Could I Have This Dance? (25 page)

“So get your mother to take him in for a test.”

“It’s not that easy. Number one, Grandma has never told him about the rape, and number two, my father isn’t crazy about going to doctors.”

“Oh, great.” He sighed. “Well, you’re going to have to tell him, Claire. It’s not right holding back something like this. You’re just going to have to tell him.”

“I can’t. At least not now. I gave my grandmother my word that I wouldn’t let this get back to my father.”

“Talk to her, Claire. Make her understand how important this thing is.”

Claire sighed. “That’s not going to be easy.”

She heard muffled voices in the background before John came back on. “Honey, this will work out, I promise.” More muffled voices. “Look, I kinda need to run. Can I call you back later?”

She winced and thought about her plans to visit Brett. “I hope to be in bed early. We can talk some other time.”

“Look, Claire, God wants you to be a surgeon, right? So he would never give you Huntington’s disease.”

The confidence in her voice belied her fear. “I guess not.”

“Certainly not.” He paused. “We’ll talk later. I love you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I wish I could be as confident as you.

Claire went grocery shopping, ran three miles, showered, and prepared for her evening with Brett. “Oh, God,” she whispered as she put on some lipstick, “what have I gotten myself into?”

She dressed three times and finally chose a skirt and a blouse with a soft print. She looked at the shorts and jeans she had discarded in a heap by the bed, then checked the clock and decided to straighten her bedroom later.

On the way, she wondered how and when she should tell Brett that she was engaged. Maybe she was making too big a deal over his invitation. Maybe this was just his way of being friends with a fellow resident. He probably could care less that she was engaged.

So why was she so anxious to see him? Was she afraid of her feelings?

Twenty minutes later, she pulled into the parking area next to Brett’s orange pickup. She walked across the street to 208 and knocked on the door.

She heard him yell from the inside. “The door’s open.”

She stepped into his town house and looked around. The furnishings were far from spartan. A large tan leather sofa dotted with blue throw pillows dominated the great room. “Brett?”

“I’m out here.”

She walked through the great room and opened a French door onto a wooden deck. There, Brett was holding an imported beer with one hand and lighting a gas grill with the other. “Hi.”

He looked up and smiled. “Wow. You look great.”

“Thanks.” She looked back toward his town house. “You’ve got a great place here. Not exactly your typical bachelor pad.”

He shrugged. “It’s really my parents’ place. They bought it after I matched at Lafayette. They wanted to have a place to stay when they visited me. And they agreed to let me stay here for my research year.” He held up his beer. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m fine. Can I help you with anything?”

“Can you make a salad?”

She followed him into the kitchen. As they worked together to prepare dinner, Brett urged her to tell him about her family.

“Being raised by Wally McCall was different than growing up the child of an academic surgeon.”

“For your sake, I hope so,” he joked, tossing her a cucumber.

“I dropped out of school and left home when I was sixteen.”

She watched for a reaction. Brett was cool, not even showing a raised eyebrow.

She told of escaping her dysfunctional family, of caring for her grandmother Newby, of working for the rescue squad and earning her GED, and of being the first woman to go to medical school from Stoney Creek.

Brett listened, attentive to each story.

They ate grilled shrimp, hot buttered rolls, and Caesar salad on the deck and watched the sun escape beyond the horizon.

Finally, with Brett’s prodding, she shared her concerns about her father, and about her grandmother’s visit and the new questions about his paternity. She even shared with him about the curse of Stoney Creek, and had to scold him for laughing.

Unlike John, Brett had remembered the story she told him about the patient with HD. When she shared with him her fears about her father’s possible diagnosis, he groaned. Then, she told him about her visit with the genetics counselor.

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I guess I’ll have to find out a bit more about the others in Stoney Creek that may have been affected by this so-called curse. I can’t just sit around not knowing. My whole future is at stake.”

He leaned forward. “You’ve overcome a whole lot in the past. Just look at you, Claire. No one from little Stoney Creek could have predicted you’d come so far.”

“So?”

