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It took a great deal of conscious effort on his part not to allow his mouth to drop open as she and her brother walked out of his office.
Astonishment ricocheted through him. He had just been rejected. The woman had rejected him. That had never happened to him before. Patients were always seeking him out because he was reputed to be one of the finest neurosurgeons in the country. And ever since he’d found himself without his family, there was nothing left to fill up his hours but his work.
Oh, he stopped by occasionally at Renee’s to see how she was doing, but that hardly counted. Renee had been, and in his opinion still was, his mother-in-law. By her very existence, she represented his only connection to Lisa and his past. Besides, he got along with the woman. She was like the mother he could never remember.
Neither he nor Lisa had any siblings. Only children born of only children. It made for a very small Christmas dinner table. Especially since his mother had died when he’d been very young and his father had passed away before he’d ever met Lisa.
He had promised Lisa that they would have a house full of kids. It was a promise he never got to keep.
As twilight crowded in around him, bringing with it a heightened sense of loss, he found himself driving not to the place where he slept night after night, but to the house that had once seemed so cheery to him. The house where he would see Lisa after putting in an inhuman amount of hours at the hospital. Because Lisa had been his bright spot. She had made him laugh no matter how dark his mood.
Now the laughter was gone, as was the brightness. He’d sold his own house shortly after the funeral and moved into a one-bedroom apartment. He didn’t require much in the way of living space and the memories within the house they had bought and decorated together had become too much to deal with. He preferred being in a position where he had to seek out the memories rather than have them invade his head every time he looked at anything related to Lisa’s or Becky’s life.
Peter pulled up in the small driveway and got out. Telling himself that he should be on his way home instead of bothering Renee, he still walked up to her front door. He stood there for a moment before he rang the bell.
Renee had given him a key to the house, but he never used it. He always rang the bell and on those rare times when she wasn’t home, he’d turn around and leave. The house where Lisa had grown up was too much to bear without someone there to act as a buffer.
Renee Baker answered the door before the sounds of the bell faded away. A tall, regal-looking woman with soft gray hair and gentle brown eyes, she greeted him warmly as she opened the door.
“I was hoping you’d stop by.” She paused to press a kiss on his cheek, then stood back as he crossed her threshold. “You look like hell, Pete.” She closed the door behind him. “Bad day?”
He let the warmth within the house permeate him a moment before answering. “There aren’t any good ones.”
The expression on Renee’s face told him that she knew better. “There are if you let them come, Pete.” She cocked her head, looking at him. “Did you eat?”
His reply was a half shrug and a mumbled, “Yeah.”
Because he wasn’t looking directly at her, Renee repositioned herself so that she could peer into his face. “What?”
This time the shrug employed both shoulders. “Something.”
She shook her head. The short laugh was a knowing one. “You didn’t eat.” Turning slowly on her heel, she led the way into her kitchen. “C’mon, I’ve got leftover pot roast.”
He knew better than to argue. So he followed her into the kitchen, because, for a little while, he needed her company. Because he felt as if every day he stood at a critical crossroads and he had no idea which way to go. Today was one of those days when he didn’t know why he even continued to place one foot in front of the other.
When his mood was darkest, he came to talk to Renee. And to remember a happier time.
Moving quickly for a woman who wrestled daily with the whimsy of rheumatoid arthritis, never knowing when she would be challenged and when she would receive the green light to move freely, Renee put out a plate of pot roast and small potatoes. His favorite meal, as she remembered.
Peter said nothing as she prepared the plate.
She gave him a look just before she went to retrieve a bottle of soda from the refrigerator.
“Am I going to have to drag the words out of you?” Then she laughed. “Why should tonight be any different than usual?” she speculated. Placing a glass in front of him, she looked down at Peter. “Talk to an old woman, Pete. Tell me about your day and why you’re here tonight instead of last night or tomorrow.”
