13
“That’ll never work.”
Jackson, Clark, and I were gathered around the dining table, remnants of breakfast scattered on the surface, going over what Clark and Jackson had come up with for getting into the personnel center.
Mia was the one throwing the current objection. She was in full teenage fashion-model mode, dressed in skinny jeans, boots, a flowing dusky pink top, and a scarf. Her long blond hair was perfectly straight, falling to the small of her back. She had a coffee cup in one hand and her phone in the other.
Both Jackson and Clark looked at her, then at each other.
“Why would you say that?” Jackson asked.
“I realize that you two are super smart and all,” she said, “but Clark’s not going to get within a mile of that place without getting picked up. And Jackson is too recognizable. I think Aunt Chi and I should go.”
“Neither of you has military ID,” Clark said.
“And you have to have an appointment,” Jackson said.
My headache was back and I rubbed my eyes behind my glasses as I listened to them talk. Even though I’d eventually gotten to sleep, I felt as though I hadn’t slept a wink. And seeing Jackson this morning had sent my stomach rolling with nausea again.
“I thought you were a computer whiz,” Mia said, taking a sip of her coffee. “Can’t you hack in to their system and put us in? And make sure you make us authorized representatives.”
“Looks like you did something other than watch TV last night,” Clark remarked.
She shrugged. “They have a website. It’s not rocket science.”
“She’s right,” I said. “Mia and I are more forgettable than either of you. We don’t want to arouse suspicion. A grieving widow and daughter arouse more sympathy anyway.”
“I don’t know if I’m comfortable with that,” Jackson said.
“He has a point,” Clark chimed in. “If this Mark Danvers’s records are flagged, it’ll show in the system. They could be watching for anyone who’d submit inquiries—”
“It doesn’t matter,” I snapped, interrupting him. “It has to be done. We’re the best to do it. We’re just wasting time arguing.”
Everyone looked at me.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I guess I’m just not feeling well this morning.” That and my ex-fiancé was barely speaking to me. We hadn’t mentioned last night, and I hadn’t been able to eat anything this morning. My stomach was in knots.
“You’re too young to be a widow,” Jackson said after a moment, glancing away from me. “You’ll have to be a cousin or something.”
I nodded, eyes on the table. I felt like the worst sort of person. Guilt ate at me . . . and shame. I’d broken Jackson’s trust and had feelings for another man. I just didn’t understand what kind of feelings. I loved Jackson, but Clark was important to me. And he’d been right. I’d been willing to kill for him. Was that love? If so, was it the kind of romantic love you built a relationship on? Or was it the kind of platonic love you had for a best friend?
The questions spinning inside my head made me feel even more unbalanced than I already did. More than anything, I wished I could be alone for a while. I needed time to recharge.
“Let’s go, Aunt Chi,” Mia said. Unexpectedly, she took my hand and squeezed it. I’d given her the Reader’s Digest Condensed version of last night earlier this morning. She hadn’t said much at the time.
“Yeah,” I agreed, standing. “No time like the present.” I tightened my ponytail and pushed my glasses up my nose. “Just give me a minute.” I had some ibuprofen in the bathroom. Maybe they’d help my headache.
I’d swallowed the pills and was just starting to open the door when I heard Mia say my name. I paused, listening.
“. . . seen Aunt Chi so upset,” she was saying.
“What are you talking about?” Jackson asked. “She’s fine.”
“Then you obviously don’t know her as well as you think.” Mia’s retort was scathing, and she continued. “You’re both assholes. You, rushing her into marriage and then punishing her when it scares her out of her mind. And you, swooping in and putting her in a bad situation from start to finish. You both are expecting her to adapt to how you want your relationship with her to be, and neither of you has bothered to ask what she wants! And here she’s going out of her way to help you both, putting herself in danger, and I think both of you should take a long walk off a short cliff,” she finished in a loud whisper.
Mia was defending me. It gave me the unexpected urge to go hug her. Instead, I cleared my throat as I opened the door, and grabbed my backpack.
“Okay, let’s go,” I said.
Mia tossed her hair, shot one last disdainful look at Jackson and Clark, then followed me out the door.
The center was about twenty minutes away, and I plugged the address into Google Maps as we set out. I hadn’t been able to stand Siri’s voice, so I’d hacked my phone and turned her into Jarvis, who was much more pleasant to listen to.
“I heard you talking to them,” I said, glancing at Mia, who suddenly found her fingernails riveting.
