how hard she tried to plug up the hole in her resolve so the frustration wouldn’t escape, another fissure took its place. She was known for tolerating difficult patients. Known to never lose her composure. But today had been the mother of all bad days, and right now she was feeling anything but composed. What else would explain the sudden need to respond to his apathy with a curtness totally foreign to her?
Brooke choked the ball in her fist and leveled her gaze on him. “Dr. Granger, since you seem to be having a problem with cooperation, it just occurred to me that maybe you’re having a temporary bout of self-pity. At least, I hope it’s only temporary, because if you want to see something to feel sorry for, then hang around for my next patient. A twenty-five-year-old father of two with a fractured C-6 vertebrae.”
She paused only long enough to take a deep draw of air. “He comes here in a wheelchair with his kids on his lap and a smile on his face even though he’ll never take another step. Never make another baby. Never even make love to his wife in the same way again. But he’s not moaning over his situation. He’s going about the business of living, even though he has little opportunity to get better. You do.”
For a moment he looked as though she had struck him. He opened his mouth, then let it drop shut. Awkwardly he stood, looming over her like a sturdy oak able to survive the greatest of storms, his face flashing anger. But his eyes looked vulnerable. So very, very vulnerable.
“I don’t need your lecture, Ms. Lewis. I’ve spent the last eight years of my life operating on sick people, many of them kids, and with every one that I lost, part of me died right with them. But I kept going because I couldn’t do anything but be a doctor. I didn’t want to be anything but a doctor. I still don’t.”
He held up his stiff right hand. It trembled like a fragile leaf. “If you take away this, you might as well take away my legs, too.”
With that, he pivoted around and tore back the curtain. And Brooke immediately experienced the biting pang of remorse. She’d forced him to bare his soul. Forced him to uncover a wound that was forty times the size of his scar.
Brooke rose on shaky legs, afraid that she had totally turned him off to therapy—totally blown his world apart with her callous behavior. And in the process, she could have jeopardized her job, the most worthwhile thing in her life. But more important, she had kicked a man at his lowest point—a talented doctor whose potential was limitless and, because of one life-altering accident, was now nothing more than the shell of the man he used to be. Regardless of his bitter attitude, that was unforgivable.
“Dr. Granger, wait,” she called out before he reached the door. Several therapists stopped their own activities and briefly gave their attention to Brooke.
Dr. Granger halted and turned. This time his eyes looked lifeless. Dead. And something deep inside Brooke died, too.
She joined him at the doorway and signaled him to follow her into the hall. Once there, she lowered her eyes because it was simply too painful to look at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard. It’s just that if you give up, it would be such a waste.”
“Would it?”
She looked up to find him studying her, this time with a penetrating sadness that cut to the heart. “A terrible waste. I propose you come back on Thursday, and we’ll start over again.”
“I hate coming here.”
“I know, but once you settle into the routine, it will get easier.”
“Not here, with you. Here, in the hospital.”
His hospital, Brooke thought. A place that had been a huge part of his life. A place full of reminders of what he’d once had—a brilliant career.
Brooke certainly couldn’t blame him for being less than thrilled to return on a regular basis. She also couldn’t allow him to fall into complacency. Yet she wasn’t sure how to convince him that he needed to continue the therapy if he was frustrated by the hospital surroundings.
A sudden thought crossed her mind. A crazy thought, but just crazy enough to work.
“Dr. Granger, have you considered home therapy?”
His eyes narrowed. “You mean someone coming to my house instead of me coming here?”
“Yeah. It’s been done before.” Brooke had done it before, mostly with shut-ins. Never with a struggling, handsome doctor.
“You’d be willing to come to my home?” he asked, surprise in his tone.
“Well, yes. Or someone else, if you prefer.”
“No. I’d want it to be you.”
He seemed so adamant that she continue his therapy, Brooke was almost rendered speechless. “So you’d consider it?”
“Maybe.”
Brooke released the breath she’d been holding. “I’ll have to clear it with my supervisor, and we’ll need to talk with Dr. Kempner about changing the order.”
“He’ll do it.”
“So you’ll think about it?”
“We’ll see.” He limped down the corridor with a slump to his shoulders, all the pride seeming to have seeped from him in a matter of moments.
Somehow, some way, Brooke was determined to set things right, and if he agreed to the home therapy, that was a start.
If he allowed her the opportunity to aid in his recovery, hopefully when the time came, she would walk away from him knowing that she had helped him in some small way. Walk away and never look back. But deep down, Brooke worried that walking away from Jared Granger might be easier planned than done, especially if he didn’t get better.
Yet she had to walk away, and without any second thoughts. Becoming emotionally involved with a patient was not only taboo, but created a danger to Brooke’s emotional well-being. Leaving her heart wide open was not an option.
Yes, Dr. Jared Granger might need her, but she would never need another man again.
Jared Granger waited alone in Nick Kempner’s office, studying his rigid hand, his gnarled fingers. He hated sympathy of any kind, the pitying looks he received from colleagues and friends alike. Hated the fact that he was steeped in self-pity more often than not these days.
Never had he been posed with such a challenge. Even med school and multiple residencies hadn’t gotten him down like this. Might as well admit it, he was washed up as a surgeon. Not much better off as a man. At least not at the present.
Admitting it didn’t take away the pain, the anger. It only served to create more vile-tasting resentment that he couldn’t control.
He also couldn’t recall the last good day he’d had, even before the accident. Three weeks ago, getting away to his farm—a place he could always count on to regroup—hadn’t eased the piercing guilt over losing a special patient, the reason why he hadn’t been paying attention to the thin piece of wire caught in the tractor shredder. The reason he’d carelessly tried to manhandle it out of the blade, causing the backlash that had sent the metal slicing across his wrist, creating the deep laceration that damaged his median nerve, then the fall that had shattered his leg. All
