Any Sunday, page 5
“That leaves five more for this afternoon.”
“Right.”
The woman returned her attention to her work.
“Ms. Powell?”
“Yes.” Once again the older woman’s voice revealed her lack of patience. She gripped the pen tightly and glanced up at Marjorie before slowly exhaling one long breath.
“Dr. Bretton was in earlier. I was wondering if I could ask about—”
“His wife?” the older woman finished for her.
The room swayed, and the floor felt as if it had buckled under Marjorie’s unsteady feet. She gripped the edge of the counter until she regained her balance and the hospital had righted itself once more. But she had to ask, and surely the hospital staff would know, while Lydia had only been guessing.
“That is what you wanted to know, isn’t it?” the woman pressed.
It was all Marjorie could do to nod and say, “He’s married, then?”
“Not as far as I know,” Bertha answered almost kindly. “But I swear that man breaks more hearts than George Clooney. There isn’t a woman on this floor who wouldn’t give her eyeteeth to be married to him. He’s the type we’re all looking for.”
“But…”
“Be smart, Ms. Majors. Listen to the voice of experience and learn from it. All Dr. Sam’s patients fall in love with him. It’s gratitude, I suppose. Heaven knows he’s hunk enough to melt anyone’s heart—even mine.”
Marjorie clenched her jaw to hide her reaction.
“Now, I don’t want you to feel bad about this. It’s common enough, believe me.”
The heat that exploded into Marjorie’s cheeks was hot enough to fry eggs. She hadn’t realized her feelings were so obvious. Under normal conditions she didn’t fluster easily, but when it came to Sam, she lost all her poise.
“He’s a wonderful person,” Marjorie managed to say with some semblance of calm.
“Honey, you don’t know the half of it. I saw that man sit for hours with a young couple after their baby died. More than once I’ve been a witness to his tenderness—that’s why I’m telling you what I am. Believe me, if I were twenty years younger, I’d be in love with the man myself. Truthfully, I am in love with him. We all are.”
“Thank you.” Already Marjorie was walking away, trying to disguise her embarrassment. She’d tried to be subtle, tried to find out what she could without making a total idiot of herself. And she’d failed.
After a few moments to think the nurse’s words over, Marjorie relaxed. An odd reassurance replaced her chagrin. It was good to know she was merely one of the masses. Bertha Powell was right. Women tended to fall in love with their doctors. It was a common enough malady, and one she should have anticipated.
The sooner she was released from the hospital, the better, Marjorie decided. With a determination that drove her to the brink of exhaustion, she did five more laps up and down the long corridor, then fell into a deep sleep the minute the dinner tray was removed from her room.
* * *
—
“Morning, doctor,” Marjorie said casually when Cal Johnson paid his morning visit. He was a bald, grandfatherly type who certainly hadn’t affected her the way Sam had.
“I see you’ve made considerable progress,” he said, reading over her chart.
“I hope so.”
“You’re walking?”
“Every minute I can.”
“Good.” He nodded approvingly.
“When can I be discharged?” The question had been on her mind from the moment she talked to Bertha Powell. “I feel great—I want to go home.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. However…”
“Doctor, please, I need to get home.”
The grandfatherly brows molded into a tight frown. “I want to keep you until I’m sure you’re a little stronger. A couple days—maybe.”
“Two days!” Marjorie would never last that long. For the sake of her sanity, she had to get out of this place. Heaven only knew what would happen when she saw Sam next. The way matters were progressing, she would profess her love for him the moment he walked in the door. That was just the kind of crazy, foolish thing she might do.
“We’ll see how things progress today,” Dr. Johnson said on his way out the door.
* * *
—
A half-hour after Dr. Johnson had left her room, Sam appeared.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” Marjorie responded in a flat, emotionless tone. She did her utmost to pretend she was looking straight at him when in reality her gaze rested on the wall behind him. Even looking in Sam Bretton’s direction was dangerous to her equilibrium. She should be reassured that she was like every one of his other patients, but she wasn’t. Such strong emotions were strangers to her and best avoided.
“Marjorie, what’s wrong?”
“I want out of here!”
“You aren’t alone in that, you know. Everyone who ever stays in the hospital is eager to get home.”
“But I feel terrific.” That wasn’t entirely true. “I’m as strong as an ox.”
“Why don’t you leave it in Dr. Johnson’s hands?” he offered gently. “He knows what he’s doing.”
“But two days is an eternity,” Marjorie insisted.
Sam’s cajoling smile vanished. “Cal suggested you could leave then?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure he’s mistaken.”
“What do you mean?” Marjorie grumbled.
“Dr. Johnson’s obviously forgotten that there isn’t anyone at your apartment to watch over you when you’re released.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a big girl. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now. I’m not going to keel over because someone isn’t there to hold my hand and place wet washcloths over my forehead every ten minutes.”
“That’s not the issue, Marjorie.”
“Then what exactly is?”
“You’ve gone through a life-threatening episode. Take advantage of this time to be waited on and pampered.”
