by Lexy Timms
They looked at each other. Elena’s smile broke free, though she covered her mouth immediately.
“Why, Doctor?” Tina piped up, “You’re not a surgeon.” The confusion was plain on her face.
“Dr. Brant said we should let you sleep,” Elena said pertly, and just barely held a straight face.
Great, Mel thought. Wonderful. They know we slept together. Not that she really should be surprised. Small place, easy gossip. And they hadn’t exactly been very quiet in her office last night, or during their fights, or… She shook her head. It didn’t matter. She had bigger things to focus on.
Mel tapped the counter and straightened, somehow managing to take a deep breath and calm herself before she did something stupid. Or stupider, as the case might very well be. She asked for updates on the few patients left from the accident and started her rounds. Elena went with her. The third time Mel dropped the clipboard, Elena gently took it from her and handled the information.
“Doctor,” she said with a smile between patients, “remember you were so upset we couldn’t afford the iPads? Maybe it’s a good thing, as they’d all be broken today.”
Mel colored a bit. “Well, I’m slightly…distracted. I would have liked to observe the procedure.”
“To see it done, or to see Dr. Brant do it?” Elena teased, and hid her smile behind the much- abused clipboard.
“I’ve not seen that surgery before, that’s all,” Mel replied haughtily. “It’s a professional curiosity.”
“Yes, Doctor,” Elena said, but the board remained in front of her smile.
“Fine.” Mel sighed. She could go in to watch, but suddenly she felt shy. What if he got mad? What if he didn’t want her in there? What if he regretted last night? She doubted he did…but what if? “I see you have things well in hand here. I’ll be in the office, just…call when they’re done.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
* * *
“Nice work, Dr. Layton.”
“Thank you.” Brant glanced over to the dentist. “What do you make of his bite?”
“Well, the gap wasn’t huge.” The dentist leaned over Brant’s hands and blocked the light. “I would say that he’s probably going to lose those baby teeth, and his permanent set should come in quite nicely.”
“Do you mind leaning back, Doctor?” Brant prompted, as the dentist hovered in such a way that it was impossible to see in order to proceed.
“Of course, of course.” The dentist nodded and stepped back just enough to get out of the way and no further. “Of course, I’m not actually an oral surgeon…” He chuckled in what Brant could only assume was a manner to make him seem humble.
It wasn’t working.
“I would’ve thought an oral surgeon would be more appropriate,” Brant said, trying not to let his frustration show.
“Oh, yes.” The man was oblivious to any slight. “Indeed. Of course, there are none in Belize. Well, that’s not true, the capital is festooned with them, they’re falling out of trees…”
“Joseph, hand me that scalpel,” Brant said, his concentration back on his work. It didn’t seem to slow the other man at all.
“…but none of them are going to come here any time soon.” He wheezed into a chuckle, proving that he could find ways to annoy even when he wasn’t in close proximity.
“How’s he doing?” Brant asked the anesthesiologist, more worried about his patient than petty annoyances.
“Very well,” the man said without looking up from his dials.
“Mind you,” the dentist continued, “if any of them knew about that nice piece that runs the place, they’d all be down in a cold minute. If there is a cold minute in this place.” He sniffed importantly.
“Can you explain that remark, Doctor?” Brant said through gritted teeth, trying to not let his rising anger translate to the delicate operation.
“Please, just call me Stanley. I only mean that the doctor here, she’s a fair piece, and from what I hear a real ball-buster, too. Still, you don’t have to get in the game to enjoy watching, do you?”
Brant looked over at the gas-passer, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I see…” Brant said, more to steady himself than continue the conversation.
“Still, wouldn’t mind getting in there, if you know what I mean. She might not be a good doctor, but I’m willing to bet she has other talents.”
That does it…
“I think she’s very good at what she does,” Brant said in a growl.
Stanley clearly didn’t understand the warning.
“Well, I suppose, but if she was good she’d be in the States where she belongs, pulling down good money. I mean, you’ve got a reputation, Dr. Layton. May I call you Brant?” He didn’t wait for permission. “Anyway, Brant, we all know you’re a hot-shot at what you do, but you’re only here on a lark, aren’t you? A month or two and you’re back in the U.S. with a good story and feeling better about yourself. On the other hand, she’ll still be here.”
Brant looked over at Joseph. His usual sunny disposition was gone; his face looked like it had been carved of stone.
“Just as well,” Stanley went on, oblivious and clearly stupid. “With you here, none of us would stand a shot, would we?” He chuckled and went to chuck Brant’s arm. He realized that the surgery was still going on, pulling back just in time. He stepped back and placed his hands behind his back and rocked from heel to toe. “Once you’re gone, us regular Joes have a shot again, isn’t that right, Richard?”
The anesthesiologist waved in reply but didn’t look up.
“I think she’d be very flexible, don’t you? I wonder that she hasn’t already thrown in her lot with a professional man like yourself, there, Brant.”
I’m gonna kill him. Who the hell does he think he is? Brant took a deep breath. Checked the sutures, and stepped back with a glance at Joseph that held layers of meaning. “And we’re done. Joseph, are you able to finish up here? Just gauze and bandage.”
