Читать книгу The M.D.'s Surprise Family - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

Peter frowned. He could tell the woman sitting in the chair on the other side of the desk was about to launch into a full-fledged recital of her family history. Being trapped here, listening to a long-winded recitation of who had what was the last thing he wanted. It was bad enough that she had brought the boy to the preliminary consultation. He didn’t need to see the boy until he’d made up his mind as to what was necessary. After all, it wasn’t as if he had X-ray vision to study the boy’s problem and, whatever he needed to know, the boy’s sister could tell him.

And tell him and tell him.

Peter held his hand up, visually stopping her before she could sufficiently warm up to her subject matter. “I don’t need to hear that.”

His sharp tone cut her dead.

Raven pressed her lips together. She was beginning to have serious doubts about Dr. DuCane’s recommendation. Dr. Peter Sullivan might very well be a wizard with a scalpel in his hand, but for Blue she required more. She required a doctor with something more than ice water in his veins. She wanted a surgeon with a passion for his work and a desire to save every patient he came across. She was beginning to think that Sullivan was not that surgeon.

“Why not?” she asked.

The simple question caught him up short. He wasn’t accustomed to being challenged professionally, not by patients or the relatives of patients. There was emotion in her voice, something he strove to keep out of his realm. He never had anything but crisp, clear, economic conversations with the people who entered one of his offices. They told him their problem, usually coming in with extensive scans and films, and he studied the odds of succeeding in the undertaking. He liked beating the odds. It was his way of shaking his fist at the universe.

It was the only time he felt alive.

She was still waiting. The woman honestly expected him to answer. He bit back an exasperated sigh. “Because in this case, it has nothing to do with what is wrong with the patient.”

He made it sound so sterile, so detached. Raven looked Dr. Sullivan in the eyes and corrected quietly, but firmly, “Blue.” She glanced at her brother. “He has a name.”

“And rather an odd one at that.” The words had escaped before he’d had a chance to suppress them. Trouble was, he wasn’t accustomed to censoring himself—because he rarely spoke at all.

Raven glanced at Blue. To her relief, the doctor’s words didn’t seem to affect him. She should have realized they wouldn’t. Like his parents before him, Blue was a blithe spirit, unaffected by the casual, small hurts that littered everyday lives. It was as if he examined a larger picture than that which everyone else saw. Twenty years her junior, Blue was very precious to her and, she vowed silently, if she had to move heaven and earth, she was going to find a surgeon who could help Blue. Really help.

In her opinion, that surgeon wasn’t Dr. Sullivan.

She raised her chin just a tad. Peter noticed for the first time the slightest hint of a cleft in it.

“We prefer to think of it as unusual—just like Blue is.” She reached across and took Blue’s small hand in hers. She closed her fingers around it. Peter got a sudden image of union and strength. Odd thing to think of when he was looking at a mere slip of a woman. “Well, Doctor, I think that you’ve told me all I really need to know.”

Obviously the woman was woefully uninformed. But then, this was his domain, not hers. “I don’t think so. There are CAT scans to arrange to be taken. I need to study those before I agree to do the surgery.”

He had no more emotion in his voice than if he was talking about deciding between which colors to have his office painted. She was right. This wasn’t the man for them. Centered, her mind made up, Raven smiled as she shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. Feeling like someone whose turf was challenged, he told her, “I’ll decide what’s necessary.”

Her eyes never left his. “No,” she replied softly but firmly, “you won’t.” Rising to her feet, she closed her hand a little more tightly around her brother’s. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.”

It took a great deal of conscious effort on his part not to allow his mouth to drop open as she and her brother walked out of his office.

Astonishment ricocheted through him. He had just been rejected. The woman had rejected him. That had never happened to him before. Patients were always seeking him out because he was reputed to be one of the finest neurosurgeons in the country. And ever since he’d found himself without his family, there was nothing left to fill up his hours but his work.

Oh, he stopped by occasionally at Renee’s to see how she was doing, but that hardly counted. Renee had been, and in his opinion still was, his mother-in-law. By her very existence, she represented his only connection to Lisa and his past. Besides, he got along with the woman. She was like the mother he could never remember.

