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She ran to the bathroom and returned with a handful of paper towels with which he mopped vainly at his sodden clothes.
“Uhmm, I was wondering if you wanted to go climbing Tuesday night. And I thought maybe we could get some pizza.”
“Well, I’ve already got plans. I’m—”
“That’s okay. Maybe another time.” Of course she’d have plans. What was he thinking?
“Wait. I’m going with your sister.”
“My sister?”
“Grace. I’m going with Grace to an art class.”
At least it wasn’t another guy, but he disliked this development on so many levels. His sister was way too nosey. She’d be trying to meddle in their friendship. And now, he’d have to compete with Grace for Emily’s time. It wasn’t fair. He was trying to be so careful and not make any big mistakes. Grace would be able to plunder in and become best friends with her. And Grace would be able to get reports from Emily about what Spencer had been doing. It would be even harder to hide his growing feelings for Emily from Grace.
“Oh. Okay.”
“We could maybe go on Wednesday. If you wanted.”
Spencer cursed under his breath. “I promised to help Papa with a project on Wednesday night. Maybe Thursday?”
“There’s this jazzercise class I was planning to go to. Pizza after?”
“Absolutely.” This wasn’t going to be easy. Especially when he was trying desperately to appear so casual about the whole friend thing.
He started to walk away, still holding the damp paper towels.
“Oh, and Spencer?” He turned back to see her cast him a crooked smile. “Thanks for the tea.” He swallowed a lump in his throat. He was in trouble.
*****
Anne hated the hospital. It was cold and hard and scary and full of germs. Really sick people came to the hospital and left their microbes behind. She wasn’t usually a germaphobe, but hospitals were different. Everyone had on gloves and a mask when they entered her room—everyone but her. Where was her protection? Was she supposed to be protected by that squirt of antiseptic lotion from the container hanging on the wall in the hallway? Even though no less than five million germy hands had touched the dispenser? She imagined the tiny bugs suspended in the air, riding on invisible air conditioning currents and floating in through her nostrils. Did they collect on her nose hairs? If she blew her nose a hundred times a day could she blow them all out before they wormed their way into her interior?
She hadn’t been in the hospital very many times—once for each birth, and once for a broken ankle. The one thing she remembered from previous experience was still true… No one would let her sleep. The nurses made a habit of coming into her room multiple times during the middle of the night, flipping on the lights and taking her vitals. What are vitals anyway? It must have something to do with vitality, because after a night of having her vitals taken, she never had any vitality left. And why did the guy with the little bucket of vials and needles feel the best time to draw blood from her arm was at three a.m.?
Steven had slept in her room on a hard little couch that made into a hard little bed—little being the operative word. His feet were hanging off the end, and his arms were dragging on the floor—the germy floor. She’d tried to make him go home to sleep, but he silenced her with his piercing blue eyes beneath a no-nonsense scowl. He was looking for a fight, and she didn’t have the strength to engage. But by morning, he was firmly on her side when she begged to go home. Though it hardly seemed possible, he looked more exhausted than she did.
Being a man who was used to getting his way, he set about to make things happen. Money was never an issue, except for its utility to get what he wanted. When the doctor came by to talk about Anne’s treatment plan, Steven had already arranged for Spencer’s mother to be her full-time nurse at the apartment. Although the doctor looked as if she might object, she quickly recognized Steven was unstoppable when he was on a mission.
“Okay, so the nurse? What did you say her name was?”
“Connie Marshall.”
“She’ll need to administer according to this IV prescription. And she’ll need to keep exact records and report vitals. I’m going to need lab work at regular intervals. We’ll have to make adjustments each day based on her lab results. We can’t know yet whether she’ll need TPN in the future.”
He was nodding his head. “Yes, yes. I understand. We’ll do everything by the book and communicate with your office.”
“And if her vitals start dropping, you’ll have to come back to the hospital.”
“Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “Now if you’ll please sign the release form.”
He checked a text message that buzzed on his cell phone and his lips formed an expletive.
“What’s wrong?” Anne asked.
“It’s nothing. Just something else I need to take care of.”
“Everything’s backing up at work, and I’m no help at all. Could you let me work a little bit from home? I’d feel so much better. Like I’m contributing something. Right now I feel like a leech.”
