please don’t get me wrong, I realize how horrific your loss was. But twelve years have passed, and that’s no excuse for abandoning your responsibility to this child.” She stood straight and placed her hand on her currently flat abdomen, one hand anchored to his shoulder. “This baby needs you now. You’re the father.”
He sat staring at his plate rather than acknowledge her, and when she’d given up on him answering she dropped her hands from his shoulder and her stomach and cleared the dishes from the table.
“I’ll take care of that,” he said, belatedly.
“No, this is my way of thanking you for a great meal.” As long as he held onto the past, she’d never have a chance to really get to know him.
John removed the remaining dishes and joined her at the sink. Together they worked in silence, cleaning the kitchen.
“Can you take me home now, please?” she asked, once everything was done.
“Sure.”
Noncommittal seemed to be all the man could offer, and his history explained why, but that definitely wasn’t something she’d settle for, and John really did need to let go of the past.
* * *
John watched Polly from across the kitchen. Her petite frame looked good in anything she wore, which happened to be hospital scrubs. She was right about so many years having gone by, he knew. He couldn’t argue with the logic of being held captive by a time capsule, but the habit had become so deeply rooted into his being that he couldn’t seem to break free. He’d been one of the first responders at the scene and to this day he had flashbacks of treating the injured and mangled, of staring into the faces of the dead, while desperate to find his wife. He’d taken risks amongst the falling debris and rubble searching for Lisa, but it had all been fruitless. She’d died and taken most of him with her. To this day he questioned why he’d lived and she hadn’t.
When Polly had gathered her things, he got his keys and they headed for the elevator.
An hour later, due to heavy traffic conditions, when John dropped Polly off at her century-old building on the Lower East Side, a crazy idea popped into his head. She was the one accusing him of abandoning his responsibility to the child. She’d probably never agree to it but, what the hell, when the time was right, he’d make his pitch.
He’d double-parked and watched while she climbed the stoop stairs and buzzed herself into the building. The thought of her surviving during the long hot summer while being pregnant and living in the ancient brownstone walk-up didn’t sit well. He couldn’t offer his heart to a stranger, but he owed her the common decency of making sure she was comfortable and cared for.
Patience, John, give her some time to realize how hard things will get on her own, then you can make her the offer she can’t refuse.
FRIDAY MORNING POLLY was measuring out liquid antibiotics at the medicine station for the three-year-old toddler in Room Twelve B when John appeared in her peripheral vision.
He pushed a small brown bag her way. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Your lunch,” he said, already walking away.
“I made my own lunch.”
“Save it for tomorrow. You’ll like this better.”
“How do you know that? Maybe I’ve been craving peanut butter and jelly all day. Maybe I’ve been dreaming about my home-made lunch since breakfast.” When had she reverted to being a contrary teenager again? Could it be the hormones?
He stopped, turned and flashed that slanting smile, his dark eyes reminding her of milk-chocolate chips. Beneath his knee-length doctor’s coat he wore a white shirt and blue silk tie, looking dressier than usual. She inhaled, the savory scent coming from the bag already making her mouth water. Something warm and spicy awaited her, thanks to Dr. Griffin, the father of her baby.
He’d gone out of his way to bring this to her so the least she could do was be grateful.
She mouthed, “Thank you”. He dipped his head and walked away. Truth was, she could easily get used to him catering for her, and wondered how abruptly it would end once she had the baby. She glanced around, noticing Brooke and Rafael giving her odd looks. Oh, man, what must they think? The last thing she needed was to get picked up for the gossip grapevine like that poor Dr. Woods and the neurosurgeon, Dr. Rodriguez. Thank goodness Janetta didn’t work the day shift.
After finishing the obviously home-made minestrone soup with spinach and chicken meatballs, Polly found at the bottom of the lunch bag a large peanut-butter cookie with a note hidden behind it.
Meet me for an early dinner at Giovanni’s tonight? See you there at five.
How could he be so confident she’d come running just because he’d told her to? She went back to work determined to blow him off. Let him sit there and wait for her to show up. She may be pregnant, but she was darned sure not to be taken for granted because of it.
As the afternoon wore on, she prepared a teenage soccer player for surgery on his left knee and right shoulder. She’d given him his pre-op medicine and shot and stayed close by until the transportation clerk could take him to the operating room. As his eyelids grew heavy and he dozed off, she thought about John and his sexy blue silk tie and that off-balance but charming smile. Did she really want to play games with him? He’d asked her to dinner, had seemed sincere enough, and she had no reason not to go, so why stand him up?
The man had been to hell and back over the past twelve years. Here he was getting a little sparkle in his eyes again, and the last thing she should do was give him a hard time. It wasn’t in her nature to play games with men anyway. Besides, in her dating life the guys had always been much better at game-playing than she could ever compete with.
No, after work she’d take her time and freshen up then walk over to Giovanni’s for another dinner with John. Memories of what had happened after the last time they’d eaten there made her lose her step but not stumble. She’d make sure it didn’t happen again, and maybe she’d ask him to drive her home, just to make sure. Besides, lately the fumes in the subway made her feel nauseous.
To her surprise, John was already there, waiting, when she arrived. He’d ordered bottled water instead of Chianti, too, which was sitting on the table. He stood when he saw her, and the smile he gave was definitely genuine. So was the warm feeling inside when she smiled back at him. Without his doctor’s jacket she could see his solid, football-player physique, and it spawned a quick flash of being naked in his arms and near bliss.
“If you like shrimp, I recommend the scampi,” he said, sitting down after she’d shaken the sexy thought from her mind and taken her seat.
“So much for idle conversation. You say dinner. You mean dinner.” She picked up the menu and scanned the specials.
“I’m sorry, is there something you’d like to talk about?”
She screwed up her face. “No. It’s just, well, customary when meeting someone for dinner to start off with small talk like ‘Hi, how was your day?’ or something before getting right down to ordering.”
