Love On Call

by Radclyffe

  Flann sprinted around to the other side and hopped in.

  “She shut you down?”

  “What part of leave it alone don’t you get?”

  Flann shifted until her back was against the door and she was facing Glenn. “Well, I’ve known you for what, three years now? I’ve spent more time with you than anybody I know, even Abby and Harp. I don’t think I’ve ever known you to have a date.”

  Glenn started the truck, but left it in park. A tangle of angry frustration twisted in her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was talk about Mari, but something kept her pinned in place. Flann’s voice droned on, and all Glenn heard was Mari’s name. She could still feel her, as if the unique texture of Mari’s flesh had been tattooed beneath her skin. She could still taste her, that light teasing scent drawing her into a some long-forgotten, pure place where hope still lingered. The beer and the workout hadn’t drained the heavy pull of desire that thrummed in the pit of her stomach.

  “There’s nothing going on between us.”

  “Do you want there to be?” Flann’s voice had lost all its levity, had taken on the quiet, steady tone she used when talking life and death with the patients they cared for.

  “Doesn’t matter what I want.”

  “Bullshit, it doesn’t.”

  Glenn shot her a look. “She’s not ready.”

  Flann snorted. “So you just quit?”

  “Yeah.” Glenn shoved the truck into gear and gunned the truck toward the street. “I do.”

  *

  Glenn slept little, rose early, and didn’t have the energy to go for a run. Not that she was tired, only that her spirit was weary. She made a cup of coffee and sat out on the back porch, watching the sun come up and thinking about Mari. She would’ve liked not to, at least part of her would. A bigger part of her enjoyed thinking about her, recalling glimpses of her sitting in this very spot, her dark hair gleaming in the sunshine, her smile open and warm; the sight of her bending over a patient, focused and empathetic and just as warm and welcoming professionally as she was personally; gently taking Antonelli to task for leaps in logic, even though more often than not he ended up at the right conclusion. Discipline, Mari reminded him, would make him stronger. He understood that logic.

  Glenn smiled to herself. So did she. Mari intuitively grasped the warrior spirit.

  She drained her coffee cup and considered canceling her open invitation to Sunday dinner at the Riverses’. She hadn’t wanted to pull back into her own private bunker this much in a very long time. Walking wounded, they called people like her. No visible blood, a few scattered scars that didn’t amount to much of anything, but inside, an indefinable place that didn’t heal and only seemed to bleed when feelings got through. Mari had gotten through in the span of a heartbeat.

  She stood abruptly, shoving her chair back. Enough self-pity. Flann and Abby were making their big announcement today. She said she’d be there, and she couldn’t back out. She’d never been one for that. She didn’t regret a single choice she’d ever made, except one. Except giving in to the sweetest enticement she’d ever known. The kiss stayed with her, still tingled on her lips, still simmered in her depths.

  And she was glad.

  *

  Flann greeted her on the wide back porch that looked down over acres of green to the twisting river beyond when she pulled in a little after noon.

  “Glad you made it,” Flann said.

  Glenn hopped up onto the porch. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

  Flann gave her a long look. “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “Well, you were wrong.”

  “One of those rare occasions,” Flann said, grinning.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ida Rivers, Flann’s mother, was at her usual place by the stove, the pretty flowered apron, one of many Glenn had seen over the years, covering an even prettier dress she wore beneath. She was a statuesque woman in her middle years, with hints of all her children in her face—and more wisdom in her gaze than Glenn had ever known.

  “Hi, darling,” Ida said, sliding a big cast-iron pot with an enormous roast into the center of the long wooden table set with a dozen places.

  “Hi, Ida,” Glenn murmured, kissing her cheek when Ida leaned toward her.

  “How are you doing?”

  The question was innocent enough, but Glenn hesitated just long enough for Ida’s eyes to darken and search her face for a long moment.

  Glenn lifted a shoulder. “Well enough, I expect.”

