Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
LUKE
I can hear laughter inside the house, so I know someone’s home, but it feels like an eternity passes before someone comes to the door. At last, I hear the lock turn and the door swings open.
“Luke!” Melissa says, staring at me in surprise. She’s wearing a gray T-shirt and slouchy pink sweatpants that ride low on her hips, leaving an inch of skin exposed. It’s clear she wasn’t expecting company, and I’m struck by a pang of guilt.
“I should have texted first,” I say apologetically.
“It’s fine,” she says, collecting herself. “Please, come in. Is it something to do with Claire?”
I can see the worry in her eyes, and I mentally kick myself. She’s probably wondering if some test has come back, suggesting Claire’s problem was far more serious than appendicitis.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I reassure her. “I just missed seeing Claire at her follow-up this morning, so I thought I’d stop by and check in.”
As I say the words, I realize how lame they sound, but I can hardly tell her the truth. Nothing’s wrong, Melissa. I just wanted to see you.
“And I wanted to thank you for the cookies,” I add.
Claire comes running down the hallway with Liam at her heels, and overhears my comment about the cookies. “Dr. Carlton!” she exclaims. “Did you like them? Mom and I made them together.”
“And me!” Liam puts in. “I helped.”
“Yeah, Liam helped too,” Claire agrees. “We couldn’t decide whether to put pretzels in or not, but Mom thought we should.”
“Well, it was a good choice, because everyone liked them,” I tell her. “Maybe too much, because I only got to eat one.”
Claire’s face falls. “Really? But we made them for you.”
“I know,” I tell her with a grin. “But we always share stuff like that with the rest of the staff in the clinic. And the one I ate was delicious.”
“We’ll bake you some more,” Claire declares. “I don’t think we have any more pretzels, but we could do plain peanut butter? Or chocolate chip?”
“Cookies!” Liam exclaims.
“Oh. No, that’s okay,” I say quickly. I glance at Melissa, who’s looking at me quizzically. She’s probably still wondering what I’m doing at her house. “I just came because I didn’t get a chance to see you in the clinic this morning.”
“We saw Dr. Nick,” Claire says. “He said you had a meeting.”
“That’s right,” I nod. “He told me you were feeling good?”
“Yeah,” she says. “I got a MedicAlert bracelet, for the allergy.” She holds out her wrist to show me the silver bracelet.
“That’s great. Have you heard from the allergist?”
“Their office called, and Claire has an appointment next month,” Melissa says.
“Good.”
“Do you want to look at Claire’s scars?” Melissa asks. “I mean, your resident thought they’d healed well, but I don’t know—”
“Sure.” I can’t tell if she’s really concerned about the scars or if she’s trying to validate my decision to pay this house call.
Before I can suggest she lie down on a couch, Claire’s lifted her shirt above her belly button to show me her three tiny scars.
“They look really good,” I tell her. They’re healing beautifully, and I bet in a few months, they’ll hardly be visible.
“Mommy, can we make cookies?” Liam tugs at Melissa’s pant leg to get her attention. My gaze strays to her waistband, which has slipped an inch lower on her hips.
Melissa sighs and smiles at Liam. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Yes!” Claire exclaims, and the two of them hustle off, presumably toward the kitchen.
“Wash your hands first,” Melissa calls after them.
“I’m sorry.” I’m sure cookie baking isn’t what she had planned for her evening, and it’s probably almost Liam’s bedtime. “I should go. I just wanted to make sure Claire was doing well, and clearly she’s fine.”
“You sure? Have you had dinner?”
“No, but—”
“There’s leftover spaghetti if you’d like some,” she offers. “You can eat while we make your cookies.”
I shouldn’t say yes. By dropping in for an evening house call, I’ve already pushed the limits of professional boundaries.
Hell, in those pink sweatpants, Melissa’s a walking boundary violation.
It’s not even two weeks since I operated on Claire, and if the suits at the Medical Board knew what was running through my head right now, I’d probably lose my medical license.
“Spaghetti sounds great,” I hear myself reply.
I follow Melissa down the hall, trying to keep my eyes off her butt.
“Watch your step,” she warns ruefully, bending over to pick up a small stuffed elephant. “Liam’s toys seem to find their way all over the house.”
We reach the kitchen and find that the kids have already started to assemble the ingredients. They’ve got flour, sugar, butter, and eggs lined up on the counter, and Liam’s standing on a chair so he can reach the action. Melissa must bake with them often.
“Have a seat,” Melissa says, gesturing to the kitchen table. “How hungry are you?”
“Very,” I admit, realizing I didn’t eat lunch.
She nods as she scoops spaghetti from a pot on the stove onto a plate.
