Working on a Full House (27 page)

She opened the door to the master bedroom, though no bed graced the room. Instead a two by three foot canvas was set up on an easel by the north-facing bay window. Shelves of supplies lined the walls that might otherwise have housed bookcases. The rest of the walls served as supports for the dozens of canvases Cherise had completed over the past twelve years.

She waltzed into the room and then swiveled. With more effort than she liked, she steeled herself for Kenny's reaction.

Which, at first, was nonexistent. He stopped a couple feet inside the room, the corners of his eyes just barely tightening.

Poker, Cherise reminded herself. The man played poker for a living. He made a profession of disguising his reactions.

But it was coming. Every muscle she owned tensed as she waited for some stupid comment, some subtly disparaging remark.

He took two more steps into the room. His head turned slowly as his eyes made a circuit, starting with Cherise's earliest canvases, some admittedly unsuccessful attempts at formal landscapes, and moving over the less formal, more personal abstracts and portraits. She was so tightly strung, she was trembling.

This — what he was looking at — was why she hadn't made an effort to get into medical school, or any other time-intensive profession. She hadn't been willing to give up this, her outlet and passion. Oh, she didn't fool herself she had talent. She'd never shown her art to another human being, let alone tried to sell it. But, even so, it was her life blood. She
had
to paint.

Kenny stood there, simply looking, for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, he moved.

Cherise watched with narrowed eyes as he went toward the far wall, where she'd placed what she privately called, "Origin." He picked up the canvas and moved it three feet to the right, next to a painting she called, "Next."

Frowning, Cherise watched Kenny move around the room, slowly selecting canvases and then rearranging them. What the heck was he doing?

It took some time before she got it. It took another long while before she could believe it. Then she simply stood there, incredulous.

She could see, looking around the room, emotions building and then cresting, subsiding and stewing, all according to the moods in which she'd wielded her paintbrush. The order in which Kenny was putting her canvases told a story of the world of her soul, its ups and downs, struggles and triumphs.

Surprise had Cherise immobilized. Frozen, she watched him refine the story he was building, and sharpen its effect. A voice in her head chanted over and over: he got it. He
got
it.

He could see into her paintings. He could see what she hadn't always been able to understand, herself.

Placing a night vision of a cyclone beside a turquoise dream of paradise, Kenny took a step back. His shoulders rose and then fell, as if he'd taken in and released a deep breath of air. He turned.

Eyes the color of cobalt met hers. A bolt of lightning zigzagged through Cherise, leaving her stark naked, body and soul. He got it. He understood.

But if she felt naked, he appeared to feel exactly the same way, as if afraid she might strike him down.

Oh, God, Cherise thought. This was no frivolous fluff-head of a man, someone she could easily dismiss. He got it. He understood.

Just when she was wondering what disaster might happen next, he took another step back. Away from her. "I — I think that's enough," he whispered.

"Yes," Cherise agreed. Her voice cracked. She stood there, paralyzed, as he swiveled and left the room. Several stunned minutes later, she discovered he'd left her condo altogether.

Apparently, he'd been even more frightened than she.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Roy was coming to town again.

As Valerie walked out of her next-to-last patient exam at Valley Pediatric, she could not prevent the shiver of excitement this thought brought. Roy was coming again, after their last strange visit — after their last strange farewell — less than a week ago.

"No big deal," Valerie muttered to herself, and checked her watch as she stalked down the hall. So, yeah, things had been strange on that last visit of his, the one where she'd laid down the law: no hanky-panky. Roy had taken that way too meekly, in Valerie's opinion. She'd been suspicious he was up to something, but he'd gone the whole three days of his visit without any funny business.

He'd been downright subdued, in fact.

And their parting at the end of the three days had been...thought-provoking. Valerie stared unseeingly at the chart in her hands as she remembered.

"You'll take care of yourself?" Roy had said this like a question, not an order, as he'd stood outside her door, looking at her with something almost like diffidence.

Valerie had given him a bright smile. "Of course." It wouldn't do for him to see how depressed she felt at the sight of him leaving.

Roy had hesitated then.

