Hot Docs On Call: New York City Nights

CHAPTER THREE

WHERE WAS HIS EX-WIFE?

Clay sat in the hospital cafeteria with Molly and listened to his daughter chatter on about all she’d done with Grandma and Grandpa yesterday evening. He couldn’t hold back a sigh as she bounced in her chair and scooped up a bite of fruit from her plate.

His parents had been stoic all during his divorce, although they must have been disappointed in him for not working harder to make things work. He’d tried. Hell, he’d never expected his marriage to end in divorce any more than they had. But nothing he’d tried had worked. He’d compromised on where he’d practiced medicine to be closer to the house. He’d taken on the bulk of Molly’s care when she’d been a baby. He’d even gone to marriage counseling.

And yet here he sat.

His biggest failures in life, it seemed, had to do with women.

One thing his mom and dad had been overjoyed about had been getting the chance to be deeply involved in their granddaughter’s life. And it seemed yesterday had been no exception—with the trio heading out to Central Park for a walk with their Dalmatian, Jack.

He glanced at his watch, his impatience growing. Lizza was almost a half hour late, and he was supposed to be at work in a few more minutes. He’d been hoping to have a little time to get to know the ropes before jumping right into his morning rounds. But it looked as if that wasn’t going to happen.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied a familiar figure at the checkout counter. Only it wasn’t Lizza. He groaned out loud.

“What is it, Daddy?”

He pulled his attention back to his daughter’s blue eyes. “Nothing. I was just thinking about work.”

“Oh. Okay. Do I have to go to Mommy’s?”

The same question had been repeated for the past two visits. Clay didn’t know what to do about it. Lizza traveled for weeks at a time, visiting European fashion houses in search of ideas for new designs. Molly hadn’t spent more than a handful of weekends with her mom in the past year. And Lizza didn’t help by being so fastidious about her house and furniture. Molly wasn’t even three and a half yet. She needed to be a kid. But he’d learned to keep his mouth shut, as long as his ex didn’t do anything to damage their daughter’s self-esteem.

So he settled for a response that he hoped was conciliatory. “Mommy would be sad if you didn’t.”

“I know.” Said with a sigh that made his gut clench.

If someone had told him four years ago that after his breakup with Tessa he’d have rebound sex that would result in a pregnancy and marriage, he’d have said that person was out of their gourd. And yet here he was. Only he was crazy about his daughter. So were his parents. It made all the crap he’d put up with from Lizza bearable.

He looked back toward the checkout area just as Tessa turned around, scanning the place for a spot to sit. It was breakfast time and the place was packed with medical personnel, all scarfing down a quick bite before facing a new day.

Her glance skidded past his and then stopped for a long second, her green eyes closing for a brief instant before reopening and sliding back his way again. She gave him a quick nod and then kept looking for someplace to sit.

Only there wasn’t any.

Come on, Lizza. Hurry up.

In the meantime, he couldn’t leave Tessa standing there, so he motioned her over. He could have sworn her mouth gave a pained grimace before she moved in their direction. He had no doubt if there had been any other person in the place that she knew, she would have gone to sit with them instead.

He was her last choice.

Well, some things never changed.

She set her tray next to Molly’s, her brows coming together slightly, although she didn’t ask the question he knew had to be swirling around her head.

His daughter had no such inhibitions. “I’m Molly. Who are you?”

Tessa blinked. “I’m Dr. Camara. How are you?”

“I’m waiting on my mommy.”

His stomach tightened again. Left with no other choice, he made the introductions. “Tessa, this is my daughter.”

“Is she your friend?” Molly asked.

“An old friend, yes.” He looked at Tessa and dared her to correct him. She didn’t, dropping into the chair across from him instead.

“That’s right. Your dad and I knew each other a long time ago when we were both in school.”

“Oh. Did you know Mommy, too?”

Tessa’s teeth came down on her lower lip for a minute. “No. I didn’t. Is your mom a doctor?”

“No, she makes pretty dresses and fancy clothes.”

Tessa’s body language changed, fingers clenching on her tray for a second before finally letting go and picking up her glass of juice. “How lucky for you. You must have all kinds of wonderful outfits.”