  “Well, sit down,” Ida said gently. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  And just like that, Glenn was surrounded by family. Edward at one end of the table, Ida at the other, Blake and Margie as usual joined at the hip next to each other, Presley and Harper, Abby and Flann, Carson and her husband Bill and their two-year old bouncing back and forth between them, Carrie and her across from each other. She didn’t have any trouble imagining Mari at the table. She’d fit in right away—effortlessly joining conversations, laughing, probably taking a turn at minding the toddler who thought it was such fun to walk from one lap to the other.

  Talk as usual flowed in a dozen directions at once. Glenn had a hard time swallowing the most delicious food she’d ever tasted. Her insides echoed hollowly but nothing could fill her up.

  As Ida cut the steaming fresh apple pie at the end of the meal, Flann said, “Abby and I have an announcement to make.”

  Carson broke into a wide grin, and Harper chuckled.

  “We’re going to get married before the end of the summer,” Flann said.

  Ida glanced at Abby, who rolled her eyes ever so slightly.

  “Have you actually discussed this with Abby?” Ida asked as she slid a wedge of apple pie onto a plate and passed it to Flann.

  “Yeah. Mostly.”

  “Before you set the actual date?”

  Flann grinned. “Well, that was a little more vague.”

  Abby squeezed Flann’s leg under the table, an obvious move apparent to everyone.

  “She tends to skip over some of those things,” Abby said sweetly, taking a bite of Flann’s pie. “But this time we agree.” She looked at Flann and kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

  Edward said, “That’s settled, then. Give us the details when the three of you”—he looked pointedly from Blake to Abby to Flann—“have worked them all out.”

  “Understood.” Flann slid her arm around Abby’s shoulders, as happy as Glenn had ever seen her.

  The pie disappeared in a flash, the kids took off for the tree house overlooking the river, and after Glenn helped clear the table, she wandered out to the back porch and sat down on the top step.

  A moment later, Carrie joined her. “You’re quiet today.”

  “Flann’s show.”

  Carrie laughed. “Isn’t it usually with the two of you?”

  “More or less.”

  “I didn’t see much of you yesterday at the barbecue. Or Mari.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Something happened?”

  Glenn watched a fat gray cat, one of half a dozen who lived in the big barn in the adjacent field, stalk a bird that teased it by repeatedly flying just out of reach before landing again. “No.”

  “Oh.” Carrie stretched both legs down to the lower step, leaned back on her arms, and tilted her face up to the sun. She was beautiful, her red hair catching the light and gleaming with hidden strands of gold. “Because I thought there might be something going on.”

  “No, there isn’t.”

  “Why isn’t there?”

  “What?”

  Carrie snorted. “Come on, Glenn. She’s been watching you and liking what she saw. And yesterday you were definitely looking back.”

  “You should leave this one alone, Carrie.”

  “You’re both family, you know.”

  “All the more reason not to go there.”

  Glenn stood and Carrie looked up at her. “Someday, Glenn, you’re going to need to let someone in
.”

  “Not everyone believes in happy endings, Carrie.” Glenn jogged down the path toward her Jeep.

  “Life is what you make it,” Carrie called after her.

  Glenn drove away, wishing she believed that.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Mari worked nights all week, and the only time she saw Glenn was at shift changeover on the mornings Glenn worked. Then their exchanges were all business and took place in the conference room with half a dozen other people. Hardly the place to discuss the kiss that was almost more, not that she really wanted to revisit a scene that still left her confused and unsettled. Every night she expected to see Glenn show up for her usual spot drop-ins, but she never did. Toward the end of the week, she overheard two of the nurses mention it was odd Glenn hadn’t been around, and they laughingly conjectured maybe she’d finally gotten a girlfriend.

