of his hold. “I’ll handle the tests myself, thanks,” she said as she walked away, trying her best to stand straight and look confident, while feeling anything but.
That night, still fuming, she stopped at the corner ma and pa grocery store and found a pregnancy test purporting to identify a pregnancy within seven to ten days after the missed period. But Polly hadn’t missed her period, which wasn’t due for another three days. Would she be able to hold tight and wait for three days then buy the test? The blood test John had ordered could tell much sooner than the urine test, but her pride had tripped her up and kept her from consenting. She was sure that just because John Griffin had ordered the test and the results would be sent to him, he wasn’t going to be the first to know if, and that was a very big if, she was pregnant or not.
Of course she wasn’t pregnant. She took her pills every night as directed.
For some illogical reason, that night when she prepared her dinner she made sure it was well balanced and nutritious as one short phrase whispered in her mind—What if?—which was quickly followed by a heavy brick of panic landing in her stomach and replacing her appetite.
Monday morning, officially late for her period, Polly showed up at work withdrawn and anxious. Dread trickled down her spine as she remembered the antibiotics she’d taken a few weeks back for a sinus infection. It was a known fact that antibiotics could interfere with the potency of birth control pills for up to two weeks. It had been more than two weeks since she’d taken them, though, and that kept her hopeful all would be fine.
“Hey, Polly, how’s it shakin’?” the ward clerk Rafael asked as she passed the nurses’ station.
“Meh,” she said, and walked on.
“What? If you’re not in a good mood, how the heck am I supposed to be?”
She stopped in her tracks and saw honest surprise in his dark chocolate-colored eyes. “I guess you’ll just have to work extra hard at it today, Rafe ol’ buddy.”
“That’s cold, forcing a man to be in a good mood for no good reason all on his own.” He laughed. “See, even in a bad mood you make me smile.”
“What’s this I hear about little Miss Sunshine being in a foul mood?” Brooke said, approaching Polly and putting her hand on Polly’s shoulder. She rubbed back and forth. “You okay?”
Did her face have to be an open book?
“I’ve been better.” She should have gotten her period on Saturday, but so far there wasn’t even a hint that it was on the way. She had a question she wanted to ask Brooke, but didn’t want to be blatant about how a person went about getting a pregnancy test done at Angel’s, so she decided to wait for a better time under less obvious circumstances.
On Wednesday morning, Brooke assigned her once again to Eugenia, who was constantly being assessed and visited by social services, play therapists, speech therapists, and jus
t about every doctor on staff. Polly looked forward to spending the day with a little girl who needed love as much as she did.
During Eugenia’s bed bath, Polly tickled and teased the child to get her to laugh, which she did more easily this week than last.
“Mornin’, peanut,” a woman with a heavy Texan drawl said. “How’s my girl today?”
Polly looked up to see the beautiful blonde Dr. Layla Woods. “Can you say good morning for Dr. Woods, Eugenia?”
“Mun.”
Dr. Woods smiled at Polly, then at Eugenia. “That’s very good.”
Polly loved her accent. As Dr. Woods warmed the child up with a game of peek-a-boo and then delicately did a quick physical assessment of Eugenia, Polly studied her flawless complexion and gorgeous Texas-bluebell-colored eyes. She’d seen her before on the orthopedic floor several times making general medicine rounds, always smiling and gracious. Always approachable.
Polly had heard rumblings about Dr. Woods and the head of Neurosurgery, Dr. Alejandro Rodriguez, the most gorgeous man on the planet. Bar none. But she didn’t want to get caught up in hospital gossip and had paid little attention to the stories.
She looked back at the doctor, who’d finished up her examination of Eugenia with a tap on the tip of the toddler’s nose. Dr. Woods could easily be a cover model or actress with her good looks, but there was an added ingredient, sort of like a secret sauce, that made the whole recipe of Layla Woods extra-special. Perhaps seasoned by her own life, the woman oozed compassion.
And that’s when it hit her. No risk, no gain, right?
Polly cleared her throat and worked up the fortitude to ask the question of the day. “Dr. Woods, um, may I ask you a favor?”
“Sure, whatcha’ need?”
“Could you order me a pregnancy test?” she mumbled, embarrassed.
“A pregnancy test?”
Polly wanted to shush her, but didn’t have the nerve, instead lowering her lashes and staring at the floor. The perceptive doctor quickly caught on.
“Oh,” she whispered, looking around. Thankfully no one else but the toddlers were in the two bed-ward. “Sorry. Certainly. I’ll order that right now. You want a blood test, right?”
Polly nodded. “Thanks so much.”
Dr. Woods winked, jotting down Polly’s last name from her name badge, then Polly gave her medical record number.
“Your secret’s safe with me. Good luck, whichever way you hope it turns out.” She smiled and after pinching Eugenia’s cheeks and kissing her forehead the lovely doctor left the room, heading for the nearby computer to input that order.
At the end of her shift Polly stopped at the lab to have her blood drawn. After a long day and a crowded subway ride home she was hot and exhausted and didn’t look forward to taking those five flights of stairs up to her room. A room that didn’t even have air-conditioning. If this was how it got in early July, how would she survive the rest of the summer?
While making a mental note to buy a big fan, she let herself into the apartment. Mrs. Goldman, her landlady, sat in the tiny, dim living room watching TV and didn’t even look up, which Polly was glad about. The last thing she wanted to do was get sucked into one of her landlady’s long and meandering stories tonight. After a snack she slipped into her room and took a nap.
