Thursday Afternoons

by Tracey Richardson

  Erin looks none too pleased with the exchange. She has no stake in the hospital, because she’ll be a family physician with her own practice or she’ll practice with a family health team somewhere once her residency is complete. Amy can only guess she’s jealous about Kate’s sudden interest in Ellis. She’s not the only one.

  “Did you know she has a stepdaughter living with her? A teenager. Mia. Nice enough but a bit on the morose side.”

  “Aren’t all teenagers?” Erin adds helpfully.

  “Good point,” Kate replies, then mercifully drops Ellis as the topic of conversation while they paddle up and down the shore for an hour, not venturing into waters too deep because Erin’s fairly new at kayaking and Kate’s not the most experienced either, despite owning her own boat. Her wife, Anne, had been the expert kayaker in the family.

  Two hours later, with the sun an orange orb behind them, the three sit around Amy’s fire pit, chowing down on spaghetti. Since Amy’s fire pit has a grill over half of it, she cooked the pasta in a giant pot over the fire and warmed the sauce she’d made ahead.

  Erin reaches for another helping. “God, what’s in this sauce?”

  Amy pretty much lived on her homemade sauce with an assortment of pasta throughout medical school and residency. “Italian sausage, ground beef, green and red peppers, onion, garlic, and tomato sauce of course. Oregano. Oh and a healthy splash of red wine.”

  “She’s famous for her sauce,” Kate adds. “I’m surprised she gave up the recipe so easily. You usually have to get her drunk for that.”

  “Oh, I’m well on my way to that.” Amy takes another sip of wine. The three of them are into a second bottle.

  Kate’s laughter is evil as she points at the diminishing contents of Amy’s glass. “Bolstering yourself for your private meeting with Ms. Hall tomorrow?”

  Amy nearly chokes on her mouthful of wine. She’s been doing everything she can to avoid thinking about that damned meeting tomorrow. About seeing Ellis again. Alone. She has no idea what she’s going to say to her and has half a mind to skip out on the meeting altogether. She doesn’t like surprises, and Ellis has provided her with a doozy. “Please. Let’s not ruin the evening by talking about her any more, shall we?” She turns to Erin, whom she knows so little about. “So tell us more about yourself, Erin.”

  “Yeah,” Kate says, her eyes beginning to turn a little glassy from the wine and the fresh air and the smoke from the campfire. “How can we possibly gossip about you if we know almost nothing about you, huh? So spill it.”

  Erin laughs, gives them a quick rundown on where she did her education, about how she grew up in Windsor with a twin sister and, oh, her mothers are a lesbian couple who also happen to be family physicians.

  Kate’s eyeballs nearly pop out of her head. “Wow. I always thought that would be so cool, having gay parents. Is it?”

  “Not really. They’re parents like any other parents. They’ve been pretty hard on my sister and me most of our lives. You know, great expectations to follow in their footsteps and all that. But they’ve come around. They’re pretty much human now, and I kind of credit my daughter for that. They’re totally putty in her little hands.”

  “She’s a sweetie, that one,” Kate says, a faraway look in her eyes. She doesn’t talk about it anymore, not since Anne’s death, but the two had always planned to eventually have a child together. “Such a smart little thing and cute as a button with those blue eyes and curly dark hair.” Kate gives Erin a once-over like she’s making a new discovery. “Pretty much like her mom, actually. She’s the spitting image of you.”

  “Thanks,” Erin says. “She’s pretty much a Kirkland through and through. When she wants something, look out.”

  Amy chuckles to herself, imagining an unsuspecting Kate being pursued by Erin. She adds another log to the fire as Kate, losing her defenses with each sip of wine, boldly asks, “No father in the picture?”

  “No father in the picture. It was…an experiment, something that kind of organically happened, but I’m forever grateful, because I wouldn’t have had Eliana otherwise.” Erin’s eyes spark when she talks about her daughter, whom she’s clearly in love with. “The timing might not have been the best, but she’s been more than worth it. I can’t imagine my life without her.”

  “I’d love to include her in something next time,” Kate offers, and Erin predictably brightens.

