by Sarina Bowen
Also, she wasn’t sure if she could stand hearing his answer.
Callie gave up on sleep sometime around six. She went in to work early, spending a couple of hours logging study files into her database. All the hard work of setting up the FES study was finished now. For another ten months there would be data to log. And at the end, the results would be analyzed. If she left Vermont, another physician could take over the project with relative ease.
How depressing.
When she was through with every conceivable bit of busywork, thoughts of Hank took over again. Wondering if he’d called, she dug inside her bag for her phone.
It wasn’t there.
Great. She’d left it at Hank’s place. She still had no idea what to say to him, or what to ask of him. And yet she’d have to get her phone back.
What to do?
In medical research, it was impossible to search for answers before you’d accurately framed the question. But in this case, there were too many questions. Did Hank want her now? Probably. Would he still want her in a year? Doubtful. Should she try for a relationship with someone who didn’t want to be a family man? Probably not. Would she lose her job if she stuck around to find out? No idea.
Most of those thorny questions were between her and Hank. But that last one could be solved by someone else. Sweaty with trepidation, Callie called Dr. Fennigan’s assistant to ask for a few minutes of the director’s time.
“She’s traveling to a conference,” the young woman replied. “Can I put you down for a meeting next week?”
Next week? Callie’s stomach dropped. “Okay. Thank you.”
After scribbling down the meeting time, Callie hung up and went to find coffee.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hank woke up to the sound of people in his kitchen. He listened for a moment to the muffled tones of Willow’s voice talking to her child, and wondered what it would be like to wake to sounds of his own family in the next room.
Good luck with that. His bed was empty. And if the frightened look on Callie’s face last night was any indication, it might stay that way. As he opened his eyes, his head gave a little throb of disappointment.
Or maybe that was just the effect of cigar smoke and too many beers.
Hank got up, dressed and went out to greet his guests.
“I found the coffee,” Dane said immediately.
“Awesome.” Hank went over to pour himself a cup. “When is your closing?” he asked.
“We’re supposed to be at the lawyer’s office at two,” Willow said from the dining table, where she was seated with the baby on her lap. “But Dane’s trying to get the bank and the buyer to come in earlier.”
“Why?” Hank asked, pouring the milk.
“Dude, you didn’t hear? It’s going to dump. We’re trying to get an earlier flight out of Boston if we can.”
Hank looked out the window to find the sky a dull gray. So it was going to snow.
“You’re getting twelve inches. Pretty good for the second week of November. I’m going to get dressed.” Dane shuffled out of the room, mug in hand.
Funny, Hank thought. He hadn’t looked at a weather report in months. Every other year of his life, he would have begun staring at the forecast weeks ago, hoping to see the snowflake icon on the screen, making bets with his buddies. Now there would be snowflakes falling past his window again, and he had no idea how to feel about it.
There were two ways to go, really. Bear wanted him to get outside again and help him to write a film about snowboarders. That would be interesting, but it would come with a constant ache. A bad one. The other choice was to learn to ignore the snow. If he was successful, it would become the same nuisance to him as it was to those who’d never strapped their feet onto a board and flown downhill.
Which was it going to be? Hank’s eye was drawn to the folder that Bear had left on the table. It wouldn’t hurt to look it over.
“Is Callie going to get out of bed, or what?” Willow asked, putting a few Cheerios down on the table for the baby to grab.
“You’ll have to call her to ask.”
Willow looked up suddenly, surprise on her face. “Really? She’s not here?”
He gave his head a single shake.
“That dope,” Willow muttered.
Hank was inclined to agree. Because the alternative was thinking that she just didn’t care. He was spared from talking about it further when Willow’s phone rang. “Hello?” she answered.
Hank pulled his own phone out of his pocket, texting “good morning” to Callie. But a few seconds later he heard a chime somewhere in the vicinity of the sofa. Rolling over to take a look, he found Callie’s phone wedged between two of the cushions.
Across the room, the baby had her little fingers in Willow’s hair, trying to get at her mother’s phone. Willow turned her head as far as possible to resist her. “We’d be happy to be there at eleven,” she said, craning away from Finley’s questing fingers.
Hank rolled toward her and offered the baby his phone. Her big blue eyes went wide as she stretched with sturdy little arms toward him. Hank scooped her up and gave her the phone. He tucked Finley onto his lap, and Willow turned to mouth “thank you.”
Finley clutched his phone in her fat little hands. Hank rolled over to the floor-to-ceiling window and looked outside. Sure enough, a few flurries had already appeared in the air. Even though the snow was really no use to him, his heart kicked at the sight. A year ago, those first flakes would have found him digging his equipment out of the storage shed he’d built to hold it all. Some thoughtful family member had removed all his goggles and helmets from the closets after the accident. But all it took was a few flakes of snow to put him in touch with the ghosts of winters past.
Hank turned around to find Willow watching him. “She suits you,” Willow said, tucking her phone into her back pocket.
“Sorry?”
“The baby. You make a cute pair.”
He chuckled. “That’s because we both wear our hair short.” He dropped a hand onto Finley’s wispy little head. She was warm to the touch and smelled of baby powder.
