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