  “Really? She won’t cramp your style?”

  Amy laughs. “Ha, what style? Your daughter might actually give Kate a style.”

  Erin fidgets, looking uncomfortable. “I’m so sorry, Kate. About your wife.”

  The words hang in the air, with the power to make or break the evening. But then Kate smiles at Erin and thanks her for mentioning it. “The worst is when people don’t acknowledge Anne’s death. And I know it’s because they don’t know what to say, but it’s actually worse to ignore it than to say something, anything, no matter how awkward it might seem. Two years and it still feels like yesterday.”

  Erin asks how she died.

  “Ovarian cancer. Stage four by the time it was discovered. She was only thirty-nine.” Her chin begins a slow quiver, and Amy reaches over and tenderly squeezes her shoulder.

  “So, yes,” Kate continues, roughly clearing the emotion from her throat. “I would love for you and Eliana to drag me out of my miserable lonely life to do something fun.”

  Amy glances from Kate to Erin and feels a tug of relief because both women are smiling at one another. She raises her glass and proposes a toast. “Here’s to no more loneliness.”

  They all clink glasses, while Amy tries to ignore the dull ache in her heart. She knows she’s a phony, because she hasn’t felt this lonely in years.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellis has been glancing at the clock in her makeshift office on the hospital’s second floor at least every six minutes. She can’t wait to see Amy alone—finally. Even though it’s a business meeting, maybe they can clear up the awkwardness between them. Perhaps, she thinks with optimistic deliberation that’s as flimsy as tissue paper, they can even work out an occasional sex date or something. That is, if they can miraculously figure out how to navigate around the ethics and discretion of such a thing. A girl can dream, and if sex is completely off the table, might they at least find a way to be friends? Ellis doesn’t have many of those and none around this area. Unless you count Kate Henderson, but she’s more of a wary neighbor than a friend at this point.

  The moment Amy walks in, Ellis sees immediately that her little fantasy about sex or friendship is just that, a fantasy. Wordlessly but with a frown that could rival the depth of the Grand Canyon, Amy sits down opposite Ellis’s desk, her back straight as a two-by-four.

  So that’s how it’s going to be? No, Ellis decides. She won’t let it.

  “Amy, can we—”

  “It’s Dr. Spencer.”

  Of course it is. Ellis silently curses herself, but in the blink of an eye she’s back in control. “I’m sorry, but privately, when it’s just us, I can’t call you Dr. Spencer. Not after…the times we’ve shared.” She hates this, acting like they’ve swapped gloves or something, when she’ll never rid from her memory the sensation of Amy running her fingertips over her skin, of Amy’s lips gently tugging on her nipples or sucking the soft and sensitive parts of her neck. Nor can she ever forget the way her insides turn to the warmest, sweetest liquid when Amy pleasures her.

  “Fine,” Amy says, showing about as much emotion as a rock. “You can call me Amy. In private. And I’ll call you El-Ellis. But nobody can know…about us. You do understand that?”

  “Er…yes. Absolutely.”

  “Ellis, what happened between us has to stay in the past. I can’t…we can’t…revisit any of it. Ever. It…was a mistake. I hope you agree.”

  “No. It wasn’t a mistake. We didn’t know our paths would cross like this.” Ellis swallows back the disappointment, no, the panic in her throat, that Amy wants to wipe their pas
t clean as if it never happened. But it did happen, every glorious minute of it. And each of those glorious moments made Ellis feel again. Made her feel more of a woman than she’s felt in over a decade, because Amy made her feel wanted, appreciated, desired. Made her feel important, like she was someone worth spending time with, worth loving over and over again, even if only in the physical sense. “This…” Ellis spreads her arms out to include her temporary office, the hospital. “We couldn’t have known we’d be in this situation.”

  “On opposite sides of the table, you mean.”

  “It doesn’t have to be on opposite sides. There’s no need for us to be antagonists in this endeavor. We’re on the same side, Amy.”