“I’m sorry for butting in,” she said. “I know it’s not my business. I just . . . can’t stand to see you treated like . . . like how they’re treating you. You don’t deserve that.”
“I’m not sure I agree,” I said. “I did break a major relationship pact when I kissed Clark.”
“Okay, first of all, Clark kissed you,” she said, “not the other way around. Secondly, it was just a kiss. Jackson’s making a big deal out of nothing.”
“I don’t know what measurement to use,” I said. “Are there gradations for this sort of thing?”
“Depends on the person, I guess,” Mia replied. “I think he’s being ridiculous and selfish.”
We were both quiet as Jarvis told me where to turn.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said at last. “I can’t bear the thought of losing Jackson, but Clark . . .” My voice trailed off.
“It’ll all work out,” Mia said, patting me lightly on the arm. “It always does.”
Her sweetly innocent belief in fate made me smile. That and her staunch defense of me. It wasn’t something that happened to me very often.
The morning was busy at the records center, and we had to wait awhile once we’d checked in. The woman at the desk had scrutinized the list of appointments.
“That’s strange,” she murmured. “I thought there were only a dozen requests today.”
“We’re lucky thirteen,” I said too brightly. Mia elbowed me as the woman glanced up, frowning.
“Mmm,” she said, looking at us over the top of the sheet she held. “Have a seat.”
The plastic chairs were as uncomfortable as they looked, and I squirmed. I ached in weird places from sleeping on the floor the night before, and I would’ve given up the title to my Mustang for relief from the headache in my skull.
We waited for thirty-nine minutes and fifty seconds before our name was called. A man who couldn’t have been older than I was led us down a hallway and into an office. He motioned us to sit opposite him as he lowered himself into the chair behind the desk. It was on wheels and squeaked when he sat down. His nameplate said Johnson.
“I see you’re here on a request for Mark Danvers,” he said, glancing through some paperwork on a clipboard. He was African American, wore wire-frame glasses and a khaki Army uniform with short sleeves. He was tall—taller than Clark, even—and I wondered if he had to have his pants special-ordered.
“Yes,” I replied. He glanced up and I swallowed. “Sir. I mean, yes, sir. We are.”
He glanced back at the clipboard, then set it down. Bracing his elbows on the desk, Johnson folded his hands and looked at us.
“What’s your interest in him again?” he asked.
“I-I . . . I mean . . . we—”
“It’s painful,” Mia interrupted, “and hard to talk about.” Her big blue eyes glistened with tears.
Johnson looked uncomfortable, but he persisted. “Try.”
“He . . . he’s my father,” she said, as a tear caught on her lashes. “My mother passed away six months ago and . . . on . . . on her-her—” She paused to take a deep breath. Her voice steadied even as twin rivulets of tears slid down her cheeks. “On her death . . . bed, she told me the identity of my father.”
I knew she was lying and was still sucked in to her story. Impulsively, I reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze the way she had mine earlier this morning.
Johnson cleared his throat and scrambled inside his desk, coming up with a crumpled and ancient box of tissues. He handed it over to me, and I held it as Mia took a tissue and delicately dabbed at her eyes.
“I see,” he said, looking as though he’d rather be anywhere else. “This is . . . highly irregular.” He glanced at me. “And you are?”
“She’s my aunt,” Mia said. “And my legal guardian, since my mom—” Tears started falling again.
“That’s okay,” Johnson said quickly. “I understand.” He shuffled some random papers on his desk while Mia dabbed with another tissue. “I, uh, I’ll tell you what.” He glanced past us out the open door, then lowered his voice and leaned forward.
“I’m not supposed to do this, but I grew up with a single mom, and well, I can relate to wanting to find your father.” He placed a thick file on the desk in a significant move. “Mark Danvers’s file is classified. I’m afraid I can’t let you see it.” He picked up an empty coffee mug sitting on the corner of his desk. “So I’ll let you discuss that while I get a refill.”
He got up and walked to the door with the mug, then paused. “I may be a few minutes. I think I’ll have to brew a fresh pot.” Then he was gone, his polished shoes making a tapping sound down the hallway.
Mia was up and out of her seat in a flash, rounding the desk and flipping open the folder.
“What are you doing?” I hissed. “He said we can’t look at it and he’ll be back soon.”
She didn’t even look up. “Code, Aunt Chi. He’s giving us an opportunity to break the rules. Don’t waste any time. Get over here.” She was flipping pages and snapping photos of each page as quickly as she could.
