wouldn’t have wanted you to feel that way, the voice in his head insisted. The voice sounded a great deal like Edna at the moment because the woman had known his wife almost better than he had.
He knew that the voice—and Edna—were probably right. Nancy would have wanted him to move on. But he couldn’t. His body, his entire psyche felt as if it was stuck in molasses, in the past, unable to move, unable to blink. Unable to think of life without his partner, his helper, his soul mate.
Remember the girls. They need you.
This time, the voice in his head sounded a great deal like Nancy.
He realized that the chief of surgery was shaking his hand, a pleased expression on the older man’s broad, kind face.
“Well, I’ve got nothing further to say right now except welcome aboard, Doctor,” he told Simon. Eminently satisfied, the older man added, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Flashing an almost perfect set of teeth, he identified the quote. “That’s from Casablanca. You’ll forgive me, I’m a big movie buff. My wife, bless her, has another term for it, but I like movie buff better. Wives, God love ‘em, they’ve all got our number, don’t they?”
Hale chuckled as he looked at the face of Blair’s newest surgeon on staff. And then the chief of surgery suddenly grew somber.
“Oh, my God, I’m sorry. I forgot that your wife passed,” he said delicately, falling back on the squeaky-clean euphemism for death. “I’m sorry, Doctor. That had to have sounded very callous of me.”
Simon shook his head, doing his very best to detach his consciousness from his surroundings. He’d been doing that for a year now, whenever his thoughts or the conversation veered toward Nancy.
“No, that’s all right,” he demurred, hoping the matter would be dropped.
Not likely. Hale didn’t appear to be finished just yet. Concerned, he laid his hand on Simon’s shoulder and peered into the other man’s eyes.
“How are you getting along?” Hale asked, adding kindly, “Do you need anything?”
Yes, I need my wife back.
Stoically, Simon shook his head. “No, I’m fine. But that’s very kind of you.” Simon glanced at his watch. Three hours had gone by. Had the meeting taken that long? He didn’t feel as if it had, but it obviously must have. “If you don’t mind, my housekeeper’s ill and I’d like to check in on her.”
“Of course, of course.” Hale rose, pumping Simon’s hand again. “Let me know if there’s anything we can do for you here at Blair Memorial. Otherwise, we’ll be looking forward to seeing you at the hospital, say, on Thursday?” he suggested hopefully. He knew that most places began their people on a Monday, but he had another philosophy. “We’ll let you get your feet wet slowly,” he added with a chuckle. “I always found that was the best way. I don’t like overwhelming my doctors by having them start with a full week. Even a state-of-the-art hospital takes some getting used to,” he theorized.
“Thursday will be fine.”
“Remember,” Hale said, walking Simon to the glasspaneled door, “if you find you need anything, or just want someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to give me a call. My door—and phone—are always open.” He clapped the new surgeon on the back. “I operate by a simple rule—Happy doctors are good doctors. I want to keep you happy, Dr. Sheffield.”
“I appreciate that, chief.” But you’re thirteen months too late for that. “Thank you again, sir.” And with that, Simon took his leave.
The second he turned down the corridor, Simon picked up speed.
He needed to get home to make sure that Edna was all right and that he hadn’t made a huge mistake by opening his doors to that decorator.
Granted that this Kennon Cassidy did seem to have an engaging manner about her, but from what he’d heard, so did the more successful con artists. Although he had nothing in the house that could be taken, still he would feel a great deal more at ease once he was back, attending to Edna himself.
And reclaiming his solitude.
Chapter Four
Even though he had traveled behind the woman’s vehicle for part of the way to Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton School and had subsequently called the principal, Sister Therese, to make sure that his daughters had arrived and each was in her proper classroom, the bottom line was that Simon was more than a little annoyed with himself for having actually relied on a woman he really didn’t know from Adam.
Well, maybe not Adam, he amended. Didn’t know from Eve would have been the more appropriate description, given that no one in their right mind would ever mistake Kennon Cassidy for anything but an exquisite example of womanhood.
His observation caught him off guard, completely surprising him. Where had that come from?
Ever since the tsunami had taken Nancy and swept away his life, he’d caught himself sleepwalking through his life on more than one occasion.
He needed to maintain a grip on his life.
If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be any good to anyone, least of all himself. And there were not just his patients—his future patients—to think of, but his daughters, as well.
He’d been an absentee father at best, but it had never preyed on his conscience because Nancy and especially Edna were there to take up the slack. Nancy’s death had changed all the ground rules. He had to ante up, despite the fact that he didn’t know how.
It was for Madelyn and Meghan’s sake that he had deliberately left everything behind and come here in an attempt to finally shake free of the malaise that Nancy’s death had created. And to some extent, he had succeeded. He’d applied for a position at the hospital, actually bought a home in an amazingly short amount of time and had gotten the girls enrolled in a top-ranked school, although the last was more Edna’s doing than his own.
But if someone were to ask him what color his shirt was, or to even hazard a guess as to what either of his daughters was wearing this morning, he’d have no answer. For the most part, he’d always been rather unaware of his surroundings, but it had only gotten worse in the last thirteen months.
So he was rather stunned he’d actually noticed what could politely be referred to as Kennon Cassidy’s “attributes.”
He supposed that just meant he wasn’t dead yet. Maybe that represented a sliver of hope that he would eventually be able to come around—in about a thousand years or so.
* * *
When he took the freeway off-ramp that would eventually lead him to his house, Simon glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It had taken him less time to drive back than it had to reach the hospital. The realization meant that his subconscious was apparently back online. He had always had the ability to commit things to memory after seeing them only once. This included driving directions. But even that had been less than fully operational these last thirteen months.
Pulling up into his driveway, Simon noted that the decorator—Kennon, was
