This Love of Mine

by Miranda Liasson

  A nurse walked up to them. “Dr. Rushford, Dr. Livingston wants you to check the sutures she just put in and that trauma will be here in five. We’re setting up Room One now.”

  “Do we know how bad yet?” Ben asked.

  “Twenty-three-year-old motorcycle victim, unconscious but with stable vital signs. Right arm pretty messed up, looks like it might need surgery.”

  “Call CT and the surgeon on call.” He steered his sister toward the door.

  “Effie told me you want to work here for good, not just moonlight,” Samantha said as Ben walked her out.

  “Hoping to. Look, I’ve got to drive out to the camp tonight for a special weekend we’re running out there. What time is he coming into town?”

  “Four or five-ish.”

  “I get off at five, but maybe I can leave a little early and stop by.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek and was about to say good-bye when two paramedics wheeled a gurney through the glass doors. He caught a quick glance of a young guy strapped to a backboard with dark, matted hair and a big gash under his eye.

  “He wasn’t wearing a helmet and he was going way too fast over the inlet bridge,” a paramedic said. “Nearly ran into a chicken truck. He swerved and rammed the guardrail and got thrown. Only thing that saved him was he landed headfirst in the lake. A fisherman waded in and pulled him out, lucky SOB.”

  A sharp gasp sounded beside him. Dammit, his sister had no business being here, witnessing stuff like this. She was clutching her stomach with one hand, her other hand covering her mouth.

  “Gina.” Ben flagged the nearest nurse. “Show my sister out, will you?”

  A hand clamped his arm, forcing him to turn. Sam’s eyes were filled with tears and she’d gone pale as the white fluorescent lights. “I-I know him. That’s Spike.”

  Shit. Her dickbrain ex-boyfriend. Damn irresponsible biker dude really effed himself up but good. “Go with Gina,” he barked, guiding his sister firmly to the nurse. Then he followed the gurney into the trauma room with the flock of carts, machines, and staff to do his best to save the idiot’s life.

  “Dr. Manning, please come out of the rain.” Meg opened the door and beckoned for the white-haired gentleman who was standing under the old brick building’s overhang to enter her shop.

  Let’s just say it wasn’t the first day he’d stood there, and she knew exactly what the retired surgeon was doing. Waiting for her grandmother to show up for work.

  He was carrying a rolled-up newspaper, a cup of coffee, and something in a brown bag that had to be from the bakery next door. “Wasn’t expecting the downpour. Forgot my umbrella today,” he said with a touch of Irish lilt.

  “I’ve got an appointment upstairs. Make yourself at home. There’s more coffee in the back room.” With that, she headed up the old wooden stairs to the second level where brides tried on gowns.

  “Which dress do you like?” the soon-to-be-bride asked Meg. She looked at herself in a strapless dress in the massive mirror that covered the space of an entire wall between two large windows in the empty wood-floored try-on room. For the tenth time that day, Meg wished Alex were here. Alex, who was so tell-it-like-it-is, was ironically the master at subtly conveying to brides which dress was truly the most flattering. Meg was a little too afraid of hurting people’s feelings. She tended to be more wishy-washy and sometimes that was a problem.

  The bride’s mother clearly preferred the last one her daughter had tried on. It featured a satin sleeveless top that was buttoned high on the neck, which completely covered the prominent eagle tattoo on the bride’s right shoulder blade. But the dress, in Meg’s opinion, was unflattering and conservative. And she could tell from the uptight body language vibes the bride was giving off that she wasn’t thrilled with it either. Meg struggled with the best way to convey her thoughts without interfering.

  “I have an idea,” Meg said. She walked down the rack until she came to a dress. Her favorite one in the shop. Her dream dress, actually. It had a slim A-line shape, with a gown made of satin-faced silk georgette and a permanent bustle. But the best part of all, the entire top was made of delicate alencon lace with cap sleeves. Breathtaking.

  She hesitated just one second, needing to remind herself, This is not your special dress. It’s here to be sold. So sell it!

