A Time for Us

by Amy Knupp

  Rachel’s shoulders drooped with fatigue. Her blue scrubs were wrinkled, as if she’d camped out in them for several days. For all he knew, she had. Though she was significantly late leaving after her shift, he’d bet she hadn’t been chatting it up with colleagues or messing around. Noelle had told him on many occasions what a workaholic her sister was. He got the impression that, on some level, she’d admired Rachel because of it—it wasn’t a trait the sisters had shared. He’d liked Noelle’s easygoing way. Rachel, at times, put out a vibe of being untouchable, and if he hadn’t previously known her outside of the hospital, hadn’t seen beyond her all-business shell to the less secure woman beneath, he wasn’t sure he’d have the nerve to stake her out now.

  He kept his eyes on her as she approached, and when she spotted him, there was a barely discernible instant of hesitation. He wondered if she held something against him specifically, or if that was just more of her don’t-bug-me persona. Was it that he reminded her of her sister? Wasn’t staying in the house where Noelle had lived a bigger reminder? He didn’t care for the idea that he might make her sad.

  “Hi,” he said as she angled closer, squinting into the already hot June sun. He’d left his sunglasses in his Sport Trac, not planning to be here for this long.

  “You’re out and about early.” She shifted her practical, expensive-looking leather bag from one shoulder to the other.

  “Went off duty at seven. Kind of figured you did, too.”

  “Technically, yes. I wanted to look up some information for a patient.” She went on to mention a condition he’d heard of in passing but knew nothing about, seeming to become more comfortable the longer she talked shop.

  Cale nodded and tried not to feel dumb. She stopped midsentence, met his eyes briefly, then lowered her gaze.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Guess I’m preoccupied. So what are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.”

  Was that panic or surprise on her face?

  “Why?”

  He smiled to try to put her at ease, wishing she’d smile back. “Nothing bad. Thought I’d offer to buy you breakfast.” He pointed toward the round-the-clock breakfast joint across the street that was usually full of off-duty or on-break medical personnel. Noting her hesitancy, though, he was beginning to lose confidence in his idea.

  She stiffened and shielded her eyes from the sun with one hand, managing to hide from him, as well. “I’ve been up for almost twenty-four hours. That’s probably nothing to you, but I’m beat.”

  He was painfully familiar with the overtired sensation after a long, drama-filled shift. “You still have to eat, though, right?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, actually.” She placed her hand on her abdomen quickly and looked embarrassed. “That would be my stomach telling me differently.”

  “I make you uncomfortable.”

  She shook her head and stammered. “It’s just—”

  “That’s not my intention at all. We were almost family, Rachel. That doesn’t have to change because Noelle isn’t here.” Damn the lump in his throat.

  She was obviously debating with herself as she pegged him with reserved, gulf-blue eyes, and he found himself holding his breath, caring too much about her response. Finally, she nodded. “I could use something more substantial than corn flakes.”

  They headed across the parking lot in the direction of the Egg-omaniac.

  “Busy night?” he asked.

  “That’s one word for it. What about you?”

  “Busy enough to keep us up more than we slept. How’d the cardiac-arrest woman we brought in fare?”

  “She’s holding her own. We had an elderly man later who wasn’t as lucky.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “It’s hard to get used to.”

  “Tell me about it. Don’t think you ever do completely.” He held up two fingers to the hostess when they walked into the restaurant. “Was it your first one?”

  “No. I lost a few patients as a resident. Goes along with emergency medicine, but then, you probably know that. This was the first one I didn’t beat myself up about, though.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me about you,” he said as they followed the hostess to a booth against the far wall. When she whipped her head around to him, he said, “That’s not an insult, necessarily.”

  “You don’t really know me.” She spoke as they sat on opposite sides of an orange laminate table that had scratches all over it. A couple of nearby tables had single occupants dressed in scrubs, and a noisy group over in the large corner booth was undoubtedly a gaggle of nurses who’d finished the overnight shift, as well.