Neither he nor Lisa had any siblings. Only children born of only children. It made for a very small Christmas dinner table. Especially since his mother had died when he’d been very young and his father had passed away before he’d ever met Lisa.

He had promised Lisa that they would have a house full of kids. It was a promise he never got to keep.

As twilight crowded in around him, bringing with it a heightened sense of loss, he found himself driving not to the place where he slept night after night, but to the house that had once seemed so cheery to him. The house where he would see Lisa after putting in an inhuman amount of hours at the hospital. Because Lisa had been his bright spot. She had made him laugh no matter how dark his mood.

Now the laughter was gone, as was the brightness. He’d sold his own house shortly after the funeral and moved into a one-bedroom apartment. He didn’t require much in the way of living space and the memories within the house they had bought and decorated together had become too much to deal with. He preferred being in a position where he had to seek out the memories rather than have them invade his head every time he looked at anything related to Lisa’s or Becky’s life.

Peter pulled up in the small driveway and got out. Telling himself that he should be on his way home instead of bothering Renee, he still walked up to her front door. He stood there for a moment before he rang the bell.

Renee had given him a key to the house, but he never used it. He always rang the bell and on those rare times when she wasn’t home, he’d turn around and leave. The house where Lisa had grown up was too much to bear without someone there to act as a buffer.

Renee Baker answered the door before the sounds of the bell faded away. A tall, regal-looking woman with soft gray hair and gentle brown eyes, she greeted him warmly as she opened the door.

“I was hoping you’d stop by.” She paused to press a kiss on his cheek, then stood back as he crossed her threshold. “You look like hell, Pete.” She closed the door behind him. “Bad day?”

He let the warmth within the house permeate him a moment before answering. “There aren’t any good ones.”

The expression on Renee’s face told him that she knew better. “There are if you let them come, Pete.” She cocked her head, looking at him. “Did you eat?”

His reply was a half shrug and a mumbled, “Yeah.”

Because he wasn’t looking directly at her, Renee repositioned herself so that she could peer into his face. “What?”

This time the shrug employed both shoulders. “Something.”

She shook her head. The short laugh was a knowing one. “You didn’t eat.” Turning slowly on her heel, she led the way into her kitchen. “C’mon, I’ve got leftover pot roast.”

He knew better than to argue. So he followed her into the kitchen, because, for a little while, he needed her company. Because he felt as if every day he stood at a critical crossroads and he had no idea which way to go. Today was one of those days when he didn’t know why he even continued to place one foot in front of the other.

When his mood was darkest, he came to talk to Renee. And to remember a happier time.

Moving quickly for a woman who wrestled daily with the whimsy of rheumatoid arthritis, never knowing when she would be challenged and when she would receive the green light to move freely, Renee put out a plate of pot roast and small potatoes. His favorite meal, as she remembered.

Peter said nothing as she prepared the plate.

She gave him a look just before she went to retrieve a bottle of soda from the refrigerator.

“Am I going to have to drag the words out of you?” Then she laughed. “Why should tonight be any different than usual?” she speculated. Placing a glass in front of him, she looked down at Peter. “Talk to an old woman, Pete. Tell me about your day and why you’re here tonight instead of last night or tomorrow.”

She went to get a glass for herself when she heard him say, “I lost a patient today.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Renee crossed back to the table and helped herself to the bottle of soda. Her voice was filled with understanding. She’d told him more than once that it took a special person to do what he did, day after day, and not break down. “But it does happen. You’ve saved more than you’ve lost.”

Peter realized that she’d misunderstood him. “No, I don’t mean that way. I meant, I lost a patient,” he repeated between forkfuls of pot roast that melted on his tongue. “He walked out of my office. Actually, his sister took him away.”

Renee set down her glass. “Sister, huh? You probably scared her away.”

Not likely, not someone like the woman who’d been in his office this morning. “I don’t scare anyone.”

Like a mother studying her child, Renee took his face in her hand and pretended to scrutinize it carefully, just to be certain that she was right. “Not with your looks, Pete, but I have to tell you, you were definitely hiding behind a pillar the day they were teaching all about bedside manners.”

He shrugged as she withdrew her hand. “A surgeon doesn’t need a bedside manner.”

“Don’t you believe it. A lot of the times—and especially in the field you’re in, Pete—the surgeon is all that stands between the patient and the big sleep. Patients want to hang on to what you tell them. They want you to make them feel better even before they get wheeled into the operating room.”