Only she didn’t make it sound as if Molly was lucky at all. There was an edge of sadness that made him look at her a little bit closer. He didn’t voice the question in his head, however. “You look like you’re in a hurry.”

“I have a Mohs procedure to assist with today.”

Interesting.

“Mohs? Are you specializing in plastic surgery?” The famed technique, named after its inventor, was used on skin lesions. Lesions that were normally cancerous.

She took a sip of her drink and then shook her head. “Dermatologic surgery. But I hope to do a fellowship in Mohs.”

He’d thought her plans had been to go into craniofacial surgery. “That’s quite a jump, isn’t it?”

“Things change.”

“They absolutely do.” He couldn’t hold back the sardonic note to his voice.

He and Tessa stared across the table at each other for several seconds as the atmosphere around them began to crackle with tension.

No. It wasn’t tension. It was the distinctive clickety-clack of a pair of high heels moving quickly across the space.

“Mommy’s coming.” His daughter’s whispered words had a fatalistic sound to them.

He swiveled around in his chair to find that Lizza was indeed headed their way, her perfectly made-up face a huge contrast to Tessa’s unadorned freckles and simple style. Tessa wasn’t the only one who’d made a huge leap from one specialty to another. The difference between his two exes could give a psychologist enough material to fill a volume or two.

Lizza stopped beside their table, brows lifting slightly in question, while Tessa looked as if she wanted to drop off the face of the earth.

Join the club, honey.

“Hello, Clayton.”

She’d always used his full name, rather than the shortened version. He’d liked it at first, because it had been yet another thing that had unlinked him from Tessa, but after a while her formality had worn thin. As had those stupid air-kisses she insisted on giving to everyone. Even as he thought it, she bent down and made a popping sound beside Molly’s cheek that never made contact. Neither did his ex attempt to embrace her daughter.

His molars ground together.

No wonder Molly had such a difficult time bonding with her. His parents were all about hugs and real, down-to-earth kisses.

When he stood, though, Lizza made no effort to lean into his cheek as she normally did. Probably because she was now looking at Tessa.

He wasn’t going to get out of introducing them, evidently. Perfect. He glanced at his watch. And now he was five minutes late for his shift. “Lizza, this is an old friend from medical school, Tessa.”

Tessa murmured that she was happy to meet her, while his ex did nothing but reach for Molly’s hand. “Are you ready to go, sweetie? Mommy has some important phone calls to make.”

His hands curled at his sides, although he tried to rein in his temper. “Are you sure you have time for her this weekend? I could always drop her back off at Mom and Dad’s place.”

“It’s my weekend.” Said as if Molly were simply one more appointment on an already busy calendar.

His chest ached. Molly didn’t even have a suitcase, since his ex had a second wardrobe and toys for their daughter at her house. She would launder Molly’s current clothes and return her to him in them. Lizza insisted on keeping their households entirely separate. Shades of Tessa and her unwillingness to accept anything from him.

Maybe the women were more alike than he’d thought.

Clay squatted in front of Molly. “I’ll see you Monday morning, chipmunk.”

One of Lizza’s heels clicked in that way she did when she was annoyed at something. Too damn bad.

His daughter threw her arms around his neck. “Love you, Daddy. Be good.”

“Aren’t I always?” He tweaked one of her braids.

A second later, Lizza and his daughter were headed toward the hospital entrance. A couple of masculine heads turned toward his ex-wife. She was beautiful, he acknowledged, with long blond hair and a delicate bone structure, although he now saw it as a brittle kind of grace that didn’t stand up to pressure.

When he examined his feelings about other men ogling her, he found he didn’t care. He’d stopped caring when she’d accidentally forwarded texts to his phone from another man. Someone in Italy that she evidently met up with whenever she was there, despite having a young daughter at home. All that money on counseling for nothing.

The only thing he was grateful to her for was that she’d signed over primary custody of Molly to him without batting an eyelid, saying that with her schedule it was probably for the best.

He couldn’t agree more.

Dropping back in his seat, he noticed that Tessa was studying her bowl of oatmeal as if it were fascinating.

He blew out a breath. “And how has your morning been?”