She went to get a glass for herself when she heard him say, “I lost a patient today.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Renee crossed back to the table and helped herself to the bottle of soda. Her voice was filled with understanding. She’d told him more than once that it took a special person to do what he did, day after day, and not break down. “But it does happen. You’ve saved more than you’ve lost.”
Peter realized that she’d misunderstood him. “No, I don’t mean that way. I meant, I lost a patient,” he repeated between forkfuls of pot roast that melted on his tongue. “He walked out of my office. Actually, his sister took him away.”
Renee set down her glass. “Sister, huh? You probably scared her away.”
Not likely, not someone like the woman who’d been in his office this morning. “I don’t scare anyone.”
Like a mother studying her child, Renee took his face in her hand and pretended to scrutinize it carefully, just to be certain that she was right. “Not with your looks, Pete, but I have to tell you, you were definitely hiding behind a pillar the day they were teaching all about bedside manners.”
He shrugged as she withdrew her hand. “A surgeon doesn’t need a bedside manner.”
“Don’t you believe it. A lot of the times—and especially in the field you’re in, Pete—the surgeon is all that stands between the patient and the big sleep. Patients want to hang on to what you tell them. They want you to make them feel better even before they get wheeled into the operating room.”
He raised his eyes to hers. He thought she knew him better than that. “I don’t deal with giving out false hopes.”
Renee sat across from him at the table, nursing the glass of soda she’d just poured for herself. The expression on her face transcended conversation. “The mind is a very powerful tool, Peter. It can perform miracles at times.”
He had a great deal of respect for Renee, but her philosophy was completely alien to him. “If people could think themselves well, Renee, there’d be no reason for doctors.”
She leaned in closer as she spoke. “That’s not what I meant—exactly. But a patient needs all the help he can get—so does a doctor.” She looked at him pointedly. “Use what’s available. Make a patient think positive. It can’t hurt.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “What have you got to lose?”
He could give her the answer without thinking. “Time.” And giving a patient empty words was definitely wasting it.
Unfazed, Renee shrugged before she took another sip. “It goes by anyway. Might as well do something good with it.” Setting down her glass, she looked at his plate. The four slices she’d put there were gone, as were the tiny potatoes. She nodded at it. “See, I knew you were hungry.” She let her eyes travel down his upper torso. “Come by more often, Pete. You’re getting way too skinny.”
He hadn’t come here to talk about himself. Reversing the tables on her, he gazed at her for a long moment. Her health was a major concern to him. “You doing okay?”
Like someone uncomfortable with the subject matter, Renee shrugged dismissively. She’d once told him that the less she thought about the advancing arthritis that sought to conquer her, the better off she was.
“I’ve got my good days and my bad days, same as everyone else.” And then she flashed a smile. “This is a good day.” Renee glanced at the wheelchair that was tucked away in the corner in the family room. She used it when there was no way around it. But most of the time, she didn’t have to resort to it. “That’s always there, waiting for me.” And then she smiled at him, as if her point was made. “I just think myself out of it.”
Peter shook his head. The woman was incorrigible. Just like Lisa had been. Just like Becky had been on her way to becoming. “Whatever works.”
Leaning across the table, Renee covered his hand with hers. “That’s right. Whatever works. And positive thought works.”
He was glad she felt that philosophy worked for her, but it wasn’t the way for him. He sincerely doubted that he was capable of thinking positively. Not after the negative event that had traumatized in his life.
The floors smelled of antiseptic and something that had been sprayed to mask the scent. It succeeded only in becoming an annoying hybrid. But the smell would be gone by the time the daily hospital traffic began to weave its way through the halls.
It was early.
He liked the quiet, before the noises started. Normally he would just be heading to the hospital, but he’d arrived at Blair Memorial earlier than usual today. As happened with a fair amount of regularity, sleep had eluded him again last night. He’d spent it tossing and turning, find tiny islands of sleep and snatching them, only to wake up again soon afterward. By four he’d given up the fight.
