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“I see the islands in you.”
“And that makes it so? Must be nice to live in your world.” She suppressed a sigh. She always had to try her best not to be rude to the young, overconfident surgeon, because she did have to work with him.
“I’m just trying to help you get in touch with your roots. Try this. It’s rice and peas and jerk chicken. You’ll love it.”
“I don’t do spicy.” She opened the brown bag, pulled out the take-out container and peered inside. Black-eyed peas were something she’d never tried before, but the rice was brown, the chicken looked juicy and, since the doctor had gone to the trouble to bring the food, she figured she should at least taste it. “But I’ll give this a try.”
“When you eat that you’ll be singing, ‘I’m home, at last!’” He had an okay voice, but she wasn’t ready for a serenade right then.
“I doubt it, but thanks for the thought.” Her number one thought, while staring at her unrequested lunch, was how to get rid of Antwan Dupree.
Just as Antwan opened his mouth to speak again Jackson appeared once more at the door, which pleased her to no end.
Would you look at me, the popular pathologist? The thought nearly made her spew a laugh, but that could get messy and spread germs and it definitely wouldn’t be attractive and Jackson was standing right there. She kept her near guffaw to herself and secretly reveled in the moment, though inwardly she rolled her eyes at the absurdity of the notion. Popular pathologist. Right.
Antwan was a pest. Jackson Hilstead, well, was not!
“Give it a try, let me know what you think.” Antwan turned for the door. “You have my number, right?” He made a point to look directly at Jackson when he said that.
“Thank you and good-bye.” She’d never found swagger appealing. She’d also learned that with Antwan it was best to be blunt, otherwise the guy imagined all kinds of improbable things. The thing that really didn’t make sense was that he was better than decent looking and had loads of women interested around the hospital. Why pester her?
He nodded. “We’ll talk later,” he promised confidently, and did his unique Antwan Dupree walk right past Jackson, who hadn’t budged from his half of the entrance.
“Doctor.” Jackson tipped his head.
“Doctor.” Dupree paid the same respect on his way out. No sooner had he left than Charlotte could hear Antwan chatting up Latoya, the receptionist down the hall. What a guy.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Jackson said.
“Not at all. In fact, thank you!”
Jackson smiled and her previously claustrophobic office, with Dr. Dupree inside plus him now being gone, seemed to expand toward the universe.
“Spicy beans and rice give me indigestion, but I guess I have to try this now. I was actually kind of looking forward to my peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
That got another smile from him, and she longed to think of a thousand ways to keep them coming. She also felt compelled to clarify a few things. “For the record,” she said as she closed the food container and put it back in the bag, “there is nothing at all going on between me and Dupree. He, well...he’s a player and I really don’t care for men who are full of themselves, you know?”
“He does like the ladies.” Jackson hadn’t budged from his spot at the door, and she began to wonder why he’d made another visit. “But in this case he does exhibit excellent taste.”
Really? He thought she was attractive? Before she let herself get all puffed up about his comment, it occurred to her that Jackson must have come back to her office for a reason. Maybe he wanted to ask her to go with him to the garden party? “Did you need something?”
“Yes.”
She mentally crossed her fingers.
“I was just talking to Dr. Gordon. He said he’d like to speak to you when you have a chance.”
The head of pathology, Dr. Gordon, was her personal mentor, and admittedly a kind of father figure, and when he called, she never hesitated. “Oh. Sure, thanks.” She stood and walked around her desk, then noticed the subtle gaze again from Jackson covering her from head to toe. If only she hadn’t chosen sensible shoes today! But she thanked the manufacturer of realistic-looking falsies for filling out her special mastectomy bra underneath her turquoise top.
Charlotte strolled side by side with the tall doctor down the hall. She pegged him to be around six-two, based on her five-nine and wearing low wedge shoes, plus the fact her eyes were in line with his classic long and straight nose, except for that small bump on the bridge that gave him such character. She forced her attention away from his face, again noticing his subtly unusual gait, like maybe one shoe didn’t fit quite right. When they reached Dr. Gordon’s office door, she faked casual and said good-bye.
When he smiled his good-bye, she secretly sighed—what was it about that guy?—and lingered, watching him leave the department.
“You coming in or are you going to stand out there gawking all afternoon?” As head of pathology, Dr. Gordon had taken her under his wing from her very first day as a resident at St. Francis, and she owed him more than she could ever repay. She also happened to adore the nearly seventy-year-old curmudgeon, with his shocking white hair and clear hazel eyes that had always seemed to see right through her. His double chin helped balance a hawk-like nose.
“Sorry. Hi.” She stepped inside his office. “You wanted to talk to me?”
