From the Beginning (30 page)

“Besides, so many of the people I help don’t have insurance or enough money to pay for a doctor in a regular office. They can’t be seen anywhere else—and I like that I can help them.”

It was the most passionate Amanda had sounded in a long time and it made him happy in a way he hadn’t felt in years. He thought about what had just happened between them—not only the lovemaking but the conversation that had come before—and wondered if any of it would have been possible just a few weeks earlier. He doubted it, which meant he owed Lucas and his clinic big-time.

Which wasn’t to say he wouldn’t deck the bastard if he kept sniffing around Amanda. Gratitude only got a guy so far, after all.

Leaning forward, he brushed a kiss against her lips, then went back for a second and a third. It felt good to hold her again, without all the pain and angst between them. They’d always share Gabby’s loss, always have that sorrow between them, but for the first time since Gabby’s death, he felt hope.

Amanda’s hands crept down his chest to his stomach, and he groaned as he caught them with his own. “We need to go. Since you’re so fond of that job of yours, we have to get you there on time. I assume you don’t have a car here?”

“You assume correctly.”

“Then let’s take a quick shower. I’ll run you by your house so you can change before I take you to work.” When she didn’t move, he lifted an eyebrow. “Okay?”

She nodded and he got the feeling that he wasn’t the only one having trouble talking. “More than okay.”

“Good.” Because he couldn’t resist, he kissed her breathless one more time. Then pulled away with a satisfied grin and said, “Last one in the shower washes the other’s back.”

Amanda was off the bed in a flash, and in the bathroom before he was even halfway across the room.

Lucky him.

FOUR HOURS LATER, he wasn’t feeling so lucky. In fact, as he pulled into the clinic’s parking lot, he wondered if he’d even find Amanda here or if she’d gone out to lunch. He’d hoped to take her himself so that he could explain about the assignment that had just come up, but time had gotten away from him. That happened when you had to drop everything and prepare to leave the country with just a couple of hours’ notice. Which normally he would have loved. But now, as things between him and Amanda were getting on track, not so much.

But when he walked in the clinic—a run-down building with a packed waiting room and nowhere near enough staff for the demand—he saw her right away. She was standing behind the front counter talking to an elderly African-American woman. About her medicine, he guessed, judging from the samples in the older woman’s hands.

“You need to go to the window over there if you want to see the doctor,” the woman behind the desk said, pointing to a long line at the other end of the counter.

“I just need to speak with Dr. Jacobs for a second—”

“Then you need to go get in that line over there.” She turned away and began working on a file.

“But I’m not a patient. I wanted to—”

“Tell it to the nurse,” she said, not bothering to look up.

“It’s okay, Latonya.” Amanda came up and rescued him. “He’s my…”

Both Latonya and Simon looked at her, waiting to see how she was going to finish that sentence, though Simon figured he had a little more invested than the office manager.

“Friend,” Amanda finally said, after a long pause. “He’s my friend.”

Friend?
Simon scowled at the description, but didn’t correct her.

Stepping around the counter, Amanda asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I had a little time this afternoon and thought I’d see if you were available for lunch.”

“Lunch?” she asked, as if the concept was completely foreign to her.

“You know, that meal you eat around midday,” he told her, exasperated. “Amanda, for someone who promised to take better care of her health, skipping lunch isn’t exactly the best move.”

“It’s not that. I guess I’m used to meeting you somewhere instead of having you come here.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m supposed to go to lunch in fifteen minutes. Do you mind hanging out for a little while?”

“Not at all.”

“Great. I have two more patients to see and then we go.”

It was closer to thirty minutes when she finally showed her face in the front again, but Simon didn’t mind. The extra time had given him a chance to arrange the last of the details for the trip. After lunch, he’d stop by his apartment for the bag he always kept packed and then head straight to the airport. He shook his head. It was selfish of him, but he really couldn’t help wishing the Middle East had waited a little longer before imploding.

“So, where do you want to go?” he asked Amanda as they walked outside.

“There’s a good sandwich place a couple of blocks up,” she answered. “You want to try it out?”

“Sure.” He wanted to hold on to her hand, but didn’t know how she’d feel about that—especially in her place of work. At the same time, he wanted her boss to know that the field was not clear. He might be disappearing for a couple of weeks, but he had no intention of giving Amanda up—not when he’d finally gotten her back again.

In the end, he didn’t have to do anything, because Amanda looped her arm through his as they walked through the small parking lot to the street. “I’m glad you came by,” she told him, resting her head on his shoulder for a brief second.

“Oh, yeah? Why is that?”

“Do I have to have a reason? Maybe I like spending time with you.”

He liked that, a lot.

