by Robin Gianna
Carefully watching her expression as she glanced at the phone, he saw that it first held surprise, then concern.
“Hello?”
She moved to the other side of the small laundry room, her back to him. It was ridiculous that it bugged him that she obviously wanted to keep the call private. They weren’t married anymore, and she had every right to keep whatever she wanted from him.
“I understand. Please let me know if there’s another opening in the future. Thanks again.”
Her shoulders visibly slumped and she ran her hand down her face before turning back to him with a grimace.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Not important.”
“Jill? What don’t you want to tell me?”
He tipped up her chin to make her look at him, and all those conflicting feelings filled his chest again. More than anything he wanted to lean down and kiss her, to take away her worries. To taste her and fall into her and forget all the negativity between them. But he managed to stop himself.
“I had an interview for a job in Connecticut next week. I let them know about my wrist when it first happened, but it wasn’t a problem because they didn’t expect me to start work for six weeks. Now someone’s left and they need a replacement immediately. So that means I’m out of the running—at least for now.”
“A job in another state?” His heart jolted, then sank to the pit of his stomach—which made no sense.
She’d left to work at the occupational therapy clinic after their divorce ten months ago, and he hadn’t seen her even once in all that time until now. So why did it feel as if her moving to another state would shove wide open the cracks in his heart that were barely beginning to heal?
“I’m sorry. But you know your job here is secure, regardless of how much time you need to heal?”
“Well...” Her lips twisted again. “For reasons I’m sure you can understand, I don’t want to work here, have to see you all the time. It wouldn’t be good for either of us.”
Damn it. So he was the reason she wanted a new job in another state?
“We can figure it out. Maybe work on that friendship we talked about?”
“I’ve thought about that,” she said softly. “And I think we both know we can’t really be friends.”
“Okay, I get it.” He drew a deep breath. “But there are other jobs out there. Regardless, I don’t want you to feel you can’t work here because of me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She gave him a crooked smile. “I’ll find something—and moving away from the city makes sense. You know I need more room for the dogs. I can find a bigger place a lot cheaper if I get a job in Connecticut, or somewhere else. Maybe even in Pittsburgh, since my parents are there.”
“Will you please reconsider letting me buy you a place to live? You never believed it, but all I wanted was for us...for you...never to have to worry about money ever.”
“Money isn’t the answer to everything, Conor.”
Her smile turned sad and wan, and he wished he understood why.
“Sometimes it just complicates things and makes them worse.”
“I know money isn’t the answer to everything. But it is—”
“Never mind.” Her suddenly bright voice was at odds with her expression. “I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll text you if I get tired and decide to go back to your apartment.”
“Thanks.”
Obviously the conversation was over, at least for now.
“Noah is supposed to be here in an hour. If you feel up to it maybe you could take a look at his splint with me, since he knows you.”
“Noah? Oh, my gosh, I’d forgotten today is when he’s supposed to come back to see you. Of course I want to help. I’ll meet you right here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JILLIAN PRETENDED TO focus on folding towels and tidying up the therapy space, but she was really watching Conor. An hour past the time Noah was supposed to show up, but hadn’t, Conor was practically pacing the floor. He’d go into his office to do some paperwork, then come back to see if Noah had arrived, then pull up some charts on the computer, then check back again. Finally he came straight up to Jillian, a deep frown on his face.
“I’m going to Noah’s house. If he comes, let me know and I’ll get back here as fast as possible.”
“You know where he lives?”
“His address is still on my ride-share app. It’s pretty far, so I’m going to drive.”
“What if he’s not there?”
“He might not be. But I have no other way to find him, so I might as well start there.”
The depth of concern on Conor’s face surprised her. “I wish he’d come to see us, so we could look at him, but he’s probably okay, don’t you think? If he wasn’t he would have come back.”
“Can’t count on that. Will you be okay getting back to the apartment by yourself?”
“Of course. But if you’re worried about him I want to come with you.”
“Not necessary. And his neighborhood is pretty rough. I work at a free clinic there every few months, and you have to watch your back.”
“If it’s safe enough for you, it’s safe enough for me. And I’m the splint expert—not you. So let’s go.”
Their eyes met for a long moment before he finally nodded. “All right. I’ll get the car from my apartment parking garage and meet you out front in fifteen minutes.”
It was rush hour as they made their way through the city, though when it came to New York it felt like rush hour pretty much all the time. Horns blared and taxis swerved in and out of lanes.
As they got closer to where Noah lived the debris on the sides of the road increased and the buildings looked more dilapidated, some even boarded up. People looked up and then slipped away between buildings as Conor’s powerful car nosed down the streets, finally stopping when the GPS told them they’d arrived.
Conor turned to look at her, his expression grim. “I have the address, but not his apartment number. Guess I’ll have to knock on doors. Why don’t you stay put in the car until I figure out which apartment it is and if he’s even there?”
