by Gina Wilkins
She groaned into her palms.
Liam walked around the table and placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling the knotted tension there. He began to rub slowly against the taut muscles, pressing his thumbs into her skin until she gave another little moan, this one of pleasure. With satisfaction, he felt her shoulders relax beneath his ministrations.
“That feels good,” she murmured, arching like a purring cat into his palms.
He pressed a little harder against one stubborn knot, eliciting a sound that was half aah, half ouch. “How often do you panic like that?”
Sighing ruefully, she admitted, “At least once a day.”
“That can’t be good for you.”
“I’m dealing with it.”
“I’ve been doing a little research on stress in medical students.”
She looked over her shoulder with a lifted eyebrow. “You have? Since when?”
“I did some computer searches yesterday while you were with your study group. Burnout in the latter part of the second year is very common.”
“I’m not burned out,” she said immediately, defensively. “It’s just difficult to get through all the material.”
He didn’t respond directly to her denial. “Medical students tend to be overachievers, you know. Most were top of their class in high school and college, and it’s a shock for some to be among evenly matched classmates. Students who were accustomed to being ranked among the top ten percent or higher are suddenly faced with being in the middle of their class—or even lower. That’s a serious blow to the ego.”
“I’m still in the top ten percent of my class.” Her defensiveness seemed to be increasing as he spoke.
“That’s great. But you know the old joke. What do they call the student who graduates lowest in his medical school class? Doctor.”
He could feel her muscles start to tighten again. “I have to stay high in my class rankings to get into the most competitive surgical residencies.”
“You haven’t even started rotations yet. How do you know surgery is what you want to do?” He’d never thought she’d shown any real enthusiasm for that highly demanding specialty. He suspected her family of surgeons had heavily influenced her decision. “Maybe you’ll like pediatrics. Or family practice. Or dermatology or psychiatry. Shouldn’t you keep an open mind at this point?”
“I’ve always intended to be a surgeon. I’m considering neurosurgery,” she added somewhat defiantly.
Which would add years to her training, he mused grimly. But wouldn’t that impress Daddy?
He didn’t point out that she said she’d always intended to be a surgeon. Not that she had always wanted to be. Maybe this wasn’t the right time for this particular conversation.
Sensing his massage was no longer effective, Liam returned to his own seat and glanced down at the sheet of sample questions. “What are the two basic clinical presentations of shigellosis?”
Looking relieved the personal conversation was over, she seized on the question, answering with a renewed confidence. He wondered how much of that was feigned. It bothered him that she wouldn’t allow herself to talk about her fears and doubts even with him. Her demanding, perfectionist family had really done a number on her, he thought with a slight shake of his head.
He had probably come as close as anyone to breaking through Anne’s deeply ingrained Easton reserve. Yet he was aware there was still a part of herself she hadn’t allowed even him to see. He wondered if he ever would—and if he would ever be completely satisfied with not having all of her.
Anne had been studying on her own for another three hours, after she’d convinced Liam to stop quizzing her and go concentrate on his own work, when her telephone interrupted her. Recognizing the ring tone she had assigned to her mother, she answered without glancing at the ID screen. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
She pushed away the notebook in which she’d been scribbling key words for sequences she needed to remember. “I need a break, anyway. What’s going on?”
“Nothing in particular. I just wanted to say hello.”
“I’m glad you called. How was church this morning?”
“Very nice. Jenny Patterson was there. She said to tell you hello. Said she hasn’t seen you in months.”
“I should give her a call sometime. I’m afraid I’ve lost touch with a lot of my old friends.”
“That’s understandable. I told her you’ve been very busy. She said she understood. She’s pregnant again. Did you know?”
“Again? Didn’t she just have a baby?”
“Their little Anthony is a year old now. He’ll be almost two when the next one comes along. Close together, of course, but Jenny said they planned it this way.”
Several of her friends from high school were either expecting or already had children now, Anne mused. She couldn’t imagine being responsible for a child yet. Nor could she envision a time in the next ten years or so when she would be in a position to become a mother.
“Annie, where do you—”
Holding the phone closer to her ear, she motioned frantically to Liam to be quiet when he entered the room talking. He grimaced when he saw the phone in her hand, and mouthed an apology, freezing rather humorously in midstep.
“Anne? Did I hear someone speak? Is your study group meeting there this afternoon? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything, Mom. I told you, I was ready for a break.” She didn’t specifically lie about her study group, she told herself, though she was aware that choosing not to correct her mother’s mistaken assumption was a deception in itself. “I always enjoy hearing from you. You know that.”
“I’ll let you get back to your studies.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Thanks for calling.”
“I’m sorry,” Liam said as soon as she set her phone aside. “I didn’t know you were on the phone.”
“It’s okay. That was my mom. She thinks you’re one of my study group. I didn’t bother to correct her.”
“I did study with you earlier. So it wasn’t entirely a lie.”
She made a face at him. “Nice rationalization. Did you need something?”