“Of course, Doctor,” Joseph said, but the look he gave was not directed at Brant. Apparently he agreed with Brant’s line of thinking, because his glare just about burned a hole through the dentist’s forehead.
“I’m staying while the little guy wakes up,” the gas-man said, and refused to look at anything other than his dials.
“Doct—Stanley.” Brant smiled and wrapped an arm around the other man, gloves leaving a smear of blood and saliva on his shoulder. “May I consult with you? You have training I need to tap into. Would you mind stepping outside with me for a moment?”
“I’d be honored to help a man of your caliber. Indeed, I would.” Stanley smiled, showing several rotting teeth. Ironic for a dentist.
Brant strolled out of the clinic into the warm late afternoon.
It was the moment his life was about to change. He almost missed it, though. He was concentrating on connecting his fist with a certain dentist’s nose.
Chapter 16
Mel was knee-deep in the sort of paperwork that seemed to replicate itself. None of it made sense, none of it seemed to be connected to the clinic or her or the staff, but it was always there. And it always needed to be done. Unfortunately, her ability to concentrate had disappeared somewhere in the night. Or maybe it was down the hallway where a certain surgery was being performed.
Clock-watching became a habit. The hands on the battered desk clock never moved. It took a while to figure out that the battery had died at some point, and that no one had thought to replace it. When was the last time she’d actually looked at a clock? She was in Belize, for heaven’s sake!
At least the search for a battery kept her occupied for some time. She emptied her desk drawer out onto the surface of the desk, and was hunting around when a strange sound came through the door from the driveway. Her head came up as she tried to identify it. Patient arriving? No…something different.
She checked her wristwatch, something she should’ve done in the first place. The surgery had gone on for hours and no o
ne had come to tell her it was over. Really?
She rose, moving into the hospital proper but no one seemed to be around except the ever- vigilant Carmen. Frowning a little, she moved to the doorway just as two of the resort’s over-blown golf carts pulled up outside. Beside the drivers, there were three people organized between the two vehicles, all impeccably dressed. Each one looking like they had just stepped from a men’s fashion magazine.
They couldn’t be patients; the resort would have called for a visitation, and they certainly didn’t act like they needed emergency medical care. In fact, every one of them looked to be in the prime of good health, none of them over 40, all laughing and talking like they’d just escaped from the golf links. However, they carried themselves professionally.
One of them, in a dark blue shirt and gray pants and shoes similar to the pair Brant had ruined in the jungle, jumped from the cart and strode up to her, boyish charm oozing from him in waves.
“Hello! Can I assume you’re Dr. Bell?” he asked, holding out his hand. The kindness in his eyes told her he was respectful, and the accent let her know he was from Australia or New Zealand or something.
“I am.” Melissa took it and returned the handshake.
“I’m Elijah Bennet. Dr. Elijah Bennet down from New York. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m here to see Dr. Brant Layton.”
Mel opened her mouth to reply that she thought he was still in surgery, when she heard it again, that strange noise that her mind now as someone else in the courtyard.
Mel half-turned toward disturbance, almost as if she knew that it had to be something bad. That quiet click of the door earlier, as though someone had been moving quietly, so as to not alert her.
Brant.
He hadn’t seen her yet. Neither had the dentist. But something was up, the way Brant was walking along with his arm companionably around a rather plump looking fellow in surgical scrubs. She lifted her hand and opened her mouth to tell Dr. Bennet that he was over there. She hesitated, with that strange foreknowledge that something was going to happen, something she probably wasn’t going to like.
Brant would never walk this way with a man he so obviously disliked. It was written all over his face.
Yet a part of her told her that she ought to say something, but before she could so much as inhale for the breath to speak Brant laid out the round fellow with a roundhouse punch that left her wincing in sympathy. Though for whom she couldn’t say as the plump fellow let out a mighty howl, and there was Brant, holding his right hand as if it pained him. Apparently, sucker-punching someone hurt like the dickens.
Yet still she had the presence of mind to think that it was a good thing the surgery was over and done with, because holding a scalpel was going to hurt like hell for a few days.
If he hadn’t broken his hand on that other guy’s jaw.
“Brant?” Elijah called, rather nonplussed given that he’d just witnessed his friend decking a perfect stranger. “You okay?”
Brant turned, his entire face lighting up. That smile was not the careful, charming smile he’d worn since he’d arrived. No, this was a bright, warm smile that lit up the jungle. “Elijah? Simon? Grant!” He jogged over and greeted each one individually with a hug and handshake. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
“We received your mayday through Margery,” Elijah explained with a shrug, his own smile equally affable. “As soon as we found out you were in trouble, we came rushing to your aid.”
“Not that the trip was exactly difficult,” Simon added with a wry snicker. “Nice resort out here, even if the clientele is a little old for bikinis.”
“You can only hope,” Grant added.
“I do.” Simon laughed, then turned his attention back to Brant and clapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t know how you found yourself in this rat’s nest, but we’ve sprung you. You’re free!”
Brant looked from one to the next. “What’re you talking about?”
Grant stepped in. “It was pointed out by a rather prominent attorney that any such contract as the one you signed is not valid if the signee—”
“That’s you,” Simon added, pointing to Brant.