Realization struck and I jumped up, rounding the desk to take half the stack. Then I started snapping my own photos.
We’d just finished and replaced the folder when we heard Johnson’s slow, ponderous footsteps. Rounding the desk, we plopped into our chairs as he was walking around the corner.
Mia popped up. “I guess I’ll just have to find a different way to contact my father,” she said, holding out her hand.
Johnson shook it. “I’m sorry we couldn’t be of any help today, miss.”
Mia nodded sadly. “It’s okay. Thank you.” She hooked her arm through mine, and we were back to the car lickety-split.
I was out of breath by the time we’d locked ourselves inside. The adrenaline was wearing off and I rested my head against the headrest. I closed my eyes, willing the nausea to go away. I’d felt queasy all morning, and it only seemed to be getting worse.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked.
“Mmm, yeah, just give me a sec,” I muttered.
“Do you want me to drive?”
That actually wasn’t a bad idea. “Yeah. I’m going to lie down in the back seat, I think.”
“Are you sick?” She sounded terribly anxious.
“Probably just a virus or something,” I said. I managed, with some difficulty, to get out of the car and into the back seat, gratefully stretching out on the seat. I vaguely heard her close the doors, start the car, and get Google Maps programmed.
I dozed on the way back, my mind too clouded to think clearly. I’d never felt like this before. Each bump in the road was like a knife through my skull.
“Aunt Chi, wake up. Please wake up.”
I heard her and slitted my eyes. We were stopped and Mia was leaning over me in the open car door. Her face was white.
“Am sorry,” I slurred, pushing myself upward with a massive effort. “Tired.” It took way too long for me to turn to get my feet on the ground, and I had to hold on to Mia and the car to stand upright. When I did, darkness flooded my vision as pain spiked in my head.
“Mia—” I gasped. My knees wouldn’t obey. They gave out and I clutched at Mia as I fell.
“Aunt Chi!” Her scream was pierced with a sob. She tried to hold me up, but I couldn’t help her. “Help me! Somebody!” The panicked terror in her voice made me feel terrible for worrying her, but there was nothing I could do.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. I heard Mia screaming for help, felt the cold asphalt of the parking lot, but it was as though it was happening to someone else. I heard sirens in the distance.
Then I lost some time.
When I woke again, I was moving. Correction. I was in a vehicle that was moving.
I blinked. Slowly. The light was bright. There was something on my face, and I tried to lift my arm to take it off.
“Nah, nah, don’t be doin’ that,” someone said.
I blinked again. A man was sitting next to me. Very busy doing . . . stuff. Stuff with me, but I couldn’t really tell.
“That mask helps you breathe now, and that’s important.” He smiled. His teeth blazing white in his dark face. It was a friendly face. “You’re okay, so don’t worry. We’re gonna take real good care of ya.”
I closed my eyes. And I lost some more time.
Flashes of faces as I was moved again. The mask was still on my face, and now there was something in my arm, too. I saw Jackson and Clark as I was moved again, then lights passing in a ceiling.
When I opened my eyes again, I felt more aware than I had the times before. I looked around, recognizing a hospital room. A nurse was messing with an IV machine by my bed. She glanced at me and smiled when she saw I was awake.
“Good morning, China,” she said. “I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
“Wh-where am I?” I said, my voice sounding like gravel. My mouth was so dry, it felt like sandpaper.
“You’re in Barnes-Jewish Hospital,” she said. “Your niece brought you here a short while ago. Let me get the doctor.”
She disappeared out the door before I could ask any questions.
I stared at the wall in front of me. I wasn’t lying flat, just reclined at an angle. As I glanced around, I realized I wasn’t in a regular hospital room. I was in the ICU.
My fingers clutched at the bed as fear spiked. What was wrong with me? What had happened? I remembered being at the records center, and we’d taken photos, and gone to the car. I hadn’t been feeling well. Mia had driven back. After that . . . nothing.
Where was Mia? Why wasn’t she here? Was she okay? Had Clark and Jackson taken care of her?
There was a nurse’s call button next to my bed, and I punched it. I needed answers.
About thirty seconds later the door opened and a doctor walked in, followed by the same nurse. Behind them came Mia and Jackson.
“Aunt Chi,” Mia said, her eyes red and swollen. “You’re awake. I’m so glad.” She looked awful. Pasty white and her nose was pink.