They chatted about random things for the rest of the walk—the humid weather, a movie they both wanted to see, places to go in the city. It wasn’t until they were seated in the restaurant, and had placed their order, that he finally broached the subject of his trip.

“I need to tell you something.” He watched with concern as her smile dimmed.

“When do you leave for the Middle East?” She made a face at his confusion. “What? You think we don’t have a TV at the clinic? I knew as soon as I saw the bombings that you’d be off to Lebanon before the day was over.”

“I leave in two hours—charter flight.”

She nodded. “Take care of yourself over there.”

“That’s it?” He knew he probably looked ridiculous the way he was staring at her, mouth open in astonishment.

“I’m not sure what you expect. A big-band send-off?”

“I thought you’d be…angry, I guess.”

“Because you’re doing your job?” she asked incredulously. “Come on, Simon. I’m not that kind of lover. You know that. I’ve never gotten angry at you for doing your job—”

“I remember differently.”

“No. I got angry when you used your job to run away from a reality you didn’t like. When you took on extra stories or special reports to get away from problems we were having, or Gabby’s illness, or whatever it was you couldn’t control. It’s not the same thing.”

He blanched to hear her speak so matter-of-factly about his biggest shame. “This isn’t like that. I swear.”

“I know.” She leaned back to let the waitress put their food on the table. “Go do what you need to do, Simon. I’ll be here when you get back. Just don’t forget to call me this time—at least twice, so I know that you’re okay.”

“You could always watch my broadcasts,” he said, tongue-in-cheek. He couldn’t believe how happy her easy acceptance made him.

“I always do. Your broadcasts are what made me fall for you all those years ago. They show the best part of you, the one you try to keep hidden the rest of the time.” She winked at him, then popped a potato chip in her mouth right before changing the subject.

THREE WEEKS LATER, Amanda wasn’t feeling so accepting. Simon had been gone for twenty-two days—the Middle East kept getting hotter—and except for the first day, to tell her he’d gotten there safely, he hadn’t called. That annoyed her, even as it worried her. If she hadn’t been able to see his updates on television every night, she probably would have been beside herself.

As it was, every time she saw him she felt a rush of relief that he was safe, followed by an overwhelming surge of anger she couldn’t ignore. Each night that passed without a phone call, a text, an email, made her just a little bit angrier—at Simon and herself.

She’d thought he—and their relationship—had changed. She knew they were at the beginning stages of learning how to be a couple again, but she’d thought she’d made her expectations clear. She expected to be kept in the loop this time, to be more than a convenience when he passed through town.

Her expectations had obviously been too high, and that was her fault. Completely.

But the fact that he was being an ass and not calling, that was all on Simon. It was hard to hide their true natures when they’d known each other so long. He knew that she was terrified of failing, and she knew that after sliding from foster home to foster home as a child, Simon was as terrified of growing attached to someone.

That didn’t mean she was willing to put up with it. Not anymore. If they were going to form a lasting relationship, they would both have to learn to call each other on their shit. Otherwise, this would never work.

The fact that she was thinking of this thing between them as permanent—or even semipermanent— surprised her a lot. Two months ago, she would no more have considered getting serious about Simon than she would have dreamed about being happy again.

But sometimes, two months made a big difference in your life—and especially in how you viewed the world. She still missed Gabby terribly, still thought of her a million times every day, but she no longer wanted to climb into the grave beside her daughter.

And she no longer resented Simon. Oh, she was pissed as hell at him for not finding a way around his own neuroses and calling her, but she wasn’t going to use it as an excuse to put distance between them. Not this time. She was going to hang tight—after she gave him a piece of her mind. But if he ever did this again, after she educated him, there would be hell to pay.

She was climbing into her car at the end of the day when her phone rang. Ignoring the stupid jump her heart gave every time she heard it go off, she almost let it go to voice mail. She just wasn’t up for the whole charade of feeling her stomach quiver as she looked at the caller ID, hoping it was him and then being disappointed.

In the end, though, she reached for the phone and clicked it on right before it went to voice mail. She didn’t bother to look at the screen and see who it was—if it was a telemarketer trying to sell her beachfront property in Arizona, then she so deserved it.

“Hello?” The line popped and crackled, and that’s when she knew. It was no telemarketer.

“Mandy!” He laughed delightedly. “I didn’t know if I was going to get you. I thought you might still be working.”

“I just got off, actually.”

“Excellent. So how are you? How’s the clinic? How’s the house?”

“Everything’s good.” She knew she sounded a little stilted, and forced herself to relax. He’d called, she reminded herself. That was what mattered.

Yes, but it took twenty-two days for him to do it, which wasn’t exactly the stuff great love songs were made of.

“How are you?” she asked. “I watch you every night after I get home. How’d you get that black eye?”