Reunion in October (The Calendar Girls Book 2) (2 page)

“Don’t tell me,” I said after an additional minute or two. “Let me guess. You wound up on the wrong end of a nail gun.”

Only slightly less dazzling than his eyes was his smile, with even, white teeth inside full, dark red lips. “Nope. Screwdriver.”

I’d been joking about the nail gun. Josh, however, wasn’t. I arched a brow at him. “Excuse me?”

He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows. “Not a big deal. Jimmy DeMarco was goofing around and managed to slam a screwdriver into my skull.” While that knee-melting smile never hardened, he pointed at the hole in his head. “Lucky for me, I’ve got a lot of bone up here.”

I puckered my lips into a moue as I gazed at his forehead. “Not much of anything else, though. Where was your hardhat?”

“On the sawhorse. It was lunchtime.”

I opened a foil-lined packet and dabbed at the wound with an antiseptic wipe. When he winced at the sting, I had to bite back a chuckle. “Well, clearly, you’re not safe at lunchtime, either.” I pointed to the hardhat perched on his abdomen. “You might want to consider wearing that thing from the minute you get up in the morning ‘til you go to bed at night. What is this? Your second visit to the E.R. this month?”

“My first,” he corrected with a hint of umbrage in his tone. “Technically, last Tuesday was still September. So this is my first time here in October.”

“Oh, my mistake. Well, welcome back.” I turned to the nurse hovering near the triage area. “Helena, would you get me a suture tray, please, and surgical glue?”

Joshua sat up higher. “Surgical glue? Whatzat?”

“It’s like Krazy Glue for lacerations,” I said and dabbed him again, simultaneously pushing him back into a supine position. “Relax. If the wound isn’t too deep and I can stop the bleeding, we can glue your head back together, rather than stitch. Then you won’t have a scar marring that beautiful face.”

“You think my face is beautiful?” He batted his lush eyelashes like a cartoon heroine, and I dove back into the chart to review his blood pressure and pulse rates until mine returned to normal.

“Easy, Romeo. Save the charm for ladies your own age,” I scolded, replacing the chart on the bed.

“You
are
my own age.”

“Uh-huh,” I said flatly. “Give or take a decade.”

“Six years is not a decade.”

Once again, I looked up into his face, this time in surprise. “How do you know how old I am?”

For the first time since I walked into the exam area, his expression was solemn. “I may be a wood jockey, but I can do basic math. You were my babysitter for years before you went to college. When I was ten, I remember you telling my mom about your sweet sixteen party.” He shrugged. “I figure the age gap between us has stayed the same over the years. Unless you found some kind of break in the time-space continuum that you haven’t shared with the rest of the world.”

“My sweet sixteen party…” I brushed another antiseptic wipe across his brow as I thought back to those cringe-worthy days.

“Yeah. You wanted a Spice Girls theme. I thought it was a totally lame idea and tried to convince you to go with the Power Rangers instead.”

A cloudy memory sharpened into focus. Me, in my god-awful “Rachel” haircut that was so popular back then but made my plank-thick hair look like a bad Cleopatra wig. I sat on the faux leather couch in the Candolero den, regaling Mrs. C. with details of what I’d planned for my big day, from a cardboard version of the double-decker Spice Girls bus to lollipops shaped like microphones. Little Joshua, cute but totally annoying in those days, chimed in every five seconds with the advice that I could be the pink Power Ranger, and he would be the red one. Or blue. I was kinda fuzzy on the details.

“I had the hugest crush on you.” Josh’s confession blasted away the memory.

With a start, I realized how close I leaned toward him while dabbing at his wound with the gauze. For God’s sake, my boobs practically brushed his chin. Then he smiled at me again, as if he knew exactly what I was thinking.

Thank God Helena chose that moment to reappear with my requested surgical supplies. “Ahem!” She rolled the tray in noisily. “Here you go,
Doctor
.”

I snapped upright. “Thanks, Helena.” After brushing a gloved finger over the wound, I checked for the amount of seepage still coming through. Would the glue work, or did I have to resort to stitches?

Josh spoke again, but I was too involved in keeping his skin closed to heed whatever he said. “Hold still,” I ordered.

“I asked you what time you get off work tonight, Doc,” he said.

I answered without thinking. “Eight o’clock.”

“Great. Let’s go out.”

“Let’s try the glue—” I stopped short, and my jaw dropped. He couldn’t have…“Wait. What did you say?”