He grew serious. “Close the door.”
His instruction sent a chill through her core. Something important was about to happen and the thought made her uncomfortable. He’d better not be retiring because she wasn’t ready for him to leave! She did what she was told, closed the door, then sat across from him at the desk, hoping she wasn’t about to get reprimanded for something.
He gave his fatherly smile, and immediately she knew she had nothing to worry about. “I’m not going to mince words. My prostate cancer is back and Dr. Hilstead is going to do exploratory surgery on me Monday. I want you to read the frozen sections.”
Stunned, she could hardly make herself speak. “Yes. Of course.” She wanted to run to him and throw her arms around him, but they didn’t have that kind of relationship. “Whatever you want.” His wife, Elly, had passed away last year, and he’d seemed so forlorn ever since. The last thing the man needed was a cancer threat. Her heart ached for him, but she fought to hide her fears. “I’ll go over those specimens with a fine-tooth comb.”
“And I’ll expect no less.” Stoic as always. Pathology had a way of doing that to doctors.
“Is there anything I can do for you this weekend?”
“Thank you but no. My son is flying in from Arizona for a few days.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Oh, wait, there is something you could do. I guess you could fill in for me on Sunday afternoon at that new resident garden party deal.”
“Of course.” Not her favorite idea, since she’d hoped she could find a way to comfort him, like make a big pot of healthy soup or something, but she’d planned to go to the Sunday event anyway.
The good doctor winked at her. “Whatever we find, we’ll nip it in the bud, right?”
“You bet.” With her heart aching, she wished she could guarantee that would be the case, but they passed a look between them that said it all. As pathologists, they knew when cancer reared its head the hunt was on. It was their job to be relentless in tracking it down, the surgeons’ job to cut it out, and the oncologists’ to find the magic healing potion to obliterate anything that was left.
Medical science was a tough business, and Charlotte Johnson had signed on in one of the most demanding fields. Pathology. She’d never get used to being the bearer of bad news. Usually the doctors had to take it from there once she handed over the medical verdict. She considered Jim Gordon to be a dear friend as well as colleague and any findings she came up with he’d know had come directly from her. The responsibility unsettled her stomach.
Now that she’d dealt with her own deepest fear—and Jim Gordon had condoned her radical decision two years ago at the age of thirty-two—she was damned if she’d give up being an optimist for him.
Come Monday morning she’d be ready for the toughest call of her career, and it would be for Dr. Gordon. Her mentor. The man she’d come to respect like a father. But first she’d have to make it through the garden party on Sunday afternoon, and the one bright spot in that obligation was the chance to see her secret surgeon crush again. Dr. Jackson Hilstead.
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_249c86cc-be2e-53b9-89c1-a9030075e8c1)
CHARLOTTE DIDN’T WANT to admit she’d picked the Capri blue patterned sundress only because Dr. Hilstead had liked her turquoise top on Friday, though the thought had entered her mind while searching her closet for something to wear on Sunday morning.
It had been a long time since she’d even considered wearing a dress cut like this, which made her feel uncomfortable, so she’d compromised with a white, lightweight, very loosely knit, three-quarter-sleeved summer sweater. To help cover the dipping neckline, she chose several strings of large and colorful beads. On a whim, she left her hair down, letting the thick waves touch the tops of her shoulders and making no excuses for the occasional ringlet around her face. And this shade of blue sure made her caramel-colored eyes stand out.
With confidence, later that afternoon, she stepped into the St. Francis of the Valley atrium, which connected to an outdoor patio where dozens of doctors had already begun to gather. At the moment she didn’t recognize a single face, all of the residents looking so young and eager. But there was Antwan with a young and very attractive woman on his arm. Relieved he wasn’t alone, she glanced around the cavernous room.
She recognized several large painted canvases and they drew her attention to the bright white walls as she realized the ocularist down the hall from her office, Andrea Rimmer, had painted them. In fact, she’d bought several of her early paintings at an art auction because she’d loved her style so much, but these paintings were signed with a different name because Andrea had married a pediatrician, Sam Marcus, so her name had changed now. Anyway, the paintings of huge eyes peeking through various openings were amazing, each iris completely different from the next, and Charlotte was soon swept up in imagining their meaning.
Totally engrossed with admiring the newest paintings of her current favorite artist, she jumped when someone tapped her shoulder. That flutter of excitement flitted right on by when she realized it was Dr. Dupree.
“You’re looking extra fine today,” he said, making a show of looking her up and down.
“Thank you. Where’s your date?”
“Getting some refreshments.” His line of vision stayed on her chest. “All those necklaces remind me of the Caribbean.”