Jackson’s expression was drawn as he walked to the opposite side of the bed. His lips curved in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took my hand in his, which scared me more than anything else.
“Hi, China,” the doctor said. “I’m Dr. Morris. I’m a neurosurgeon here at the hospital. Do you remember what happened before you were brought in?”
“Um, kind of,” I said. “I was with Mia and I didn’t feel well. She drove back and I was lying in the back seat. That’s really the last I remember.”
He smiled kindly. “What about before that? You said you weren’t feeling well. What symptoms were you experiencing?”
“I-I guess I’d had a bad headache for a few days,” I said. “I was tired. I felt a little nauseated, but I thought it was just because of Ja—” I cut myself off.
“Do you remember the car accident you were in a few days ago?” he asked.
I thought. Car accident? Had I been in an accident? I didn’t remember anything, but something about the look on his face said I had been. I tried to remember. Car . . . wreck . . . the deer.
“Yeah,” I said, glad I wasn’t crazy. “I hit a deer.”
He smiled again as though I’d given the correct answer in a pop quiz. “You did. You also hit your head, China. Are you familiar with what a subdural hematoma is?”
The fear in my gut solidified into pure anguish. I knew exactly what that was. Bleeding. On my brain. I swallowed.
“Is . . . is that what I have?”
The doctor nodded. “You do. Between the brain and the skull, you’re bleeding. And it’s putting pressure on the brain. We performed an MRI to confirm this. Yours is slow bleeding, which is why it’s taken a few days before the symptoms have gotten so severe.”
“So what can be done?” I asked.
“With your particular hematoma, we can perform a burr hole trephination, which is the least invasive. Basically, we drill a hole where the hematoma is and suction out the blood, then repair the artery. It’s a common procedure and I’ve done many of them. But at the moment, the accumulated blood is putting too much pressure on the brain, which is why you’re experiencing the symptoms you have. Memory problems and difficulty in coordination are also manifesting.”
I stared at him, trying to take it all in. My brain. My brain was bleeding.
“We need your consent,” he continued. “And it is of some urgency. We’d like to get you into surgery within the next couple of hours.
“I do need to inform you of some complications that may occur,” he continued. “The most common complication after surgery is infection. Other risks include seizures, stroke, bleeding on the brain, coma, and brain damage.”
I couldn’t breathe. The air was too thick and it was stuffing my lungs. I couldn’t see farther than a couple of feet in front of me, so all I could make out was the doctor’s face and Jackson’s.
“Brain damage?” I echoed. I suddenly realized I had a death grip on Jackson’s hand. “What kind of brain damage?”
“There could be memory problems, coordination problems, speech impairments,” he said. “I’m not going to lie to you and say it’s not a risk. And as with any surgery, there’s also a risk of death. But I’ve yet to have someone die on me, and I don’t plan on starting with you.”
The doctor patted my shoulder, and his kind face was very serious. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We have a little bit of time for you to talk it over.”
“We don’t have to do this here,” Jackson interrupted. “I can get her into any hospital in the country. The Mayo Clinic, Johns Hopkins, you name it. The best neurology department in the country is Mayo. We can be there in a few hours.”
Dr. Morris was already shaking his head. “I’m sorry, young man, but the pressure changes of an airline flight would be dangerous for China.”
“Then I’ll have them flown here,” Jackson argued. “Money is no object. I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
“That’s not the issue—”
“They’ll come,” he persisted. “Everyone has a price. I’m more than capable of meeting it. Just give me a name.”
“Jackson, stop.” I tugged on his hand until he looked at me. “You can’t fix this. Not this time.”
His lips thinned and his jaw was set in bands of steel. The color in his cheeks was vivid against the paleness of his skin.
I glanced back at the doctor and swallowed hard. “I consent.” He patted my hand.
“I’ll be back shortly. If you have any questions in the meantime, just buzz for the nurse and she’ll come find me.”
He left, the door easing closed behind him, and I was left trying to wrap my head (ha!) around the fact that my brain was bleeding and they wanted to drill a hole in my skull.
“I need my glasses, please.”
“Here you go.” Mia hurried forward, pulling my glasses from her purse. Her hand shook as she handed them to me, which, conversely, steadied me.
“C’mere,” I said, grasping her fingers and sliding over in the bed.
She carefully climbed up and nestled beside me. I wrapped my non-IV arm around her.
“You took care of me,” I said. “Thank you.”
“I was so scared,” she whispered, sniffling.
“I know. I’m sorry, sweetie.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her blond head.