He raised his eyes to hers. He thought she knew him better than that. “I don’t deal with giving out false hopes.”

Renee sat across from him at the table, nursing the glass of soda she’d just poured for herself. The expression on her face transcended conversation. “The mind is a very powerful tool, Peter. It can perform miracles at times.”

He had a great deal of respect for Renee, but her philosophy was completely alien to him. “If people could think themselves well, Renee, there’d be no reason for doctors.”

She leaned in closer as she spoke. “That’s not what I meant—exactly. But a patient needs all the help he can get—so does a doctor.” She looked at him pointedly. “Use what’s available. Make a patient think positive. It can’t hurt.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “What have you got to lose?”

He could give her the answer without thinking. “Time.” And giving a patient empty words was definitely wasting it.

Unfazed, Renee shrugged before she took another sip. “It goes by anyway. Might as well do something good with it.” Setting down her glass, she looked at his plate. The four slices she’d put there were gone, as were the tiny potatoes. She nodded at it. “See, I knew you were hungry.” She let her eyes travel down his upper torso. “Come by more often, Pete. You’re getting way too skinny.”

He hadn’t come here to talk about himself. Reversing the tables on her, he gazed at her for a long moment. Her health was a major concern to him. “You doing okay?”

Like someone uncomfortable with the subject matter, Renee shrugged dismissively. She’d once told him that the less she thought about the advancing arthritis that sought to conquer her, the better off she was.

“I’ve got my good days and my bad days, same as everyone else.” And then she flashed a smile. “This is a good day.” Renee glanced at the wheelchair that was tucked away in the corner in the family room. She used it when there was no way around it. But most of the time, she didn’t have to resort to it. “That’s always there, waiting for me.” And then she smiled at him, as if her point was made. “I just think myself out of it.”

Peter shook his head. The woman was incorrigible. Just like Lisa had been. Just like Becky had been on her way to becoming. “Whatever works.”

Leaning across the table, Renee covered his hand with hers. “That’s right. Whatever works. And positive thought works.”

He was glad she felt that philosophy worked for her, but it wasn’t the way for him. He sincerely doubted that he was capable of thinking positively. Not after the negative event that had traumatized in his life.

The floors smelled of antiseptic and something that had been sprayed to mask the scent. It succeeded only in becoming an annoying hybrid. But the smell would be gone by the time the daily hospital traffic began to weave its way through the halls.

It was early.

He liked the quiet, before the noises started. Normally he would just be heading to the hospital, but he’d arrived at Blair Memorial earlier than usual today. As happened with a fair amount of regularity, sleep had eluded him again last night. He’d spent it tossing and turning, find tiny islands of sleep and snatching them, only to wake up again soon afterward. By four he’d given up the fight.

He decided he might as well get an early start on the day. There was a surgery scheduled for nine this morning and he felt a need to review the CAT scans again. He knew the procedure cold, but he’d always felt that it never hurt to be overprepared.

It beat the hell out of being underprepared.

Preoccupied, he didn’t notice her at first. Whenever he was locked into his thoughts, he tended to have tunnel vision to the exclusion of the rest of the world.

But even so, the fact that there was someone sitting in the hallway right outside his office did register in the peripheral portion of his brain, that small space where he allowed life’s ordinary little happenings to huddle together.

As he fished out the keys from his pocket, Peter was vaguely aware that the figure rose from the chair. Swirls of color penetrated his consciousness and he glanced in the figure’s direction. And was not as surprised as he would have thought he should be.

It was the boy-with-the-funny-name’s sister.

She grinned at him broadly. He had the impression of standing beside an overly lit billboard. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoed only because she’d used the word. Looking around, he saw that she was alone. He’d half thought that if she turned up at all, she would bring reinforcements with her, not fly solo.

He put his key into the lock and turned it. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” she answered simply, succeeding in mystifying him further.

Not waiting for an invitation as he opened the door, Raven Songbird walked into his office.

He dropped his keys back into his pocket as he looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”

Her face was the picture of innocence. “Because I wanted to talk to you.” She’d been waiting for him to show up for almost twenty minutes. Alix DuCane, Blue’s pediatrician, had told her that the unfriendly neurosurgeon usually came in early and she’d wanted to catch him before his day got under way.