Valerie had stilled, her heart suddenly beating a mile a minute. Their eyes had met and she'd felt very certain he wanted to kiss her. Not as a sexual prelude, but just a kiss, to say goodbye, to say —

Hell, Valerie didn't know what such a kiss would have said. In the first place, it hadn't happened. Instead of kissing her, he'd retreated, withdrawing into that faraway place he seemed to go. With his eyes cool and his expression distant, he'd given her a curt nod, then turned to stride down her walkway to his car.

In the second place she wasn't supposed to be waiting on kisses from Roy. She was supposed to be clear on his place in her life. He was the father of her child, a necessary partner in that endeavor — and no dreams of anything more.

But Valerie couldn't help wondering what that kiss might have meant — if it had happened.

"But right now I have to get back to work," Valerie muttered to herself. She forced her eyes down to the chart in her hands.

She blinked a few times at the name typed there. "Nicholas Gordon." Nicky. Oh, yeah. Valerie blew out a deep breath. Back to reality, and with a vengeance. Putting on a reassuring smile, she pushed open the examination room door.

"Nicky," she said, and blocked her reaction to seeing him so pale and exhausted. "Mrs. Gordon. Oh, and Mr. Gordon, too. Good to see you."

"Hey, Dr. K." Nicky lifted a hand in greeting, but didn't attempt to perform any complicated handshakes. Valerie wondered how he'd managed to perch himself on the high examination table. Perhaps Mr. Gordon, bluff and muscular, had helped him up.

"Richard wanted to hear you explain it himself," Mrs. Gordon told Valerie.

"We went through the whole thing with the hematologist," Mr. Gordon put in. "Nicky has aplastic anemia, which means...?

"My bone marrow isn't working." Nicky shot a long-suffering look at his father. "It's that simple."

Mr. Gordon shot an annoyed glance back at his son, then turned to Valerie. "He said the only effective cure would be a bone marrow transplant."

"Well, yes." Knowing the family didn't have the money to pay for that transplant, Valerie chose her words with care. "A transplant would have the best chance of restoring Nicky to full health. In the meantime we'll be giving him immunosuppressives and growth factors."

"Huh," said Mr. Gordon, starting to look flushed.

Valerie and Mrs. Gordon exchanged a glance. "Richard started his own business, contracting, you know," explained Mrs. Gordon. "We didn't have anything extra for, um, well...extras."

Extras like medical insurance. Yes, Valerie knew. She'd been over this before with Mrs. Gordon, but apparently Nicky's mother felt the need to explain away her guilt yet again.

Seated in the Mom chair, Mrs. Gordon twisted her hands together. "This wouldn't be an issue if we hadn't found a match," she said.

Nicky's eyes widened. "Andrea is
not
a match."

Now Mr. and Mrs. Gordon were the ones to exchange glances. Mrs. Gordon addressed Valerie. "Nicky's little sister, Andrea, turns out to be a perfect match. We've been extremely lucky."

"Yes." Valerie felt a bubble of hope. "Finding the right donor is crucial." Well...along with finding the money, but details...

"I am not asking my five-year-old sister to have an
operation
," Nicky stated emphatically. "It hurts. Dr. Bernstein said so."

"Any pain would only be temporary," Valerie told him. "The right medication should help her feel better almost immediately."

"I'm not doing it," Nicky said.

Mrs. Gordon twisted her hands some more and gave Valerie a helpless look.

"Um, well." Again, Valerie found herself picking her way with care. "There are a lot of details to work out before anything could be done, in any case, Nicky." Like finding half a million dollars. "In the meantime, we want to make sure you're taking care of yourself."

"I know, I know. Be super strict about washing my hands. Stay away from kids who are sick. No sports." Nicky heaved a deep sigh.

"How have you been feeling?" Valerie asked. "Remember, if you think you're getting even a minor cold, sore throat, cough, you call and let me know, okay?"

Nicky heaved another sigh. "Okay."

Mr. Gordon cleared his throat. Sounding defiant, he declared, "We're going to get the money."

Everyone in the room tensed. Valerie had been over this with Mrs. Gordon in private. They had no way of coming up with the money — not enough equity in their home for a loan, nor enough in Mr. Gordon's business. There were no rich relatives, no treasure hidden in the backyard.

"So you schedule this transplant thing," Mr. Gordon blustered.