A couple of hours later she decided to check her e-mails and saw the notice from Angel’s hospital about her test results. Quickly accessing the hospital patient medical records program, she went into her account, eager to end this chapter in her book of life’s mistakes. The sooner she knew all was clear, the faster she could close the door for good on John Griffin and move on. She’d sweep her regretful actions into a corner and forget about them, like she had so many other things in her life. Though forgetting her incredible night with John would take a lot of effort.
Opening up her lab test page, her hopeful attitude got hitched to gravity and plummeted into an abyss. Positive. The blood test was positive.
Prickles of fear stormed like a battalion across her skin as her entire body went hot.
She. Was. Pregnant.
CHAPTER FIVE
FRIDAY MORNING, JOHN sat at his desk on the computer finishing up the last of his administrative work, the thing he liked least about being a department head. If he had his way he’d do surgery every day, but he needed to play fair and share the admin duties with his orthopedic surgical staff.
Out of habit, he glanced at the spot on his desk he’d always looked when in doubt, but it was empty. He’d already forgotten that he’d put the framed photograph of his wife in the desk drawer the previous week. He hadn’t been able to look at her picture without feeling guilty since he’d slept with Polly … even though it had been twelve years since Lisa had died.
He wasn’t a saint, he’d been with a woman here or there over the years, but never had he gotten involved, and he liked it that way. That was, until Polly and this alien desire to get involved. Very involved.
He thought about her every day, relived their love-making in his head at the craziest moments, and even though he’d handled everything monumentally badly, he still smiled when he thought about her lively blue eyes, sexy grin, and perky young body.
Polly the people-pleaser extraordinaire.
At thirty-nine he was too young for a midlife crisis, wasn’t he? With his elbow on the desk, he sank his chin into the palm of his hand and looked out the window. Damn, he’d become a moony teenager all over again.
Couldn’t he just apologize to her for being so crass and start over?
Truth was he wanted to, and he’d never thought of himself as a coward …
The tap at the door yanked him from his thoughts. “Come in.”
When Polly stepped into the room, looking tired and worried, something thick and cold dropped in his stomach and she got his full attention. Barely able to lift her eyes to his, she walked toward his desk.
He shot up from his chair. “Are you all right?”
She sighed and sat, finally lifting her gaze to meet his. “Yes, actually, I am.”
He sat, not wanting to be a pushover. “Can you forgive me for being a jerk?” His mouth had gotten a jump on his cool-and-calm plan.
“That depends.”
“On?”
“On how you react when I tell you something.”
Another sinking feeling slithered down John’s throat. What messy surprise was she going to spring on him? Would she tell him she never wanted to be with him again when he’d just realized how much he wanted to know her better? He sat perfectly still, keeping her in his line of vision, waiting for her big announcement. To cover his insecurity, he went the tough route.
“I’m a big boy. Don’t worry about me.” He thought about picking up his pen and pretending to continue to work on his papers, blowing her off, just to show her how absolutely fine he was with however she planned to dump him. Yes, he was a busy, busy man, who would hardly notice if she dropped out of his life.
Liar.
She put her fingertips over her mouth and watched him, as if gauging his true feelings. Shaking her head, she glanced at the floor then back up at him. “There’s no easy way to put this.”
He went still, sensing the heaviness in the room gather into a giant cloud directly over his head. This wasn’t the Polly he knew. This Polly seemed like she’d been steamrollered by life, not the bright young woman she’d been when she’d first arrived at Angel’s … before they’d made love.
Pretty lousy effect you have on women, Griffin.
Okay, he’d made a snap decision. He wouldn’t mess up her life one more day, no matter how badly he wanted to get involved. She didn’t deserve a moody old fart like him.
“I’m pregnant.”
He’d let her go, break it off clean—What?
“You’re pregnant?” He’d checked his lab reports every day and hadn’t seen her results. “And you know this how?”
“I asked Dr. Woods to order a blood test for me.” She raised h
er hand. “Before you say another word I want to tell you straight out that I will not end this pregnancy. And I don’t intend to give up the baby for adoption.” She looked into his eyes, hers shining from moisture. “I know how it feels not to be wanted …” her voice broke with emotion “… and I won’t let my baby go through that.” She swallowed and sat quietly, obviously trying to hold herself together.
He’d heard everything she’d said. He’d paid attention. Yet he needed to repeat the words, to make them real, and help them sink in. “You’re pregnant.”
“Yes.”
With his hands on his desk, perfectly still, he leaned forward, trying to get his mouth to move so he could ask the question What do we do now? but nothing came out.
“And no matter what you say …” she stared at him out of those determined, teary eyes, having the same effect as reaching into his chest and wrenching out his heart “… I’m keeping this baby.”
His baby. She was keeping his baby. He’d never thought he’d have a chance at a family again. A nugget of hope planted itself in his heart, filling a long-forgotten hole. He almost smiled at the absurdity of how he’d become a father at thirty-nine—from one amazing night in on-call.
Not since his wife had told him she was pregnant had he felt such a flash of joy.
A baby. A family.
But that had been long ago, and six weeks before 9/11. When he’d loved and lost both his wife and unborn child. When he would have gladly given his own life in exchange for theirs.
A jet of fear shot through his chest and strangled the breath out of him. He couldn’t speak as a flashback of the hopeless feeling that had nearly ended his life—and had surely ended his wife and future child’s life—played out in his head. The horror of that day. The frantic need to find her in the rubble. The sinking feeling as reality had put one foot in front of the other and stepped ever closer to ripping his life apart, as it had for so many others. The desperation when hope against all the odds had lost out and he’d found out she’d been killed. That he’d never kiss Lisa again, never hold her, never welcome their baby into his arms.
NYC Angels: Making the Surgeon Smile Page 7
