style="font-size:15px;"> “Is it a date?”
She faced him with her hand on her hip. “If I do this, then will you stop bugging me?”
“Probably not.” He smiled charmingly at her.
“I didn’t think so.” She smiled back, dropping her defenses. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“Do what?”
“Take on impossible challenges.”
“Just stubborn, I guess.” He chuckled. “So, you want turkey on wheat, Swiss cheese and fat-free Italian dressing. No mayo. No mustard. Right?”
“I’m impressed.”
“All I had to do was ask.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“Ben, how can you be interested in someone so predictable?”
“Predictable? Oh no, you’re quite the opposite. I find you as mysterious as the riddle of Giza.”
“How’s that?” she asked tensely.
“The owner of the deli says she never knows if you want your brownie with pecans or walnuts. That you are forever changing your mind.”
Shaking her head, she said, “I want the one with the caramel filling.”
“See? You’re fascinating. I’ll be back in ten.”
He was back in nine. He spread paper towels atop the hospital tray intended for the patient and handed Shannon a packet of sweetener.
“Just one for the tea, right?”
She looked at him. “You know, it makes me nervous you knowing so much about me. Have you followed me home yet?”
“I’m not a stalker, Shannon.”
“Have you?” she asked again.
“No,” he replied quietly. “But I’ve wanted to.”
“This isn’t healthy, Ben.”
He looked at the sandwich. “It’s fat-free.”
“I didn’t mean the turkey.”
“I know what you meant,” he said.
“You and me. It’s not going to go anywhere,” she said softly.
“Why not?” Putting his flat palms in the air, he said, “Don’t answer that.”
She peered at him. “Are you lonely?”
“Yes,” he said too quickly. “No. I mean, it’s not that, it’s you. You remind me of a girl I once knew.”
“A girl you loved?”
“Yes.”
“But I’m not her,” Shannon said, dropping her eyes. She stared at her tea thoughtfully. “What does friendship mean to you?”
Wiping his hands on the napkin, Ben said, “Always being there for each other. Supporting each other. Sharing good times, and bad ones.”
“Sounds like marriage. Or what marriage should be.”
“I said nothing about sex,” he said, purposefully revealing his passion for her.
She glanced at John.
Ben noticed that.
“I…don’t think I can do this, Ben. I’m not the chatty type. All this will lead to more questions I don’t want to answer. You’ll be frustrated….”
“I already am,” he said in a low voice, then looked out the window.
“I’m not good at relationships. That’s all you have to know about me. I handle them badly.”
He stood, gathering his coffee and sandwich. “How would you know? You haven’t tried.” He left the room without another word.
Shannon stared thoughtfully after him.
For the rest of the day, Ben remained outside John’s room, making calls on his cellular phone. She didn’t ask who he was calling, not wanting to spark another conversation that would only hurt him in the long run.
Shannon watched Ben as he exited the hospital and stood on the small grassy area five floors below John’s window, smoking cigarettes, pacing anxiously, looking confusedly at the sky, then up at John’s window. Their eyes would meet and she would turn away.
She told herself she wanted nothing to do with a man who wore a gun. Guns were bad news. Cops were bad news. And Ben was off-limits for more reasons than one.
8
Holidays were special for most people, but not for Shannon. Though the other nurses made a fuss over the gifts they exchanged, Shannon wrapped small boxes of chocolates in simple brown paper, tied them with string and wrote each staff member’s name in crayon on the top, the donor’s name anonymous. When no one was around, she slipped her gifts under the tree the others had decorated.
She knew they would know the gifts were from her, but this way she didn’t have to suffer their thanks, which tended to lead to invitations to their homes. Then to questions and more questions. She could take a lot of things, but not grilling.
Approaching John’s room, Shannon realized she’d been effective in her effort to ignore Ben’s gun and think of him as a person.
Somehow on Ben the gun had taken on a new aspect and she wasn’t quite as frightened. Nevertheless, a gun was a gun. It could turn against her. Ben could turn against her. Especially if he knew the truth.
“Hello, Ben,” Shannon said, trying to clip off her words to keep him disinterested.
His eyes lit up instantly. Her ploy wasn’t working in the least.
“Hi, Shannon.” He smiled. “Merry Christmas.” He got up from his uncomfortable metal chair. “How are you today? Pretty as ever, I see.”
“Ben,” she said warningly, going into John’s room.
Ben followed her inside. He said nothing, only watched her.
She felt the silence, awkward and heavy, slowing her movements. She cuffed John’s arm, took his blood pressure, then his temperature and marked them on the chart.
“Any change?” Ben asked, crossing the room and looming over John’s face.
“None.”
Ben smiled charmingly. “Would you tell me if there was?”
“Yes,” she said, as she took out sheets to change the linens. She put her hand on her hip and glared at him.
