leaned in closer as she spoke. “That’s not what I meant—exactly. But a patient needs all the help he can get—so does a doctor.” She looked at him pointedly. “Use what’s available. Make a patient think positive. It can’t hurt.” She smiled encouragingly at him. “What have you got to lose?”
He could give her the answer without thinking. “Time.” And giving a patient empty words was definitely wasting it.
Unfazed, Renee shrugged before she took another sip. “It goes by anyway. Might as well do something good with it.” Setting down her glass, she looked at his plate. The four slices she’d put there were gone, as were the tiny potatoes. She nodded at it. “See, I knew you were hungry.” She let her eyes travel down his upper torso. “Come by more often, Pete. You’re getting way too skinny.”
He hadn’t come here to talk about himself. Reversing the tables on her, he gazed at her for a long moment. Her health was a major concern to him. “You doing okay?”
Like someone uncomfortable with the subject matter, Renee shrugged dismissively. She’d once told him that the less she thought about the advancing arthritis that sought to conquer her, the better off she was.
“I’ve got my good days and my bad days, same as everyone else.” And then she flashed a smile. “This is a good day.” Renee glanced at the wheelchair that was tucked away in the corner in the family room. She used it when there was no way around it. But most of the time, she didn’t have to resort to it. “That’s always there, waiting for me.” And then she smiled at him, as if her point was made. “I just think myself out of it.”
Peter shook his head. The woman was incorrigible. Just like Lisa had been. Just like Becky had been on her way to becoming. “Whatever works.”
Leaning across the table, Renee covered his hand with hers. “That’s right. Whatever works. And positive thought works.”
He was glad she felt that philosophy worked for her, but it wasn’t the way for him. He sincerely doubted that he was capable of thinking positively. Not after the negative event that had traumatized in his life.
The floors smelled of antiseptic and something that had been sprayed to mask the scent. It succeeded only in becoming an annoying hybrid. But the smell would be gone by the time the daily hospital traffic began to weave its way through the halls.
It was early.
He liked the quiet, before the noises started. Normally he would just be heading to the hospital, but he’d arrived at Blair Memorial earlier than usual today. As happened with a fair amount of regularity, sleep had eluded him again last night. He’d spent it tossing and turning, find tiny islands of sleep and snatching them, only to wake up again soon afterward. By four he’d given up the fight.
He decided he might as well get an early start on the day. There was a surgery scheduled for nine this morning and he felt a need to review the CAT scans again. He knew the procedure cold, but he’d always felt that it never hurt to be overprepared.
It beat the hell out of being underprepared.
Preoccupied, he didn’t notice her at first. Whenever he was locked into his thoughts, he tended to have tunnel vision to the exclusion of the rest of the world.
But even so, the fact that there was someone sitting in the hallway right outside his office did register in the peripheral portion of his brain, that small space where he allowed life’s ordinary little happenings to huddle together.
As he fished out the keys from his pocket, Peter was vaguely aware that the figure rose from the chair. Swirls of color penetrated his consciousness and he glanced in the figure’s direction. And was not as surprised as he would have thought he should be.
It was the boy-with-the-funny-name’s sister.
She grinned at him broadly. He had the impression of standing beside an overly lit billboard. “Hi.”
“Hi,” he echoed only because she’d used the word. Looking around, he saw that she was alone. He’d half thought that if she turned up at all, she would bring reinforcements with her, not fly solo.
He put his key into the lock and turned it. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you,” she answered simply, succeeding in mystifying him further.
Not waiting for an invitation as he opened the door, Raven Songbird walked into his office.
He dropped his keys back into his pocket as he looked at her suspiciously. “Why?”
Her face was the picture of innocence. “Because I wanted to talk to you.” She’d been waiting for him to show up for almost twenty minutes. Alix DuCane, Blue’s pediatrician, had told her that the unfriendly neurosurgeon usually came in early and she’d wanted to catch him before his day got under way.
“There’s a handy thing called the telephone.” He glanced at the one on his desk for emphasis.
She’d thought about calling him, but had dismissed it. More than likely, she would have gotten his receptionist or the answering service. And she had a feeling that asking him to return the call would have fallen on deaf ears.
Raven told him a little of her philosophy. “I prefer talking to people face-to-face.” She could see that didn’t sit very well with him. “Are you always so unfriendly, or is it just me?”
“Yes and yes,” he answered tartly before asking a question of his own. “Are you always so ‘in your face’ with people?”
“Mostly.”
He wasn’t prepared for the smile. Or for the effect it seemed to have on him. Discreetly, he took a breath, as if that would help shield him from this small dynamo who was determined to invade his professional life. “So I haven’t been singled out?”
“Well, yes, you have,” she allowed, then quickly added, “but not for that. My doctor thinks I should give you a second chance.”
“Oh, he does, does he?”
“She,” Raven corrected, then supplied the doctor’s name. “Dr. Alix DuCane and, actually, she’s Blue’s doctor, not mine.”
He was familiar with the name if not the person. Ducane had been on staff at Blair Memorial for several years and was now head of pediatrics. She’d been here when he’d first arrived. Knowing what he did about the pediatrician, he was surprised that the woman hadn’t picked up the phone to call him about this.
“And just why did she recommend this generosity of spirit on your part?”
She’d never liked sarcasm. But this was for Blue, so she was going to put up with it. She would have been willing to put up with the devil himself for Blue and it was beginning to look as if she just might have to.
“Because Dr. DuCane thinks you really are the best.” She’d called the woman after her visit with Dr. Sullivan, not to complain but just to explain why she wasn’t about to take the pediatrician’s advice. Alix had prevailed upon her to rethink her decision and to give the doctor another chance. Alix had volunteered to provide the bedside manner herself if necessary.
It was time to get to the point. Since he’d begun operating, his patients had all been over the age of eighteen and he now preferred it that way. “I don’t do children.”
Unlike her late parents and her brother, Raven had a temper she usually kept under wraps. It was the one gene, according to her mother, that her maternal grandfather had contributed to the mix. Jeremiah Blackfeather had never been a mild-mannered man and there were times that Raven felt as if her late grandfather was channeling through her. “From what I see, you don’t do people, either, Dr. Sullivan. Just subjects.”
The slight show of temper surprised him. For some unknown reason, it also amused him, though he kept that to himself. “And you don’t approve.”
“I want my brother’s life to matter to you.”
“A