  “Not directly, I guess. Only through Noelle. She talked about you a lot so I feel like I know you better.”

  “What are you ordering?” she asked abruptly as the hostess placed menus in front of them. She fidgeted with the menu, bending the corner back and forth.

  Okay, so she doesn’t want to discuss her sister, apparently.

  Cale opened the menu and located his usual. “Pecan waffles. Maple syrup. Side of bacon, not crispy.”

  “If I remember right, it’s hard to beat Egg-omaniac’s waffles,” she said, closing her menu and setting it aside.

  The waitress appeared with a pitcher of ice water then took their order.

  As they waited for their food, she questioned him about the alarms he’d been on last night, again seeming more at ease with shop talk than small talk. She managed to keep the focus away from herself, he noticed. That only served to pique his curiosity.

  “So what else do you do besides work?” he asked when she’d paused to take a drink of water.

  “Uh...” She frowned as she set her glass down. “I have no idea. It’s been years since I had free time. I think I lost all my hobbies.”

  “What’d you do in, say, high school for fun?”

  “Study.” Her lips, the lightest color of pink and all natural, flirted with a sheepish grin. Finally. “That kind of sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? Someday I’ll figure out what I like to do in my spare time. As soon as I find some spare time.”

  He didn’t really believe that she’d try. Didn’t think she believed herself.

  “So tell me why I’m really here,” Rachel said, back to her serious self.

  Cale refilled both their glasses with water from the pitcher. Took a drink. Removed his silverware from the wrapped-up napkin. He shrugged. “You just seemed kind of alone. I don’t know. Noelle would want us to be friends.”

  “There’s no way for you to know that.” She stared at her water glass as she said it, speaking so quietly that Cale could barely hear her.

  “I know it bothered her that you and I weren’t closer. That we didn’t have many occasions to get better acquainted.”

  Rachel’s eyes closed in unmistakable pain, making it clear his desire to talk about her twin was going to go unheeded for now.

  In an attempt to lighten the mood, he said, “I seem to remember you’re a self-proclaimed...what was it? ‘Chronic introvert in frequent need of a social rescue.’ Let’s just say that’s why I asked you to breakfast.”

  Her head jerked up, and surprise shone in her eyes as she stared at him. “You remember that?”

  * * *

  RACHEL FELT STRANGELY exposed. Though she could recite almost the entire conversation she’d had with Cale the night she’d met him—which was maybe an hour and a half before Noelle had met him—she’d figured Cale had long ago forgotten it. That was the way it had always been—guys tended to forget all about Rachel as soon as Noelle came along. Her sister had always been one of the most beloved girls around, and Rachel had accepted that—most of the time. When it had come to a few specific guys over the years, it had been tougher to swallow.

  She’d been home for a visit three years ago, and Noelle had insisted on taking her to a friend’s party, dragging her away from a week’s worth of reading that had to be squeezed into the long weekend. Rachel had known succumb
ing to her sister’s pleas for more “sister time” had been a mistake the second they had walked in the door of the ritzy house on the bay. The open-layout main floor had been packed with people—loud, over-happy, in-varying-stages-of-drunkenness people, none of whom Rachel had known. An hour or so into the evening, when Noelle had rushed over to a recently engaged acquaintance to check out her ring, Rachel had escaped out the back door for fresh air.

  She’d gone out on a deck that stretched over the dark, calm water, the uncharacteristic early spring chilliness probably to blame—or thank, if you asked Rachel—for the fact that it was completely deserted. She’d just started to relax when the door behind her opened, allowing the raucous noise to hit her before it shut. Huddled in a shadowed corner, she crossed her fingers that whoever it was wouldn’t notice her.

  He had.

  Cale had talked to her. Made her smile. Made her suddenly glad she’d come to the party after all. And he hadn’t tried to use a single line on her. Hadn’t flirted. He’d been...real. Something Rachel didn’t run into every day. The egos of some male med students had always repelled her. Cale’s obvious differences were refreshing.