“There’s a handy thing called the telephone.” He glanced at the one on his desk for emphasis.

She’d thought about calling him, but had dismissed it. More than likely, she would have gotten his receptionist or the answering service. And she had a feeling that asking him to return the call would have fallen on deaf ears.

Raven told him a little of her philosophy. “I prefer talking to people face-to-face.” She could see that didn’t sit very well with him. “Are you always so unfriendly, or is it just me?”

“Yes and yes,” he answered tartly before asking a question of his own. “Are you always so ‘in your face’ with people?”

“Mostly.”

He wasn’t prepared for the smile. Or for the effect it seemed to have on him. Discreetly, he took a breath, as if that would help shield him from this small dynamo who was determined to invade his professional life. “So I haven’t been singled out?”

“Well, yes, you have,” she allowed, then quickly added, “but not for that. My doctor thinks I should give you a second chance.”

“Oh, he does, does he?”

“She,” Raven corrected, then supplied the doctor’s name. “Dr. Alix DuCane and, actually, she’s Blue’s doctor, not mine.”

He was familiar with the name if not the person. Ducane had been on staff at Blair Memorial for several years and was now head of pediatrics. She’d been here when he’d first arrived. Knowing what he did about the pediatrician, he was surprised that the woman hadn’t picked up the phone to call him about this.

“And just why did she recommend this generosity of spirit on your part?”

She’d never liked sarcasm. But this was for Blue, so she was going to put up with it. She would have been willing to put up with the devil himself for Blue and it was beginning to look as if she just might have to.

“Because Dr. DuCane thinks you really are the best.” She’d called the woman after her visit with Dr. Sullivan, not to complain but just to explain why she wasn’t about to take the pediatrician’s advice. Alix had prevailed upon her to rethink her decision and to give the doctor another chance. Alix had volunteered to provide the bedside manner herself if necessary.

It was time to get to the point. Since he’d begun operating, his patients had all been over the age of eighteen and he now preferred it that way. “I don’t do children.”

Unlike her late parents and her brother, Raven had a temper she usually kept under wraps. It was the one gene, according to her mother, that her maternal grandfather had contributed to the mix. Jeremiah Blackfeather had never been a mild-mannered man and there were times that Raven felt as if her late grandfather was channeling through her. “From what I see, you don’t do people, either, Dr. Sullivan. Just subjects.”

The slight show of temper surprised him. For some unknown reason, it also amused him, though he kept that to himself. “And you don’t approve.”

“I want my brother’s life to matter to you.”

“A good surgeon doesn’t get involved, Ms. Bird.”

“Songbird,” she corrected. Then, for emphasis, she added, “Like the clothes.”

Peter looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then something clicked into place inside his brain. Lisa had had a wildly colorful blouse she’d absolutely adored. She’d had it on the day she was killed. He’d given it to her on their first anniversary. He remembered the tag because it had been in the shape of a bird. A dove, Lisa had told him.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Any connection?”

“My mother started the line.” She didn’t bother hiding her pride. There seemed to be no point to it. “Dad said they needed to live on more than love and Mom came up with a line of clothing that they sold to their friends. First few years, she worked out of an old VW bus that my dad turned into a work-room for her. Demands kept coming in and—” She stopped abruptly. She smiled at him. “You don’t want to hear about this.”

“I didn’t think I had a choice.” And then, for just a second, his expression softened as he thought of Lisa wearing the blouse for the first time. “My wife had a blouse made by your mother. Said it was her favorite thing in the whole world besides Becky—and me.”

“Becky,” she repeated. Curiosity got the better of her. “Your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“How old?” The doctor looked at her strangely. Wondering what she’d said wrong, Raven clarified, “Your daughter, how old is she now?”

“She isn’t any age now.” His tone was distant again, hollow. “My daughter died two years ago in a car accident. Along with her mother.”

That was why he’d looked at her like that yesterday when she’d mentioned the car accident that had claimed her parents. Of all the things they could have had in common, this was really awful, she thought. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

She’d placed her hand on his shoulder. Not wanting the contact, he moved his shoulder away. “Yes,” he said quietly, “So am I.”