The Doctor's Do-Over Page 5

  Quinn giggled. “I don’t play the violin, I play the piano.”

  “You don’t say?” Another smile. “You any good?”

  Not nearly as good as you are, Mel thought ruefully as her daughter’s shoulders bumped. “Not really. But I’ve only been taking lessons for a year.”

  “Yeah. I took ’em for ten. Loved every minute of it.”

  “Really?”

  “No,” he said, and Quinn laughed again, and Ryder’s smile melted Mel’s heart, dammit to hell. Especially when he turned it on her and all—well, most—of her man-hating crazies scurried away, whimpering. “I assume her tetanus is up to date?”

  “Not sure. She might be due for a booster?”

  “We can take care of that, too. Okay, honey, I want you to hold your hand over the sink, I’m going to pour a bunch of this antiseptic over the wound to clean it. It’s probably going to sting, but it won’t last long. You ready?”

  Quinn sucked in a deep breath, then nodded and gingerly stuck out her hand, wincing as Ryder cleaned it. “Almost done, you’re doing great...there. Now I can see what’s going on.”

  As he carefully inspected the gash, Quinn actually leaned closer to get a better look. As opposed to Mel, who was perfectly happy to let someone else tend to this side of things, thank you. Especially if that person was the same one who’d always been the one to patch up her various scrapes and cuts and owies when they were kids. That inline skating thing? Hadn’t exactly been a natural talent—

  “I’m gonna need stitches, huh?” Quinn asked, sounding more curious than worried.

  “Oh, I’d say at least a hundred,” Ryder said, deadpan, and Quinn giggled, and Ryder lifted his eyes—all sweetly crinkled at the corners, of course—to the little girl, and Mel saw in those eyes...too much. That while she didn’t doubt that Ryder was every bit as kind and funny with all his younger patients, it was patently obvious Quinn had already grabbed his heart.

  And, judging from the grin on her daughter’s face, the feeling was mutual.

  Ah, doom. You again, is it?

  Then Ryder turned his gaze to Mel, all business, except not, and now that the urge to barf had passed she noticed a dullness in those dark eyes she hadn’t noticed before, and it occurred to her how one-sided their catch-me-up conversation had been. That she had no idea what was, or had been, going on in his life. Was he married? Divorced? No ring, but that didn’t mean anything—

  “Actually,” he said, “if the cut hadn’t been where she’s likely to pull it apart in normal use, I’d say we’d be good with a butterfly bandage. But to be on the safe side I think a couple of stitches are in order. Piece of cake,” he said with a wink for Quinn, and Mel thought, If only, buddy boy.

  If only.

  * * *

  If only, Ryder thought, removing his gloves a few minutes later after stitching up his niece’s wound, one could stitch back together the ragged edges of one’s life, and heart, so easily. If all it took to repair the damage was training and skill and patience. A strong stomach wouldn’t hurt, either.

  The booster shot administered and the wound dressed, Quinn skipped off to watch the monster, old-school TV in the gathering room—after giving Ryder a hug that scraped his still-tender heart. His eyes fixed on the kitchen doorway, he asked, “Is she always that affectionate?”

  “It depends.” She paused. “On whether she feels she can trust someone or not. Guess you passed.”

  He lowered his gaze to hers, just long enough to make her blush, then walked over to the offending nail. “Then I’m honored. She’s a fun kid.” He opened the door, the chilly damp barely registering in the drafty old house. Now why the heck would somebody hammer through the panel from the outside? “You got something I can pound this sucker out with?”

  “Probably.” Watching Mel as she began yanking open, then ramming shut, assorted swollen drawers, guilt shuddered through Ryder that he was even noticing how the soft jersey of her hoodie, the even softer fabric of her worn jeans, hugged curves that had very nicely matured—

  “Sorry about the house,” she said, still rummaging.

  “Why? Since I assume—” he scanned the mountains of detritus “—you didn’t make the mess.”

