didn’t know whether to pray that the child would succumb or survive.
Most of his fellow physicians did their best to distance themselves from their patients. Distancing helped to numb the pain and grief they encountered on a daily basis. Despite being advised to do the same himself, when he’d graduated from medical school Marco had vowed never to lose touch with the human side of his job. He never wanted to forget that the families, as well as the patient, were in pain. He didn’t want to become immune to that pain, no matter what the personal cost to himself.
Sometimes, though, it all seemed so hopeless. He patched up drug users and battered women who refused to press charges against their abusers and sent them on their way, only to treat them all over again days, weeks or months later. He’d lost count of the number of homeless people who relied on the E.R. to give them some basic human dignity and to help them with medical conditions that were solely a result of their homelessness, and thus totally preventable.
Then there were days like today, when an innocent child was entrusted to his care and he could do little to help. A day like today made Marco question whether what he did made any difference at all. A day like today left him wide-eyed and staring at the ceiling while he prayed for silence and the forgetfulness of sleep.
Five minutes, he thought in desperation. Like the woman married to a chronic snorer, five minutes of uninterrupted silence was all he would need to drift off into lullaby land. After that, his landlady could play that blasted sonatina a thousand times, and he wouldn’t hear.
When the song repeated yet again, Marco knew the only way he was going to get those five minutes was to demand them.
Wearily he climbed out of bed. For the sake of propriety, he shrugged a seldom-worn bathrobe over his naked body, then trudged in his bare feet to the front door.
The night air felt like a hot breath on his skin. Raising his right hand, he loudly rapped his knuckles against the aluminum screen door marking his landlady’s side of the duplex.
He had to repeat the motion three more times before the music stopped. A few seconds later he heard the soft patter of feet across hardwood. The pattering was followed by a pause while his landlady peered out at him through the peephole.
Then she was opening the door and regarding him through wire-rimmed glasses. It had been months since they’d actually spoken face-to-face, and he’d forgotten how tall she was, just an inch shy of his own six feet.
“Dr. Garibaldi,” she said, clearly surprised to see him. “Is there a problem?”
Something was different about her tonight, he realized. He was used to seeing her in suits, so the sleeveless, calf-length sundress was a surprise. But her attire wasn’t what had caught his attention. Maybe it was just a trick of the light that silhouetted her figure in the doorway, but he could swear her face was flushed with excitement and that her eyes actually sparkled behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
Was she entertaining? Had his unscheduled visit interrupted a languid seduction scene? Was that what was up with his landlady?
He’d never seen her like this before, so animated, so alive. Prior to that moment, if anyone had asked him to describe her, he would have said she was a woman who took life seriously and who dressed the part. She wasn’t plain, nor was she pretty. Sensible looking would be an apt enough description. He’d always thought of her as quiet and self-contained, a woman content to fade into the background with her books and ledgers, while other, more vibrant personalities hogged the limelight.
Since when had he turned so poetic?
Since he’d realized that his landlady had gorgeous, thick, waist-length hair. Normally, or at least whenever he’d seen her, she wore it in a French braid or in a bun fastened at the nape of her neck.
Suddenly, Marco was looking at her in a whole new light.
“Dr. Garibaldi?” she repeated, seemingly puzzled at his nonresponse.
He gave himself a mental shake. Given the acrimony with which his most recent relationship had ended, he was in no hurry to jump into another one. Even if he had been, Gretchen Montgomery would be the last woman he’d choose. For one thing, Marco was fairly certain she was a marriage-minded woman, and he was definitely not a marriage-minded man. What was more important, she was his landlady. Never mix business with pleasure, that was his motto.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Ms. Montgomery, but I was wondering if you could turn your CD player down.”
She looked more puzzled than ever. “My CD player?”
He felt a surge of impatience. “The piano music. It’s keeping me awake.”
“You think—” She broke off. A quick glance at her wristwatch, and her eyes filled with contrition. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize it was this late. Of course I’ll turn the music down. I apologize for disturbing you, Dr. Garibaldi. I won’t be so thoughtless again.”
“Thank you.”
“Can I do anything else for you?”
You can let me run my fingers through your hair.
The unexpected thought shot a tingle of awareness through him. Before he could control the impulse, he actually felt his arm reach out as if to do just that. He definitely needed to get some sleep.
“No,” he said, quickly backing away. Snatching back his outstretched arm, he thrust his fingers through his own hair. “Nothing else.”
“Have a good night, Dr. Garibaldi.”
“You too, Ms. Montgomery.”
“Dr. Garibaldi?”
Hand on the door to his own apartment, Marco slowly turned. “Yes?”
“Before I forget, I should probably warn you that I’m having some cosmetic work done on the outside of the house over the next few weeks. Most of it should be carried out between nine and five, but if it causes a problem, please let me know. I realize your hours can be erratic, and I don’t want to disturb your sleep again.”
“Thank you. I’ll notify you if there’s a problem.”
She seemed to hesitate. “Well, good night.”
“Good night.”
He’d just settled back into bed and closed his eyes, the blessed silence cocooning him like a soft, cotton blanket, when the phone rang. Marco swore. He wasn’t on call. Unless there was a huge disaster in the making, or a member of his family needed him, his phone had no business ringing at this hour.
“What?” he barked into the receiver.
“It’s me,” Brian, his best friend, said.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“Sorry, buddy. It’s just… Well, it’s Val.” A long sigh traveled the phone lines. “We had another fight. A big one. She’s threatening to file for divorce. Can I come over? I really need someone to talk to.”
Marco swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sure,” he said, running his hand over the stubble on his cheeks. “I’ll put the coffee on.” What had