“They’re just some beads I threw on, that’s all. Oh, look.” She really wanted to divert his interest from her chest. “Your lady friend is searching for you.”
“If I didn’t assume you’d have a date today, I would have asked you myself.”
“I’m here as the representative of the pathology department. This garden party is all business for me.”
“Such a shame. If you ever want to actually have a good time, let me know. You don’t know what you’re missing until you’ve gone out with me.”
Seriously? “If this is any example of how you treat your dates, count me out. Now go spend some time with the very attractive woman you’ve brought. Shoo.” She used her hands to shoo him away, like the pest he was. Man, it ticked her off how he treated women as interchangeable objects.
Frustration and anger interfered with her enjoying the artwork, and though she already really wanted to leave, she had promised Dr. Gordon to be the face of Pathology today. So she forced herself to head toward the refreshment table, where several of the new doctors stood talking among themselves. She glanced up in time to see something to make her get excited. Jackson Hilstead was easy to spot, being a head taller than others in his group, as he moved into the atrium. Charlotte found her smile come to a halt when she noticed that to Jackson’s right was the assistant head of the hospital laboratory, Yuri Ito. His hand rested on her shoulder, like he was guiding her. Obviously they’d come together.
Why had Jackson asked if she was coming to the party if he was bringing a date? Her previous excitement turned to disappointment, making the thought of eating sour on her tongue. What else was new? Why had she even let herself follow her fancy in the first place? Antwan may have been right about the surgeon. Maybe he was as much of a lady’s man as Dupree. What was up with surgeons?
Halfheartedly, she moved on to the buffet and picked a few items to pretend she was busy, rather than try to make eye contact with Jackson. What was the point? She greeted a few of the new residents, introducing herself and inviting them to stop by anytime for a quick tour of the department. The two young women and one guy all seemed very receptive, maybe even a little too enthusiastic. The dip may have looked great but it tasted bland, matching her mood, since eyeing the tall surgeon with Yuri, but she forced herself to partake.
Another tap on the shoulder sent her heart skittering once more, until she turned to face Antwan again. How did he keep ditching his date?
“Here,” he said, handing her a glass of punch. “You’ll like this—it’s for grown-ups. And it reminds me—”
“Let me guess—of the Caribbean? Evidently everything does today.” She took the drink and sipped, pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste with a kick, as it was definitely a grown-up beverage. “Thanks.” She forced a smile and received a much-too-eager grin in return. The sight made her eyes immediately dance away in time to connect with Jackson’s where he stood a few feet away.
“Hi,” he said, over the crowd.
“Hello,” she mouthed back.
Jackson couldn’t miss Antwan standing right beside her, which was probably why he quickly looked away. But she’d been clear with him about having nothing going on with Dr. Dupree, and hoped he’d believed her. Which further proved that looks could be deceiving.
So much for getting all dolled up for a man. Except Antwan seemed to appreciate her efforts. Backfire! “Oh, look, there’s your date. Isn’t she one of the new surgical residents? I’m going to introduce myself.”
Antwan’s smile faded quickly, and that brought hers back to life as she made her way over to the pretty African-American doctor across the room. She particularly enjoyed watching the too-sure-of-himself doctor squirm.
As the afternoon wore on and she got to know a few of the new batch of residents, who’d just begun working at the hospital July first, she secretly kept tabs on Jackson, who never left Yuri’s side, though it sure didn’t seem like they had much to say to each other. As in her case with Antwan, could looks be deceiving there, too?
Don’t get your hopes up. She felt the urge to adjust her specially made bra but fought it. This further proves the uselessness of secret crushes. Oh, they’re fine when you keep them secret, but start letting them out on a rope and disasters like this happened. Reality was like looking into a magnifying mirror. What I see up close is never pleasant.
She glanced up to find Jackson watching her, and, as crazy as her thoughts had been seconds before, that mere eye contact from the man she’d let her guard down over got her hopes right back up again. She had it bad for the guy, which meant one thing—she needed to get over it!
When she’d felt she’d spent the obligatory amount of time mingling with the new doctors, inviting them to visit Pathology, and also with several of her staff colleagues, she decided to skip out, admittedly feeling disappointed. With no chance for witty conversation with her doctor of choice, that Southern charmer who appeared to be taken anyway, there was no point in sticking around another minute. Unfortunately, her path of exit brought her by Jackson and Yuri, who looked like they were edging their way out, too.
Yuri gazed at her, tension in her eyes. “Hi, Charlotte.”
“Hi, Yuri.” No hard feelings. Yuri was a nice woman. “See you Monday.” She scurried on by but not before someone tapped her on the shoulder. A third time! That Antwan didn’t know when to give up. She swung around, less-than-kind thoughts in her mind and probably flashing in her eyes, to see Jackson’s laid-back smile.