  With that she pulled it down. “The upper back of this dress is lace,” she said. “So it would cover the tattoo without completely blocking it.”

  The bride looked at her mother, then at Meg, then at the dress “It’s gorgeous,” she said.

  “Feel free to try it on.” Meg’s business phone rang and she excused herself to answer it. “Hello, Bridal Aisle. May I help you?”

  “Meg? This is Gina Stevens from the ER. Ben Rushford asked me to call you with a favor.”

  Her mind went amok, thinking of what could be wrong. Because there was no way he would call asking for help unless someone in their families were critically ill. The possibilities flipped through her mind like a slideshow. Her mother, the grannies, wait . . . the twins. Oh, God, was it the twins? “Is—something wrong?” she managed, her voice struggling to move past a clotted tangle of emotion.

  “He needs someone to sit with his sister for a bit. I guess a young guy that was brought in by squad is her ex-boyfriend and she’s pretty upset. We’ve tried to reach both of Ben’s brothers and Olivia but everyone’s tied up. Any chance you could come?”

  Her first thought was thank God that it wasn’t family, not that she wished any tragedy on anyone else, including the darkly sexy, brooding auto mechanic who unceremoniously dumped Sam last spring in the midst of a lot of family turmoil. He was the only ex-boyfriend of Sam’s that Meg knew about from Mirror Lake.

  Her second thought was she’d been on Ben’s call list. But before she actually got excited about that, she realized he was just being logical, since Samantha had worked in her shop all summer, and of course Meg would do anything to help her. She couldn’t read more into it than that. “What happened to the guy?”

  “Motorcycle accident. He got thrown. I can’t divulge details, except we’re trying to locate family and apparently there isn’t any.”

  The word motorcycle definitely identified him as Lukas Spikonos, who worked at Clinkers’ Auto Repair and had fixed her beat-up old Chevy Malibu a few times. He’d been polite but dangerous looking, with black hair that flopped casually down his forehead, big dark bedroom eyes, and swarthy olive-colored skin, characteristics that together created an uncivilized impression, making him irresistible to ninety-nine percent of the females he came in contact with.

  Basically, he was every parent’s nightmare. And Sam’s brothers had gone ballistic, especially Brad.

  “I’m finishing up my last appointment before lunch,” Meg said. “I’ll be right over.”

  She hung up and turned to her bride, who was wearing the dress and looking at it from all angles in the mirror. “I love it,” the bride said brightly. “What do you think, Mom?”

  Her mother blinked back tears. “Tattoo or no, I’ve never seen you look so beautiful. That dress is the one. Get it and be happy.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” The bride stepped off the dais to hug her mother.

  “You look stunning,” Meg said. She loved when her hunches worked out and had that result. She did a fist pump to herself in the stairwell as she ran downstairs to do the paperwork and at last ushered them out.

  She was about to run out the back door when she noticed Dr. Manning sitting in one of the plush chairs near the front of the shop, propping up his feet on a low table full of bridal magazines. He looked settled in for the day.

  One glance outside told her the rain was still coming down. She didn’t have the heart to kick the old guy out. “I’ve got to run over to the hospital to sit with a friend for a little while. My gran will be here within the half hour. How would you feel about keeping an eye on the shop until she comes? That way I don’t have to lock up and Gran will be able to get in.”

  “I’d
be delighted to,” he said as he sipped his coffee.

  Somehow she knew he’d be fine with that, but she wasn’t sure her gran would be. “Please tell her I’ll call her from the hospital.”

  He held out the bag. “Better take some sustenance with you.”

  She peeked into the bag at a pumpkin muffin. That would do for lunch. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Tell me, young lady,” he said. “Did your grandmother like the chocolates I sent her?”

  Oh, the notorious chocolates. “Yes, she did. She shared them with our book club, and they were delicious.” Actually, she’d refused to try them, saying she was beyond such shenanigans from old men, especially ones she’d never encouraged in any way.

  “Perhaps sometime you could tell me what types of flowers she likes? Roses, perhaps? Carnations? Wildflowers?”