  Amy’s eyes are wide and searching, as if trying to locate Ellis through a heavy mist, and then the curtain drops again and she’s vigorously shaking her head. “No. We’re not on the same side. Let’s be clear about that. You’re here to make cuts to services so the corporation can balance its budget. Cuts that will ultimately mean patients will have to travel further for certain types of care. Or wait longer.”

  “Not necessarily service cuts and not necessarily longer wait times. There’s a long way ahead of us before we—”

  “Come on. I know how this works. We’ll be lucky if you don’t completely shut us down by the time you’re done with us. You don’t care about this hospital. I mean, this particular hospital. This particular staff. These patients. My patients. You care about numbers and bottom lines. That’s your priority. That’s your job.”

  Fury pounds in Ellis’s veins with every beat of her heart. “You’re mistaken, Dr. Spencer. Clearly you know nothing about me and my priorities.” Her face is hot and her voice shakes with anger, and for a flash there’s a softening in Amy’s rainwater eyes, as though she’s remembering them lying in bed, staring into one another’s eyes, their thighs and feet and hands touching, with neither woman having a care in the world.

  But then Amy looks away and begins pulling papers out of her briefcase, unceremoniously plops them on Ellis’s desk. “You wanted stats about the surgery service, well, here’s a mountain of them.” Amy rises as if she’s done what she was summoned to do, clearly intending to leave.

  “Wait.” Ellis pulls her glasses off her face and tosses them grumpily onto Amy’s papers. “You’re not going to help me decipher these? Summarize them at least?”

  Amy sits back down, even though she’d love to walk out and leave Ellis to her lovely fucking stats and numbers and bottom lines instead of continuing this charade of pretending she has any real input in this despicable process. And, oh, while she’s on a roll? She’d love to push Ellis on top of the desk, on top of her precious fucking papers, and make her come like she’s never come before. Because goddammit, Ellis is gorgeous, especially with her chest heaving in anger and her cheeks flushed and her eyes flashing a green so dark, they’re like a deep glacier pool.

  “Fine.” Amy nearly spits out the word. “What do you want to know?”

  Ellis picks up her glasses and puts them back on with fingers slightly trembling, and Amy is inordinately pleased that she’s having this effect on her. Because, dammit, Ellis has pissed her off. Coming in here, on her territory, with the authority of a dictator or a despot, to make her life and everyone else’s miserable for the next however-many months. A bean counter who’s probably never had to use the services of a surgeon or an OB-GYN or perhaps even an emerg doc and has certainly never lived in a small town before. Thinking she’s some kind of expert because she’s got a fancy degree in business or accounting and has been working with hospital budgets for years or decades or fucking centuries. Amy can’t keep her thoughts from darkening further, and then she remembers that it’s her job to at least try to steer Ellis into leaving the surgery service alone. Because if she abandons her duty to protect the service, then what?

  Ellis flips through the pages without speaking. “Okay, so there’s supposed to be three of you, but there’s only two while…let’s see, Dr. Atkinson is on leave? Any idea how long that’s going to be?”

  “Nope.” Atkinson probably isn’t coming back, by the looks of things. He’s still undergoing medical testing, but the chief of staff has privately told Amy that Atkinson appears to have Parkinson’s. The timing couldn’t be worse, because Amy can practically see Ellis’s train of thoughts on the matter: that if they can manage with two surgeons, there’s no reason to replace him.

  “Obviously wait times for elective surgeries have increased with you and Dr. Warren being the only two remaining surgeons. Correct?”

  “Yes, but we’re managing.” Managing, if I don’t want a life outside of this hospital.

  Amy catches the subtle rolling of eyes from Ellis. Well, what did she expect, that they’d have tea together and discuss the weather too?

  “And how is the workload affecting you and Dr. Warren?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “What does that mean? Working six or seven days a week? Every other weekend?”

  “So your job includes caring about my well-being?”

  “Look. Let’s not do this, okay?”

  Amy decides to play dumb, and yes, it’s childish, but too bad. “Do what?”

