thought.” Her number one thought, while staring at her unrequested lunch, was how to get rid of Antwan Dupree.
Just as Antwan opened his mouth to speak again Jackson appeared once more at the door, which pleased her to no end.
Would you look at me, the popular pathologist? The thought nearly made her spew a laugh, but that could get messy and spread germs and it definitely wouldn’t be attractive and Jackson was standing right there. She kept her near guffaw to herself and secretly reveled in the moment, though inwardly she rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the notion. Popular pathologist. Right.
Antwan was a pest. Jackson Hilstead, well, was not!
“Give it a try, let me know what you think.” Antwan turned for the door. “You have my number, right?” He made a point to look directly at Jackson when he said that.
“Thank you and good-bye.” She’d never found swagger appealing. She’d also learned that with Antwan it was best to be blunt, otherwise the guy imagined all kinds of improbable things. The thing that really didn’t make sense was that he was better than decent looking and had loads of women interested around the hospital. Why pester her?
He nodded. “We’ll talk later,” he promised confidently, and did his unique Antwan Dupree walk right past Jackson, who hadn’t budged from his half of the entrance.
“Doctor.” Jackson tipped his head.
“Doctor.” Dupree paid the same respect on his way out. No sooner had he left than Charlotte could hear Antwan chatting up Latoya, the receptionist down the hall. What a guy.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jackson said.
“Not at all. In fact, thank you!”
Jackson smiled and her previously claustrophobic office, with Dr. Dupree inside plus him now being gone, seemed to expand toward the universe.
“Spicy beans and rice give me indigestion, but I guess I have to try this now. I was actually kind of looking forward to my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
That got another smile from him, and she longed to think of a thousand ways to keep them coming. She also felt compelled to clarify a few things. “For the record,” she said as she closed the food container and put it back in the bag, “there is nothing at all going on between me and Dupree. He, well...he’s a player and I really don’t care for men who are full of themselves, you know?”
“He does like the ladies.” Jackson hadn’t budged from his spot at the door, and she began to wonder why he’d made another visit. “But in this case he does exhibit excellent taste.”
Really? He thought she was attractive? Before she let herself get all puffed up about his comment, it occurred to her that Jackson must have come back to her office for a reason. Maybe he wanted to ask her to go with him to the garden party? “Did you need something?”
“Yes.”
She mentally crossed her fingers.
“I was just talking to Dr. Gordon. He said he’d like to speak to you when you have a chance.”
The head of pathology, Dr. Gordon, was her personal mentor, and admittedly a kind of father figure, and when he called, she never hesitated. “Oh. Sure, thanks.” She stood and walked around her desk, then noticed the subtle gaze again from Jackson covering her from head to toe. If only she hadn’t chosen sensible shoes today! But she thanked the manufacturer of realistic-looking falsies for filling out her special mastectomy bra underneath her turquoise top.
Charlotte strolled side by side with the tall doctor down the hall. She pegged him to be around six-two, based on her five-nine and wearing low wedge shoes, plus the fact her eyes were in line with his classic long and straight nose, except for that small bump on the bridge that gave him such character. She forced her attention away from his face, again noticing his subtly unusual gait, like maybe one shoe didn’t fit quite right. When they reached Dr. Gordon’s office door, she faked casual and said good-bye.
When he smiled his good-bye, she secretly sighed—what was it about that guy?—and lingered, watching him leave the department.
“You coming in or are you going to stand out there gawking all afternoon?” As head of pathology, Dr. Gordon had taken her under his wing from her very first day as a resident at St. Francis, and she owed him more than she could ever repay. She also happened to adore the nearly seventy-year-old curmudgeon, with his shocking white hair and clear hazel eyes that had always seemed to see right through her. His double chin helped balance a hawk-like nose.
“Sorry. Hi.” She stepped inside his office. “You wanted to talk to me?”
He grew serious. “Close the door.”
His instruction sent a chill through her core. Something important was about to happen and the thought made her uncomfortable. He’d better not be retiring because she wasn’t ready for him to leave! She did what she was told, closed the door, then sat across from him at the desk, hoping she wasn’t about to get reprimanded for something.
He gave his fatherly smile, and immediately she knew she had nothing to worry about. “I’m not going to mince words. My prostate cancer is back and Dr. Hilstead is going to do exploratory surgery on me Monday. I want you to read the frozen sections.”
Stunned, she could hardly make herself speak. “Yes. Of course.” She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, but they didn’t have that kind of relationship. “Whatever you want.” His wife, Elly, had passed away last year, and he’d seemed so forlorn ever since. The last thing the man needed was a cancer threat. Her heart ached for him, but she fought to hide her fears. “I’ll go over those specimens with a fine-tooth comb.”
“And I’ll expect no less.” Stoic as always. Pathology had a way of doing that to doctors.
“Is there anything I can do for you this weekend?”
“Thank you but no. My son is flying in from Arizona for a few days.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Oh, wait, there is something you could do. I guess you could fill in for me on Sunday afternoon at that new resident garden party deal.”
“Of course.” Not her favorite idea, since she’d hoped she could find a way to comfort him, like make a big pot of healthy soup or something, but she’d planned to go to the Sunday event anyway.
The good doctor winked at her. “Whatever we find, we’ll nip it in the bud, right?”
“You bet.” With her heart aching, she wished she could guarantee that would be the case, but they passed a look between them that said it all. As pathologists, they knew when cancer reared its head the hunt was on. It was their job to be relentless in tracking it down, the surgeons’ job to cut it out, and the oncologists’ to find the magic healing potion to obliterate anything that was left.
Medical science was a tough business, and Charlotte Johnson had signed on in one of the most demanding fields. Pathology. She’d never get used to being the bearer of bad news. Usually the doctors had to take it from there once she handed over the medical verdict. She considered Jim Gordon to be a dear friend as well as colleague and any findings she came up with he’d know had come directly from her. The responsibility unsettled
