13. Cal
Chapter thirteen
Cal
Cal
T he lines on the chart in front of me blurred, seeping together and merging into a gray, muddled mess. I had my elbow on the desk and my forehead in my hand, and I swiped my hand over my eyes, rubbing them wearily.
“You look like my kids when the Wi-Fi goes down,” Dr. Reynolds commented, coming to stand at the nurses’ station desk next to me. She leaned her elbows on the white surface, craning her neck to look at me.
I lifted my face from my hand and gave her a slow blink. “That was uncomfortably specific.”
“Long week?” She flipped open a chart, making a note and glancing at me again.
“It’s Wednesday,” I pointed out. Actually, I got ditched by my fake date after I for-real kissed her and freaked her the hell out. It’s been an eternally torturous week.
“Are your parents upset that you didn’t have a date on Friday? I know that matchmaking thing didn’t work out.” She licked her thumb and turned a page in the file because Reynolds had kids and apparently didn’t fear germs the way most of us did.
I let out a sardonic chuckle. “It actually did work in a roundabout way. But I scared off my date. She ghosted me.”
“She didn’t show up?” she asked, looking up with a concerned tilt to her brown eyes.
“She ghosted me after the date.” I slapped the file closed. “And I don’t blame her. It’s fine.”
“Wait a minute.” Annie looked up from where she was sitting at the other end of the nurses’ station desk. “Are you telling me Dr. Perfect Date struck out?”
Of course, she would use a baseball analogy to illustrate how catastrophically I screwed things up with Shortstop. “I lost the fucking game,” I muttered. I reached over the counter and slid the file into a metal file keeper. “I’ve got at-home patients, so call me if you need me.”
“What did you do ?” Annie insisted, standing and following me. She had her dark brown bob in a crazy, half-up thing that looked like water spouting from a sprinkler, and her bright pink clogs matched the heart pattern on her scrubs. “Or was she as bad as the last match?”
I sighed, gathering the remnants of my patience. “She’s great. I’m an oaf.” I’d just had two visits with feverish, obstinate kids back-to-back, and neither of them had wanted to get an examination. I’d also had a very cranky octogenarian who’d insisted she had “the thing that killed Dorris,” and she’d had no compunction about letting me know how she felt. I needed this day to end.
Annie halted, tilting her head. “Oh dear.”
“What?” Michael asked, coming out of an exam room. He wore his usual deep blue scrubs and had his hair swooped into a perfectly arranged, black coif that made him look like a C-pop star.
“Dr. Reed whiffed it with his date,” Annie said.
“What is it with all the baseball metaphors?” I asked, dividing a testy look between bewildered Michael and sympathetic Annie.
She and Michael exchanged loaded looks. “It’s America’s pastime,” Michael said unhelpfully.
Annoyance pricked at my patience like a needle to a rapidly deflating balloon. “Do no harm,” I repeated to myself under my breath, wrenching my office door open. “Do no harm.”
“Did you not even make it to first base, then?” Michael called out before I closed the door on their smothered laughter.
I snatched up my bag from the surface of my desk before ham-handing the stack of files for patients I’d be seeing today. “First base,” I muttered. “First base is what got me into this state.” Or my over-eagerness to ease Ruth over the plate, anyway.
She had seemed interested. I’d let her make the first move, and she’d melted into the kiss in a way that sent my blood roaring just thinking about it. I’d kissed plenty of women, but none of them had felt like Ruth had. Her lips were cashmere smooth and just as pillowy soft, and I’d lost myself in the feel of her.
But even more than the way she felt or the way her eyes had sparked with heady desire, I found myself craving her. Her wit, her sharp intelligence, and her obvious, natural ability to care about the people around her. Seeing her interact with my parents had only made that desire grow, and I’d really thought for a moment there…
I shook my head. I’d read her all wrong, apparently.
After gathering the supplies I would need for my routine visits with my patients, I fast-walked out of the office again, bypassing the curious but silent looks my co-workers were giving me.
The air outside wrapped around me in a claustrophobic blanket full of latent moisture and boiling heat. Like the burgeoning rainclouds overhead had trapped us in a steam pot, the humid air filled my lungs uncomfortably. I glanced up at the dark gray sky through the trees, and I wondered if this heatwave would finally break and ease us into September with a bit of cooler weather. I hoped so—I wore button-downs and chinos to work most days, and it was getting unbearable spending half the day feeling like I had a humidifier stuck under my shirt.
