A Doctor's Vow. Christine Rimmer
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remember. And what I meant was, you should reveal something more.”
“Like what?”
“How about telling me why you went into pediatrics?”
She didn’t have to stop and think about that. “The usual reason. I like kids.”
“As opposed to adults?”
“Not as opposed to. It’s a preference. Children are so…naturally optimistic. I like their sense of wonder, and their simplicity. And they are incredibly resilient.”
“Which means fewer of them die on you.”
It was a hard way of putting it, but she didn’t argue with his assessment. “That’s right—and now it’s your turn. What made you choose hospital administration, of all things?”
“I like being in control.”
She made a face at that. “And that’s all?”
“I like working with people. I enjoy organizing projects, seeing things through from conception to completion.”
“You mean you like running things.”
“That’s right. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Not a thing.” She grinned.
A moment passed where the only sound was the rain outside.
He saw her glance at that flashlight, so he asked her another question about her work.
She sat back, getting more comfortable. And for a while, they talked about their jobs, the challenges and the rewards.
Eventually, she got up. He didn’t try to stop her, since she didn’t reach for the flashlight first. She went over to the credenza to look at the family photos there. One by one, she picked up the pictures, studied them, then set them down.
When she came to a studio shot of Patricia, she asked, “Your wife?”
He nodded. “It’s been a little over two years since she died. Acute myelogenous leukemia.”
In her eyes, he saw a doctor’s understanding of the words: cancer of the white blood cells, starting in the bone marrow, multiplying swiftly until they disrupted the production of normal blood cells. And then moving out, into the bloodstream, invading organs and tissues, especially the spleen and the liver.
“We thought she had a bad case of the flu. Not four months later, she was dead. It was…hard on all of us. And on Andrew—I mean, Drew—particularly, I think. He was seven, old enough to understand what was going on a little better than Lisbeth and Griffin could, old enough to have some idea that he was actually losing his mother, to know that when she died, she really wasn’t coming back.”
Ronni made a low, musing sound in her throat. There was a world of understanding in that sound. And sadness. Very carefully, she set the picture of Patricia in its place with the others. She returned to her chair, but then didn’t sit down in it.
“I should—”
He put up a hand. “Hear that? Still raining…”
“It may never stop.”
“It’ll stop. Eventually.”
They shared a long look, at the end of which she dropped into the chair again. “So what now? Should I choose a book to read?”
He considered, then replied, “No. You should tell me what movies you like.”
And she did. She liked comedies.
He preferred action-adventure, and said so.
They moved on to favorite foods and dream vacation spots. To the schools they’d each attended, to the professors they each remembered.
She talked about med school, and how she didn’t believe she’d ever slept more than two hours at a stretch through the whole of her residency.
Finally, they got onto the subject of the things that really bugged them.
“Price stickers that won’t come off,” she said.
He opted for “Voice mail. I really hate voice mail. It’s just another excuse for people not to answer their phones.”
“But I bet you have voice mail.”
He had no defense against that. “Guilty as charged.”
The rain was still drumming away when she glanced at the clock on the bookcase near the window. “Omigod. It’s 4:00 a.m.”
It couldn’t be 4:00 a.m. But it was.
And still, he wanted her to stay. “Listen. Hear that rain? You can’t leave yet. You need to give yourself a little more time, see if it slows down some before you slog back across the yard.”
“I’ve already been here for two hours.”
“And maybe you’ll just have to stay for two more.”
“Right. And then I might as well just stay for breakfast….”
“Why not?”
“Because…”
“Because why?”
Ronni stared at him. There were surely a hundred reasons why she should leave now, why she should have left a long time ago. She just couldn’t think of one.
She cut her eyes away from him. Had two hours really passed since she’d entered this room? It didn’t seem possible. He had started her talking and then…time had just melted away.
“Come on,” he coaxed some more. “Stay. Just a little while.” She looked right at him again. He smiled. He had the kind of smile that seemed unwilling, as if he didn’t do it often—which made it special, made her feel special.
Ronni had heard it said that Ryan Malone could get money out of a stone. He’d spearheaded the plan to raise millions so that Honeygrove Memorial could add on a much-needed new wing. The new wing was under construction, scheduled to open in September, just eight months away.
Everyone marveled at him, wondered how he’d done it. But looking into his eyes right then, Dr. Ronni Powers understood the mystery completely. The man possessed a commanding presence, a natural reserve—and a reluctant knock-’em-dead smile. An unbeatable combination, whether it came to convincing wealthy donors to put their money in his hands—or coaxing a woman to stay up all night talking about everything from the tragic death of his beautiful wife to why she preferred the name Ronni over Veronica.
Say you have to go, and say it now, her wiser self insisted. But when she opened her mouth, what came out was “Well, maybe I could—”
“Oh! Ryan. I never imagined the doctor would still be here.”
The mother-in-law to the rescue, Ronni thought. The woman was standing in the doorway to the entry hall, clutching her robe at the neck and squinting as if she’d just been awakened from a sound sleep—which she probably had.
“I woke up and thought I heard voices, so I came down to check. I…I do hope I’m not interrupting anything.”
Ronni scooped up her flashlight and started toward the door and the woman standing there. “I was just leaving.”
“Well, I’d imagine. It is so late.”
“Wait.” Ryan Malone stood from his swivel chair. “I’ll walk you back across the yard.”
The mother-in-law piped right up. “Ryan. It’s pouring out there.”
“She’s right,” Ronni agreed quickly. “No reason for both of us to get soaked.”
“I’ll walk you back,” he said again, his tone allowing no room for argument. “Let me grab an umbrella.” He came out from behind the desk and walked between the two women, commanding over his shoulder as he went