He decided he might as well get an early start on the day. There was a surgery scheduled for nine this morning and he felt a need to review the CAT scans again. He knew the procedure cold, but he’d always felt that it never hurt to be overprepared.
It beat the hell out of being underprepared.
Preoccupied, he didn’t notice her at first. Whenever he was locked into his thoughts, he tended to have tunnel vision to the exclusion of the rest of the world.
But even so, the fact that there was someone sitting in the hallway right outside his office did register in the peripheral portion of his brain, that small space where he allowed life’s ordinary little happenings to huddle together.
As he fished out the keys from his pocket, Peter was vaguely aware that the figure rose from the chair. Swirls of color penetrated his consciousness and he glanced in the figure’s direction. And was not as surprised as he would have thought he should be.
It was the boy-with-the-funny-name’s sister.
She grinned at him broadly. He had the impression of standing beside an overly lit billboard. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he echoed only because she’d used the word. Looking around, he saw that she was alone. He’d half thought that if she turned up at all, she would bring reinforcements with her, not fly solo.
He put his key into the lock and turned it. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” she answered simply, succeeding in mystifying him further.
Not waiting for an invitation as he opened the door, Raven Songbird walked into his office.
He dropped his keys back into his pocket as he looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”
Her face was the picture of innocence. “Because I wanted to talk to you.” She’d been waiting for him to show up for almost twenty minutes. Alix DuCane, Blue’s pediatrician, had told her that the unfriendly neurosurgeon usually came in early and she’d wanted to catch him before his day got under way.
“There’s a handy thing called the telephone.” He glanced at the one on his desk for emphasis.
She’d thought about calling him, but had dismissed it. More than likely, she would have gotten his receptionist or the answering service. And she had a feeling that asking him to return the call would have fallen on deaf ears.
Raven told him a little of her philosophy. “I prefer talking to people face-to-face.” She could see that didn’t sit very well with him. “Are you always so unfriendly, or is it just me?”
“Yes and yes,” he answered tartly before asking a question of his own. “Are you always so ‘in your face’ with people?”
“Mostly.”
He wasn’t prepared for the smile. Or for the effect it seemed to have on him. Discreetly, he took a breath, as if that would help shield him from this small dynamo who was determined to invade his professional life. “So I haven’t been singled out?”
“Well, yes, you have,” she allowed, then quickly added, “but not for that. My doctor thinks I should give you a second chance.”
“Oh, he does, does he?”
“She,” Raven corrected, then supplied the doctor’s name. “Dr. Alix DuCane and, actually, she’s Blue’s doctor, not mine.”
He was familiar with the name if not the person. Ducane had been on staff at Blair Memorial for several years and was now head of pediatrics. She’d been here when he’d first arrived. Knowing what he did about the pediatrician, he was surprised that the woman hadn’t picked up the phone to call him about this.
“And just why did she recommend this generosity of spirit on your part?”
She’d never liked sarcasm. But this was for Blue, so she was going to put up with it. She would have been willing to put up with the devil himself for Blue and it was beginning to look as if she just might have to.
“Because Dr. DuCane thinks you really are the best.” She’d called the woman after her visit with Dr. Sullivan, not to complain but just to explain why she wasn’t about to take the pediatrician’s advice. Alix had prevailed upon her to rethink her decision and to give the doctor another chance. Alix had volunteered to provide the bedside manner herself if necessary.
It was time to get to the point. Since he’d begun operating, his patients had all been over the age of eighteen and he now preferred it that way. “I don’t do children.”
Unlike her late parents and her brother, Raven had a temper she usually kept under wraps. It was the one gene, according to her mother, that her maternal grandfather had contributed to the mix. Jeremiah Blackfeather had never been a mild-mannered man and there were times that Raven felt as if her late grandfather was channeling through her. “From what I see, you don’t do people, either, Dr. Sullivan. Just subjects.”
The slight show of temper surprised him. For some unknown reason, it also amused him, though he kept that to himself. “And you don’t approve.”
“I want my brother’s life to matter to you.”