  They’d spent a good half hour or more outside talking, just the two of them. Cale had sympathized that she didn’t know anyone else at the party, and once he’d found out she was a med student, he’d taken her inside and tracked down a woman he knew who was also studying to become a doctor and had introduced them.

  Hence, the rescuer. Her knight.

  Later on, when Rachel was chatting with the other med student, she’d watched from across the room the moment Cale had spotted Noelle and had immediately introduced himself to her, no doubt making a comment about the sisters’ identical twin-ness. For some reason, Rachel hadn’t mentioned it when she and Cale had spoken.

  It had hit her then, as she watched the two of them interact, that there was a reason Cale hadn’t flirted with her. She wasn’t the type of girl whom guys flirted with. Not like Noelle was.

  The waitress chose that moment to set their Belgian waffles in front of them, forcing Rachel to snap out of the trip down memory lane.

  “You don’t need to rescue me anymore,” she said as she selected the blueberry syrup and poured it over her plate. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Some people need to be rescued from themselves.” He’d jabbed his first bite of waffle but paused with it hovering over his plate, dripping maple syrup, to send her a penetrating gaze.

  “Me?”

  “No.” He straightened and popped the food into his mouth. “Course not. Just a general comment.”

  When she continued to stare at him, trying to discern whether it really was a general comment or an accusation, he shook his head.

  “Really, Rachel. Didn’t mean anything by it. The capable, competent Dr. Rachel Culver absolutely, positively doesn’t need to be rescued from herself.” He grinned and she found it hard to be annoyed. “As far as I know. I reserve the right to amend that statement at any time.”

  She couldn’t help laughing quietly, in spite of her fatigue, in spite of not wanting to let herself have a good time, as she shook her head.

  “So the benefit...” Cale said, switching gears so fast her head spun.

  “That again,” Rachel muttered, renewing her focus on her food.

  “I’m surprised your mom hasn’t roped you in yet.” He smiled and looked sympathetic as he said it, but there was sincerity behind the words.

  “Yeah. She tried. She’s...” Rachel shook her head, unsure what, exactly, she wanted to say. Unsure why she’d started saying anything about her mom.

  “She’s what? Probably happy as hell to have you back.”

  Rachel shook her head, staring off at nothing as she thought of the uncharacteristic distance between her and her mom these days. Happy was not the word she’d choose. It was as if her mom had lost her focus on the important things or something. “She’s changed. Noelle’s dea—” She shook her head again, unable, or maybe unwilling, to say the words. “My mom is just different now.”

  Cale studied her too hard as he continued to wolf down his breakfast. “It’s tough, all the way around. Some days, I wake up, and I don’t immediately think about it. About Noelle and what happened. And then, wham, it hits me, and for a minute, it’s like it’s new again.” He swallowed. Grasped his glass without taking a drink. “Going to these meetings for your mom’s benefit has made Noelle top of mind, and that’s not easy. I get that, Rachel. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Rachel was about to remind him that she was too overwhelmed with her job when he stuck his palm out toward her and nodded. “I know. New job and all that. You don’t have to defend yourself to me.”

  “I’m not being defensive,” she said, swirling her waffle through a puddle of syrup.

  “I know.” He flashed her another smile. “It’s cool. The event itself is going to be pretty amazing. Has your mom told you about it? That we got Tim Bowman?”

  “She did mention that.” Several times in her attempts to sway Rachel.

  Tim Bowman was the local boy turned rock star. He was a few years younger than Rachel, but San Amaro was a small place so she’d known of him vaguely before he’d hit it big. She had to admit it was a genius idea for a fundraiser.

  As Cale continued on about all the details, Rachel only heard a fraction of what he said. She was too busy reassuring herself to concentrate on the conversation.