“If it’s not warm enough, I can zap it in the microwave,” she offers, setting it in front of me.
“What would you like to drink? I have water, milk, orange juice, white wine, or Diet Coke. I’m sorry, I don’t have any beer. Or Pepsi.”
She still remembers that I prefer Pepsi to Coke. “Water’s great.”
The spaghetti’s delicious; the noodles perfectly cooked, the tomato sauce meaty and rich, and I set upon it like a starving man. When I finally look up a few minutes later, I see Melissa watching me from the counter, where she’s helping her kids measure ingredients.
“Did you make this?” I ask her.
She nods modestly. “It’s just spaghetti.”
“It’s delicious.”
Melissa’s lips quirk up; she’s clearly pleased that I like it.
Several minutes later, I finish the spaghetti and carry the plate to the sink. At the counter, Melissa’s helping Liam measure out brown sugar.
“Since we don’t have any more pretzels, we’re making peanut butter chocolate chip,” Claire informs me.
“Sounds delicious.” I tell her with a smile. I lean on the counter and watch as Melissa helps them add peanut butter, then an egg and some vanilla.
“Okay, the dough needs to chill for half an hour.” Melissa stretches cling wrap over the bowl and puts it in the fridge, then tells the kids to wash their hands again.
Once everyone’s hands are clean, Melissa realizes Liam’s got a big smear of peanut butter on the front of his shirt. “Liam, let’s get you changed into your pajamas, then you can have some playtime before bed.” She turns to me as she leads him out of the room. “We’ll just be a minute.”
“I should get going,” I say, but my voice lacks conviction. I shouldn’t interfere with their bedtime routine, but I don’t want to leave.
“Luke, if you leave without the cookies, I will never forgive you,” Melissa quips. “The recipe makes two dozen, and I planned to send them all home with you.”
“Okay,” I say with a chuckle. “I guess the least I can do is take the cookies off your hands.”
Melissa grins. “Claire, why don’t you put your PJs on too?”
They disappear toward the stairs, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I decide I should try to be useful, so I set to work washing the measuring cups and spoons.
When Melissa reappears with her kids a few minutes later, she looks surprised to see me washing her dishes.
“You don’t have to do that,” she exclaims. When I don’t move, she walks around the counter to try to take my place at the sink. Her hip brushes the side of my thigh, and I feel a rush of heat in my groin.
“Sorry,” she says quickly, taking a step back. Her eyes catch mine, dilated pupils in twin pools of blue. She’s blushing, and I wonder if the contact had the same effect on her as it did on me.
“I wasn’t trying to push you out of the way,” she says, “but you really don’t need to wash my dishes. Can I get you another drink? Coffee, tea, something like that?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Well, sit down at least, or you’ll make me feel guilty for putting you to work.” She gestures to a pair of stools at the counter, and I sit.
“My tummy wants to watch TV,” Liam tells her.
I bite back a laugh, but Melissa takes it in stride. She’s clearly heard this before.
“And what about your right knee?” she teases.
“It wants to watch TV too,” Liam says earnestly.
“And your toes?”
Liam nods vigorously. “Them, too.”
“Okay, then. You too, Claire?”
Claire nods, and Melissa leads them into the next room. A moment later, I hear the peppy music of a kids’ show.
Melissa returns to the kitchen. “Claire pretends she’s too old for the shows Liam likes, but it’s all an act,” she says, taking a seat next to me at the counter. “Nothing like a little screen time for developing brains.”
“If I remember right, it was Liam’s tummy that wanted to watch TV, not his brain.”
Melissa rolls her eyes. “Oh, you remember right. I still don’t know where that came from.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “About a month ago, he told me his penis wanted to eat cake.”
It’s such an unexpected remark that I can’t contain a snort of laughter.
“I know, right?” Melissa says with a giggle. “It sounds like something out of a bad porn film. I told him it wasn’t polite to talk about his penis, and of course he asked why.”
“So what did you tell him, Melissa?”
She shrugs. “Fell back on the old parental favorite. Because I said so.”
“And how did he take that?”
“Well, he hasn’t mentioned it again, and I haven’t had any awkward calls from his preschool. So far so good, I guess.”
“They seem like great kids, Melissa.”
“Yeah, they are.”
She gets up to turn on the oven, and my eyes follow her across the kitchen. She must sense me watching, because she tugs her T-shirt down so I can no longer see any skin.
“The kids are supposed to go to their dad’s this weekend,” she says as she sits back down next to me. “You think Claire’s well enough to go to Toronto?”
I pause for a minute before answering. There’s no doubt that Claire’s well enough, but it’s clear that Melissa’s hesitant to send her.