  “True. Still. Oh, looky...” Amidst much clattering, she hauled a decrepit-looking hammer from one of the drawers, her brows drawn as she inspected it. “Although Noah probably used this to build the ark.”

  Ryder extended his hand. “If it worked for Noah, I’m good.” Two whacks and the nasty thing was history, safely disposed of in the trash where it no longer posed a danger. “Next question—why isn’t the heat on?”

  “The thermostat’s not working—”

  “Where is it?”

  “In the dining room, but—”

  “Be right back.”

  A few minutes later he returned triumphant, loving Mel’s dumbfounded expression when the radiators started to clank. “How’d you do that?”’

  “Thermostat’s fine,” he said, opening cupboard doors until he found a half dozen flowery, albeit dusty, tin containers which still held an assortment of teas. “Boiler pilot light had gone out. All fixed now.” He hadn’t been in the house much when they were kids, and then only after Amelia had deemed her granddaughters old enough to be left on their own, but he remembered these. And, in the first one he opened, he hit pay dirt—a stash of Earl Grey. He dug out two bags and held them up. “Kettle?”

  Mel frowned. “And I’m guessing those would be Mrs. Noah’s tea bags.”

  “Eh, the boiling water will kill whatever needs killing.” He waggled them, and Mel sighed. But she dragged the kettle off the stove, rinsed it out five times, then filled it and set it on the burner. “You actually went down into the basement?”

  “I did. It’s even scarier than it was when we were kids.”

  Mel sighed, then angled her head at him. “Why are you still here?”

  Because the thought of going back to that empty house makes me crazy. Crazier.

  “Because I’m cold as hell. And you’d hardly begrudge the man who just saved your daughter’s life a cup of tea, would you?”

  “Hey,” April said from the doorway, wrapping a scarf around her neck. “Since the heat’s on—” Mel pointed to Ryder, who waved “—the kid and I are gonna make an ice cream run. Any requests?”

  “Chocolate chip,” Ryder said smoothly, earning him a “Got it,” from April and a glare from Mel.

  “Thought you were freezing?” she said after they heard the front door close.

  “I won’t be by the time they get back. Especially since—” he leaned back in the chair, his arms folded high on his chest “—the heat’s back on. You might want to close off the radiators in the unused rooms, though. To save fuel.”

  “Gah. Were you always this much of a pain in the butt?”

  “No more than you were.”

  “Touché.””

  Okay, so it felt good, sitting here, giving her grief, letting her give him grief right back. Simply enjoying the company, he mused as he surveyed the woebegone—to the point of creepy—room. “Place needs a lot of work, doesn’t it?”

  “That would be our take on it, yep,” Mel muttered, apparently fascinated with the flames licking at the kettle’s bottom.

  “Might be hard to find many buyers interested in it in this condition.”

  “Only need one,” she said. Still watching that kettle. “And what’s it to you?”

  “Nothing. Nothing at all. Just making conversation.”

  Which sputtered and gasped for several seconds until she said, “Thank you.” Her eyes touched his before veering back to the kettle. “For saving Quinn’s life and all.”

  “Oh, that. Anytime. Although I do want to see her in a day or so, make sure everything’s healing up okay.�
�

  “We can do that.” The kettle whistled; seconds later she handed him a mug of steaming water. “Not sure there’s any sugar—”

  “This is fine,” he said, dunking his tea bag. “For God’s sake, Mel...sit. Talk.”

  She stood, her arms crossed, her mouth set. “About what?”

  “The Orioles’ chances at taking the Series this year, I don’t know. No, wait, I’ve got an idea—how about you tell me all about Quinn?”

  He saw her eyes fill. “Ryder—”

  “Why did you decide to keep her?” he asked as gently as he knew how. “We get our share of teen moms at the clinic, I know how hard it is—”

  “Do you?”

  “Enough,” he said, refusing to cow. “So, why?” He paused. “Especially considering the circumstances.”

