Leave a Mark (7 page)

“
SO, WHY ARE
they joining us?” he tried again. Lee had found an empty seat at the bar for Marcelle, and he’d squeezed in to stand next to her.

She sipped her cosmo before answering. “They missed seeing you on Sunday, and your dad wanted to know how it went at the Health Clinic Auction." Marcelle looked over his shoulder and beamed. “They’re here!”

Lee turned to see his father and stepmother enter the crowded restaurant foyer and wave to them. Barbara pressed a kiss to his cheek before folding Marcelle into her light embrace.

“Hello, my darlings!”

He felt a slap on his back, and he turned to shake his father’s hand. “Hey, Dad.”

“I think our table’s ready,” Tom Hawthorne said by way of greeting, and the four of them followed the hostess to one of the half-booths that lined the wall opposite the sushi bar.

Lee ushered his parents in to take the cushioned settee, and he and Marcelle sat on the outside. He knew this was his girlfriend’s preference. It gave her more mobility to get up and hug friends who happened by.

“It was so lovely of Marcelle to call and invite us,” Barbara said as soon as they’d ordered appetizers.

Marcelle had invited
them?

Lee took a sip of his gin and tonic before looking back at his girlfriend. She wouldn’t meet his eye. Instead, she unfolded her napkin and placed it in her lap.

“Well, we had lunch together today, and—” Marcelle started.

“You two had lunch?” Lee blurted, surprised. He glanced across the table. His stepmother wore a tight smile, but instead of looking at him, she gave Marcelle an almost imperceptible nod.

“We did,” Marcelle confirmed, glancing up at him before arranging the silverware in front of her. “And we got to talking about Dr. Maraist’s offer.”

“Oh, really?” Lee felt the skin beneath his collar prickle with heat. He looked around the table at everyone watching him, and he only then understood he’d been set up. “I see.”

His father gave him a consoling smile. “Leland, we all know how hard you’ve been working, and we just want to make sure that you give Philip’s offer the right amount of consideration.”

Philip Maraist had a well-established OB/GYN practice with four other partners, and he was one of Dr. Thomas Hawthorne’s golfing buddies. When the doctor had invited Lee and Marcelle to sit at their table at the auction, Lee should have seen what was coming.

“I know it’s a good offer, Tom,” Lee said, meeting his father’s eye. “I told Dr. Maraist I needed to think it over. I’m not sure that a traditional practice is where I want to be right now. I’m really enjoying my time at UMC. I feel like I’m making a difference.”

“But The Pavilion at LGMC is
so
nice,” Barbara said, bright eyed. “The facilities are state of the art, and they don’t have the same kind of staffing shortages…”

“Yeah, B, I know. I do a week’s rotation there every month.” Lee clamped his mouth shut and breathed for a five-count. It wouldn’t do to get angry. Barbara had been married to his father for thirteen years; he knew she meant well, but sometimes she tried too hard to fill the space his mother left empty. Lee took another sip and was relieved when their server approached with the eggplant miso and gyoza. “This looks delicious.”

He unwrapped his chopsticks and hoped that they could drop the subject of where he’d go after his residency. For months, he’d been thinking about staying on at the charity hospital instead of joining a private practice. He’d only mentioned it to Marcelle recently, but she’d obviously shared the unpopular idea with his parents.

Lee scooped up a bite of the fried eggplant and shrimp soaked in sweet miso sauce. He almost moaned aloud when it touched his tongue. The combination of flavors was mind-blowing. He grabbed another shrimp, realizing that he was ravenous.

Because you gave your snack to Wren Blanchard.

The thought made him smile. He looked down at his watch and saw that it was just after eight. He hoped she’d eaten her Chinese takeout by now. Lee felt his shoulders relax a little.

“Well, I’ve known Philip Maraist for a long time,” his father started up again. “I’m sure you’d have plenty of opportunities to do things like Doctors Without Borders if you wanted to keep giving back.”

Lee gave a tight nod. “He mentioned that.”

“Yes! We sat with him and his wife at the fundraiser Wednesday night,” Marcelle rushed in. “She was absolutely lovely.”

“If you joined his group, you’d have all sorts of opportunities,” Barbara added, her light brown eyes going wide with the possibilities.

“It’s important at this point in your career to think of the future,” his father said. “Your earning potential with a group like Philip’s will be more than double what you’ll make if you join the staff at UMC. And that’s just in the first five years.”

“Yeah, thanks, Dad. I’m aware.” He pulled the menu closer to him. “I think I’m going to get a Grand Isle Roll, a Michael Doumit, and a Tiger Tail. What about you, Marcelle?”

Lee heard the clipped tone in his voice, and by the alarmed look in Marcelle’s eyes, so had she.

“Um… I’m thinking about the Thai Beef Salad… and maybe another cosmo.”

Lee nodded. “Yeah, I could use another drink, too.”

LAURIE WAS MAKING
her hair fluffy with the blow dryer. Wren sat at the foot of their bed and watched. Every few minutes, Laurie would turn and tickle her face with a blast of hot air, and Wren would laugh.

Laurie put away the blow dryer and ran a brush through her hair. It was the color of shiny pralines, like the ones Mamaw Gigi made at Christmas. Wren was thinking about the way Mamaw’s sugary treat dissolved in her mouth when Laurie put down her hairbrush and turned to face her.

“Wrennie, do you ever wish you had a daddy?”

Wren shook her head. Most of the other boys and girls in Mrs. Gibson’s class had a mommy and a daddy, and none of them lived with their mamaws and papaws, but that was okay with her. She didn’t want a daddy. Daddies kissed mommies, and Wren never liked the grownup boys who kissed Laurie. Especially Darryl.

