Night Call

by Radclyffe

  Now she was so keyed up she felt sick, and sleep was the last thing she wanted. If she were a drinker, she’d go home and open a bottle of aged Burgundy, but even though her internal clock was upside down, she didn’t want a drink. If she had a girlfriend waiting for her, she’d break speed limits to get home and entice her lover into being late for work. Sex always took the edge off her post-call nerves. But if she wanted something quick and easy, she’d have to start calling her sometimes-girlfriends, and the chance of catching any of them at this time of day was unlikely.

  She thought back to the woman she’d recently spent the night with—well, part of the night before she’d been called back to Philadelphia. Meg. Meg provided sex for money. The concept wasn’t all that strange to Tristan, particularly at the moment. Being able to release the energy that raged along her nerve endings at the same time as she obliterated the images of a devastated body from her mind was something she’d gladly pay for. The problem was, she didn’t know where to go or how to go about it. In Las Vegas anything was possible. Unfortunately, Vegas was a long ways away.

  She was so busy thinking about Meg, and how it felt to be completely powerless while Meg took her pleasure, she almost walked into the very nice ass bent over the front of a beat-up Jeep that looked like it had been to hell and back, recently.

  “Jesus, sorry,” Tristan blurted.

  A slender woman with thick, sandy hair and midnight blue eyes regarded her without expression. At second glance, she wasn’t so much slender as wiry. Her arms, bare below the rolled-up sleeves of her blue shirt, were deeply tanned and corded with muscle. Her hands were flat and broad, her fingers almost blunt with short, neatly trimmed nails. She stood, shoulders squared, her wide full lips compressed into a tight line as she observed Tristan wordlessly.

  “Car won’t start?” Tristan asked.

  “It will, eventually.”

  Tristan probably should have kept going, because the woman obviously wasn’t interested in conversation. But she didn’t want to climb into her car alone and go home alone and get into bed alone. She didn’t want to be alone, not just yet. The night’s tragedies, and rare triumph, were too fresh in her mind. So, still pumped up, still wired, and not inclined to be brushed off, she stood her ground. “Work in the OR?”

  “No.”

  “Cath Lab?”

  A head shake.

  “ER. No, I would’ve seen you down there.” Tristan held out her hand. “I’m Tristan Holmes. Anesthesia.”

  “I know.”

  The woman shook Tristan’s hand while Tristan waited for a name. For more information. For something she couldn’t even identify. As if finally remembering what was expected of her, the woman said, “I’m Jett McNally. I fly for Healthstar. I flew the run you were on earlier tonight—out to the turnpike.”

  “Oh, sorry,” Tristan said. “I didn’t recognize you without the helmet.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  “Some mess out there tonight.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many runs did you end up doing?”

  “Three.”

  Silence fell again. Tristan knew she should leave. But she didn’t have a good reason to, having nowhere to go, and no one waiting. And this pilot and she had something in common—they’d shared something meaningful without even knowing each other’s names—the patient they’d treated, the devastation they’d witnessed out on the turnpike, and maybe the aftermath of tragedy they’d helped avert. The pilot wasn’t anything at all like the women Tristan usually gravitated toward—the fun-loving, outgoing, sparkling kind of women who you could tell just from looking at them enjoyed a good time. This woman’s eyes were wary. Everything about her sent out “keep your distance” signals.

  Funny, Tristan thought, that she should meet two women in the course of just a few days’ time who telegraphed stay away, and really meant it. But she had persisted with Meg and those few hours had been more exciting, and more satisfying, than all the easy connections she’d had in the last few years. This pilot wasn’t actually running away, as Meg had at first. She didn’t need to. The barriers around her couldn’t have been more visible if they’d been constructed of stone, and Tristan couldn’t help but wonder what she might learn if she broke through them. She inclined her head toward the Jeep and the open hood. “You need a ride somewhere?”

  “No, I’m fine. Aren’t you just coming off shift?”

  “Yeah. Long night.”

  “You’re probably ready for some rack ti—you must be tired.”

  “I’m not. Are you?”

  “No.” Jett closed the hood and dusted off her hands before sliding them into the pockets of her loose, faded green fatigue pants. “Wide awake.”

  “Me too.” Tristan grinned. “My car’s over there. How about some breakfast?”

  Jett looked like she was going to refuse, and she glanced at the sky as if expecting something to appear. After a few seconds she met Tristan’s eyes. “Coffee would be good.”

  Chapter Four

  As she awoke, Honor was aware of three things. Her throat was very dry, a sharp pain lanced through her abdomen each time she took a breath, and wherever she was, it was very very quiet. Shouldn’t the delivery room be noisier? Why wasn’t the baby crying? God, the baby! She jerked and tried to sit up. A hand on her shoulder restrained her.

  “Hey, take it easy, sweetheart,” Quinn whispered. “Everything is okay.”

  Honor struggled to focus on Quinn’s face. “Where’s the baby?”

  “He’s in the nursery, all tucked up, nice and warm. He’s fine.”

  “Where am I?”

  “You’re in your room, on the maternity ward.”

  Honor frowned. “I don’t remember getting here.”