  Ellis leans back in her chair for a moment, briefly closes her eyes. There are dark smudges beneath those eyes. “You know exactly what. I think we need to talk. About the other stuff. Why don’t we meet for a drink one evening this week? Or dinner or coffee? Whatever you want, wherever you want, as long as it’s away from the hospital.” She holds up a hand to forestall the objection Amy is about to raise. “I think we both know that we’ve got to figure how to move past this…this…elephant in the room. Because if we don’t, it’s going to bleed into the work we need to do here, and we can’t let that happen. It will only make things worse. For both of us.”

  Amy wants to lob more of these insidious little darts Ellis’s way, but instead she takes a deep breath and tells herself to calm down. Because Ellis is right: they’ve got to keep things separate. They’ve got to be professionals about this, and they can’t do that if Amy keeps acting like a petulant child.

  Ellis looks at her expectantly. Nervously.

  “All right. Let’s see. Tomorrow night I’m off at six and not on call. We could meet for dinner I guess. There’s a pub on Becker Street that’s kind of out of the way. I don’t think anybody from the hospital typically goes there. Seven?”

  “Seven it is.” Ellis turns her attention back to the pile of loose papers Amy has given her. “Let’s go through these one by one. Colonoscopies…” She traces a finger—a long, sensuous finger—down a column, and somehow she’s managed to make the word colonoscopies sound sexy.

  And now I’ve agreed to meet her outside of work. What the hell is wrong with me? But she knows what’s wrong with her: her inability to say no to Ellis, in spite of her bravado.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ellis likes numbers, so she’s pegged the odds of Amy actually showing up to meet her at the pub at about fifty-fifty. She understands Amy’s shock and dismay that Ellis is the one conducting a review of all the hospital’s services. She too had been no less shocked to discover the woman she’d been sleeping with for six weeks was, well, Dr. Amy Spencer. It’s not as if she’d duped Amy or done anything wrong. Neither of them had. Yet Amy has been colder than Lake Erie frozen over in winter, and all Ellis wants to do is scream “It’s not my damned fault!”

  Ellis foregoes the temptation to order something strong and sticks with a glass of wine. Glancing down at her short-sleeved blouse with the peek-a-boo left shoulder, she sneaks another button loose. Because, yes, she wants Amy (if she shows up) to notice her chest, and, yes, it’s shameless and a tad slutty of her, but so what? Amy’s the best sex partner she’s ever had, and if she’s totally honest with herself, she hates that they’re not having sex anymore. They managed to stop the world for a few heavenly hours every Thursday afternoon, and while it’s patently clear it can’t happen anymore, she at least
wants Amy to realize what she’s missing. Realize it and suffer a little.

  The door opens and in walks Amy.

  Well, well.

  “Hi,” she says in a neutral voice and takes a seat across from Ellis.

  A server promptly materializes, but Amy declines a drink. “Early surgery tomorrow,” she says to Ellis, and orders a soda and lime.

  “I’m sorry, Amy.”

  Amy’s stare is one of puzzlement. “About the early surgery?”

  “Well, that too. Look, I want you to know that I never meant for things to turn out this way.” What she really wants to say is that she can’t stop thinking about Amy—about her smile, her touch, that almost tender way she has of looking at her after they make love…like Ellis is the only woman in the whole world. That she’s someone special.

  The muscles in Amy’s face relax, but she doesn’t smile. “Me too.”

  “Can we… I guess at the very least I hope we can be respectful toward one another. That we can work together without an adversarial relationship.”

  “It would certainly make your life easier at the hospital, hmm?”

  “No, that’s not…” Tears suddenly threaten. Tears, for fuck sakes! Before she met Amy, she hadn’t cried in years. Oh, right, at Nancy’s funeral she cried. But crying over Amy—someone she’s, what, sort of dated, slept with several times—is ridiculous. Infuriating. And yet here she is, hoping like hell these damned tears don’t start spilling over so that Amy can see how pathetic she is, how weak she is. Oh, the grownup part of her knows there is only going forward, not backward, and yet her inner child simply wants Amy’s arms around her, wants desperately to erase this last week and a half and go back to the uncomplicated way things were.

  “Ellis, hey.” Amy’s voice has lost its bite. “I know this isn’t your fault. Neither of us knew this was going to happen.”

  “And if you had known all along who I was?”