“You going already?”
Switching gears fast, she skidded into sociable. “Oh, uh, yes. Got a big day tomorrow, with Dr. Gordon’s surgery and all. Well, you obviously know that.”
“Yeah, I’ll be leaving shortly, too.”
Hmm, he’d said “I’ll,” not “we’ll.” Stop it. Don’t continue to be a fool. “Well, good-bye, then. I’ll be ready with the cryostat bright and early. I promise to get those frozen sections cut, stained and read in record time.”
“I’m sure you will. Well, listen, I just wanted to make sure you knew how stunning you look today. I could hardly take my eyes off you.”
Was he saying this right in front of Yuri? What was with men these days? But Yuri smiled up at him approvingly.
“Well, thank you.” Her head was officially spinning with confusion. “I guess.” She glanced at Yuri again, who continued to smile. “Good-bye now.”
Jackson grinned and nodded and let her leave with a wad of conflicting thoughts clumping up her brain. What was going on?
Once she hit the street and got some fresh air, she inhaled deeply to clear her head, then gave herself a stern talking-to. That’s what I get for letting a man get under my skin. I should know better!
* * *
On Monday morning Charlotte came into work early, hoping to see Dr. Gordon in the hospital before he’d been given his pre-op meds. Unfortunately, he already had, but he wasn’t yet so out of it that he couldn’t squeeze her hand and give her a smile and a thumbs-up as they rolled him from his hospital room toward surgery. His slightly intoxicated grin nearly broke her heart.
The vision of him stripped down to a bland hospital gown, with a little blue “shower cap” covering over his abundant white hair, lying on the narrow gurney as the transportation clerk pushed him toward the elevator, made her eyes blur and her chest squeeze. It also brought back sad memories of seeing her mother in the same position years ago, and reinforced why she’d chosen the safety of the isolated pathology department to the hospital wards after medical school.
To distract herself, she stopped at the cafeteria and bought a large coffee, then headed to the basement to her department, where she’d double-check the cryostat before Dr. Gordon’s first specimen arrived.
Jackson planned to send down from surgery a sentinel node for her initial study, and depending on her findings, they would proceed from there.
By eight-fifteen the OR runner appeared in her lab with the first node from Dr. Gordon. The specimen came with exact directions as to where it had been resected and she made a note of that with a grease pencil on the textured side of the first of several waiting glass slides. She carefully put the specimen in a gel-like medium and placed it in a mold for quick freezing in the cryostat. She helped the process along with special fast-freeze spray, then within less than half a minute mounted the fully frozen specimen on the chuck and set up the microtome to her exact specifications.
After dusting the initial cut away from the blade with a painter’s brush, she made the next cut and got the full surface of the node on the microtome then pressed her labeled glass slide to pick it up. She used H&E stain for immediate results since the hematoxylin and eosin stains worked best for her purposes, then placed a coverslip.
Whisking the now stained slide to the lab microscope, she began her study, and soon her hope for a benign node was dashed. Within five minutes of receiving the first specimen, she had to report the bad news over the intercom that connected surgery to her little corner of the world. The protocol was not to get into histologic details with frozen sections, instead sticking to a “just the facts, ma’am” approach.
“Dr. Hilstead, this is Dr. Johnson reporting that the first lymph node is positive for metastatic cancer.” The words tangled in her throat, and she had to force them out, refusing to let her voice waver in the process.
“I see,” Jackson replied. “I’ll proceed to the next lymph node. Stand by.”
“I’ll be here.”
* * *
Jackson continued with abdominal lymph node dissection, and she dutifully and quickly made her cryosurgical cuts and examined each and every specimen under the microscope, tension mounting with each specimen. The head of histology poked her head in the door, wearing a sad expression. Word soon spread in the small laboratory section about Dr. Gordon. Charlotte worked on in silence. After three positive-for-cancer lymph nodes, her voice broke as she reported, “This one is also positive.”
A lab tech standing silently behind her in the tiny cryostat room moaned and left, grabbing a tissue on the way out. Dr. Gordon was well liked by his staff because he treated everyone decently, and in Charlotte’s case, taking her under his wing and mentoring her when she’d been a green-behind-the-ears pathologist. She owed so much to him, yet all she could do today was be the bearer of bad news on his behalf.
There was no hiding the fact her findings were tearing her up, and her favorite surgeon must have felt compelled to console her. “We’re almost done here, Charlotte. Just a few more, I promise.”
“Of course.” She recovered her composure, knowing the entire surgical team could hear her over the intercom. “I’ll be here, Doctor.”