  She’d only been in her job for a week. She’d taken on an extra shift already and planned to take as many more as she could get approved for. Her goal had always been to position herself well so that at the end of her three years at STGH, her résumé and her reputation would stand out. That was a tall order, but she specialized in tall orders. Always had.

  She was legitimately too busy to become involved in a huge volunteer event. Even if it was to memorialize her twin sister.

  She’d support it by going, but that was all she could give right now.

  As she pushed away her half-eaten breakfast, she forced herself to tune back into what Cale was saying. When he’d finished everything on his plate—and hers, after she’d offered it—she threw enough cash on the table to cover both their meals and a tip. And then she wasted no time getting out of there, away from Cale’s penetrating eyes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  RACHEL HAD BEEN back on San Amaro Island for just over a week, and already she was getting tired of waking up with Yoda staring her in the face instead of in her own bed. Especially considering the way-too-realistic figurine, and the headboard of the captain-style bed it was perched on, belonged to her thirty-six-year-old surgeon brother, Sawyer. Granted, he hadn’t lived here in their mom’s house since he’d gone off to college, but would it be so hard to pack away the decor? At least the pieces with eyeballs? Her mom hadn’t touched the bedroom Rachel and Noelle had shared, but that was different. Rachel wasn’t about to tackle that project, either. Which was why she started each day with the Wise Green One staring her in the face.

  The next thing she became aware of was an aroma teasing her nostrils. Food. Really good-smelling food. Her stomach rumbled automatically and she registered that it was empty. The Belgian waffle from this morning, with Cale, was history. How the heck long had she been sleeping? She drowsily checked her watch then sprang upright. Double-checking the digital clock on the headboard shelf, just inches from Yoda himself, she verified it was after 6:00 p.m. She’d collapsed in bed at 9:47 a.m. and had been asleep moments later. Eight hours straight of sleep? She wasn’t even sure she’d moved at all during that time.

  Unheard of. And, in her mind, unforgivable. Who had time to lie around all day?

  She had reading she wanted to catch up on, and she needed to check in to see how one of her patients from last night had fared. But first...food.

  Who the heck was cooking? Nowadays in the Culver house, waking up to a home-cooked meal was like waking up on a different planet. Noelle had been the cook in the family—the o
nly one. Rachel’s sister had taught herself the skill when they were twelve, probably out of self-preservation. Prior to that, fried chicken from a box and bright orange mac and cheese had been status quo. Since Noelle’s death, as far as Rachel knew, the kitchen had been rarely used.

  She ignored the pang in her chest at the thought of her sister, the feeling that she should be able to walk down the stairs to the kitchen and see her twin slaving over the stove as she hummed an off-key tune.

  She frowned when she did, in fact, enter the kitchen to find her mother clearing the counter of what appeared to be a full meal—some kind of pork chop dish with onion slices on top, broccoli with cheese sauce and a potato casserole.

  “You’re up,” Jackie Culver said with a smile. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I meant to be up hours ago. What’s going on here?” Rachel indicated the kitchen with a sweeping gesture.

  “I’ve kept some warm for you, sweetie.” Her mom opened the microwave and took out a plate of food.

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “What do you mean where did it come from?”

  “It’s... You don’t cook.”

  Her mom laughed as she scooped the remaining broccoli into a storage bowl. “I learned. I try to cook three or four nights a week. It’s just been an unusual week since you got home and this was my first opportunity.”

  “And you let me sleep through it.” There was no accusation in Rachel’s voice, just an observation. She was kicking herself for not setting her alarm, frankly, but not because she was worried about missing any meals.

  “You apparently needed it. You worked a double shift?”

  Rachel nodded and sat down at the table, salivating at the plate of food her mom set in front of her. She popped a piece of cheesy broccoli in her mouth. Her mom sat across from her. Perplexed, she stared at her mom as she chewed.

  “Do I have food on my face?” Jackie asked, touching her fingers to the corners of her mouth.