The smile he expected didn’t come. Instead, she swirled her spoon through the mixture in her bowl.

“It must be embarrassing to have her meet me.”

“It was a little different than introducing two colleagues at a medical conference, I’ll give you that.”

This time her head came up, eyes flashing, color seeping into her face. “You could have pretended not to know me.”

“Why would I do…?” He frowned. “You think I’m embarrassed by you?”

He glanced at his watch for a third time and found that five minutes late had morphed into fifteen. He didn’t have time to hash this out with her right now. Not that it even mattered.

Tessa had always had a chip on her shoulder about money or anything associated with it—that probably extended to Lizza’s display of expensive clothing.

It wasn’t as if she was poor, her parents did well enough for themselves, even if his grandmother’s memorial fund had helped pay for her education. Their parents were good friends—they’d worked together for years. When Tessa’s parents had realized they weren’t going to be able to help her achieve her dreams, his mom and dad had quietly stepped in to help. They were generous people—it was what they did.

In the past, Clay would have tried to smooth things over with her. Right now, however, he was out of both time and patience.

Standing to his feet, he looked down at her. “I think you’ve got it backward, sweetheart. You always acted like you were the one embarrassed, not me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t suppose you do.” Time to leave. But first there was a little itch he just had to scratch. “Before I forget, I saw the capoeira studio on the list of businesses involved with the festival.”

She nodded. “They’re putting on an exhibition to garner interest.”

“Are you participating in it?” Why he’d asked that, he had no idea.

This time her answer came even slower. “I am.”

“You always were good. I’ll have to stop by the studio sometime.”

He tried to stop the memory of Tessa’s long, lithe movements as she trained in capoeira from crowding his head, but it was too late—the memories were too vivid… and too raw.

A tightening sensation in his gut—as well as her less-than-enthusiastic response—told him it was time to get out while the getting was good.

So he cut the conversation short with a quick wave and a “Have a nice day” thrown in for good measure.

As it was, Tessa was the only one with the slightest chance of that happening. Because, between his first ex and his second, his day was well and truly shot.

The foot connected with her cheek with a sharp smack.

Down Tessa went in a tangle of arms and legs.

Marcos was immediately kneeling beside her. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. Where is your head, moça?”

Her head was where it had been for the past two days. On Clay and the thought of him showing up at the studio unannounced, maybe even with his daughter in tow. Or, worse, with his gorgeous-enough-to-be-a-model ex-wife. The one who fashioned clothes like the ones she’d been given all those years ago. That would be the worst. She’d felt like a field mouse next to an exotic cat as she’d sat there in the hospital cafeteria. Surely Clay had compared them as well and wondered why the hell he hadn’t stuck with his wife. Or wondered what he’d seen in Tessa in the first place.

She shook the thoughts away, angry with herself. She was supposed to be training for the hospital festival. And this was geared to be a demonstration that showed off capoeira’s romantic side, from its circle of constantly switching partners to the cartwheels, spins and beating drums that made the martial art both beautiful and different. It was more about skill than combat nowadays, but it still clung to some of its former roots. As she’d found out on several occasions. Today being one of them.

One wrong move—or right move, depending on your perspective—and you could take an opponent down. Just as she’d done when she and Clay had been dating, and she’d sent that invitation asking him to come to the studio.

He’d soon been hooked. In fact, she’d done the batismo ceremony on him—a match where a more advanced capoeirista took down an inexperienced student, formally inducting him into the studio. She’d even presented him with his white cord—the ranking system used by the sport—helping him tie it around his waist. Memories of sweeping his legs out from under him still haunted her dreams on occasion. As did the memory of leaning over him in victory once he’d been flat on his back. His response had made her shiver. With a single raised brow he’d promised retribution later that night.

And he’d kept that promise. Sweet, sweet retribution that had had her begging for more.

“Tessa?”

She blinked back to the present. “Sorry. I just lost my concentration for a second or two.”

“A second or two?” Several Portuguese swearwords accompanied the question as the owner of the studio stared down at her. “It’s been more like the entire match.” He touched a finger to her still-stinging cheek. “I don’t want you bruised up before the festival. It defeats the purpose of emphasizing the workout benefits of capoeira. Intende?”