  “You’ve been asleep for a while.”

  “How long is a while?” Honor reached for Quinn’s hand and could barely raise her arm. She was more tired now than she’d been after twenty hours of unrelenting labor. “Baby, you look terrible. Is he really all right?”

  “Yes,” Quinn said immediately. “I wouldn’t keep something like that from you. You know that.” Quinn grinned. “He looks just like you.”

  Honor laughed, then stopped abruptly as her incision screamed in protest. “You can’t possibly know that. Babies are all generic at this age.”

  “He is not. He’s got your hair and your eyes. I think he’s got Arly’s chin, though.”

  “She’s going to love that. Be sure to tell her.”

  “I already did. Three times.”

  “Have you had any sleep at all?”

  “I’ve been taking naps,” Quinn said, but she looked away when she answered.

  “You are such a terrible liar,” Honor said.

  “Okay. I’ve been thinking about taking a nap.” Quinn leaned over and kissed Honor on the forehead. “How are you feeling? Sore?”

  “A little. I’m so angry about needing this damn C-section. I didn’t have any problem with Arly.”

  “Well, it was hardly your fault,” Quinn said gently. “Deb thought the head became disengaged during labor and shifted out of the birth canal. That’s why you couldn’t deliver him vaginally.”

  “At least it’s not the way it used to be. A C-section doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll need one the next time. If we have another one.” Honor laughed and gripped Quinn’s hand harder. “If you don’t lose your mind the first couple of years. You had it easy coming on board when Arly was eight.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m up for it,” Quinn said, her voice rough.

  Honor studied her, then shifted over, moving slowly and carefully. She patted the bed beside her. “Sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

  When Quinn looked like she was going to protest, Honor said, “Please, Quinn.”

  Sighing, Quinn settled on the edge of the bed and leaned over, her arm on the far side of Honor’s hips. She was careful not to put any weight on Honor’s body. “You had a lot of bleeding after the baby was delivere
d.”

  “How much bleeding?” Honor kept her voice steady but she knew Quinn could feel her trembling.

  “Five units’ worth.”

  “God.” Honor closed her eyes for a second. “Did I get blood?”

  Quinn nodded.

  “What about Hep C or HIV? Quinn, am I going to be able to nurse?”

  “We used the two units you had banked and made up the difference with saline. They’re crossing a unit from me against yours right now.” Quinn caressed Honor’s hip. “I should be ready to give you another unit in a few days, but you’re going to be light-headed if you try to get out of bed right away, no matter what.”

  “But I can breastfeed?”

  “Yes. Deb wasn’t happy about not giving you more blood, but I knew how much you wanted to nurse the baby.”

  “Thank you.” Honor kissed Quinn’s fingers. “I’m glad you were there.”

  When Quinn didn’t answer, Honor got a sinking feeling in her stomach. “There’s more you’re not telling me.”

  “No,” Quinn said. “I’m glad I was there too.”

  “But something else happened.”

  Quinn sighed. “Listen, they’re going to bring the baby in soon. All that matters is that he’s fine and you’re fine.”

  “Do you really think that’s going to work?”

  “Not really. But I thought you might be tired enough that I could sneak it by you.”

  “You’re the one who’s really tired if you believe that,” Honor said with a weary smile. “So give me the rest of it.”

  “Tristan did a great job of stabilizing you while all this was going on, but you were bleeding pretty heavily. Deb thought you needed a hysterectomy.”

  Honor caught her breath. “Oh, Quinn.”

  “No! No, Honor.” Quinn leaned down, cupping Honor’s face with one hand. “We didn’t do it. She was just about to. I…I told her to go ahead. Then the bleeding just stopped.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, Honor.”

  “Baby,” Honor whispered. She threaded her fingers through Quinn’s hair and stroked her neck. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about. You made the right decision. I’m glad Deb didn’t need to do it, but if she had, it would have been okay. The most important thing is being with you.” Quinn turned her face away, but not before Honor saw her tears. “Lie down next to me.”

  “Honor, I’ll hurt you,” Quinn said, her voice raspy.

  “You could never hurt me. And I need you. Just for a minute. Please.”

  Quinn stretched out on her side on top of the covers. Honor stroked her face as Quinn buried her face in the curve of Honor’s neck. “I love you so much. I was afraid…”

  “It’s all right,” Honor soothed. She knew firsthand the agony of having love wrenched from her grasp. She didn’t want Quinn to feel one moment of that pain. “I’m right here, and everything is all right.”

  “I can’t even imagine being without you,” Quinn gasped. “I don’t know how you…”

  Honor knew what Quinn didn’t want to say. They had talked about Terry, the love Honor had lost, many times, and each time they talked about her, Honor’s pain lessened. She would never get over the pain of losing her, but the agony of living without her diminished with each day she spent loving and being loved by Quinn. Honor loved Quinn even more because Quinn suffered for her loss, even though Honor didn’t want her to. “You don’t have to think about it, baby, because I’m here with you. And I hope you never have to think about it.” She kissed the top of Quinn’s head. “But you would have Arly, like I did, and for a while that would be enough reason to go on. And now you’ll have…what’s-his-name too.”