“We’re having another one,” Willow volunteered.
“Really,” Hank drawled. “You mean, eventually?”
“No, I mean in June.”
“You kids are quite productive.”
“We’re doing our level best,” Willow smiled. He laughed. “Callie must be over the moon. I know how much she likes this one.” Ouch. There she was again, right in the front of his mind.
“She was pretty surprised,” Willow said. “But she likes babies. A lot.”
Hank had no reply to that. There was little chance he’d ever get the chance to hear Callie’s opinions on parenthood if she kept running off.
“I think she’s panicking a little bit,” Willow continued.
You don’t say.
“…She thinks she’s running out of time.”
Hank snorted. “Not hardly.”
“I know that. But Callie likes to plan her life seventeen steps in advance. That’s the only way to become a doctor. You can’t just sail wherever life takes you. She’s had to keep a firm hand on the rudder.”
“She’s afraid of me, then.”
“Terrified,” Willow agreed. “Good thing that yesterday her jerk-face ex basically offered to pick up where he left off with Callie.”
Something lurched in Hank’s gut. “What?”
Willow grinned at him. “Don’t worry. She told him where he could shove that idea. That’s how I know you’ve gotten under her skin.”
At least that was something.
“While I was on the phone, Callie emailed to ask if she’d left her phone here.”
Hank pulled it out of his pocket and showed it to Willow.
“Do you want me to drop it off at the hospital when I go into town?”
“Nah. I’ll get it to her,” he said.
“Smart man.”
Hank put one hand on the baby’s
belly and one hand on his left wheel. Then he gave his chair a good yank, so that they turned around in a tight circle. The baby rewarded him with a giggle. So he did it again.
“Aw,” Willow said. “She likes you.”
“All the girls like me,” Hank quipped. All except for the one I need.
* * *
Hank blew off his therapy session to take Dane and Willow out to breakfast. After they’d left town, he thought about stopping by the hospital to see Callie. But that wasn’t really the best place to talk. So he waited until evening to try to find her.
She wasn’t at home, so he ended up heading to the hospital after all. He parked his car, assembled his wheelchair and went inside. The therapy rooms were deserted. She wasn’t in her office. Tiny wasn’t around, either. Nobody at the nurse’s station had seen her in hours. She wasn’t working a night shift.
He was out of ideas.
As Hank drove back into town, the roads were getting noticeably messy. Still, he couldn’t stand the thought of going home to more hours in his house alone. He drove to Rupert’s bar instead. The closer he got to the place, the better the idea sounded. If his sister was working, he could drink as much as he wanted. And she would have to drive him home in the Jeep after her shift.
Giddyup.
Also, he found a handicapped parking spot on Main Street, so it was definitely meant to be. (Taking those spots guilt-free was absolutely the only good thing about his injury.)
This time when he assembled his wheelchair, it was in two inches of fluffy new snow. And the air smelled of more. Funny how he’d never really noticed before that snow had a scent. But it did. Cold and crisp, with just a hint of pine and wood smoke. That’s what winter smelled like.
He rolled into the bar. Monday night football was on TV, and a smattering of patrons lined the bar. Hank’s eye snagged on one particularly large head.
“Tiny!” Hank called.
“Hazardous!” the big man returned with a grin. But he was holding his phone to his ear, so Hank would have to wait a minute to catch up with him.
The open seat beside Tiny had a jacket on it. But to the left of that one there was a free bar stool. Hank didn’t want to sit at a table alone, so with a press and a twist, he yanked his body onto the stool. So long as he didn’t drink too much, he wouldn’t roll off.
“That was pretty decent,” a voice said from behind. “But the Russian judge held back a point from your score. Because she’s ornery like that.”
Hank looked over his shoulder at his sister. “Hey! You didn’t come over last night. I thought you didn’t have to work?”
Stella shrugged. “I needed a night at home, you know? What did I miss?”
Well, Sis, it was the best night of my life, right up until the point where it wasn’t anymore. “You know—beer and cigars. Willow and Dane say hello, by the way. Bear brought over the itinerary for his film shoots. I read it over this afternoon. Looks like fun.”
“I’ll bet it does,” she grumbled. “What do you want to drink?”
“Did you memorize the beer list yet?”
His sister gave him the stink eye.
“Surprise me, then.”
Stella moved off in a huff, dragging his chair along with her.
“Your sister cracks me up,” Tiny said, tucking his phone into his jacket pocket.
“Yeah?” Hank asked, offering Tiny a fist bump.
“Callie introduced me.”
“Callie?”
“What?” Callie appeared suddenly at Hank’s elbow.
Hank gave her a quick head-to-toe inspection, because something was not quite right. She looked a little fuzzy around the edges. When he lifted his eyes to Tiny’s, the man gave Hank a wink.
Ah. Callie was half in the bag.
“Have a seat,” Hank said, fighting a smile. He took her elbow gently and angled her toward the bar stool.
“Earlier, Callie informed me that tonight would be Tequila Night,” Tiny said, taking her other elbow. “Although she won’t say why.”
Callie shrugged both their hands away. “I didn’t hear any objections from you,” she said. Then she waved Travis over.