  That got a tight little smile. “Hardest decision I ever had to make. Or probably ever will. But in the end I guess I just wanted her to know at least one of us thought she was worth keeping. Which I suppose sounds silly and romantic and totally impractical, and to be honest I don’t know how I would have managed without my mother to help out, but there it is. She’s mine and I’m hers and that’s that.”

  Ryder smiled. “She’s nothing like Jeremy, is she?”

  After a long moment, she shook her head. “She’s an awful lot like her mother, though.”

  “As in, silly and romantic and totally impractical?”

  “Or we could go with headstrong, ruthlessly honest and never knows when to shut up.” At Ryder’s laugh, Mel seemed to weigh her options for a moment before slowly lowering herself into the chair across from him, her eyes alight. “She is so smart, Ryder. Taught herself to read at four, she goes through library books like candy. I homeschool her, so she can go at her own pace. She’s reading at high school level, just finished eighth grade math. And she adores science—far more than I ever did, that’s for sure.”

  “Wow.”

  “You said it. Except I don’t know how much longer I can keep up with her. And now that she’s so far ahead of other kids her age, putting her in public school seems pointless.”

  “What about a private school with a program that would challenge her?” When she got up to face the sink and the blackness outside, he took a scalding swallow of the tea, then carefully set down the mug. “There are scholarships—”

  “I know. And I actually checked out a couple of schools in Baltimore, but...”

  “But, what?”

  She blew a short laugh through her nose, then turned back to him. “Despite our friendship, Ry, I was always extremely aware growing up that you were breaking ‘the rules.’ That I was the hired help’s kid. And I pretty quickly figured out that people...well, we pigeonhole each other, don’t we?”

  “I don’t,” Ryder said evenly, his fingers strangling the mug’s handle.

  “Of course you do,” she said on a sigh. “It’s what human beings do. Even when we were kids, you knew you were breaking the rules, too, and don’t tell me you didn’t.” When he glowered at the mug, she let out another little laugh. “It wasn’t possible to be in the position I was in at that house and not feel ‘less than.’ A point more than driven home to me at the end. And I don’t want Quinn to ever feel like that, as though someone was doing her a favor by ‘letting’ her go to a school with the rich kids.”

  His forehead pinched, Ryder lifted his eyes to hers. “It’s not the same thing. True, my mother can be a snob, but—”

  “You don’t think I didn’t hear your private school buddies give you grief about me? That I didn’t know the real reason behind why you pushed me away when they came over? As long as our friendship stayed in the closet we were fine—”

  “For heaven’s sake—you were five years younger than I was! No bunch of twelve-year-old boys on earth is going to be okay with a seven-year-old hanging around with them!”

  “And that’s all it was?”

  “Yes! Mel...where is this coming from?”

  She bunched her mouth for a moment, then said, “One of your friends, I don’t remember his name, brought his little sister with him a couple of times. I caught a glimpse of her from the hall when they arrived, she looked to be about my age—”

  “That would’ve been Robbie Banes’s sister. Sylvia or Sarah or something.”

  Mel nodded. “She saw me, too, even asked her mother if she could play with ‘the little girl.’ Your mother glanced in my direction, then mumbled something that sounded like ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea,’ before steering them away.”

  “Oh, God...” Ryder scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Again, no idea. Although, if I’m remembering correctly we all would have been thrilled if the kid had been able to play with you. Man, what a little pill.” He lifted the mug toward her. “Count yourself lucky you were spared.”

  “That’s not the issue,” she said, and he sighed.

  “I know it’s not. And maybe, if I’m being totally honest, there’s more truth to what you were picking up on than I want to admit. Not that I didn’t think my mother was full of it, but I guess I did try as much as possible to avoid rubbing her face in our friendship.”

  Her lips twitched in an approximation of a smile. “Thank you. For not giving me some BS.”

  “I would never do that. Not consciously, in any case. But believe me, our friendship was as real as it gets. Real enough to piss my mother off,” he said, feeling one side of his mouth hitch.

  “Which would prove my point, yes?”