“It’ll be a waste of time for you to knock on doors alone. We’ll do it together, different doors on the same floor, and go from there.”
“Why do I feel like that’s a bad idea?” He sighed. “But all right.”
The hallway of the first floor was pretty dark as they approached each door. A few knocks were answered, but nobody knew Noah. They went to the next floor, and by the third both of them felt discouraged.
“Can we find out what school a child living here would go to? Maybe we can do that, then contact the school tomorrow,” Jillian said.
“Good idea. This isn’t working out too well. Sorry.”
“Don’t be silly. I think it’s wonderful that you care about him, and want to see how he’s doing. I know a lot of people would be stunned to learn that you’re taking a big chunk of your day to look for a little boy you took care of.”
“Let’s finish this floor, and if he’s not here we’ll head back.”
The next door opened and a young man stood there, looking suspicious.
Conor held up his medical badge, which showed his photo and name. “I’m Dr. McCarthy and we’re looking for a boy named Noah. He hurt his arm a couple days ago and I want to check on him.”
The man studied both of them for what felt like a long time, until he apparently decided they weren’t the police, or whatever it was he was concerned about.
“He’s up one floor. 409, I think.”
“Thank you.”
They moved to go up the next set of stairs, and Conor paused. “You okay to climb another flight of steps? You can always go back to the car.”
“I might not be able to use one arm, but the rest of me is in good shape, Dr. McCarthy
.”
“Don’t I know it?” He flashed her a grin before heading up the steps.
After several knocks on the door there was still no answer, and Conor turned to her, his lips twisting.
“Looks like a wild goose chase. Let’s—”
The door cracked open and Noah’s face appeared. His eyes widened before he swung it open. “Dr. McCarthy! Why are you here?”
“You didn’t come to your appointment today. So we came to you.”
“I... Wow.” After a quick glance behind him, he turned back. “I’m doing okay. It hurts, but you said it would. So I figured I’m fine.”
“Still want to take a look. Can we come in?”
Obviously nervous, he glanced over his shoulder again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. My—”
“Who are you talking to?” A woman’s annoyed voice came from a back room.
“It’s the doctor who...who fixed my arm.”
“What?”
A woman, presumably Noah’s mother, emerged from the back room, looking as if she’d just woken up.
“Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Dr. Conor McCarthy. I believe it was you I spoke with on the phone about Noah’s arm.”
Jillian was amazed at his calm tone in the face of obvious hostility.
“We want to check to make sure it’s doing okay.”
“He’s fine. I’ve got no money to give you, so don’t be coming around expecting any.”
“We’re not wanting any money. We just want to look at Noah’s injury.”
“I don’t believe you. Everybody wants something.” She crossed her arms and glared. “Noah’s dad left us high and dry, without a penny, so you’re wasting your time.”
“Mom, Dr. McCarthy took good care of me and I want him to look at my arm again. He didn’t charge me anything first time, right?”
“Then he shows up at the door? Ha! You’ve got a lot to learn, boy.” She grabbed her purse from a worn chair. “I’m outta here. You want to pay your doctor friend, that’s your problem—though I know you’re as broke as me.”
Jillian wondered if Conor would stop her, try to convince her he was offering his services for free and reassure her that he had Noah’s best interests in mind, but he didn’t look back as she left. Didn’t even mention her as he placed his hand on Noah’s back and led him to the sofa.
“How about you sit here while we take a look? How’s it feeling?”
Jillian watched, amazed. For all the world you would have thought the two of them were sitting at HOAC having a normal doctor/patient visit. Was this something he did often? How had she never known he was used to working in communities like this and dealing with the various challenges involved?
“It hurts. Still really swelled up. But okay, I guess.”
Conor took the boy’s arm in his hand and carefully removed the splint, gently feeling all around his elbow, talking with him the whole time. He asked him questions and smiled, joking a bit, and the look of total trust and admiration on Noah’s face made her heart fill with something warm and fuzzy.
Appreciation for this side of Conor she hadn’t often seen. Pride in the man he was, even though he was no longer a part of her life.
In their brief time together she’d felt frustrated that Conor McCarthy had such an extreme need to make more and more money, through hard work, investment and business acquisitions. He’d made that the number one focus of his life. And yet this Conor McCarthy was a different person. This Conor cared about only one thing right now, and that was the health of this boy.
Together they adjusted the splint and refastened it, and then, to her surprise, Conor sat on the sofa next to Noah. “Tell me about your mom. Does she take care of you or is she not around much?”
“Sleeps most of the time when she’s here. Otherwise she’s not around much. She seems...sad a lot. I think I make her even sadder, so she goes places with friends.”
“I doubt you make her sadder. Sometimes when people feel sad it’s hard for them to see how the things they do affect others,” Conor said quietly. “Was she sad before your dad left, too?”
