suppressed a sigh as he said, “Well, let’s get started, then.”
* * *
AS TESSA FOLLOWED Noah on his rounds, he realized she’d gotten to know far more people in a couple of weeks than he had in six months. She greeted all the staff on the floor by name, asking after their spouses, their children and their pets. One of the nurses reminded her she was supposed to email them a recipe, and Tessa complied by instantly sending it out from her phone.
The more he saw how quickly they warmed to her, the more irritated he became. Who was this woman to show up and ruin his day, starting at the coffee shop and now here, in his own hospital?
It only made him more determined not to like her, especially the times they accidentally came into contact—when their arms brushed, or she leaned toward him to ask a question. She was bright and attentive, which only made his efforts to ignore her all the more difficult.
He updated her briefly on the next patient, Kyle Miller, trying his best not to notice how long her lashes were as her brown eyes focused intently on his. Clearing his throat, he turned and walked into Kyle’s room. Kyle was ten and had been battling leukemia since his diagnosis five weeks ago.
“Hello, Dr. Brennan.”
Kyle’s mother, Sheila, greeted him warily. It was a tone he was used to hearing. He knew she’d want answers, so he focused on Kyle and put Tessa out of his head as he brought up the boy’s chart on the iPad Noah held in his hand.
Tessa shifted beside him, and when he remained absorbed in Kyle’s chart, she took it upon herself to tell the family who she was. As she chatted with the parents, he scrolled through Kyle’s latest test results, trying not to listen but finding it impossible.
“You like model ships?” she commented, and from the corner of his eye, Noah saw she was referring to the wooden craft Kyle had obviously been assembling.
“Yeah,” Kyle shyly confirmed. “This was a gift from my grandpa. He came to visit me yesterday.”
“That’s great,” Tessa said, and he marveled at how genuine she sounded. “It looks pretty hard to assemble, though. Is your dad helping you put it together?”
Kyle’s father, Matt, laughed. “I can’t even glue together popsicle sticks, so I’m no help.”
Noah flicked his eyes up just long enough to see that the entire family seemed to be slightly more at ease as Tessa spoke to them. He continued reviewing the boy’s chart. The test results looked promising, and he felt a measure of relief. Kyle might be turning the corner before long.
“My dad once tried to put together a model airplane,” Tessa was saying. “I think he ended up using it for kindling one winter.”
There was more laughter, and something about the sound set Noah on edge.
“Kyle’s numbers are improving,” he said, interrupting the conversation. “This means the treatments are working. We’ll continue on this course.”
The mood shifted, and Noah felt the family’s momentary joy dissipate as swiftly as blowing out a match.
“For how long?” Sheila asked.
“We’ll continue the chemotherapy for a couple more months. The numbers in the next few weeks will determine how long the treatment progresses.”
“So...that’s good?” Matt asked.
“For now,” Noah said as he looked back at the iPad. “As I said, we’ll just have to wait and see.”
Someone cleared their throat, but he ignored it. Then, a second time. Noah glanced up and realized it had been Tessa who made the sound. She was staring at him, her eyes conveying some sort of message he couldn’t read. He stared back at her, uncertain why she was looking at him in that way. After a few awkward moments, she turned back to Kyle and his parents.
“I’m sure what Dr. Brennan means is that this is good news. The treatments are working. That’s why we will continue doing what we’re doing, in order to help Kyle obtain full remission from the disease.”
Noah frowned. “I can’t make any promises to that end.”
Tessa’s head whipped around, and she gave him that sharp gaze once more. He noticed that Kyle’s parents were glancing back and forth between him and Tessa. He didn’t much like it.
“Does that mean I’m not going to get better?” Kyle piped up.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that you do,” Noah stated, his tone firm.
“Dr. Brennan, could I have a private word with you?” Tessa asked, her tone sweet but unyielding.
Noah made an effort not to let his irritation show. What in the world did she want now?
“Of course,” he agreed, attempting to sound reasonable. Tessa turned to the family.
“Would you excuse us for a moment?”
She stood and headed from the room as he hurried to keep pace with her clipped strides. She didn’t stop walking until they were out in the hall and several feet away from the room, well out of earshot from Kyle and his parents.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“I don’t understand the question,” he said.
“Those people are facing the most horrific scenario they can imagine, the possible death of their son, and you are treating them no differently than if their child has a common cold!”
Noah blinked once, then twice, before his anger began to rise.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” she muttered in a low tone, keeping her voice down. Noah was vaguely aware that they were standing in an alcove of the hallway—not in direct sight and hearing of others but close enough for someone to observe their exchange.
“Can you remind me again, Ms. Worth, what it was you were hired to do here?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.
“Marketing. Fund-raising. Publicity. Goodwill. Not diagnosis. Not medicine. Certainly not cancer treatment. That is my job,” he reminded.
Her eyes were shining with rage, deepening them to a beautiful caramel brown. But he was angry, too, and determined not to be distracted.
“That’s not the only part of your job,” she countered. “You’re also supposed to support these people, treat them with compassion.”
“I’m compassionate,” he argued and then cringed at the defensiveness of his tone. He did not need to prove himself to this woman.
“Not from what I can see,” she fired back, and the passion of her words stirred something deep inside him. When was the last time he’d encountered such fervor? When was the last time he had ever felt such fire in himself? Not for years. Not since before Ginny had started experiencing symptoms... He shifted the watch on his wrist, righting it so the face stared up at him.
“That little boy is terrified,” she continued. “So are his parents. And you did nothing to reassure them.”
He tensed. Passion was one thing, but he would not let her presume to know his job. “I don’t make false promises,” he replied, his voice cold in contrast to the heat in hers. “Hope does more harm than the cancer itself.”
She opened her mouth, presumably to contradict him, but he forged ahead, rattled by her judgment of him and his methods.
“Do you know what hope is, Ms. Worth? It’s a disease. It leads you along, blinds you to reality and leaves you unprepared for death. When you cling to hope, it eats away at you, one minute at a time, a more silent killer than the leukemia ever will be. Because it destroys you without evidence. It misdirects, making you think there is a chance that life will one day be the same,