  Quinn laughed and sat up, rubbing her tears away with the bottom of her scrub shirt.

  “If you think I’m too weak to notice that you don’t have anything on underneath that shirt, pull it up again and see what happens to you,” Honor said. When Quinn wasn’t coaching softball or soccer or some other sport, she was working out at the gym, and her body was beautiful. Honor constantly found herself turning around in the morning and catching a glimpse of Quinn naked, and being suddenly overcome by a wave of unmitigated lust. It was a wonderful thing to experience after countless mornings of waking beside her.

  “Maybe I should take my shirt off altogether before I tell you what I did,” Quinn said.

  “Trying to distract me?”

  Quinn nodded.

  Honor shook her head. “It won’t work. I can do two things at once, and even though it’s hard for me to think when I’m looking at you naked, I’ll manage.”

  “I let Arly pick the baby’s name.”

  “Say that again.”

  “She was really excited, and I could tell that she felt left out, and…”

  “Oh my God,” Honor whispered, imagining calling her son Beavis or SpongeBob or something equally horrifying for the rest of his days. Of course, they hadn’t signed a birth certificate yet, so there was still time to change things. But Arly would be so upset.

  “She picked Jack.”

  “Jack?” Honor asked quietly.

  Quinn nodded.

  “Jack was Terry’s father’s name.”

  “I know. When Arly picked her grandfather’s name, Phyllis cried.”

  “Oh, Quinn,” Honor said. “We talked about naming him after your father if it was a boy.”

  “Phyllis is Arly’s grandmother and a big part of the family,” Quinn said. “We wouldn’t make it a week without her. I think naming our son Jack is just fine. If my father is upset, which he won’t be, we can just have another one.”

  Honor started to cry, something she never did. But she didn’t mind the tears, because all she felt was happy. “That’s easy for you to say.”

  Quinn leaned down and kissed her. “I love you. What do you say I go get Jack?”

  “Yes, but hurry back. I already miss you.”

  *

  Jett watched Tristan out of the corner of her eye as Tristan drove, trying to figure out what it was about her that had made her say yes to an offer from a virtual stranger. It wasn’t as if she longed for company. She didn’t. She had an apartment in a sprawling complex on Lincoln Drive, where she could go for days, even weeks, without speaking to anyone and not minding. When she arrived home after her shift, she was usually too wound up to sleep right away, but she’d gotten used to that after spending months in the desert where sleep was something to be squeezed in between flights, if the heat wasn’t too bad and she could actually stay inside a tent for an hour or two. She’d learned to stay awake, running on adrenaline and caffeine and nerves. Unlike some of her fellow soldiers, she avoided drugs except for a drink now and then, and even that she monitored. Her father had been a mean drunk, and she’d often borne the brunt of his discontent. She wasn’t going to be like him, even if she did sometimes have to ride the whirlwind of her own wild temperament with nothing to blunt its force. If she was careful, if she kept tight control, she’d be fine.

  In the Army there was always more work. Now when she had to take time off and she couldn’t sleep and she couldn’t shut off the pictures in her head, she restored antique timepieces. She preferred watches because the mechanisms were so small that she had to focus all her energy on manipulating the tiny parts. She couldn’t think about anything else then—not about where she’d been, or where she was going, or what she’d lost.

  Flying was the same. Her aircraft, her crew, and her passengers required every bit of her concentration, and while she was flying, she had no past and no future. Only the now. No memories to expunge, no dreams to discard. In between flights, she waited for those moments to come again.

  Maybe she’d said yes to this adventure because Tristan hadn’t been put off by her shields. Even now, Tristan seemed content to drive and allow silence to fall between them. Jett was grateful for that. She wasn’t any good at small talk. She had never understood the point of discussing things that had no meaning, and now, other than her job, nothing much had meaning for
her. She wondered what would happen when the silence no longer protected her.

  Tristan turned right onto School House Lane. She rented the second floor of an old Victorian, half a block down the street from Honor and Quinn. Quinn had actually found the listing for her right after Tristan had accepted the position at PMC. She hadn’t had time to take Quinn up on her offer of dinner at Quinn and Honor’s home, even though they were practically next-door neighbors. But she had agreed to help Quinn coach a soccer team. That seemed like the least she could do to say thanks for all Quinn’s help. The fields where she was due to start coaching soccer in another week were a quarter of a mile in the other direction. Despite being within the city limits, the residential area had an old-fashioned neighborhood feel to it. She recognized the cars parked on her street, and the kids who ran up and down the sidewalk in the late afternoon, and the women carrying shopping bags back from the Super Fresh, and the guys with six-packs tucked under their arms. The working-class neighborhood was nothing like the enclave where she’d been raised, with manicured lawns and circular drives guarded by stone animals. She liked it much better where she was now.

  “This is it,” Tristan said as she pulled into the curb in front of the sprawling three-story white structure with a wide front porch at the end of a flagstone walkway.

  Jett looked out her window and frowned. “This looks like your house.”

  “Yes.” Tristan turned off the engine and pulled her keys from the ignition. “I’ve got coffee and some frozen coffee cake. Hungry?”