  “That my mother’s a throwback to another era? Not going to deny it. That she speaks for her entire socio-economic class? I sure as hell hope not. And you are not going to like this, but it’s not right to put your issues on Quinn.”

  “I’m her mother, I’ll pile on whatever issues I damn well like. At least until she tells me to butt out, she can make her own decisions. Which I realize could be next week, at the rate she’s going. Not a bridge I’m anxious to cross, but whatever. And she has friends, before you ask. I’m not raising her in a vacuum. We’re part of a homeschooling support group, in fact. Just regular folks, happily owning our little middle-class lives—”

  “And what if Quinn goes on to an Ivy League school? She’s not going to live in that middle-class bubble forever.”

  “True. But by then she’ll be old enough to handle it.”

  “To not be contaminated, you mean.”

  “Yes, I suppose.” She shrugged. “It’s a lot easier to pretend class differences don’t exist when you’re at the top of the food chain.”

  “Mel, this isn’t making any sense. If for no other reason than your grandparents...this house...”

  “Belonged to my grandfather’s family. I didn’t know this until a few years ago, but it seems Nana had been a store clerk or something when they married, well after his parents’ deaths. But unfortunately, at least in her generation—and in this town—marriage wasn’t some alchemic process by which a person’s roots could be magically altered. An Irish peasant will always be an Irish peasant. So when my mother married your parents’ groundskeeper...”

  “Your grandmother had a cow.”

  “Try a whole herd. As though she saw my mother’s decision as setting her back several generations, that her attempts to shake off her background had been for naught. That Mom and Dad’s marriage was a happy one meant nothing.” She blew out a sigh. “I just wonder,” she said, more to herself than to him, “why people take everything so personally? Why we can’t simply be happy for our kids without worrying about how their actions reflect on us?”

  And Ryder found himself wishing he could somehow relieve her of at least some of the baggage crushing what had once been the brightest spirit he’d ever known, even if anger, crouched in the shadows of his mind, flashed razor-edged teeth at her stubbornness, her insistence about things he knew
weren’t entirely true. That they’d been so close in many ways, and yet seen things through entirely different lenses...not a damn thing he could do about that.

  Or was there?

  He got up, repacked his bag, slipped his coat back on.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “For now.”

  “No ice cream?”

  “Think I’ll take a rain check.”

  She followed him through the cluttered gathering room, like a thrift store run amok, to the front door. Once there, Ryder suggested they exchange cell phone numbers, after which Mel asked, “How much do I owe you? For the house call?”

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “I don’t want—”

  “Fine. Then...dinner. How’s that?”

  “And I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  “This isn’t about Quinn.”

  Her chin came up. “Damn straight it isn’t,” she said, and he thought, There’s my girl.

  “Mel...I’m not about to out Quinn. Granted, I hate this whole secrecy thing, and I know it’s going to come back and bite everyone in the butt, but I also realize how delicate the situation is. For Quinn especially. So I promise you, she will not hear the truth from me. But you might want to hold on to that sigh of relief for a second, because I’m not done.”

  At her wide eyes, Ryder leaned one wrist against the door jamb, leaning close enough to see Mel’s pupils dilate. “But you and I were friends, and you are back, and it’s high time we opened those closet doors, don’t you think? So. Dinner,” Ryder repeated. “Just you and me. In the most public venue I can think of.”

  “And if I say no?”

  “I’m not above kidnapping you.”

  Her mouth twitched. “Your mother would have kittens.”

  “Here’s hoping,” he said, and she actually laughed before slowly shaking her head.

  “I don’t know, Ry. Could I at least think about it?”

  “Of course.”

  And that should have been his cue to haul his sorry ass through the door and out to his car. If he’d been inclined, that is, to listen to his head and not whatever made him instead lift one hand to brush his thumb across her rapidly cooling cheek, a move that sent his stomach into a free fall, that he hadn’t touched anyone like that since Deanna. Hadn’t wanted to. And his wanting to now confused the hell out of him.