I passed a few pedestrians covered in the same sheen of sweat that I was, and then I tapped my watch to unlock and start my SUV. Technically, it was a company car, but seeing as I had a share in the urgent care practice, I had chosen the electric, luxury vehicle myself. Silver and sleek, it had all the upgrades that made my job that much easier. It also had plenty of room in the back for the equipment I took from house to house on my rounds.
I slid into the driver’s side, and I sighed in relief as the cooling function on the seat soothed some of the muggy heat that had enveloped my body. As I flicked on my blinker and put the car into drive, intending to pull out into the sparse traffic, I glimpsed Ruth’s small, leather backpack on the floor of the passenger’s side. I paused, foot on the brake. I really needed to return it to her, even if she had decided she didn’t want to see me. Or talk to me. Or, apparently, acknowledge that I existed. I wasn’t sure what had gone wrong on our fake-date-turned-real-make-out, and I had even less of an idea what to do about it.
In the past, when I’d dated a woman or hooked up with an interested partner, if things seemed like they weren’t going well, we usually found a fairly smooth way to end things. I couldn’t remember going on a date and having her just leave so abruptly. I knew that Ruth had seemed terrified and upset, and I’d picked up on the fact that kissing me had triggered it. I didn’t want to make her life more difficult, but was ignoring her really the best option?
It couldn’t be. I wasn’t going to go into stalker mode, but I could return her purse to her workplace at the very least. That decided, I put the car back into park, punched the ignition off, and stooped down to swipe up the small, black knapsack. It was a short walk to her building from mine, so I hauled myself back out into the summer day.
It was like walking through a steamed dumpling. By the time I made it to the four-story corporate building made up of separate suites, my gray shirt had stuck to my back, and I had to swipe sweat away from my neck and forehead.
I rode the elevator to the third floor, which was thankfully air-conditioned, and when it dinged, the doors slid open to reveal the waterfall wall with the Kiss-Met logo backlit at its center. The receptionist’s desk was off to the left, curving around in a sleek, white C shape. The receptionist, a young blond woman with eyes that were a little too big for her face, stood up as I approached. “Good afternoon, Dr. Reed. Welcome back. How can we help you?”
I managed to remember just in the nick of time that I was supposed to be Ruth’s husband. “Ruth left this in my car,” I said, holding it up. “I thought she might need it today.”
The receptionist, whose nameplate read, “Olivia,” blinked at me with confused, round eyes. “Oh, didn’t she call in sick today?”
A stab of worry sliced through my chest. “She did?” I hesitated, thinking fast on the spot. “Oh, I left before her this morning. She said she hadn’t been feeling well, but I didn’t know she’d called off.”
“Yeah,” Olivia glanced down at a notepad by her mouse. “She said she has a fever and didn’t want us to catch it. ”
“Right,” I nodded slowly. I lowered my arm. “Well, I’ll… take this home to her, then.”
The receptionist smiled. “Anything else we can do for you, Dr. Reed?”
“No,” I waved, turning to go and tossing concerned thoughts around in my head. “Thank you for your help.” Ruth was sick? For how long? Had she seen a doctor already? Surely, Rook wouldn’t have seen her for a common virus. But she’d said she used him as a PCP.
Knowing full well it bordered on a HIPAA violation, I pulled out my phone, scrolled through my contacts, and pulled up Rook’s practice on my phone. As the elevator hummed down to the second floor, his receptionist answered. “Sphere of Life Women’s Services, this is Becky, how can I help you?”
“Hey Becky, it’s Dr. Reed. Is Rook with a patient right now?” I tapped my foot impatiently as the elevator passed down another floor.
“No, he’s working on patient records at the moment. Should I tell him you—”
“Thanks, I’ll find him in his office.” I hung up, and as the elevator doors opened to Rook’s practice on the second floor—was it a coincidence that he worked in the same building she did?—I headed for the glass door with frosted letters that proclaimed “Sphere of Life Women’s Services.” When I entered the small, corporate-style waiting room with gray padded chairs, nondescript art on the walls, and flat carpet, Becky looked up from the desk that had been separated from the room with a glass panel .
“Oh, Dr. Reed. You’re already here.”
“Yeah, sorry,” I waved, smiling. “I’m just here to see Dr. Rook. I won’t be long.” Rook and I rarely interacted anymore—we’d gone to med school together, and we had both finished our residencies at the same hospital in Portland, but I didn’t like the guy. Unfortunately, our mothers were friends, so that tie remained. At the moment, I was a little grateful for the connection because I had a sinking feeling in my gut that something was off with Ruth.