  Mari tried not to think about that conversation, and especially tried not to imagine Glenn with another woman, kissing another woman with that most amazingly soft, incredibly knowing mouth. She didn’t have very good luck. She kept trying to pinpoint the exact moment when everything had gotten out of hand between them—and just how much she had been responsible for the disaster. Of course, the first kiss was probably the mistake, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it. She’d been kissed before, but never like that. Never so thoroughly, so tenderly, so forcefully, so…right. Glenn’s kiss had been so much more than a kiss, and Mari had been touched by so much more than just the sensual glide of her teasing caresses. Somehow Glenn had managed to make her feel exciting and excited, desirable and so eager for more of…everything. Glenn’s presence, as much as her touch, had ignited some slumbering part of her and awakened a fervor in her body and her heart to experience life at the peak of passion. Beyond the safety net of caution. And of course, she couldn’t, could she. Not now, not yet. Not when she’d barely begun to let herself hope the nightmare was over.

  Mari sighed, shelved the last chart from a surprisingly quiet Friday night shift, and watched the clock tick ever closer to seven a.m. Antonelli came into the break room and dropped into a chair beside her.

  “Did you finish your backlog of discharge dictations?” Mari asked.

  He shook his head. “I got tied up playing Pokémon.”

  She laughed. “Do you rule?”

  He grinned, looking boyishly handsome and not the least bit apologetic about ditching his paperwork. “But of course.”

  “Just remember, if you don’t do your charts, I’ll have to—and if it comes to that, you could find yourself working a lot of nights and weekends. I make the schedule, remember.” Mari’s threat was an empty one, since she knew he’d get the charts done by the deadline, but it didn’t hurt to make him at least think she was immune to his charm. Unlike every other woman in his universe, apparently.

  “As long as it isn’t this weekend. My kid sister is home on leave for two weeks, so I’ll be spending most of the weekend at my parents’. Big family get-together.”

  Mari’s heart hurt for an instant. Weekends had always meant family time for her too, until first her illness and then her estrangement from those closest to her put an end to the easy sharing. “She’s in the Army?”

  “Marines,” he said proudly. “The little squirt managed to work her way into a Huey command and flies support for Special Ops in…well, over there.”

  “We’ll get you out of here ASAP, then.”

  “Thanks.” He cleared his throat and looked away briefly. “So. How about you? Doing something fun with the rest of your weekend?”

  “Nothing special.” Mari envisioned the weekend spreading slowly before her and tried again not to think of Glenn, who she knew was off call as well. She’d checked the schedule more than once, just to see her name in print. Lord, really silly, but she couldn’t make herself stop. “Still unpacking, decorating. You know.”

  “Boy, that sounds lame. You want to come home with me? Always got plenty of food.”

  Mari’s throat closed. The kindness of strangers—but Antonelli wasn’t a stranger any longer. Their shared struggles and triumphs had forged a real bond between them. “I’d love to, but maybe not on a special weekend like this one. Rain check?”

  “Sure. My mom will try to talk you into marrying me, though.”

  Mari laughed. “I wouldn’t want to give her false hope.”

  He grinned and shot her another sure-to-melt-most-girls’-hearts look just as Abby appeared in the doorway.

  Abby asked, “You two have anything to sign out?”

  “I’ve got a thirty-three-year-old in cubicle two,” Mari said. “We’re waiting on micro to report on the urinalysis. Probably just a straightforward UTI.”

  “Got it.”

  Antonelli straightened, coming to attention unconsciously in his chair. “The guy in six is admitted and waiting for a surgical bed and observation. Probable diverticulitis. They’re trying to quiet it down with antibiotics and fluids.”

  “Did he get his first dose of IV meds yet?” Abby asked.

  “Yep—triples, all charted.”

  “Good. Who’s on call for surgery?”

  “Beecher.”

  “Did she say she’d be in to see him?” Abby asked.

  “Said she’d be by on rounds later this morning.”

  “Good enough, then. See you both Monday. Get out of here.”

  Antonelli scraped back his chair, got to his feet, and shot past Abby out the door.

  “How’s it going?” Abby asked as Mari rose.

  “Fine,” Mari said. “How are Blake and Margie doing with their volunteering?”