  Meg wanted to tell him that if they weren’t grown at Buckingham Palace or Balmoral he probably shouldn’t bother, but she knew that wasn’t the real issue. And that wasn’t hers to divulge. “My grandmother isn’t impressed by gifts, Dr. Manning, but by the things a person does. You know, character things. So maybe just be yourself?” She had no idea why she was pretending to be qualified enough to give this man dating advice about her grandmother, who hadn’t gone on a date since her husband died forty years ago, and as far as she knew, never intended to. And judging by her own man troubles, she probably shouldn’t be giving advice to anyone.

  So she muttered a quick good-bye, grabbed her car keys, and ran out the back door.

  Meg found Samantha in a corner of the half-empty ER waiting room clutching Kleenex and blowing her swollen nose. “Hi, Sweetie,” Meg said, taking a seat beside her.

  “H-how did you know I was here?”

  “Your brother didn’t want you to be alone.” Meg rested a hand on her arm.

  Samantha tensed beneath her touch so Meg didn’t let her hand linger. “I-I’m all right by myself,” Samantha said. “Please don’t tell my family about this.”

  “I don’t have much to tell. Your friend is hurt and you’re upset. I’d like to help if you’d let me.”

  Sam shook her head, tears running through mascara. “You’ll go running to Olivia and Alex and they’ll tell my brothers. I told you I’m fine. You can leave now.”

  “First off, my friends and I have kept plenty of secrets darker than waiting in an ER for a guy some family members don’t approve of. And second, I’m not here to judge you. I need your help with the bridal show too much. Okay?”

  She shrugged. Meg would take that as a yes.

  “Have they told you what’s going on?”

  “They can’t—I’m not related. I even tried telling them I’m his girlfriend.”

  “Have they gotten a hold of his family?”

  “He’s got no family,” Sam said. “His foster parents were elderly and they’ve been dead awhile. I had to tell the nurse he’s allergic to penicillin. And I was just lucky I remembered him saying that. Spike’s got no one.”

  “That’s not true,” Meg said. “He’s got you.”

  She shook her head. “Spike was bad news. I’ve moved on. I’m only here because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Still, she was shedding plenty of tears for a guy she purported not to care for. “Just a minute.” Meg walked up to the information desk clerk, an elderly woman who was wearing a pink jacket with a badge that said Hospital Volunteer. “Excuse me, can we have an update on the condition of the young man who was in the motorcycle accident?”

  “Are you family?” The steely-haired woman asked, tapping her pen impatiently against her hand.

  “No.”

  “No family, no info. It’s the rules.” She glanced anxiously at her phone, which had lit up like a string of Christmas lights.

  “But—she’s his girlfriend.” Okay, so it was just a little lie. “She gave valuable health information that could save his life—that he’s allergic to penicillin. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

  Meg could tell from the unforgiving expression on the woman’s face that it did not. “When he’s out of surgery, I’ll tell his post-op nurse the situation. It’s the best I can do.”

  Not willing to accept defeat, Meg looked at her watch. Ben worked twelve-hour shifts. He was probably crazy busy, which was why he’d wanted someone to sit with his sister. But he had to have some clout. “Can I ask you to please page Dr. Rushford?”

  “He’s not the patient’s doctor. You’ll have to go through the main hospital operator and ask them to page him.” Then she picked up her phone.

  On the way back to her seat, Meg pulled out her cell, remembering she had Ben’s number, but there was no answer. Then she called the hospital operator and had him paged. And just to be sure, she called the ER, too, and left a message.

  “Any luck?” Sam asked.

  “Not yet, but I haven’t given up. Have you had anything to eat?”

  “I don’t want to leave in case Spike gets out of surgery.”

  “How about I go to the caf and pick us up a couple sandwiches and some coffee?”

  “That sounds good. Thanks.”

  Meg rose, glad to be able to do something useful. But Sam’s quiet voice drew her back. “He broke up with me because I wasn’t ready to have sex with him.”

  “That sounds mature.” Oops, that snuck out before she could rein it in. “Sorry. Couldn’t help that.”