Noah shrugged. “I don’t really remember. That was a long time ago.”
“Okay.” He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. “My dad left us, too, and my mom was sad afterward. Really sad. So I know about that, and how it feels. I’d like for us to be friends and get together to talk—about ways you can help your mom and about other things. Can we do that?”
“Sure. If you want.”
The way Noah looked up at him said a lot more than those casual words. It said that having Conor be his friend and talk about the problems in his life was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to him.
“Good.” Conor stood, and handed him another business card. “Call me next weekend. We’ll get lunch or something. And don’t forget this time.”
“I won’t.” Noah stood and grinned. “I won’t forget. Thanks for coming to see me.”
“Good luck, Noah,” Jillian said, fighting a lump in her throat. “And if you need help with that splint let Dr. McCarthy know and we’ll get you into the office to adjust it.”
“Okay.”
Conor gave the boy another pat on the back before he opened the door and ushered Jillian out.
They didn’t speak until they were in the car, heading back into traffic.
“I’m not sure what to say to you,” she said quietly. “Except that you were wonderful with that child. Do you often mentor kids like him?”
“Sometimes. When the opportunity is there.”
“How did I never know this? Why didn’t you tell me?”
He didn’t answer at first, then sighed. “Easy to move from surgery to seeing a kid to a business meeting before I came home without making a big deal of it.”
“I would have liked to hear about it. The children you mentor and why.”
Again he was quiet for a long time. “Another one of my failings, Jill? I don’t know how to talk about things like that, so I just don’t. Didn’t think you’d be particularly interested.”
“I was your wife. Of course I’d have been interested in anything you were doing. Anything you were interested in. Anything that impacted your life from the past.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes filled with regret. “Another thing I did wrong. Not explaining where I was after work sometimes. I know you wondered why I wasn’t with you. Felt hurt by it. I wasn’t smart enough to understand it. But we already know there’s something big missing inside me, don’t we? I proved that over and over again. I’m just sorry you were hurt by it. Sorry I didn’t learn soon enough.”
She opened her mouth to say that wasn’t entirely true, that she wanted to talk more about what he’d just said. More about her own failings and issues, and what she’d learned about herself since their divorce. But he looked so grim. Melancholy. Was there any reason to go over it at all when their relationship was history?
“Conor, I—”
“What do you want to eat?”
He stared through the windshield and the interruption showed loud and clear that he didn’t want to talk anymore. “I’ll call and order something so it’ll get to my apartment soon after we do.”
“Um...pizza would be good. Something I can eat with one hand.”
“Pizza it is. With mushrooms, as I recall?”
“And pepperoni. Got to have some greasy meat to help my bones heal.”
A small smile curved his lips and she smiled, too, glad he wasn’t feeling so bummed out anymore.
“Nothing better than mush and pep.”
They didn’t say much on the elevator ride to his floor, and then the dogs were a good distraction, jumping around excitedly when they came through the door. Conor laughed, and roughhoused a little with both the dogs, and Jillian’s throat c
losed again. Why had she always focused on his absence and not paid enough attention to all the good things about the man?
She knew why. His glitzy life and wealthy friends and expensive apartment demanded a woman who’d fit in to all that, and she wasn’t that woman. Focusing on his failings and inadequacies had been easier than focusing on her own.
“I’ll feed the dogs, then take them for a walk while you wait for the pizza,” Conor said. “That work for you?”
“Sounds good. I’ll do that resting you keep nagging me to do.”
“You’ve had a long day. And you know as well as I do that your body is putting a lot of energy into healing, which has to make you feel tired. It’s not a weakness to let yourself rest—it’s smart.”
“I know, I know. And if you ever injure yourself, I’ll have to remind you, the energetic Dr. McCarthy, of the same thing.”
Their eyes met and she wanted to smack herself. Why had she said that? First, he’d hopefully never break any bones, and second, if he did, she sure wouldn’t be around to remind him of anything.
“I’ll be back soon.”
Apparently, he’d decided not to react to her comment. The dogs gulped down their dinner, then excitedly left for their walk. The pizza came just as they returned, and Jill moved to the kitchen to get the dishes.
“Let someone else do the work while you can,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ll be faring for yourself soon enough. How about we sit on the balcony and look out over the park? You’ll have to wear a jacket, but it’s a really nice night. Pretty soon it’ll be raining and snowing and freezing cold, so we should enjoy it while we can.”
She figured there was no point in saying it would likely be the only night they’d enjoy his balcony together, regardless of the weather. “Sounds nice.”
He carried plates and slid open the French doors to the balcony. Two chairs sat on either side of a small table, with chaise longues at the other end. Car headlights moved in both directions on Fifth Avenue, and the glittering lights of the city lit the panorama below. Beyond that, a half-moon hung above the dark silhouettes of the trees in Central Park.