“I’m asking you out. Pick your poison. Dinner? Movie? Dinner
and
a movie?” His speech grew rapid, and his voice rose with excitement. “Hey, I know. Have you ever been to Promises, Promises? The nightclub? In the summer, it’s crazy crowded, but off-season’s pretty quiet. Well, as quiet as a dance club can be.”

I stood there, numb, trying to figure out the most ridiculous of the thoughts flying through my head. Had I heard him right? Had this young man—barely more than a kid—just asked me out? To a nightclub? A place I hadn’t visited since the goth club I used to frequent changed names from Tiki Torcher to a Top Forty dance club called Promises, Promises about ten years ago?

A snicker came from behind me, and I whirled. Helena held the patient chart clipboard to shield the lower half of her face from me, but amusement sparkled in her eyes.

Joshua was either oblivious to Helena’s reaction, or he didn’t care. “So?” he prodded. “I’ll pick you up at your place around nine? What do you say?”

On a deep inhale, I mentally pulled myself together. “I say I don’t see my patients socially, Mr. Candolero.”

“Really? In a town like this, that must make you some kind of hermit.”

That remark hit close to my bones. Too close. I didn’t exactly do a lot of socializing these days. My vacation last month in Costa Rica was my first time off in six years.
Five
years ago, when my fiancé and I called off our wedding, weeks before the big event, I lost all interest in romance and fun. I dug into my work, especially since my job—or the fact I wouldn’t abandon my job—was the reason Michael had practically ditched me at the altar. Even the vacation I’d finally taken had been a dual package: one half roughing it in the rain forest, the second half spa relaxation. No nightclubs, no long walks on the beach in the moonlight, no cocktails on the veranda overlooking the sea. Aside from the guides and employees of the resort, I spent most of my time alone. Happily, gloriously alone.

“So, nine o’clock’s good for you then?”

I shook my head. “I told you, I don’t date my patients.”

“I’m not a patient.”

Looking down on his current position—lying in a hospital bed while I tended to him—I couldn’t hold back my snort.

“Not a real patient.” He spread his arms as wide as the bed rails would allow. “Okay, I admit, I’m in here a lot lately. But all my injuries are superficial. And I’m running out of body parts to wound just to spend some time with you.”

“You mean…?” Words failed me. Had he been purposely injuring himself to see me here? No. That was ridiculous. Machiavellian, even. “How’d you know I’d even be here to treat you?”

He shrugged. “I call the hospital, say I’m your brother, Frankie, and ask to speak with you. The receptionist always tells me your shift hours. I’m surprised she hasn’t asked me why I can’t reach you at home.”

Helena could no longer contain her laughter. “If I were you, Dr. Florentino, I’d say yes to nine o’clock,” she said through raucous chuckles. 

A flush of heat rose from my throat to my cheeks. “How about we get him stitched up first?”

He yanked the papery pillow from behind his head and covered his face. “Nope. Not ‘til you answer me.”

Helena’s laughter grew louder. I, however, was not amused. “Don’t make me restrain you, Mr. Candolero.”

“Don’t call me ‘Mr. Candolero,’” he replied through his makeshift shield. “That’s my dad. I’m Josh.”

I exhaled a sigh of frustration. “Come on, Josh. I don’t have time for games.” I tugged on the pillow, but I might as well fight a bear over a salmon. “You’re going to be strapped to that bed, pal, if you don’t remove this thing.”

Thwip
! The pillow disappeared, and Josh came back into view, his eyes rounded in an exaggerated leer. “Is that a promise?” I had to smile at his antics, and he apparently took that as encouragement. “So that’s a yes, right? I’ll pick you up at your place at nine?”

My mind swimming in a tidal wave of nerves, I glanced between Josh’s eagerness and Helena’s bemused expression.

Helena leaned toward me. “Go for it, Doctor,” she murmured, then winked. “I would.”

“Yeah?” Josh sat up again. “If Doc turns me down, you wanna hit Promises, Promises with me? We’ll slam some tequila and dance the night away.”

The fact that Helena was fifty-eight, married, and a grandmother made a mockery of his invitation, but she giggled and blushed all the same. “Oh, you are a devil,” she said, slapping his forearm.

“If you two have finished making your plans for the evening,” I said stiffly, “I’d like to seal that wound before he bleeds out.”

Josh clucked his tongue and folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t know,” he told Helena. “She sounds jealous to me. What do you think?”