“A good surgeon doesn’t get involved, Ms. Bird.”
“Songbird,” she corrected. Then, for emphasis, she added, “Like the clothes.”
Peter looked at her, puzzled for a moment, then something clicked into place inside his brain. Lisa had had a wildly colorful blouse she’d absolutely adored. She’d had it on the day she was killed. He’d given it to her on their first anniversary. He remembered the tag because it had been in the shape of a bird. A dove, Lisa had told him.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “Any connection?”
“My mother started the line.” She didn’t bother hiding her pride. There seemed to be no point to it. “Dad said they needed to live on more than love and Mom came up with a line of clothing that they sold to their friends. First few years, she worked out of an old VW bus that my dad turned into a work-room for her. Demands kept coming in and—” She stopped abruptly. She smiled at him. “You don’t want to hear about this.”
“I didn’t think I had a choice.” And then, for just a second, his expression softened as he thought of Lisa wearing the blouse for the first time. “My wife had a blouse made by your mother. Said it was her favorite thing in the whole world besides Becky—and me.”
“Becky,” she repeated. Curiosity got the better of her. “Your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“How old?” The doctor looked at her strangely. Wondering what she’d said wrong, Raven clarified, “Your daughter, how old is she now?”
“She isn’t any age now.” His tone was distant again, hollow. “My daughter died two years ago in a car accident. Along with her mother.”
That was why he’d looked at her like that yesterday when she’d mentioned the car accident that had claimed her parents. Of all the things they could have had in common, this was really awful, she thought. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”
She’d placed her hand on his shoulder. Not wanting the contact, he moved his shoulder away. “Yes,” he said quietly, “So am I.”
Chapter Three
A little surprised at his reaction, Raven dropped her hand to her side. “You don’t like being touched, do you?”
“Not particularly.”
His tone was so frosty, a person could freeze to death. Raven began having second thoughts again. She wanted the best for Blue, but she was having trouble convincing herself that someone so removed could care more about the patient than he would gaining another cerebral rush.
“You know, I read somewhere that neurosurgeons believe they’re above God.”
Peter switched on his computer. The low hum told him it was going through its paces—just like the ones this woman was putting him through.
“Not above,” Peter corrected, “just working in tandem with.” He blew out a breath. He didn’t have time for this because he was due in surgery in an hour. “Look, I don’t think you came back here to check out my divinity, or lack thereof. Do you want me to consider taking your brother on as a patient or not?”
“No, I don’t want you to consider taking him on.” She saw the surgeon raise his eyebrows in surprise, so she drove home her point. “I want you to take him. Blue has an incredible zest for life. I’d like for him to be able to run through it, not restricted in any way.”
He was a realist, weighing the downside rather than the up. Whatever optimism he’d once possessed, the car accident had taken away from him. “That might not be possible.”
Raven refused to allow any negative thoughts to enter into this. She had to believe the surgery was going to be a success. Anything else was unthinkable.
“It will be possible, Dr. Sullivan, if you come on board.”
Just yesterday, he thought, she’d been skeptical, doubting not his ability but his heart. He wondered if he should tell her that he didn’t have one. “Despite my emotional distance?”
“After due consideration, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. You see, Blue likes you.” They’d talked about it last night and the boy seemed perfectly willing to put his fate in Sullivan’s hands. She placed a lot of stock in rapport. “If Blue likes you, you can’t help but like him back.” That, to her, was a given. She’d never met anyone who hadn’t warmed to the boy, usually instantly. “It’s a gift he got from my mother.”
“Whether I like him or not has nothing to do with the surgery.”
There was a knowing look in her eyes he found annoying. As if she was privy to some secret he wasn’t allow to know. “I disagree.”
Peter frowned as he typed in his password. She’d almost made him forget it. When was the last time that had happened? He was nothing if not organized.
“You’re free to disagree until the cows come home, that doesn’t alter the outcome.”