He gave her bad dreams.

“If you had a daddy, we could move into a real house, and you could have your own room,” Laurie said, her eyes big.

“This is a real house,” Wren said, looking around at the ceiling and windows. “It’s Mamaw and Papaw’s house.”

“This is an apartment. We live above Mamaw and Papaw’s house. It’s not the same as having your own house,” Laurie told her. “Darryl has his own house.”

Wren looked up at her mother. “I don’t want to live with Darryl.”

Laurie frowned. “Why not?”

Wren’s face grew hot. She swallowed. “He came into the bathroom when I was in the tub.”

Laurie laughed and leaned back against her makeup table. “The other day? He told me. That was an accident, Wren. He said he was sorry.”

Wren thought he hadn’t looked sorry. “I don’t like Darryl.”

Laurie made a face. “Well, you’re just spoiled. Mamaw and Papaw spoil you. Darryl’s good to me,” Laurie said, looking away and smiling.

“Because he gives you medicine?” Wren asked, pointing to Laurie’s arms. She’d seen Darryl giving Laurie a shot just like at the doctor’s. Wren hated shots, but lying down across their bed, Laurie seemed to like them.

Laurie turned back to her makeup table, pushing down her sleeves. “Yes… medicine… I need to finish getting ready. Go out back and play now, Wrennie.”

“
SO, A DOCTOR
, huh?” Cherise stretched out in the bed next to her, eating one of Mamaw Gigi’s fried peach pies before they binged on Netflix. Wren wasn’t allowed back at work until the end of the week, and it was only Monday. “This is so freakin’ good, by the way. How can you be tired of them?”

“I’ve only been eating them since Saturday. That and Mamaw’s shrimp stew,” Wren said, making a face. “And please don’t get pie-crust crumbs in my bed. I’m not supposed to change my sheets or ‘strain the surgery site’ for three more days.”

“Is that what your
doctor
said? The one who
drove you home
and
cleaned out Agnes’s litterbox?”
Cherise wrinkled her nose at the thought. “Shit, Wren, that’s pretty gross. I don’t think I’d even do that for you.”

Wren dug her heel into her best friend’s hip. “Bitch, I’ve cleaned puke out of your hair. I’ve gone to the DMV with you. I’ve stopped you from going home with that dishwasher from Agave… the one with the acne scars and the eyebrow mole—”

“Serge—” Cherise groaned, hiding her face with the hand that wasn’t gripping her fried peach pie.

“Yes,
Serge
! That’s worth at least a little cat-poop cleanup, my friend.”

“You’re right. Fine. You win. But that doesn’t explain why Dr. Dreamy did it.”

“I never said he was dreamy,” Wren insisted, shaking her head. “Besides, if you’re making a
Grey’s Anatomy
reference, it’s McDreamy.”

“I wasn’t making a
Grey’s Anatomy
reference, and you’re blushing, so I know he’s dreamy.”

“Time for a
Firefly
marathon,” Wren said, hitting the remote.

“Ooh, Captain Malcolm Reynolds.” Cherise sighed. “He could command my
Serenity
any day.”

They rewatched the entire season of
Firefly
in one go, burning up Cherise’s day off and eating too many fried peach pies. On Tuesday, Cherise abandoned her in time to cover the lunch shift at Agave, and Wren had to face the fact that cabin fever had become a very real problem.

She felt so much better — unless she coughed or sneezed or tried to pick up Agnes. Then she remembered she essentially had two holes in her torso. The swelling had gone down almost completely. The only hints of her ordeal were the two scars.

But every time she fed Agnes, she thought about Dr. Hawthorne. And if she were honest with herself, she didn’t need the cat to remind her. Cherise had done a great job of that, but even without her, he’d crossed her mind dozens of times since Friday night.

And when she’d catch herself remembering his blue eyes, the blue of a midsummer night sky, she’d quietly scold herself for daydreaming. Dr. Hawthorne was not an approved subject for her imagination. He’d helped her out because he felt sorry for her, and she had to admit that she must have made a pretty pathetic picture: a 5’1” girl fresh from surgery, sitting alone on a hospital bench for hours. She grew embarrassed just thinking about it.

The way she saw it, lying on her antique sofa picturing his dark-washed eyes or the swooping curl over his forehead would be like Curtis crushing on her from his park bench. Except in this scenario, she was the one whose life was a wreck and who needed a handout from a stranger.

That’s not true.
She consoled herself.
I could’ve gotten a ride.

Of course, she couldn’t quite imagine getting up the stairs without his help. Halfway up, she’d almost asked him to carry her. And then he’d gone and fed Agnes and cleaned out her litterbox. Her litterbox!

Every time Wren thought about that, she couldn’t get over it. Dr. Leland Hawthorne was either incredibly weird, or he was the nicest guy on the planet. Whatever the case, it was better for her to avoid thinking of him.

Except she couldn’t.

And apart from being unable to figure him out and feeling embarrassed for needing his help, Wren wanted to thank him. So on Tuesday, she peeled herself off her mattress and found some cardstock.

She sketched a few pictures and wrote a thank-you note that made her smile. Remembering his laugh, she hoped it would amuse him, too. Wren found an address for the hospital and sent it to his attention. She sealed and stamped her card and carried it down to her mailbox. It was the first time she’d traversed the stairs on her own, and even though she was still sore, she made it back up just a little more slowly than normal. But she made it.

When she re-entered her apartment, Wren let go a sigh of relief. Maybe now she’d be able to push him from her mind. It usually didn’t take long to clear a man from her head. She’d been able to say goodbye to Miller and never look back.