“Take advantage of it?” She laughed sharply. “You’ve got to be kidding. What’s with you doctors? Do you get a kickback for every additional day a patient stays in the hospital?”
Marjorie’s ability to attract him paled beside her capacity to anger him. He knotted his hands into tight fists and clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he would regret. Her suggestion was so outrageous and so unfair that it offended him beyond anything he’d felt in years.
“I think it would be best if I left.”
“By all means go, Doctor.”
Sam retreated, shoving the door with such rage that it nearly slammed against the wall. A kickback? She couldn’t actually believe that, could she?
Marjorie watched him go and swallowed down a mouthful of remorse, nearly choking on the aftertaste. She hadn’t meant to suggest such a ridiculous thing, hadn’t planned to say the words. But she was desperate to escape. How ironic it was that a man—a doctor who had dedicated his life to saving lives—could be responsible for breaking so many hearts.
All Marjorie wanted to do was to put this unfortunate episode behind her and get on with her life. Every day she spent in the hospital was another day without income. She hadn’t been joking when she told Sam that if she didn’t sell cars, she didn’t eat. Most of her customers tended to glamorize her job, but it wasn’t anything like they imagined. She was in a cutthroat business.
In her frustration, she walked the halls until she was convinced her feet had made imprints in the polished linoleum squares. When Lydia arrived at five-thirty, she was so pleased to see her friend that she nearly threw her arms around the other woman and wept for joy.
“You look great. I don’t believe it! Your color’s almost back.” Lydia slid the lone chair closer to Marjorie’s bed and took a seat. “Dixon’s doesn’t seem the same without you.”
Despite her bad mood, Marjorie laughed, then sucked in a pain-filled breath and pressed her hand against her side. She hadn’t healed as much as she’d thought.
“Are you resting enough?”
Just the mention of sleep produced a yawn that Marjorie hid with the back of her hand. “You wouldn’t believe it. I haven’t slept this much since I was a newborn.”
“What about Dr. Sam? Have you seen much of him?”
“He’s been in a few times,” Marjorie said in a flat tone. The scene from that morning played back in her mind, along with the awful accusation she’d thrown at him. Once again, Marjorie was struck by her own foolishness.
Lydia paused and closely studied her friend. “What’s the matter? You said that as though you don’t want anything to do with the man.”
“Oh, Sam Bretton is everything you said he was…and more. But to be frank, he simply doesn’t interest me.”
The perfectly shaped eyebrows above Lydia’s dark eyes drew together sharply. “He doesn’t interest you?”
“Not really.” Marjorie studied her fingernails with feigned interest.
“Do you have a raging fever, girl? Are you stupid? He’s wonderful…He’s handsome enough to tempt any woman.”
“Not me,” Marjorie claimed, her voice gaining conviction. “Nice guy, but not my type.”
“He’s every woman’s type!”
“Maybe.” That was as much as Marjorie was willing to concede.
The way Lydia was regarding her, Marjorie had the feeling her friend was considering having her arrested for treason. If she didn’t watch it, she would be dragged before a firing squad at dawn.
“I don’t understand you,” Lydia said in a low, curious tone. “The last time I came to visit, the scent of a good old-fashioned romance was so thick in this room that I walked away intoxicated. I was convinced you were hooked and would be head over heels in love with him within a week.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”
“What went wrong?” Lydia crossed her arms and glared at Marjorie as though she’d let a million dollars’ worth of gold slip through her fingers. “When Dr. Sam phoned before the surgery, he sounded…I don’t know…interested, I guess. We must have talked for a half-hour. He asked a hundred questions about you.”
“He did?” Marjorie wasn’t sure she wanted to hear that.
“I don’t know what happened between then and now, but obviously something did.”
“I’m his patient,” Marjorie insisted, because to do anything else would be ludicrous. That relationship was not to be tampered with. All afternoon she’d forced herself to view it as something like the relationship between a woman and her priest. It was much safer that way.
“That’s too bad,” Lydia said with an exaggerated sigh. “I was really hoping things would work out between you two.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Lydia repeated, astonished. “Because I think Dr. Sam is the most amazing man I know, and because you’re my best friend. That’s why. The two of you are perfect together.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Marjorie cried. Her words resounded throughout the room; the echo taunted her for long hours afterward.
Four
Marjorie paused just inside the Mercedes showroom and drew a deep breath. It felt wonderful to be back. Wonderful and right. Three weeks’ recovery time was what Sam had told her she would need, and she had used every minute of those twenty-one days to recuperate. Even now she felt weak and a little shaky, but the thought of another day holed up in her tiny apartment was enough to make even the most sane person go stir-crazy.
With a sense of appreciation that never waned, Marjorie ran her hand over the trunk of an SLK roadster. Rarely had she been more eager to get to work. Bit by bit she had regained her strength, and now she would quietly resume her life.
“Welcome back,” Lydia called eagerly from behind the customer-service counter. “How are you feeling?”
“Terrific, thanks.” Marjorie realized her clothes were a little loose and her complexion a bit chalky, but all in all, she felt great.