“And how often does Callie declare Tequila Night?” Hank asked lightly.
“Not often,” Travis put in, removing her empty glass. “She’s more of a just-one-beer-for-me-thanks kind of customer.”
“You’re very patronizing. All of you,” Callie muttered.
“Can I get you something, Hazardous?” Travis asked, amusement in his eyes.
“I asked my sister to pick out a beer for me. There’s at least half a chance she’ll remember.”
“But it’s Tequila Night,” Callie said.
“A doctor once told me to stay away from tequila.”
Callie’s expression darkened. “Good point. Your doctor is the worst influence ever. Total disaster.”
Okay. So that had not been the right thing to say. “I think that doctor is too hard on herself. And I’m not her patient anymore. Hey, Trav? Can I have a shot of Conmemorativo? But make it a single. I think I’m going to be driving somebody home in a little while.”
“I can do that,” Tiny said lightly. “My participation in Tequila Night has been nominal.”
“I’m thinking I should do the honors.”
“Sounds like a bad idea,” Callie said, looking down at her hands.
With a curious expression, Tiny studied them both before wisely deciding to say nothing.
Travis put a shot down in front of Hank, and a margarita in front of Callie. To Tiny, he served a soda.
“How many of those has she had?” Hank asked. He tossed back his shot.
“I’m right here,” Callie said, exasperated. “You could just ask me.”
“That’s her fourth,” Travis said. “But the formula changes each time. I really just waved the tequila over that one.”
“You’re watering down my drinks?” Callie yelped. “What kind of a bartender are you?”
“The kind you’ll be thanking when it’s time to go to work in the morning.”
“I hate you all. Well, maybe not Tiny.”
“Maybe?” Tiny asked, clutching his heart.
“That’s a shame,” Hank said. “Because we think pretty highly of you.”
“Don’t sweet-talk me, Hank. That only leads to trouble.”
He chuckled. “You were supposed to call me today, lady.”
Callie took a sip of her drink before answering. “I can’t find my phone.”
“I see. And were there no other phones to be had?”
She took a gulp of the margarita and didn’t meet his eyes.
He dug her phone out of his pocket and showed it to her. “Does this look familiar? It turned up between the cushions of my sofa.”
While Tiny’s eyes went wide, Callie made a wild grab for the phone. Hank held it out of her grasp. “Sorry, I’m holding this hostage.”
“Jesus,” Callie swore. “You’re going to get me fired.”
“No, I’m not,” he said. “That sounds like a handy excuse to bail on me.”
“It is not an excuse!” she said at a decibel level that everyone in the bar probably heard. “Do you know how much student-loan debt I have? Two hundred grand.”
She made another lunge for the phone, but Hank caught her questing hand in his. “All right,” he said in a calm voice. “That’s more than a trifle. But are you actually sure that you and I are a punishable offense?”
“Nope,” Callie said, stifling a burp. “But I’m worried enough to declare Tequila Night.”
And to be fair, Callie did look as shaken up as Hank had ever seen her. “The last guy only got an ice cream binge, so maybe that means something good for me.” He massaged her palm with his thumb. Her eyes went soft then, and so the tightness in his gut began to relax. Just a little.
“There will be plenty of time for ice cream, too,” Callie whispered. “The hospital director is away at a conference.”
“You tri
ed to see her?”
“First thing this morning. Well, not first thing. Because I’ve been up since four worrying about what she’ll say.”
Okay. Hank could work with that. He woke up Callie’s phone and began sifting through her contacts. Doctor Fennigan’s number was right there in the Fs, because that was just the sort of organized girl Callie was.
He tapped her name and watched as the call attempted to connect.
“What are you doing?” Callie grabbed his wrist.
“It’s ringing,” he said. “Even if you hang up now, she’ll still see that you tried to call.”
“Hello?” A voice could be heard from the phone. Hank handed it to Callie.
Callie gave Hank a look so sharp that it could be used to sharpen snowboards. Then she stuck the phone to her ear. “Um…Dr. Fennigan? Sorry about the awkward timing.” She gave Hank another evil look as she struggled off the bar stool and out the door.
“You are in so much trouble,” Tiny said, draining his Coke.
“Probably true,” Hank admitted.
“At least I know now why Tequila Night was necessary.” Tiny shrugged on his jacket. “I’m going to let you take it from here.”
“You don’t have to go, man,” Hank said. “Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“You didn’t,” Tiny said, zipping up. “But if I hurry, I can still catch my friends. I blew them off because Callie spent the whole day looking like a grenade with the pin loose. I thought I was going to have to set her up in front of the heavy bag.” He winked.
“You’re a good man, Tiny. Next time, you don’t even have to let me win the pull-up contest.”
Tiny rolled his eyes. “I wish that was intentional. Later.”
With her phone clutched to her ear, Callie hurried out of the bar and into the snowy night.
“Is something the matter?” The director asked.
“Hi, Doctor Fennigan,” Callie said, cringing. She spoke slowly in the hopes that the director wouldn’t guess that she’d been keeping company with several margaritas. “I’m sorry to call in the, uh, evening hours. But I needed to ask you to clarify something you said earlier.”