“So you’ll get over this, too. You’ve never been one to walk around allowing a black cloud over your head to slow you down. Whatever you find out, I’m sure you will find a way to overcome.”

“What makes you so optimistic?”

He shrugged. “It’s always been easy for me to see the best for others.”

She finished his thought. “But not always for yourself.”

His eyes met hers before he looked away. “I guess.”

Claire breathed deep and allowed a silent moment to pass. “You’re easy to talk to, Brett. I like that.”

He didn’t respond.

“There’s really something else I need to tell you. I’m not sure why I haven’t told you this before.” She paused.

He said nothing. He wasn’t making this easy.

“I’m engaged.”

“I know.”

Her chin dropped. “You know? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me. I was wondering if you would.”

“How did you find out?”

“Beatrice Hayes told me this afternoon. I was kind of upset at first, but then, I took it as a compliment. I figure you’d have told me right off if you thought I wasn’t worth your time.”

“Brett, you’re—” She began to protest, then stopped. “Well, you’re right, I suppose.” She shook her head. “But it wasn’t right of me. I was leading you on. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy being around you. I did, and that was part of my dilemma. I—”

He silenced her with his finger on her lips. “Hey, you don’t need to explain. I was nowhere near the picture when you began your relationship with your fiance. You don’t owe me anything.” He held up his hand. “But I can be your friend.”

She looked into his eyes, holding his gaze for a moment. “I’d like that very much.” She kissed his cheek and stood up. “I’d better get home.” She stepped into the kitchen. “Can I help you clean up?”

“I’ll handle it. You need to be up early. I’ve got Sunday off.”

She smiled. “Maybe I should do a research year. I’d like Sundays off. Think your parents would rent me their place?”

She stepped to the door and turned back to face him one more time. “I had a wonderful time. Thanks for dinner.”

He nodded and closed the door behind her.

She inhaled the salt air and muttered, “Beatrice Hayes, you little wench.”

Chapter Sixteen

C
laire set down her cafeteria tray and looked up to see Dr. Michael O’Brien approaching.

Bea was watching too. “Here comes a dream.”

As a fourth-year resident, Michael O’Brien, MD, had made the final pyramid cut, and rumor had it that he was in line to be the next administrative chief resident, following the pathway of the colorful and respected Dr. Dan Overby. In that position, he would be the most influential of all the senior residents in providing evaluations of the lower-level residents’ performance. He had already secured a coveted fellowship in transplant surgery, and had coauthored papers with six different surgical attendings. As an intern, the word was out: if you needed someone to go to bat for you, there was no one stronger to call to the plate than Dr. O’Brien.

Claire and Beatrice were exiting the hospital cafeteria when Dr. O’Brien came to a stop in front of them. “Well, if it’s not the dynamic female trauma duo I’ve been hearing about.”

“Hi, Dr. O’Brien,” Beatrice gushed.

Claire nodded and smiled.

Beatrice put a hand on her hip. “Just what are you hearing?”

“Just that the O-man has unfairly stacked the teams in his favor. There are some benefits to being the administrative chief, I suppose.” He ran a hand through his thick auburn hair and seemed to be studying Claire’s scrub top.

Beatrice touched Claire’s arm. “I’ve got to run down some X rays before rounds,” she said as she scurried away.

Claire attempted to excuse herself as well. “I should run my lab list.”

“Dan speaks highly of you, Claire. Your enthusiasm can take you a long way.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated. “Dan loves to teach. He’s giving us a good start.” She took a step away, and the upper-level resident followed.

“So you’re on odd days this month?”

“Yes.”

“Say, one of the Tagamet reps is throwing a barbecue at Dr. Jahn’s pool house on Friday the fourteenth. I’d love it if you’d accompany me.”

She tried not to cringe. “A date?”

“Sure. It will be informal. We do it every summer.” He shrugged. “Everybody ends up staying up late. One year Dr. McGrath’s secretary got so smashed she jumped into the pool with her clothes on.”

Claire held up her left hand. “I’m not really on the dating scene. I’m getting married.”

He stepped back. “But I heard, well, I thought you were still … available.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She squinted. “Just who told you this?”