I went through the door that connected the waiting room to the exam rooms in the back, and already knowing my way around the small practice, I hung a left past a nurses’ station and went down the side hallway that led to Rook’s office.
I found him standing at his desk, which was one of those ergonomic… something-or-other desks that people who hated resting stood at all day. He had a silver clump of tiny, magnetic spheres that he almost always held in his left hand to play with while he thought, and his right hand hovered over the trackpad of his laptop. He looked up, eyes frosted blue and devoid of life… like his fucking soul, I imagined. Why any woman would trust this guy with any part of her body was beyond me.
“Reed,” he said, and one dark blond eyebrow quirked up with interest. Rook had light blond hair that he combed neatly to the side, not a lock out of place and not any room for disorder. Again—like himself. He always wore the same thing, too: a white dress shirt, black slacks, and his white coat. He’d dressed like that every day since residency, and I genuinely assumed he wore it on the weekends, too… assuming he didn’t just go into cryogenic sleep for two days to recharge. “It’s been a while.”
“It has, and sorry to bother you, but I need to know if you’ve seen a patient of yours recently.”
Dr. Rook twirled the magnetic fidget in his left hand, thinking. “I can’t recall any patients of mine who signed release forms to your practice.”
“She didn’t, but we’re fudging things. Did Ruth Coldwell come to see you this week? I’m worried she might be sick.” I leaned my back against his open door and folded my arms.
Rook’s expression remained smooth, but he hooked me with a direct stare. “That’s a HIPAA violation, and you know it.”
I glared. “Rook. You don’t have to give me information about when or why she saw you. I just want to know if she did. You can tell me if you have a patient in your system.”
His eyes returned to his computer, more or less dismissing me. “I can’t tell you because I don’t have a patient by that name.”
I frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” he replied calmly, and his voice held all the color of a 1940s film noir. “I have a photo—”
“—photographic memory, yes, I know,” I finished for him, rolling my eyes. “I remember. I’m just making sure because she said she was your patient.”
Knox Rook gave me an implacable look. “Then, she lied.”
So she had. Rook didn’t make mistakes about his patients—he didn’t make mistakes in general. If he said that Ruth wasn’t his patient, then she wasn’t. “Huh.” I chewed on my lower lip, thinking.
“Isn’t this Ms. Coldwell supposed to be your girlfriend?” Knox asked, his eyes back on his screen and his fingers clicking away on the trackpad again.
I started. “How did you kno—where did you hear that?”
“My mother,” he drawled, like it was a fact he’d rather forget. “Your meddling mother and my meddling mother have been talking to a gaggle of other baby-hungry mothers, and there seems to be some kind of conspiracy happening behind our backs to get us all trapped in matrimony.”
“Who is ‘us?’” I asked, horrified. “What do you mean ‘trapped?’”
Rook ticked off names, clicking the magnetic spheres as he thought. “Spencer, Wells, and Frost are the other three whose mothers are in the same reading group, I think.” Our mothers had met at our graduation, and they had connected over the woes of having sons in medical school and residency. They had started a self-help book club, but apparently, from what Rook was saying, it was a twice-monthly scheme session to “nudge” their sons in a certain leg-shackled direction.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” I pushed off the door. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
Glacial eyes met mine again. “I wish I was. Your mother spoke to my mother, and when mine called me last night, she had ideas. ” Rook had that disgruntled expression that brought to mind a cat watching a dog chase its tail in circles. “I almost went to find you because you’re to blame for this.”
I flattened my hand against my chest. “My fault? How is that my fault?”
“Because your mishap with the matchmaker gave them said ideas , and now they’re devising things that frankly terrify me.” Rook set the clump of magnetic spheres on the desk with a snap. “The only logical next move is for you to get the fuck away from me and make yourself single again.”
I swept out a hand. “Done, asshat. Ruth and I were never dating. Christ, how do you even have patients? Do you berate them into pushing out their babies?”
Rook lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “Get out, Reed.”
“Gladly,” I muttered. I fast-walked back out of his small practice, slapping the elevator button and waiting impatiently for the doors to open.
Well, now what? For one thing, Ruth didn’t appear to have a PCP. Or if she did, she hadn’t wanted me to know who. I bopped my head side to side in thought. Okay, that might make sense. I’m a stranger and she doesn’t want me to know personal information. Fair. But was she sick, or wasn’t she?
