Chapter 2 #2
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” I tell him. “The longer we wait, the greater the chance that Claire’s appendix will rupture.
If you insist on taking her to Toronto, you’ll need to sign her out against medical advice and drive her there yourselves.
And if there’s a joint custody arrangement, both parents would have to agree to that.
” I pause. “And if your daughter suffers consequences from your decision to leave against medical advice, the case could be referred to Child Protective Services.”
I’m not sure Child Protective Services would care, but the threat seems to make Troy think.
“Troy, you’re being ridiculous,” says Melissa. “I’m sure Dr. Carlton is highly qualified. He’s got at least ten letters after his name, and he’s a professor at Somerset Medical School.”
“Assistant professor,” I correct, wondering how Melissa knows this. She must have looked me up.
Troy doesn’t look overly impressed, and I guess it’s not surprising. Somerset’s the smallest medical school in Canada, and although Somerset Hospital is well-regarded locally, it doesn’t have much of a reputation outside the region.
But that doesn’t mean we can’t handle a straightforward appendectomy.
“It would be dangerous to drive Claire all the way back to Toronto with appendicitis,” Melissa continues, trying to press the advantage.
“I guess you can do it here,” Troy says grudgingly. As though he’s doing me a favor.
“Excellent.” I go over the risks of the surgery again for Troy before I excuse myself.
Before I leave, I glance at Melissa again.
She’s holding it together, and most people wouldn’t know she’s anxious.
But there was a time when I was closer to this girl than anyone else on the planet, and even though ten years have passed, I know her tells.
There’s a furrow between her brows, and she’s biting her left lower lip.
And something in me responds to that pleat in her forehead, and I have to fight the urge to take her in my arms and tell her Claire’s going to be fine. It’s a physical response, not a rational one. A reflex.
Because Melissa’s not mine anymore. She hasn’t been mine for ten years, and there’s nothing between us now but regrets.
I collect Kevin, and we leave the ER together.
“How did you know the mom had had her appendix out?” Kevin asks again. I can tell this is really bothering him; he thinks there’s some sign that he missed.
“Like I said, it was a lucky guess.” But my traitorous brain replays a memory from fourteen years ago.
I was in Melissa’s hospital room when her surgeon, Dr. Mackenzie, came to give her discharge instructions.
Her parents had gone to the cafeteria to get lunch, so it was just the three of us in the room.
“My secretary will call you with a follow-up appointment,” Dr. Mackenzie told her. “I’ll see you in two weeks. No strenuous activity or sexual intercourse until that time.”
His eyes flickered to me, just for an instant, and his meaning was clear.
Don’t push her for sex. I resented it a little, but I couldn’t really blame him; I was an eighteen-year-old guy, and she was Melissa.
Dr. Mackenzie would probably have been surprised to learn that although Melissa and I had been together for over two years, we hadn’t gone all the way until two months before.
She’d wanted to wait, and she’d been worth waiting for.
We didn’t do anything more than hold hands until her follow-up visit two weeks later. Her mother had wanted to take her to the appointment, but Melissa had insisted on going with me. I watched as Mackenzie examined her belly and pronounced her fully healed.
“And physical activity?” Melissa asked. “Can I go back to running? And, um . . . other things?”
“Yes,” Mackenzie said. “Technically, there are no restrictions. But take it easy for the next week or two. Just do what you’re comfortable with.”
Melissa was unusually quiet as we walked out to the car.
“So, that’s good news,” I said as we drove out of the parking lot. “Do you want to go somewhere for lunch before we head back to school?”
“Maybe we could go to your place,” she suggested. “Your parents will be at work, right?”
“Yeah,” I said carefully. “They’re at work, but Milly—”
“Luke,” she interrupted. “Dr. Mackenzie basically said we could have sex.”
I almost crashed the car.
“I think it’s too soon, Milly,” I said hoarsely, although my body was telling me otherwise. “He said to take it easy for a week or two.”
“He said to do what I’m comfortable with,” she countered. “And I’ve missed you, Luke.”
“I’ve missed you too, Milly.”
“And I feel fine, really,” she insisted. “But if you think it’s too soon, we could do other stuff.”
In the two years we were together before going all the way, we’d gotten really good at other stuff.
“Okay.” I turned the car back toward my house and forced myself to drive carefully. It would have been a really bad time to get stopped for speeding.
We got back to my house, then up to my bedroom.
On to my bed. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, and I could taste the hunger on her lips.
After two weeks without touching Melissa, I was hard within seconds.
I pulled back a little, reminding myself that she’d had surgery only two weeks before, but she pressed herself closer.
Her belly was soft against my erection, and it felt impossibly good.
My world shrank to this moment, this girl.
She pulled her shirt over her head, and her bra was plain white. No frills, no lace, just white cotton on creamy skin. It was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.
Kevin Talbot’s voice jolts me back into the present. “But appendicitis isn’t that common, Dr. Carlton. Did you see a scar or something?”
“Of course not.” I’ve seen Melissa’s scars, of course, but I’ll never admit that to Kevin. He’d probably say I shouldn’t operate on her daughter, and he’d be right.
But he’s still looking at me skeptically.
“Come on, Kevin. When would I have seen her scars?”
“Maybe her shirt rose up a bit?” he suggests.
Great. Now he’s got me thinking about Melissa’s shirt lifting up. Specifically, I’m imagining lifting her shirt. I asked her to put on a scrub top because the outline of her bra was distracting, but the thought of lifting her shirt might short-circuit my brain.
“Her shirt didn’t rise up,” I say crisply to Kevin. “I don’t think we should be discussing a patient’s mother like this.”
“I—I’m sorry, Dr. Carlton,” he stammers. He’s clearly mortified, blushing so deeply that even the tips of his ears are red. “I wasn’t thinking of it that way.”
“I know you weren’t,” I say, forcing myself to smile at him. I feel like an ass for embarrassing him. He’s the type of student who’s book smart but struggles with social interactions, but I can’t blame him for being confused by this one.