Valentine's Child (29 page)

Maggie closed the manila folder. “Well, then, maybe I can set the appointments up with you. I’ll give you these sheets and I want you to write down everything you eat for the next few days. I know I’m probably preaching to the choir, but watch the carbohydrates‌—‌especially sugar. We want to find out exactly what your stability level is. Be smart, Shelley,” she added, seeing how hard the girl was trying to close her out. “I’m sure you know the dos and don’ts already. I’ll go over your history with Dr. Kempwood, and then let’s meet again on Thursday, say around two o’clock?”

Shelley shrugged and rose from her chair, grudgingly reaching for the information held out to her. Without a goodbye she passed through the outer office, and Maggie walked to the door in time to see Mrs. Greer, the housekeeper, put down her magazine and follow the dark-haired girl out into the warm June sunshine.

The smells of summer flowed through the open window of Maggie’s car‌—‌dust, dry grass and the occasional sweet scent from the heavy-headed roses. It was the kind of day that tugged at her memories; the kind of day she dreaded. She breathed deeply and her mind swirled with images from her youth, as if the very act of inhaling brought the past touchably close.

She wished Tanner had stayed in Boston where he belonged.

Hitting the button for the sun roof on her Pathfinder, she kept just ahead of the speed limit around Lake Chinook, the cool air fanning her hot cheeks, her mind clearing a bit with each passing mile. But driven by some unhealthy interest she took a side route, winding up the back hills that looked over the lake, turning down the street where Tanner’s home had once been.

It had been years since she’d really allowed herself to feel these emotions. Her romance with Tanner was long over and she’d built a satisfying life for herself since their brief, disastrous affair. She seldom brooded about “what could have been.” The past was the past. Or, so she told herself, though sometimes it seemed more real than her present.

Parking across the street from the stately white colonial, she leaned her arms on the steering wheel. Heat settled inside and she felt her hair stick to the back of her neck. Who lived here now? she wondered. Tanner’s father had left town not long after his son’s marriage to Tricia Wellesley.

Tricia Wellesley.
My God, was she really dead?
It seemed impossible to believe that the young woman Maggie had wasted so many bitter tears over, had hated with all the intensity of her adolescent heart, could be gone. Tricia had only loved the same man she had; it was hardly a crime.

Letting her eyes travel over the familiar three-story structure, Maggie exhaled heavily. It had been a cabin once, like so many other homes around the lake, but Tanner’s father, Dr. Gerrard Baines, had renovated it into its current, imposing condition. Down economy or no, it was undoubtedly worth a small fortune now.

The gnarled oak tree still reached around the corner and up the side of the house and over the roof. How old was it? A hundred years? Two hundred? Someone had once told her an oak tree lives six hundred years: two hundred to grow, two hundred to live, two hundred to die. It would probably be there long after her life was over, and it reminded her how futile and unimportant her own problems were.

Shifting gears, Maggie was on the road again, driving blindly down the switchback lanes. To the right and far below, a scintillating blur of green and blue flashed between the droopy-limbed firs. Lake Chinook, the man-made lake that had given the surrounding town its name, ran beside Maggie’s car like a mocking shadow.

A dry ache filled her, the kind of ache that never seemed to go away. It surprised her with its intensity. Damn it all. This wasn’t like her. With an effort, she concentrated on making the correct turns to her own home and forgetting about her long ago, teenage love affair. Fifteen minutes later she was pulling into the drive of her cottage on the outskirts of the city, a 1940’s bungalow in serious need of an HGTV makeover.

As she walked to her front door, she pulled out her cell phone and realized she’d received a text. She was the worst about picking them up; she was still old school enough to call more than text.

It was from Greg:

Gonna be late. How about 6:45? Love you. G.

Maggie let herself into the house, dropping her cell on the kitchen counter.

Love you.

It made her mouth dry to think what was ahead of her. Greg offered up ‘I love yous’ with the ease of someone grown used to saying them. He had yet to notice that Maggie had difficulty saying them back. The words stuck in her throat, and only Greg’s lack of perception had saved her from having to explain why she had such a phobia about repeating them to him.

She glanced at the clock. Five-thirty. She had just enough time to shower and change to meet Greg by six-forty-five. With a swear word meant for life in general, she prepared herself for the task she dreaded, knowing Greg wouldn’t want to hear that his “almost” fiancée wasn’t in love with him.

“If everything goes well the community will raise enough money for the new obstetric wing by the end of the year,” Greg was saying to the group of coworkers at the outdoor table when Maggie arrived at Foster’s a few minutes late. “That’ll do the trick. The hospital will have to add more staff, too.”

She’d thought Greg had planned a dinner date just for the two of them, but apparently not. She should have known he would invite his hospital ‘posse’. He chose any and all opportunities to pontificate about his favorite subject: his career.

Sandy Francis, a surgical resident at Briar Park Hospital, asked, “What if we don’t get the money?”

“Oh, we’ll get it, and then who knows,” Greg said, slipping an arm over Maggie’s shoulders. “The sky’s the limit.”

His arm felt like a dead weight. It was all she could do not to move it. Forcing her thoughts elsewhere, she gazed across the patio to the sun-dappled green water beyond. Foster’s-On-The-Lake was the only restaurant with lake access, the only one with a dock for patrons arriving by boat. The restaurant also reminded her of Tanner Baines‌—‌they’d had their first date here‌—‌but until today, she’d managed to squelch those thoughts.