"I'm not going to do it," Nicky put in, and shot his father a dirty look. In that moment Valerie realized Nicky's intransigence was as much to save his parents from guilt as to save his little sister the pain of a bone marrow donation.

The realization made her own guilt splash like acid through her veins. He was
such
a great kid. They all should have been able to do better for him.

Valerie could see her own sense of helplessness reflected tenfold in Mrs. Gordon's eyes.

She walked out of the examination room probably not in a best frame of mind in which to deal with the problems in her own life.

But Cherise seemed determined Valerie deal with them. "I thought you and I were supposed to have dinner together tonight," she told Valerie, narrow-eyed, as Valerie walked up to the nurse's station in the hall. "But
he's
here."

"Excuse me?"

"Your
husband
," Cherise said.

"What?" Valerie blinked. "He's
here
?"

"Husband?" This came from Dr. Peter Lindstrom, who stalked around the corner at this extremely inconvenient moment.

Valerie simply opened her mouth.

"Uh oh," said Cherise, but without appearing overly guilt-stricken.

"What are you talking about?" Peter looked at Valerie.

Valerie pressed her lips together and glared at Cherise. But Cherise was in the same Teflon mood she'd been wearing for days. She only lifted her shoulders, oh, so innocently, before turning a smile on Peter. "Roy Beaujovais," she explained. "I think you met him a couple weeks ago. He's married to Valerie."

Peter's eyes widened. "
What
? You mean, that guy — Now, wait a minute. That was Roy
Beaujovais
?"

"You heard her." This came from Valerie, who'd gone from embarrassed to outraged at the expression of incredulity on Peter's face. Just because
he
hadn't wanted her didn't mean she was completely unwantable. "Roy is my husband."

Peter's mouth opened and closed a few times. Much to Valerie's combined disgust and amusement, he seemed at a complete loss.

Valerie turned back to Cherise. "Where is he?"

"I put him in your office." Cherise gave her a too-wide smile. "Thought you'd appreciate some privacy."

"Thank you." Valerie was determined not to let Cherise see her rattled. "You were right. Some privacy would be nice."

"Hm!" said Cherise.

Peter was staring at Valerie. It was not in the least a flattering look, still containing blank disbelief. "Valerie — " he started.

"Not now, Peter." Valerie wasn't interested in whatever veiled insult he intended to deliver.

"I want to talk to this guy," Cherise told Valerie, in a warning tone. "Just because my life is a mess doesn't mean yours has to be, too."

"What?" Valerie asked, then shook her head. "Whatever."

"Right," Cherise said. "Soon."

Feeling overloaded, Valerie backed away. "Okay, okay. But right now,
I'm
going to talk to him,
if
you both would excuse me?"

Cherise looked ready to excuse Valerie — for the moment. Peter was still opening and closing his mouth like an incredulous fish. Valerie didn't wait for him to recover himself. She turned on her heel and stalked to her office. With a sharp movement, she opened the door.

In her haste to escape her colleagues, Valerie did not adequately prepare herself for dealing with her husband. He was standing by the wall that held her diplomas, but wheeled as he heard the door open. Suddenly Valerie was staring into his wolflike, implacable eyes.

His tough, unapologetic masculinity hit her all over again. She drew in a sharp breath, and struggled to tamp down her arousal. "Roy," she said, and produced a polite smile.

"Valerie," he replied, and didn't attempt to smile at all.

But instead of feeling miffed, Valerie felt another rush, this one of hope. Were his emotions in as much chaos as hers, too much chaos to allow him the common civilities?

Roy cleared his throat, and finally managed a small smile. "I got into town a little early," he explained. "Thought I'd meet you here."

"Ah." Valerie felt the edges of her smile dance. Did that mean he'd been anxious to see her?

Roy lifted a shoulder. "On the phone you said you were starting to enjoy eating again. Maybe you'd like me to take you out."

Valerie's heart jumped. He wanted to take her out... Was that a date? Something about just the two of them, and not the baby? "Oh." She was nearly struck dumb by the pounding of her heart in her ears. "Um, sure. That'd be nice. I mean, it would be nice to go somewhere other than home for a change. For dinner, I mean."