“—Signs the document under the influence.”
“And damn, you were under the influence,” Elijah interjected with a chuckle. “Sorry, mate. We’d have never let you out of our sight had we known this was going to happen.”
Grant pressed on gamely, but shot a look to his companions, “… Therefore rendering any fines null and void and your term of service is up. You’re free to go.” He shook some papers in the air. “I’ve got the documentation to prove it.”
Elijah glanced around. “You’ve got your hands full here, Dr. Bell. I commend you on the clinic.”
Brant stared at them, rubbing his sore hand, and for the first time seemed rather at a loss for words. Finally, he seemed to realize that Mel was standing right there and turned to her, his mouth opening and closing, looking rather like the fish that swam in her pool.
In that instant, Mel pitied him. He’d never wanted to come here after all. What right did she have to bind him to an agreement he’d never intended to sign in the first place? He’d done his job, he’d bettered the life of that poor baby with the cleft palate, and had helped with the bus emergency. If she was honest with herself, she and Joseph could manage until their wandering doctor came back.
“Congratulations,” she said, smiling as brightly as she could, though she was choking back tears. “You got everything you wanted.” Then she spun on her heel and left before he could see her crying.
The fast walk to her office seemed to take forever. Mel slammed and locked the office door, cursing. All his talk about her, getting her to open up, all the bullshit was nothing more than to get into her pants, to seduce her, to make her vulnerable to him.
This was REAL, damn it. To me all of this was real.
There was a pounding on the door but she ignored it, ignored too when he called her name. After a while, twenty minutes, maybe more, maybe less, the noise stopped and she sat there in the gathering darkness, staring at nothing. Numbly, she wondered if she should check if the dentist was still lying out on the grass.
She was sure that if she moved, the numbness would go away. She couldn’t move, though, didn’t dare. And so she sat as time passed, though the hands on the clock never moved once, and all the debris from her drawer spread on her desk held no answers no matter how long she stared at it. Though she spotted a package of batteries half-buried under a sheet of paper, even that failed to stir her to action, and finally she heard the resort cars start and move off, headlights piercing the darkness.
And just like that, he’s gone.
She was starting to wish for a drink, she who hadn’t had a drop of the stuff since the accident so long ago. But, tonight, she needed it.
Men like that get what they want. She leaned back carefully, trying to not let go of the lassitude that kept her emotions a distant ache. And what did you want? she demanded of the voice in her head. What did you want? A beautiful man, rich, intelligent, skilled surgeon who falls madly in love with you? You got it. Sure, it sucks to give it up, but for a day, you had something sorta special.
Another knock startled her. It was a tenuous, apologetic knock. “Dr. Bell?” Joseph called through the door, his tone apologetic. Tentative. “I’m leaving something for you here.” There came a pause. A hesitation. “Goodnight, Doc. I’ll be back to check on the baby, but he’s doing fine. The little guy’s a really fighter. He’s going to be just fine.”
In the silence that followed, Melissa rose and went to the door. A bottle of Jack Daniels stood sentry on the top step.
She stood, leaning against the doorjamb, staring at the bottle. It was like looking through a long tunnel that stretched through time. Hadn’t she wished for this very thing? But this step…it wasn’t one she wanted to take. Not truly. A bottle of this nature was here for drunkenness. For pain relief.
He’s gone, a
voice in her head said sweetly. It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. You’ve got no place to go. You won’t be in a vehicle. No one needs you tonight. That single phrase echoed, taking on different meanings. Ominous meanings. No one needs you tonight. No one needs you. No one.
The gnats sang in her ears, played in her hair, but she remained fixated on the bottle. Joseph meant well. It was the way of things in Belize, in this part of the country, anyway. Alcohol could make you forget—for a night. Alcohol could make the pain go away. It didn’t matter if it came back twice as strong tomorrow. Tomorrow could take care of itself.
Slowly, Melissa closed the door. Let the gnats have it. Let the jungle have it.
Tomorrow would come. More patients would come. And they would need her.
Tomorrow would be a new start. Tomorrow, she’d be needed again.
She slept in her chair, alone in the office, with a blanket left on the floor from the night before.
A bottle of whisky outside the door, marking a line not to be crossed.
* * *
She awoke with a start when a knock on the door sounded.
It was already morning, and she’d stiffened up in the chair all night. She couldn’t get up, not fast enough to get the door.
“Come in!” she called, and tried to at least sit upright and look professional. It was a neat trick considering her hair had to be everywhere, she’d been in the same scrubs since yesterday, and couldn’t even remember the last time she’d showered. She had showered yesterday, right?
“Are you Dr. Bell?” A tall blond man wearing a suit that probably cost as much as the clinic walked into the office. He was wiping his forehead with a rather wet handkerchief. It was no wonder, wearing a suit in this heat. She studied the flushed condition of his face and considered having one of the nurses prep a space for a case of heat exhaustion.
Despite the poor choice in clothing, he was a tall and good-looking man, about 40. Another of Brant’s cronies, no doubt. He certainly matched the set from yesterday, just more tailored than that particular crew.