“Oh. Yeah. Do you have any extra file folders lying around? I’m trying to get organized before I dive into the revisions.”
She was beginning to wonder if there was a reason he kept procrastinating about those revisions. “There’s a whole box of folders on the top shelf of the office closet. Far right corner. Help yourself.”
“Thanks. And sorry again about the call. I’ll be more careful in the future.”
“Good idea. This situation is tricky enough.”
“Don’t worry, Annie. I promised I wouldn’t blow our secret by staying here, and I’ll keep my word.”
“I know.” She reached for her notes again. “Let me know if you have any trouble finding those folders.”
“I will. Thanks.”
Left alone with her books again, Anne gazed into the distance for a few moments before returning to work. Liam had seemed genuinely concerned he’d blundered into her chat with her mother. He’d always assured her he was no more anxious than she was to have their marriage discovered, by her family or by anyone else.
He’d admitted being seen as single was advantageous to his career. Producers were less hesitant to send him into potentially risky situations, celebrity magazines found him more intriguing and he didn’t have to bother with answering questions about his wife or their unusual living arrangements. She had always secretly worried that he liked being thought of as single for other reasons, but she refused to dwell on those concerns now or at any other time.
They’d had vague plans to announce the marriage once Anne had a chance to prepare her family for the news. A month or two at the most, they’d agreed. They’d been prepared to spend most of their time apart for the first few years, but they hadn’t really expected to keep the secre
t this long. Her mother’s stroke had changed those plans. Anne just hadn’t had the heart to upset the family even more at that time, and Liam had agreed—maybe a bit too quickly?—there was no need to go public anytime soon.
Just about the time when Anne had thought she couldn’t maintain the lie any longer, her mother had suffered a setback. So, here they were, a year and a half into their marriage and still living a lie. It was no way to maintain a marriage, especially when combined with the long periods of separation. Their phone calls had been less frequent, their lives so different, so very separate.
She had tried to brace herself for the time when Liam confessed he had grown tired of the pretense—or worse, that he had met someone else. She had chided herself for not having more faith in him—in them—but the fears had lingered regardless. When she tried to look into the future, it was growing harder and harder to see them settled down together somewhere with the traditional picket fence and retirement plan.
Maybe this time together would reinvigorate their relationship. Or maybe it would show them once and for all they’d made an impetuous mistake on that beautiful summer day in Scotland.
The patient lay on the examination table in front of Anne and the other three medical students in her ICM group Monday morning, his thin body covered by a hospital gown, a tolerant smile on his lined face. He smiled at them all as they finished their lesson about his condition, Crohn’s disease.
“Thank you, Mr. Dalrymple.” She shook his hand, as did the other students, all thanking him for making himself available to them.
The patients they saw in ICM were volunteers. During the first year, they had seen actors who taught the physical exams; this year, her patients had real ailments, giving the students a chance to see for themselves the physical characteristics of the maladies.
Anne thought she was getting pretty good at taking patient histories and doing a preliminary checkup, but she was still a little shaky with some of the more detailed exams. Second-year students spent so much time in class every day there was little chance for patient interaction. Her only real-world medical experience that year came from shadowing her preceptor, a surgical mentor who’d been assigned to her at the beginning of the school year, and whom she’d followed into the operating room three times since. She didn’t actually get to do much during those days, but she was allowed to scrub in and observe closely. Dr. Burkhaven had even let her put in a few sutures the last time, which had been both scary and exciting.
She looked forward to third year. Step 1 would be behind her and she would rotate through several different medical specialties. She knew the hours would be long and her performance would be judged critically by the mentors in each area, but at least she would be seeing real patients, not sitting at a desk listening to seemingly endless lectures.
As they had agreed earlier, she met Haley in the cafeteria at just after noon. Both still wore their short white coats over professional clothing. The pockets of the hip-length student coats bulged with examination tools, note cards and pens.
Sitting at a small table with their salads, they had to raise their voices a bit to be heard over the noise in the large dining room. Employees and visitors milled around the room and sat at other tables, talking and laughing, some almost shouting into cell phones. Trays and silverware clattered on a conveyor belt that ran across the back of the room, moving dirty dishes into the kitchen for washing.
A pregnant woman sat at the table next to Anne and Haley, talking emotionally to an older woman who could be her mother. Anne tried not to eavesdrop, but it was hard not to overhear snippets of their conversation—apparently, the younger woman was experiencing difficulties and had been told she would have to undergo a C-section the following week, a bit earlier in the pregnancy than she or her doctors would have liked.
Anne would have liked to know what those complications were, but she refused to allow herself to blatantly listen in. She concentrated on her friend instead.
Haley had been telling her about the man she had met at a friend’s house the evening before. “So, anyway, he seemed really nice and he asked if I’d like to go out for dinner sometime. I told him how crazy my schedule is right now, and he seemed very understanding about it. I said I’d think about it and let him know later today.”
“Is he cute?” Anne asked with a grin.