“Where’s Clark?” I asked.
“Jackson wouldn’t let him come,” Mia answered. I looked at Jackson.
“I didn’t want someone to recognize him,” he said, thin-lipped. “Him getting arrested would pretty much make all of this for nothing.”
The twist in my gut hurt more than I’d expected, but I just nodded. “Yeah, of course. You’re right.”
“I’ll give you two a few minutes,” Jackson said, letting go of my hand. He gave me a meaningful look and left.
I squeezed Mia tighter. She smelled like the shampoo she always used. She insisted it was best for “volumizing,” not that I knew how that applied to hair.
“I need you to call your dad,” I told her. “Can you do that? Tell him what’s going on?”
She nodded against my shoulder. “I can do that.”
We lay there like that for a few minutes. It felt good just to hold her. She was like the sister I’d never had. When she’d moved in six months ago, I never would have thought she’d become such an integral part of my life. I suppose it just showed how nothing is planned, no matter how much you think the future is mapped out.
“Are you all right?” I asked softly. I knew she was physically well, but the circumstances and her actions weren’t normal. I didn’t put much stock in psychology, and as a science, I hated it, but if there was anything I could do to help Mia, I would.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m scared. And you’re so calm. I should be like you. But I . . . I c-can’t . . .” She began to cry.
My heart broke inside at the sound of her crying. Nothing had ever affected me that way before. Usually, tears just made me uncomfortable. But with Mia . . . She’d fixed my hair and makeup. Teased me about my literal world view and language. We’d bonded over Hogwarts Houses. She wasn’t an overly emotional girl, so to hear her cry over me tore at my heart like claws.
“Please don’t cry,” I said. “I’m going to be fine. It-it’s a common procedure, he said. They have to tell you all the possible side effects so you don’t sue them. Like those commercials on TV that list so many possible side effects, you think it’s better to just deal with heartburn rather than possible incontinence.”
Mia’s laugh was muffled against my shoulder. “I don’t think this is quite the same as heartburn,” she said, “but I appreciate your effort to reassure me.”
I squeezed her again. “You know . . . you know that I love you, right?”
“Of course I do. And I love you.” She stretched up and kissed my cheek. “Do you want me to tell Clark to come in?” she whispered. “He’s outside, sitting in the car.”
The question made tears come to my eyes. I didn’t feel normal. My emotions were weird and my thoughts were scattered. I couldn’t answer, so I just nodded.
“Okay.”
She climbed carefully out of the bed. “I’ll send in Jackson, okay?”
I nodded again.
She caught my hand and we squeezed. Her eyes were as bright with tears as mine felt. I was so proud of her. She was such a good girl. Beautiful and caring and smart. So many things that I wasn’t. But I didn’t have the words to tell her, so I hoped what I couldn’t say showed in my eyes.
“I’ll see you later, Aunt Chi,” she said, her voice resolute.
“Yes,” I said. “I will. I’ll see you later.”
She left the room and a moment later, Jackson entered.
“I’ve had three other neurosurgeons review your charts and scans,” he said. “They all agree with Dr. Morris.” He paused, adding reluctantly, “Two of them knew of him and recommended him.”
I nodded. Jackson had been working the problem. Logical. Exactly what I would do in his position. I expected nothing less. He was used to getting his way. Money plus his name was a powerful incentive for 99 percent of all things.
But he was very pale and was fidgeting, something I’d never seen him do.
“He seemed very . . . competent,” I said, at a loss as to what else to say.
Jackson didn’t say anything. He took my hand in his, threading our fingers together. He wasn’t looking at me, though, gazing at our hands instead.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay,” I said, though I wasn’t sure at all. I felt the need to reassure him. Jackson was usually so confident and decisive. It was strange to see him looking so rattled.
“I shouldn’t have said what I did last night,” he said at last. “You were . . . being honest with me, telling me something that you thought I should know, even though you didn’t have to. And I reacted like a jealous asshole.”
That took me by surprise. Jackson wasn’t someone who behaved out of his emotions rather than logic. It was something we usually had in common, though I hadn’t felt much like myself the past couple of days, and I felt even weirder.
“Yeah, you were,” I said. “But . . . I don’t want to lose you.”
Jackson’s expression was serious as he looked at me. “I don’t want to lose you either, China. What we have is too rare, and too special, for me to give up on you because you’re not fitting into my timetable.”
Tears flooded my eyes. “I’m scared,” I whispered.