  “No, it’s okay. But part of me thinks there’s more to it. Almost like, he broke up with me to protect me—from himself.”

  Meg sat down again and held the girl’s hand, and this time she didn’t pull away. Oh, to be twenty again, Meg thought, to be able in your angst to grasp at every straw. But then, how many times over the years had she thought Ben might share her feelings, only to try to get close to him and be cruelly pushed away? It was a roller coaster ride she wouldn’t wish on anybody. Hopefully Samantha would be smarter. And maybe she could help her see that. “What makes you think that?”

  “Spike knows my brothers think he’s not good enough for me. He hasn’t gone to college, he’s got a big reputation with women, and he has a lot of body art.” She smiled an ironic smile. “But his nose ring was what really set Brad off.”

  Meg couldn’t help but smile.

  “I think he backed away because he knew we were from different worlds. Kind of like West Side Story.”

  Meg did a mental eye roll. And don’t tell me, you’re the one who understands him, truly understands, if only he’d realize it. That thought had certainly crawled under the covers and kept her company through a lot of misguided years.

  “Sam, there’s a difference between protecting you from himself and being hurtful and uncaring.” Like when he broke up with her right after her brother Kevin died last spring.

  Sam shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve met someone else. Oh, I forgot to tell him not to come!”

  As she called her new boyfriend, who had the intimidating name of Harris Buckhorn, III, Meg tried Ben’s cell again. And had him repaged.

  “I heard you’re going to camp with my brother,” Sam said out of the blue.

  Meg played it casual. “How’d you hear about that?”

  She shrugged. “You’ve had a thing for him for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Who? Me? Never.” Oh, shit. Was she that transparent? Sam leveled her a look that told her there was no use lying. “Maybe a little. Who else knows?”

  “Everybody. Except maybe not him.”

  Meg winced. “Everybody?”

  Samantha smiled sympathetically. “Sorry.”

  “Look, I’d never recommend liking someone who doesn’t like you back. I think sometimes we’re in love with an idea of someone, you know?” Which was exactly what she was going to find out this weekend, for better or worse. Her own sanity depended on it.

  “For what it’s worth,” Sam said, “I am moving on. I cried my tears, wrote a whole lot of bad poetry, and now I want to be a person my family is proud of, who
I’m proud of. I can’t afford being dragged down by troubled, needy guys. Besides, Harris is the exact opposite of Spike. You’ll have to meet him.”

  “That sounds very mature, Sam. A lot more mature than I was at your age.”

  As Meg went off in search of food and coffee, she wondered how coming to keep Sam company had turned into a confessional examination of her own love life.

  Ben found Meg pounding on the vending machine in the corridor, fighting to get it to release her bad cup of coffee. She wore the same form-hugging black skirt she’d had on that day in the elevator, and simple wedges with cork bottoms that showed off her slim calves. He was struck by her simple beauty, and wished he had more than five minutes to talk with her. Actually he had less, because this was his bathroom break, too.

  Placing his fist over the clear plastic shield near the cup, he gave it a good bang. The shield instantly rose up.

  “It’s about time you showed up,” she said darkly, reaching for the coffee.

  “It’s a little hard not to, when seven people are paging me at once. I thought you’d keep my sister company, not raise a bunch of hell.”

  “No one will tell her anything because of those damn HIPAA rules. She’s been waiting over two hours.”

  “Well, I fixed that. The kid’s out of surgery and they got him to agree to let Sam visit him. He’s going to be okay.”

  “Did you tell your sister that?”

  “She’s already gone to post-op to sit with him. And don’t tell anyone I told you this, but he broke his left arm in two places and he’s got a concussion. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into him.”

  Meg released a heavy breath. “Thank God.”

  “Thanks for sitting with her.” Before he knew what he was doing, he gave her an awkward hug. All his smooth moves seemed to go to hell in front of her.

  “What was that for?” she asked, looking startled.

  “I never thought a rabid pit bull would come disguised in such a pretty package.” He paused. “And I wanted to tell you thanks.”