“Has your sister gone back to Oregon?”
Marjorie nodded. Her sister had left a few days before, and it had not been a minute too soon. When Jody had learned about the surgery, there had been no stopping the twenty-year-old from coming to her sister’s aid. Despite Marjorie’s protests, Jody had dropped her studies and immediately driven to Tacoma to play the role of the indulgent nurse. Marjorie loved her sister, but after one entire week of Jody giving an Academy Award–level imitation of Clara Barton, Marjorie had been on the brink of madness.
Within the first hour of her return to Dixon Motors, two of the salesmen stopped by her desk to welcome her back. At ten Lydia delivered a cup of coffee, closed the door, and pulled out a chair. “Well?” she asked, as she plunked herself down and leaned forward intently, propping her elbows on the corner of Marjorie’s desk. Her eyes were both wide and curious.
Marjorie blinked back her surprise. “Well, what?”
“Did you hear from Dr. Sam?”
“Of course not.” With jerky movements she tore off three weeks, a day at a time, from her desktop calendar.
“Dr. Sam didn’t contact you?” Lydia’s voice rose dramatically in disbelief.
“I just told you he didn’t.” Marjorie had seen Sam exactly twice since that heated episode when she’d accused him of getting a kickback from the hospital. Both times had been strained, as she battled her very strong and very real attraction toward him. Again and again she was forced to remind herself that women patients tend to fall in love with their doctors and that she wasn’t any more immune to his charms than the rest. Keeping her perspective had been difficult, especially when Sam returned the following day and behaved as though nothing had happened. He had chatted easily with her, but she noted regretfully that he stayed only a few minutes. His second visit had been even shorter.
“That depresses me,” Lydia lamented, as she gracefully rose from her chair. “I was convinced he really liked you.”
It depressed Marjorie, too, but it didn’t surprise her. Overall, she was grateful to have met Sam Bretton. He’d taught her several surprising lessons about herself—mainly, that she wasn’t as invincible as she would like to think. And second, as much as she strove to avoid relationships that were more than casual, her heart was vulnerable. He’d proved beyond a doubt that plenty of red-hot blood flowed through her veins.
Painful experience had taught her that most men liked their women soft and clinging. A woman who could change her own oil, balance a checkbook, and build a bookshelf seemed to intimidate them. That left the strong, independent types, like herself, out in the cold.
* * *
—
Sam Bretton sat in his office and chewed on the end of a pen. His thoughts were dark and heavy. He hadn’t seen Marjorie in more than two weeks, but still she kept popping into his mind when he least expected it. He had seen her smile on a new patient’s face as he entered the room to introduce himself. His coffee cup had made it halfway to his lips when he thought he heard Marjorie’s laugh. Last week he’d been convinced he’d seen her in the parking lot. Even his dreams had been affected. A couple times he’d caught himself staring into space, remembering something witty she’d said or the way her eyes narrowed when she was angry. Friends had begun to comment that he seemed preoccupied.
Preoccupied? That wasn’t the half of it. Forcefully, he opened his desk drawer and tossed the pen inside. He’d been thinking about her for days—all right, weeks—and still he wasn’t convinced anything between them would work. She was so proud, so headstrong, and he wasn’t entirely persuaded she was interested in him. Without being egotistical about it, Sam realized that there were plenty of women who found him attractive. Unfortunately, Marjorie didn’t appear to be one of them.
Well, he was a big boy; he could deal with that. What was difficult to handle was the fact that he wasn’t convinced that a future for them was out of the question. Her streak of independence was a mile wide; she didn’t want or need anyone. At least that was what she wanted to think. He wasn’t so sure, but so long as she stuck to her guns, he was stymied. He just wished he could put her out of his mind.
* * *
—
Marjorie looked at Lydia sitting across the table from her in the deli opposite Dixon Motors. She watched as her friend checked suspiciously between the thick slices of rye bread for the mustard she’d ordered with her pastrami sandwich. “I’ve been thinking,” Lydia muttered under her breath.
“Careful,” Marjorie warned, hiding a smile. “That could be dangerous.”
“No, I’m serious.” Her look gave credibility to her words.
“About what?” Marjorie continued to study her friend while she wrapped the second half of her own turkey sandwich in a paper napkin to take back to the office for a snack later.
“Didn’t you tell me Dr. Sam was interested in buying a Mercedes?”
“I…Yes, now that you mention it, he did say something along those lines.”
The edges of Lydia’s mouth lifted with unsuppressed delight. “Then get moving, girl! I’ve never known you to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“I…” Marjorie’s tongue felt as though it were glued to the roof of her mouth.
“If you don’t move on this, then you know Al Swanson will.”
The arrow hit its mark. Al Swanson was her nemesis, and he wouldn’t think twice about robbing his own mother of a sale. “I’ll think about it,” Marjorie said, and gave her friend a bright smile.
Lydia pushed her plate aside and stood, looking pleased with herself. Marjorie thought she looked determined to get her together with Sam even if she had to lock them in a room herself.