I palmed my face. “Reed, snap out of it,” I mumbled out loud. It wasn’t my problem. Ruth was a grown woman—a smart one—who could make her own decisions. And one of her decisions had been to put distance between herself and me, which meant I didn’t get to dig around in her personal life just because I liked her.
Liked her a lot, actually .
The elevator doors ground open with a loud mechanical whir, but as I moved to enter, Rook’s voice halted me. “Reed, wait.”
I turned, but before I could answer, a person slammed open the fire escape door. A small, female form catapulted out of the stairwell with so much momentum, she careened sideways. Her short body skidded and stumbled straight for the office door where Rook was standing. On instinct, I reached to catch her, but I was too far away. In slow motion, I watched as the girl tripped toward Rook with a straight trajectory into his arms, and my fast-firing brain synapses conjured the inevitability that Rook would reach out and stop her before she hit the glass wall.
Instead, he stepped out of the way.
The girl—Gemma, I realized belatedly—slammed into the glass with a loud bong. A muffled “oof,” escaped her, and she crumpled to the ground with a dazed expression on her face. Rook stared down at her, hands in his pockets. “Running is not allowed in the building.”
Gemma rotated an incredulous glare up to him, rubbing a red spot on her forehead. “You… let me hit the wall?”
“I allowed you to carry out your initial momentum. Which,” he added with an icy stare, “wouldn’t have happened if you’d been walking.”
“You—” she spluttered. Her long, blond curls had fallen all around her face in disarray, and she pushed her hair out of the way, struggling to stand in her tight, black pencil skirt. “I could have died, you jerk. ”
Knox swept a look from the fire escape door to the glass office entrance six feet away. “Physics would beg to differ.”
Gemma stumbled with her high heels buckling under her. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I closed the short distance between the elevator and the office door, and reaching out a hand, I helped Gemma to stand. “That’s Rook, and he’s an asshole.”
Gemma swiped dirt from her ass and smoothed her ruffled, white button-down as she gave Dr. Rook another pointed scowl. “Yeah, I can see that.” She flipped him off. “Have a great fucking life, loser.”
Knox looked like he was sending up a silent prayer for patience. “Reed, I was just going to warn you that your mother shared Kiss-Met’s services with her friends, and she made it sound like they could go to your girlfriend for matches.” His eyes flitted from me to Gemma, and then back to me. “Thought you should know.”
That was… terrible news. Horrible, in fact. My parents had really liked Ruth, and then I’d gone and ran her off. Brilliant move, Reed. “Thanks,” I gritted out.
“Girlfriend,” Gemma said, as if the word had jarred her memory. “Yes, Ruth.” She reached out and grabbed my wrist in a tight grip that did not match her small stature. Her bright blue eyes captured mine with fervent intensity. “I ran down here to catch you before you left. Ruth needs you.”
My brows drew together a fraction. “What do you mean?”
“Something is wrong with her knee, and she won’t go see a doctor,” Gemma rushed to explain. “I think it’s infected? I don’t know. She won’t let me in to see.” Rook clicked his tongue in censure, and Gemma hinged an angry glower his way. “Don’t you have a lair to return to?”
“It’s more of a dungeon,” Rook replied seriously.
Gemma’s heart-shaped face twisted in derision. “Ugh.”
But my mind wasn’t on their squabbling. It was on Ruth and what might be wrong with her knee—and most importantly, what I could do about it. I backed away, my mind already making a list of supplies I might need. “If I go there, will she let me in?”
“No.” Gemma gave me a conspiratorial eyebrow quirk. “But her spare is in the bush to the left of her back door.”
“That doesn’t sound legal,” I replied, hitting the elevator button and then bringing up Annie’s number in my phone. I put it to my ear, waiting for my receptionist to pick up.
Gemma folded her arms under her generous breasts. “Are you going to save her or not?”
“Highly unethical,” Rook muttered.
I dithered. It was unethical to show up to a girl’s house after she’d firmly set a boundary in place. But then again, it was unethical to know she was sick or suffering and do nothing about it. Ruth had said she didn’t like hospitals or doctors. Maybe that fear went deeper than I’d known, and perhaps she was just like some of my other patients—the ones who had what we often called “white coat syndrome” that made them unaccountably anxious about entering medical institutions. That was one of the many reasons I’d chosen to give at-home care in the first place.
The elevator doors opened, and Annie answered. “Hello, Goldbrook Urgent Care. This is Annie, how can I help you?”
I met Gemma’s worried gaze, and then I stepped into the elevator. “Hey, Annie, clear my schedule for the afternoon. Put Ruth Coldwell on instead.”