“Very cute. Dark blond hair, blue eyes, a dimple in his chin that made me want to poke it with my pinkie finger.”
Anne laughed. “So, have dinner with him. It could be fun.”
Pushing a lock of brown hair out of her amber-brown eyes, Haley wrinkled her nose. “I’m tempted. But it’s so hard to find any extra time right now.”
“You can make time for a dinner with dimple-chin guy, especially this weekend, after the test.”
“Maybe I will, then.”
“You should. Remember what the counselors in the burnout prevention sessions keep saying. We should take breaks and try to live balanced lives—ha—or we’ll suffer the consequences.”
“Yeah, it’s all I can do not to laugh out loud every time they make that speech. But I’ll go to dinner with Dimples, anyway. That’s about as balanced as I can manage right now.”
“What’s his real name?”
“Kris. With a K. His last name is Colton. I think. Anyway, I’ll ask him if he wants to have dinner Saturday night. And then I’ll put in an extra couple of hours studying Sunday to make up for it. Maybe I’ll find something to wear when you and I go shopping Saturday morning. We’re still on for that, right?”
“Sure. I can shop for a couple of hours. We’ll find you something to wear that will knock this guy out of his shoes.”
“What about you?” Haley looked across the table with a speculative look. “Want me to ask Kris if he has an available friend?”
Anne swallowed a bit of lettuce and reached for her water glass. “Um, no, that’s not necessary.”
“Are you sure? Like you said, it could be fun.”
“I have plans for Saturday evening, actually.”
“Family stuff, huh?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie, she assured herself. Liam was family.
Haley pointed her fork like a disapproving fingertip in Anne’s direction. “You need to do something fun yourself. And I’m not talking about listening to your dad and granddad and brother blow about their successful surgical careers. You need to let your hair down, find a good-looking guy, party a little.”
Her thoughts going off in a direction that made her cheeks warm—not to mention other, less visible parts of her—Anne focused on her lunch. “I’ll keep your advice in mind.”
“You should.”
Anne changed the subject. “You’re joining us at Connor’s house tonight, aren’t you?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ll be there. We’re going to have to meet every night this week to get ready for the test Friday. This one’s going to be a killer.”
“They’re all killers.”
Her attention drifted to the next table again. The pregnant woman and her mother were standing, stacking their used dishes on their trays to carry to the conveyor. Anne glanced at the younger woman’s bulging stomach, then at her face, automatically looking for clues as to her condition. High blood pressure? Preeclampsia? Complications of diabetes or some other disease? She saw no obvious signs, but then, she wasn’t sure she would recognize the signs if they were present.
She looked forward especially to her ob-gyn rotation. Though she didn’t plan to specialize in the field, she found it fascinating. The development of human life, the miracle of birth, the whole mechanism of the female reproductive organs had always intrigued her, though her father had always been somewhat dismissive of doctors who practiced in the field.
“Baby-catchers,” he called them. Often women, these days. She didn’t want to think that had anything to do with his attitude, but she didn’t discount the possibility, either.
She was sure she would do well in a surgical career. She had
the patience and the determination. She hoped she had the confidence. Surgeons were known for their self-confidence—to the point of arrogance, in many cases. She’d seen the lifestyle firsthand, so she knew what to expect. How little time she would have for a life outside the hospital. She could handle it. It wasn’t as if Liam expected her to be a stay-at-home wife, any more than she expected him to be a stay-at-home husband. Assuming their challenged marriage lasted through the next ten years or so of her training, of course.
Because that thought depressed her, she glanced at her watch. “We’d better hurry. Class starts in ten minutes.”
Haley heaved a sigh of resignation and gathered the remains of her meal. “Okay. I’m as ready as I’m going to be.”
Anne returned home after classes to change into grubbier and more comfortable clothes for her study session. The group had agreed to meet at six-thirty at Connor’s place.
Liam greeted her with a kiss. “How long before you have to leave again?”
“Just long enough to change and have a quick sandwich or something.”
He nodded, and if he resented that she would be leaving again so soon, he kept it to himself.
He followed her into the bedroom, draping himself on the bed as she rummaged in the closet for jeans and a comfy, loose sweater. “Cold out today, wasn’t it? I went out to pick up some supplies and that wind was bitter.”
“It was cold. I’m ready for spring.” She wondered where Liam would be come spring. In a desert somewhere? A jungle? The Antarctic?
He watched as she shrugged out of her white coat and placed it on a hanger in the closet.
“How was your day?”
“Long. The afternoon lectures were so dull, I nearly fell asleep. Dr. Emerson had ninety slides, with words so tiny we almost need magnifying glasses to see them. And he’s the one who writes the nitpickiest questions for the exams.”
“Bummer.”
She smiled briefly. “That’s one way to phrase it. How about you? Did you make much progress on your revisions today?”
He shrugged and made a sound that gave her no answer at all. Something about his expression made her suspect he’d accomplished little. She hoped he hadn’t taken time away from his work just to shop and cook for her.