“Yes, I understand. Let’s try again.”

Marcos helped her up and then motioned for the next person in the circle to join her. “Begin.”

The percussion instruments set the rhythm once again as Tessa concentrated on the ebb and flow that accompanied her current partner, the feinting and parrying looking almost choreographed. Two minutes later, she was standing back in the ring of participants as someone else danced in to take her place. When it was once again her turn she slid forward, only to find herself on the wrong side of a foot for the third or fourth time. Mortified, she crashed to the mat, wondering if Marcos was going to take away her purple and green cordão and demote her to a lower level.

He knelt beside her once again. “I think that is enough for today, Tessita.”

She grimaced. Marcos only resorted to calling her “little Tessa” when he was upset with her. And he had every right to be. She’d trained with him for years and years. He knew exactly what she was capable of. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“I do not, either, but when you come back next week, try to make our capoeira look a little less… brutal.”

Everyone laughed, including Tessa, and the tension eased as he helped her to her feet. She sighed. “Point taken. I’ll work on it.”

“Good. The festival will be here before we know it.”

She grabbed her towel from on top of her bag and blotted the sweat from her face and neck. “Four weeks. I know. Maybe I’ll find a few extra hours this week and come in for a private session.”

“I think that would be good, Tessita.”

Ugh. Still upset. Well, Marcos wasn’t the only one. She was upset at herself. Ever since her encounter with Clay in the cafeteria she’d been on edge. Something about the way his ex had looked at her, the acid in her gaze making Tessa feel like a criminal of some sort, even though she’d done nothing wrong.

Well, it was time to put Clay and his ex—and most especially his cute little daughter—from her mind. Once and for all.

How she was going to do that, though, remained to be seen.

CHAPTER FOUR

HE WAS WATCHING HER.

Tessa had caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye as she continued to section the diseased skin tissue, teasing it away from healthy cells. The Mohs surgery had been put off for three days due to a cold her patient had developed.

How had Clay found out when she would be operating? Maybe Brian Perry, her attending cutaneous oncologist, had clued him in. But why would he have done that? Clay was an orthopedic surgeon, a whole different realm than cutaneous surgery.

She had already marked the surgical site before proceeding and when she lifted the thin layer of tissue and placed it onto a glass slide, she made sure to match the marks so they would know where to continue cutting if the margins weren’t completely clear. Brian glanced down at the site and nodded to the lab assistant. “Once you’re ready, let us know.”

They would section the tissue sample and stain it, looking for areas that still contained cancer cells. Either Tessa or Brian would then remove more tissue just at the specific location. That way they conserved as much healthy tissue as possible.

“How are you doing, Mandy?” Her patient was lying on her stomach with her head to one side, but was wide-awake. Mohs surgery was generally done under a local anesthetic. The only hard part was that there was quite a bit of waiting involved if the tumor had roots that went deeper than expected.

“I’m okay. How’s it coming?”

“We’ll know in a few minutes.”

The buzzer at her waistband went off, as did Brian’s. The lab was ready for them to view the slide.

Tessa was glad to get out from beneath Clay’s stare. She still had no idea why he was there.

The results under the microscope showed that there was still one area that contained tumor cells. Brian marked the graph they’d been charting to match what they saw on the slide.

After shaving off two more layers of skin in that area, they finally got the results they were looking for: clear margins. This wasn’t melanoma but a squamous cell tumor on the patient’s lower left back. While not as dangerous as the type of cancer that had killed Tessa’s mom, it could still grow out of control, dividing and penetrating to other organ systems if not caught in time. Fortunately this patient had a known history of skin cancer and had screened herself on a regular basis.

Sucking down a breath, she peered again at her patient as they got ready to close the surgical site. In a calm voice she explained what they’d done and what to expect, thankful they wouldn’t need to do a skin graft. Even as she hoped Clay had gotten bored and left, he probably hadn’t. She was still stumped as to his presence. Didn’t he have his own patients to attend to?

Maybe he wanted to discuss something with her. Lord, she hoped not. The last thing she needed after the day she’d had was to do a dissection of a different kind. Especially if it involved their shared past. It had been over four years. There was nothing left to dissect.