She laughed, a wave of nostalgia undulating over her. “Until the cows come home? I haven’t heard that expression since I was a little girl—and they really did come home.” She saw his eyebrows knit themselves together in a quizzical wavy line despite plainly visible efforts to resist curiosity. Maybe the man was a little more human than he liked to think. “We lived on a farm. My parents wanted the simple life.”
“Songbird, Inc. is a Fortune 500 company.”
“They wanted the simple life,” Raven repeated, emphasizing the crucial word, “but it kind of got complicated along the way.” Her parents had been wonderful people, taken much too soon. She wanted the whole world to know just how noble, how good they really were. Even this cynical man. “Not so they lost any of their initial values. They just had a lot bigger house to place those values in toward the end. My mother actually did sew every prototype, every new garment she created.”
He paused, trying to imagine the life the woman in his office must have led. It was probably something of a merger between latter day hippies and the captains of industry.
“What did your father add to this mix?”
“He played guitar while she sewed.” If she closed her eyes, she could almost see him. Sitting by the white stone fireplace, playing one of the songs he’d written while her mother worked on a loom, creating the fabric that would eventually find itself fashioned into a dress or a blouse or a scarf.
Nobody lived like that, he thought. Raven Songbird probably gleaned the scenario from some afternoon movie written for TV. One in which the woman worked while the man sat noodling around on some instrument or other. “Very productive.”
There was that cynical tone again. Hadn’t this man ever had a good day in his life? “Actually, it inspired her.”
Peter heard the defensive note in Raven’s voice. He realized it probably sounded as if he was criticizing her family. She had enough to deal with. “That wasn’t meant to be critical.”
“Yes it was,” she contradicted, then followed with an absolving smile. “But you can’t help that. You’re from a whole different world.” Considering what he did for a living, he probably had no idea what “mellowing out” meant. “There’s a great deal of pressure involved in working toward becoming a doctor.”
“There’s a great deal of pressure once you become one, too.” Peter stopped abruptly. He had no idea why he’d added that or why he’d shared a single feeling with this diminutive woman who somehow still managed to come across as slightly larger than life.
Needing a diversion, if only for a second, he punched in several letters on the keyboard. His schedule for the next two months appeared on the screen. He scanned it. It was more than full. Work, although not his salvation, kept him from dwelling on his loss and the way his days and evenings felt so hollow. And the times when a fourteen-hour day wasn’t enough to fill that hole, several times a year he volunteered his services to Doctors Without Borders, a nonprofit organization that provided free medical care to the poor of the world.
As it stood right now, there was hardly enough room on his schedule to fit in a breath, much less another challenging surgery. He glanced up from the monitor. By all rights, he should turn Raven Songbird away. Give her and her vivacious personality a referral.
But as he began to frame the words, he made the mistake of looking at her. Specifically, at her eyes. There was something eloquent and tender within the blue orbs, not just the humor with which she peppered her words, but something more. Something that made him feel that if he turned her and her brother away, he would be guilty of an unspeakable crime.
Peter was far more surprised than she was to hear himself say, “Why don’t you bring Blue back tomorrow morning and we’ll see about getting back on the right footing.”
He watched, mesmerized as the smile on her face blossomed until he felt as if it spread to him, as well.
“What time?”
He had consultations lined up back to back both at the hospital and in his private office across the street from Blair. The two open three-hour blocks had surgeries packed into them. There wasn’t even time for lunch. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d eaten in snatches, between patients. “How does seven in the morning sound?”
“Early.”
He sighed, thinking, looking for an alternative. His last surgery was at five. If all went well, it would end at eight. “There’s nothing open until—”
She didn’t let him finish. Her bright smile cut through his words before he could get them all out. “Early’s good,” she assured him. “I’m usually up at five. Blue doesn’t sleep in much later than that.”
“Five?”
“Five.”
“Voluntarily?” He tried not to stare at her mouth. The smile made it difficult not to.
She nodded. “It’s a holdover from living on the farm. You had to be up early to take care of chores before school started.”