Heinz Fifty-Seven American. The name Johnson is as American as it gets.”
“I see the islands in you.”
“And that makes it so? Must be nice to live in your world.” She suppressed a sigh. She always had to try her best not to be rude to the young, overconfident surgeon, because she did have to work with him.
“I’m just trying to help you get in touch with your roots. Try this. It’s rice and peas and jerk chicken. You’ll love it.”
“I don’t do spicy.” She opened the brown bag, pulled out the take-out container and peered inside. Black-eyed peas were something she’d never tried before, but the rice was brown, the chicken looked juicy and, since the doctor had gone to the trouble to bring the food, she figured she should at least taste it. “But I’ll give this a try.”
“When you eat that you’ll be singing, ‘I’m home, at last!’” He had an okay voice, but she wasn’t ready for a serenade right then.
“I doubt it, but thanks for the 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