“Something wrong?” Greg asked in her ear.

She wasn’t sure how to answer. As soon as she’d realized she and Greg weren’t going to have some time alone she’d had to change her plans. She wasn’t going to be able to end their relationship at dinner.

Charlie Mears, Briar Park’s junior pathologist, said, “Jesus, how long does it take to get served here?”

“Forever, in the summer,” Sandy complained, taking a small handful of the honey-coated peanuts from the bowl in the center of the table.

Greg raised a hand and snapped his fingers at a waitress who was juggling a heavy tray. She nodded at him, and Maggie, who’d spent her summers working as a bus girl to save money for college, said to him, “Just wait. She’ll get to us.”

“Yeah, but in what millennium,” Charlie muttered.

“Hey,” Maggie said.

The group of them comprised some of Briar Park’s brightest young doctors, and they ignored her and went back to discussing the upcoming expansion with an eagerness born of selfishness. More facilities meant more prestige‌—‌and a way to speed up the long trek to the top. And Greg was more than ready to assume additional responsibility and acquire some name recognition along the way.

Maggie didn’t have any feelings about the expansion one way or another, though she wondered if Greg wasn’t being a bit too optimistic. Times were hard and money was tight.

“I heard there’ll be some new administrative positions open,” Sandy said. “Maybe they’ll shift some of the department heads around.”

“Sandy’s hoping Samuelson will be moved out of surgery, giving her a chance to shine,” Charlie interpreted.

Greg said, “We’d all like Samuelson out of the way. He’s holding back the whole department.”

“It’d be a different story if you were in charge,” Charlie said, grinning.

“Damn straight.” Greg shrugged. “I’ve made no bones about what I want.”

“You’d be good,” Sandy told him earnestly. Then demanded, “Wouldn’t he?” as she looked around the table, her sharp eyes asking for support. Maggie smiled, but wondered if it were really true.

The discussion continued, but Maggie’s attention returned to Shelley Baines, Tanner’s daughter. Now there was a problem worth solving. How difficult would it be to help her? Especially since Shelley’s problem seemed as much one of attitude as anything else. And then there was Tanner himself. Maggie was fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to hide from him forever.

“What about our illustrious Dr. Baines?” Charlie asked. “I hear he’s just moved back to the area.”

Maggie shot a glance toward Charlie. “You think he’s considering Briar Park?” she asked.

“That’s the rumor.” Charlie reached for the peanuts, snagged a handful, then tossed them one by one into the air, catching them in his mouth.

Greg said, “Baines’s hand’s ruined. He’s not going to be performing surgery again, as I hear it.”

“He could still be department head,” Charlie said, crunching the peanuts in his molars.

“Not in any functioning capacity,” Greg insisted. “Tanner Baines is finished as a surgeon. It’s too damn bad, really. He was one of the best. But he’s no threat to anyone’s career at Briar Park.”

The waitress came and took their orders and their conversation settled into more hospital shoptalk but Maggie’s thoughts drifted away.

Tanner Baines is finished…

A part of her had never gotten over Tanner. That was a fact. There was a corner of her heart that still responded whenever she heard his name. For a thirty-one-year-old woman, it seemed strange that she still suffered the pangs of an adolescent romance, but there was no denying it. She knew part of her problem with Greg was she expected to be swept off her feet again in that same way and it just wasn’t gonna happen.

But she also still recalled how she’d felt that last summer she and Tanner were together when he’d unexpectedly hit her with, “I’m marrying Tricia Wellesley,” the morning after they’d finally made love. They were on his back deck, Tanner leaning against the white wooden rails, Maggie behind him, her arms around his waist, her cheek pressed against his strong back. She’d been too insanely happy to notice his distance that morning. When she’d left him the night before the future had been as open and untouched as a windswept beach.

“Very funny,” she’d responded, smiling against the fabric of his shirt.

She’d felt his shaky intake of breath, the pause that painfully followed. And then she
knew
. Her arms fell to her sides in shock.

Tanner half-turned, his face gaunt and older than she had ever seen it. “Tricia and I are getting married,” he said again, as if he, too, were having trouble believing it.

“You’re not serious.”

“She’s pregnant, Maggie. And I’m the father…”

He turned back to the water and Maggie, reeling inside with disbelief, numbly followed his gaze, seeing sunlight dance on the water, smelling the verdant scent of fir and pine, feeling her crown heat under the early morning sunshine while her insides shivered with cold.

“Things went too far last night,” he said, the words watery and indistinct beneath the roaring in her ears. “I’m sorry.”

Her shock disappeared under an avalanche of anger and pain. She shoved herself away from him. “You’re kidding. You must be.” When he didn’t respond, she half-yelled, “Sorry.
Sorry?
I don’t believe you!” She grabbed his arm and shook it hard. “What the hell is this? Tricia? You said that was over!”

Emotion flashed across his face and she dimly realized there was more to the story than he was telling. “I know what I said.”

“Then you were
lying
?” She was having trouble breathing.
You told me you loved me!

“No, but things‌—‌have changed.”

“Is she really pregnant? Or, is this because of your father?”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Your father’s always thought I’m not good enough for you,” she said heedlessly.

“Maggie…”

“We aren’t good enough. The Holts aren’t good enough,” she went on. “That’s always been the bottom line. You should be with Tricia. That’s what he thinks.”