He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a misunderstanding.”

“It matters to me.”

“Well,” he responded, “Beatrice told me you had a fiancé back home, but that your engagement ring hadn’t apparently stopped you from seeing men around here.”

“You were right,” Claire responded, trying to quell her reaction. “It was a misunderstanding.”

“Hey, your loss,” he chuckled before holding up his hands in surrender. He smiled, revealing a row of white, even teeth. “Hey, can’t blame a guy for trying, can you?”

“It’s not your fault,” Claire said, shaking her head and walking away. Then, to herself, she added, “It’s mine.”

She punched an elevator button and waited.

“This is my fault,” she whispered. “And Beatrice’s.”

Claire tracked Beatrice from the cafeteria to the X-ray department, where she found her in a small reading room reviewing a CT scan with a radiology resident.

When she stepped into the hall in front of the elevators, Claire began. “I think you’ve gotten the wrong impression about me. I’m not dating.”

Beatrice smiled. “Did Dr. O’Brien ask you out? He’s handsome. If you like red hair.”

“Yes, he asked me out, because you told him I was dating.”

“I only told him you were seeing other men in the program, in spite of the rock you’ve been wearing.”

“But, Beatrice, I—”

“You did accept an invitation to Brett Daniels’, didn’t you? He’s gorgeous.”

“But it wasn’t really a date.”

“I know the difference, Claire, and you don’t have to tell me how the game is played. There’s nothing wrong with using your looks to your advantage. And I hear that Dr. O’Brien will be the administrative chief next year. So you want him in your corner.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I don’t think we’re playing the same game.”

“But it can be a minefield. I understand that some of the attending’s wives are very jealous.”

“I have no intention of using anything but my brain to stay in this program.”

“You’d be a fool not to take advantage of what you have.”

Claire’s jaw slackened. “You’re joking.”

“Claire, I’d be the last one to condemn you for it. I just wish O’Brien would ask me. I’ve always had good luck with Irish men.”

“Beatrice!” Claire yelled a bit louder than she’d intended. She lowered her voice and continued. “I’m not interested in dating. And I’m certainly not interested in sleeping my way to the top of this pyramid. Now I’d appreciate it if you’d not let anyone else think that I’m available.”

Beatrice glared at her. “Touchy, touchy. Didn’t you get enough rest last night when you were at Brett’s place not on a date?” She laughed.

“I slept at my place, Beatrice, which is where I spend all of my nights away from this place.”

“Suit yourself, Claire.” Beatrice waved as she disappeared into an elevator.

Clay McCall loved weekends. The cabinet shop was closed, and he could spend the day as he pleased. He’d started his Sunday with two of his coworkers, with plans to take their dirt bikes up a logging road over to Mitter’s Pass. From there, they’d pick their way across to Switzer Dam, and then back along the creek to Fisher’s Retreat. All had started fine enough, but a flat tire after the first mile sidelined him, and after an hour and a half of pushing his Yamaha back to his pickup, the sweat poured from his back and face in hundreds of glistening droplets.

He sat on the tailgate of his truck and opened a large blue cooler. The beer had been reserved for the evening after the ride, but his thirst and disappointment changed his plans. He popped the tab on a cold Budweiser and sucked the can dry. Number two and three went down more slowly, but still too fast for Clay’s empty stomach.

He wrestled his dirtbike into the back of the truck and secured it with red tie-downs. He then drank beers four, five, and six waiting for his buddies.
Finally, bored from sitting in his truck, he decided to head into Carlisle to pick up an inner tube at the Yamaha dealer.

Driving out the gravel road was easy enough. He had to go slow there, because of the potholes. Driving on the highway was a different story. The lane just didn’t seem as wide as it normally was. Clay wondered if they had been doing some construction to widen the shoulder of the road. It just kept getting in his way.

Clay first noticed the blue lights from the Fisher’s Retreat police car a mile outside the city limit. He pulled over and slowed down to let the officer pass, but he just wouldn’t do it. Finally, after he put on his siren, Clay rolled his window down and waved him on.
Can’t he see it’s clear to go around?