“Definitely.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I snapped. “Could we get on with this, please? I have other patients to see.”

“There’s a simple solution,” he replied with a smirk. “Repeat after me.” He clasped his hands near one cheek and pitched his voice as high as his testosterone levels would allow. “‘Oh, Josh, what a wonderful idea! I’d love to go out with you. Of course you can pick me up at nine.’ Now, you try. Ready, set, go.”

“Josh, please.”

“Nuh-uh-uh.” He shook a finger at me. “Just like we rehearsed, Frannie. ‘Oh, Josh…’”

Frannie? When had I gone from Doc to Frannie? I glared at him, and he rolled his hands to spur me on.

I let out a tremendous sigh. “Okay, fine. Pick me up at nine. Happy now?”

Flashing a thumbs-up at Helena, he settled against the wafer-thin mattress, completely still. “
Deliriously
happy. Now fix me up so we can both go back to work. I can’t believe how slow you guys are here. A person could bleed out in this emergency room.”

I had to bite back my laughter as I applied the surgical glue to keep my hands from shaking. The last thing I needed was the town’s female population blaming me for permanently scarring Snug Harbor’s Adonis. The Adonis who’d just asked me out. And I’d agreed to accompany to a dance club tonight.

Good grief. Before I went home today, maybe I should stop in radiology. Have my head examined.

Chapter 2

Emily

Dr. Jayne Herrera looked more like a Victoria’s Secret model than a veterinarian. I wanted to hate her, not only because of her tall, curvy figure, and thick, espresso-colored hair with just the right amount of curl, but also for the cold, clinical way she surveyed me with her golden doe eyes. I
wanted
to hate her.

She won me over when I scooped Freckles out of his carrier. Her eyes softened, and her expression turned from clinical to pudding. The dog curled on his side on the exam table, a brown and white comma, immobile. “Poor sweetie,” she cooed while her hands ran over him from snout to tail. “How long has he been like this?”

“My son found him in the hall this morning. He wouldn’t get up or even wag his tail. I had to lift him into the carrier.”

She nodded, propping up his face to look into his eyes with a penlight. “Did you notice any odd behavior or symptoms before this morning?”

“Well…” I hesitated. I was about to reveal how truly negligent I was as a pet owner. “His appetite’s been off the charts for a week or two, and he seemed to be moving slower and slower each day. He also urinated on the kitchen floor twice in the last few days. I thought about cutting back on his water because he’s drinking a lot more, but I didn’t have the heart to keep him thirsty. I know I probably should have brought him here sooner…” What could I say? I didn’t have any vacation time left at work? It was the truth, but as excuses went, it sucked wind.

“Actually, I don’t think your timing is that far off,” Dr. Herrera said and rolled him over slightly to palpate different areas of his belly while listening with her stethoscope. “I would imagine his other symptoms probably seemed like the onset of old age, except the excessive appetite. Is he shedding a lot?”

I thought back to last night when I noticed the few bald patches near his back legs. “Yes.”

“And Freckles is fifteen now, right?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

A vet tech, a blond girl in her early twenties wearing way too much green eye shadow, strolled into the examination room with a tray laden with hypodermic needles, tiny bottles of clear liquid, probes, and assorted other paraphernalia. Inside my purse, my checkbook died of heart failure. This was going to cost me big time. I just knew it.

“I’m going to draw some blood and do a urine culture,” Dr. Herrera continued, “but I’m fairly certain he has Cushing’s disease.”

“Is that…” I swallowed hard. “…treatable?” And how much would it cost me?

She sighed and looked at me with her big Bambi eyes. “I won’t honestly know until I run a battery of tests. There are varied types and degrees of Cushing’s disease. In Freckles’ case, I’m guessing the underlying cause is a tumor, but I won’t know where the tumor is located without an MRI or CT scan.”

An invisible cash register rang wildly in my ears. For a human, an MRI usually cost a minimum of a thousand dollars. How much would it cost for a
dog
?

My panic must have shown on my face because the vet sighed and took my hand. Her fingers were warm and her touch, gentle. “Mrs. Handler, I’ll be honest with you. I have every reason to believe I’ll find a pituitary tumor, which is inoperable. Freckles is fifteen. If I’m right, his prognosis is not good. I’m willing to do the tests to be sure, but I think you and I both know what the results will be. Cushing’s itself isn’t a death sentence. There are medications that might work for him, but they alleviate symptoms. They don’t cure the condition. And his advanced age is a detriment.”