  If Abby noticed her quick change in subject, she let it pass. “They’d stay here around the clock if I let them. They both remind me of Glenn.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, where is she? I haven’t seen much of her all week, and she hasn’t called Flann once in the middle of the night. Did you ban her from lurking here at night?”

  Mari forced a smile. “Not guilty! Maybe she’s finally decided to trust the rest of us to take care of things all by ourselves.”

  “If she has, it’ll be the first time ever.” Abby laughed. “But I do think it says a lot she’s giving up a little control when you’re on call. She obviously respects your judgment.”

  “I hope so,” Mari said, knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’d amply demonstrated just how bad her judgment was in Glenn’s bedroom. Still, she trusted Glenn not to let their personal crossed signals impact their professional relationship. Glenn was too clearheaded and much too honest for that. “She sets some pretty high standards for everyone.”

  “None more than for herself,” Abby said, “but you meet them just fine. Oh, by the way, Presley reminded me to let you know you’re invited to the wedding. She just assumed you knew that, and then realized you ought to get a formal invitation. Consider this formal.”

  “Oh, but I hardly know anyone!”

  “Hey, you’re part of the planning committee now. You have to be there.”

  “Then yes,” Mari said softly, “I’d love to come.”

  “Great! Carrie will fill you in on the specifics.” Abby waved and turned to go. “Have fun this weekend.”

  Mari didn’t answer. She didn’t have the energy to pretend any longer.

  *

  Mari changed into jeans, a lime-green ribbed tank top, and sneakers in the locker room and tried not to look for Glenn as she walked through the ER on her way out. She couldn’t really help herself, even though Glenn wasn’t on call and, of course, was not around. Hope was hardest to kill when you didn’t actually want to feel any.

  Traffic was heavier than usual on a weekend morning, and as she approached the unofficial commons, a grassy three-square-block area in the center of town where people frequently sunbathed or sat about on blankets picnicking or simply relaxing, a huge red hot-air balloon with brilliant blue and yellow stripes lofted into the sky. A roar went up from somewhere just ahead and drew her in
that direction. The quiet commons had been transformed. A carnival-like atmosphere encompassed the place—adults congregated with cups of coffee while dogs and children ran about. Food tents offering hot breakfasts, fresh baked goods, and luscious-looking fruit ringed half the square, and half a dozen balloons in various stages of inflation were tethered in the center. A big sign announced the two-day balloon festival. She didn’t know how she’d missed news of the event, but working nights had given her a good excuse to avoid everyone all week.

  Now the tantalizing smell of bacon frying drew her to a tent, and she purchased an egg and bacon sandwich on a fresh-baked biscuit. She actually felt hungry for the first time in a week.

  “Thanks,” she said, balancing the sandwich in one hand and a cardboard cup of coffee in the other. She turned and almost stumbled into Glenn. “Oh!”

  Glenn jumped back, avoiding the coffee slosh. “Hi. You okay? Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  “No, I’m fine. Hi.” Mari stared just to make sure Glenn wasn’t an apparition, considering how hard she’d been wishing she’d run into her. She was dressed in running shorts and a sleeveless V-neck T-shirt. Her hair was damp, her skin lightly misted, and the T-shirt plastered to her chest. She’d been running hard. “Hi.”

  God, she was repeating herself.

  “I saw you across the field,” Glenn said. “Just get off shift?”

  “Uh-huh.” Mari stepped out of the way of a man and woman who wanted to order breakfast.

  “Well, I guess I should let you go,” Glenn said awkwardly, backing up a step. “You must be tired.”

  “No,” Mari said quickly, “I’m not. I was just getting something to eat. You want something?”

  Glenn hesitated and Mari thought she was about to say no. But she nodded after a second. “Yeah, sure if you could lend me some money. I’m light today.”

  “My treat. Bacon and eggs okay?”

  “Actually,” Glenn said, breaking into a grin, “it sounds fabulous.”

  Mari handed over hers. “Here. Take this one. I’ll get another. Coffee?”