He gathered me in his arms, touching me so carefully, I could’ve been made of glass. “I’m scared, too, but you’re going to be all right,” he soothed. “No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
It made me feel better. Jackson was the rock I could count on and hold on to. Like the father who’d been conspicuously absent in that duty ever since my mom had died. I squeezed Jackson as hard as I could, trying to convey how thankful I was.
When he stood, I saw tears in his eyes as well. “I love you,” he said. “And I’ll be waiting for you afterward.”
I couldn’t speak, my throat was too full, so I just nodded.
The door opened then and another doctor came in. He was in scrubs, with a stethoscope around his neck and one of those little surgical caps on his head. He wore glasses, and his shoes were covered with surgical booties.
My hold on Jackson’s hand was a death grip. This was it. They were taking me in to surgery.
To my surprise, though, the doctor removed his hat and glasses as he approached the bed, and I recognized him.
“Clark! You made it.” Relief flooded me. Even though it was dangerous for him, he’d come.
“I’ll wait outside,” Jackson said. He pressed a kiss to my knuckles, gave Clark a curt nod, and left the room.
“I wasn’t about to let someone drill a hole in your head without seeing you first,” he said. “I knew you hated hospitals, but this isn’t something that can be fixed with a Band-Aid.”
My smile was weak, as was his.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
His eyes focused on mine, seeing too much. “I’m terrified,” I whispered, trying not to cry. “Th-they said I might have brain . . . damage.” I nearly couldn’t get the word out. “Clark, what if something happens to my brain? It’s who I am. It’s what I do. It’s everything. What if I turn into a vegetable? What if I’m not smart anymore? What if—”
“Hold on, stop right there,” he interrupted me. “The chance of that happening is really low. You’re worrying and stressing over something that isn’t going to happen. I promise. It would take more than a hole in your head to make you not smart.”
“But that’s who I am,” I said again.
“No, it’s not.” His expression was resolute. “You’re more than your intellect. The woman I know is scary smart, yeah. But you’re also kind, compassionate, and giving. You’re funny, too literal, and need some serious advice on pajamas. You’re a million things that, taken separately, aren’t anything special, but when you put them all together, they make you you, and you are special.” He paused. “Especially to me.”
It was an incredibly sweet thing to say, and I didn’t take it for granted that Clark had been the one to say it. I was still scared—I was having brain surgery, after all—but he made me feel better.
He cleared his throat. “I’d get all sappy on you and start spouting declarations of devotion and shit, but that’s not really my style. So I’ll do this. Come out of this, be well, and I’ll watch one episode of Star Trek.”
I sat up a little straighter. “The original series?”
His eyes closed as if it pained him to answer. “Yeah. The Spock and Kirk one.”
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “Awesome. And if I come out of this a vegetable?”
“I’ll make you watch an entire season of Baywatch.”
I grimaced. “You drive a hard bargain.”
Clark shrugged. “A bet isn’t a bet unless it’s worth winning.”
“One episode versus an entire season isn’t really fair,” I argued.
“The man has pointy ears,” he shot back.
“Pointy ears versus bouncy boobs.” I raised an eyebrow, waiting. Finally, he capitulated.
“Okay, a season for a season, but I reserve the right to make fun of it.”
“Ditto.”
“Shake on it.”
He took my hand and pressed it lightly. The teasing light went out of his eyes, and I could see the strain and worry in them. His thumb lightly caressed the top of my hand. There were a lot of unsaid things in his eyes, but for once, I could read what he held back. Like last night, I could see his soul in his eyes.
The door opened and Dr. Morris walked in along with two nurses. Clark glanced at them, then moved closer to me.
“You’re going to be just fine, baby,” he whispered, then pressed his lips to mine. “I’ll catch you on the flip side.”
Before I could reply, he nodded at the nurses and was out the door and gone.
“Okay, Miss China,” Dr. Morris said with a smile. “We’ve come to prep you for surgery, and we have some paperwork for you to look over and sign. The anesthesiologist will be by to discuss his part with you. The nurses here are going to get started, and we’ll have you in the OR shortly. Do you have any questions?”
“No. I’m okay,” I said, swallowing hard. My gut was churning with fear.
Dr. Morris patted my arm. “It’ll be all right. I assure you. I’ve done many of these surgeries. We’re going to give you something now that’ll help take the edge off your nerves, okay?”
“That sounds really great.” Anything that eased the fear gripping me would be welcome.
“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s get started.”