The Alphabet of Love Ch. 05

Chapter Five

Even the blast of the shower couldn't wake me up the next morning. I'd spent two hours after I got home from dinner texting Isabel. I kept telling her it would just be easier if she'd move to Seattle so we could get a place together.

At the coffee shop drive-thru I ordered the biggest drink with the most shots of espresso. I hoped it would be enough. Despite my bleariness, I took the time to put on some lipstick and tame down my hair before I got to the nurse's station on the ortho floor. Nurse Fran wasn't in attendance today, so no one would tease me about Trevor.

"Dr. Banks and Dr. Godfrey are in with Mr. Brooks right now," the charge nurse told me as soon as I'd accessed the electronic chart of my patient.

"Thank you," I told him. I did a quick review of Mr. Brooks' details, his current med list and vitals. Grabbing my iPad, I walked down to his room and knocked lightly on the door.

"That must be Doc Westland," I heard Mr. Brooks say.

Trevor came to the door and gave me a big smile. "Good morning, Doctor," he said, admitting me.

"Thanks," I tried not to smile too widely as I entered, and saw Dr. Godfrey looking at me. He reminded me of a graying Snidely Whiplash, tall and thin, with a smarmy little mustache. But I'd heard good things about him.

"Morning, Shiloh," he said, offering me his hand. "Trevor and I are discussing surgery with Mr. Brooks. The pain seems to have subsided significantly. We're doing another scan to see how it looks in there, and we'll make a decision about surgery after that."

"I don't want to do it unless I have to," Mr. Brooks spoke up. "I just want to go home."

I moved toward him and stroked his arm. "I understand. But we want to be sure you'll heal properly and have use of that knee. If you're able to get out and exercise more, it'll be great for your overall health."

"Yeah, that's what my wife says," he grumbled.

"Where is Colette?" I asked him.

"She'll be here soon."

"Shiloh," Dr. Godfrey addressed me by my first name again, "do you think we'd be able to use an NSAID at all?"

I frowned. NSAIDs, or non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs, were discouraged in patients with kidney failure, as they have high probability of exacerbating poor renal function. "I'd like to avoid them altogether if possible," I answered.

"The reason I ask is there is some inflammation we'd like to reduce before we go in a second time. Short term, low dose?"

I bit my lower lip. I was of the mind that no kidney patient should ever take NSAIDs period. But I'd been called an extremist.

"I'm not thrilled about it," I told him with a sigh, "but if it means he'll have more chance of a successful outcome, then I'll concur. Low dose. Say, four hundred milligrams of ibuprofen every eight hours? Stopped after surgery."

Dr. Godfrey tapped on his iPad, nodding. "That should sufficiently resolve the issue. We'll monitor renal function accordingly. Dr. Banks?" he looked at Trevor.

Trevor nodded. "I agree. I'd like to see the scans after a dose or two of the NSAID. We'll be able to tell more accurately what we need to do."

"That means," Dr. Godfrey addressed Mr. Brooks, "that we're probably looking at tomorrow for surgery, if we decide to do it."

"Aw, shit."

"I'm willing to discharge you and have you come back tomorrow, if you'd prefer that," Dr. Godfrey told him.

I shook my head. "If he's taking the ibuprofen I'd like his labs to be monitored. Sorry, Joe," I gave my patient an apologetic smile.

He sat back in bed. "Give me the remote, I guess. Better be some good shit on TV here. The food sucks, I know that."

"The renal diet isn't the best," I agreed.

Dr. Godfrey challenged me. "Do you think that little ibuprofen would make such a difference in his function?"

"I just don't know," I shook my head. "He hasn't taken any for -- Jesus, probably years now."

"Let's compromise," Dr. Godfrey said. "We'll check labs after the first dose and go from there. I hate to make him stay when he's really not feeling bad. And as someone with immune impairment already, he's better off at home."

I couldn't argue with that. "All right, I'll go along with you there. Just keep me in the loop. I'll help get him discharged as long as things look good."

"Dr. Banks will take it from here," Dr. Godfrey said, closing the cover on his iPad. "Order the ibuprofen and the lab draws," he told Trevor.

"Will do," Trevor nodded.

"Nice seeing you, Shiloh," Dr. Godfrey nodded to me. He shook hands with our patient and wished him well, then he was gone.

Trevor and I talked a bit more with Mr. Brooks, then we left his room together.

"I didn't know you and Godfrey were on a first-name basis," Trevor remarked.

"We're not. Or I didn't think so. This is the first time I've ever really talked with him."

He smiled. "That's funny. What do you think? Are we doing the right thing?"

"Probably. You'd hate to go back in there and find out the knee isn't really damaged. I wonder why he had so much pain at first, though."

"Hard to say. He seems able to move it, though, without much more than discomfort. I'm anxious to see the scans."

We arrived at the nurse's station, where Trevor worked on the orders and I wrote up my report into Mr. Brooks' chart.

"Seeing patients at your clinic today?" Trevor asked me eventually.

I nodded. "Yes. What about you?"

"I have more rounds up here, then meeting up with some other residents to go over pending cases."

I glanced at the time on my phone. "I guess I'd better scoot. Hope you have a good day."

"I'll walk you to the elevator," he said, getting up from his chair.

So he did, and we stood there waiting for a moment. "Is it all right if I call you sometime?" he asked me.

"Of course," I smiled. "I'm not against us being friends. But I'm not sure I feel right about anything more than that."

He nodded. "I understand. I really enjoy your company."

"Once you know what you want, what you're going to do, we can go from there." I was surprising myself with my directness. He had a right to know where I stood, what I would and wouldn't do.

"That's fair. Honestly, I don't know. I'm in a quandary, but having someone to talk to helps a lot."

We shook hands like professionals, and I stepped into the elevator when it came. He waved at me, smiling that sweet smile, as the doors closed.

Over the next week, my communication with Trevor consisted of reports and consultations over Mr. Brooks. The consensus was to hold off on a second surgery now, as his tests showed no damage to the work that had been done. Once he was discharged, it seemed Trevor fell off the earth. I knew he was working seventy-plus hours a week, but I also suspected his wife had returned and he was spending time with her.

No point in being resentful, I told myself. I knew he was married. I'd be interested in him, yes, but only once he knew what he wanted. He either wanted to try to save his marriage, or he didn't.

When the weekend came, I drove over to the coast and spent two nights in a luxury oceanfront lodge. After years of self-denial, sacrifice, and student poverty, I'd learned how to reward myself. I wasn't frivolous with money, but I knew when I needed to get out of town and gain perspective. I walked on the beach, read a trashy novel, ate good seafood, drank wine, and slept with the windows open, the salty air lulling me into peaceful rest.

I might never see Trevor again, I thought, as I packed up my things to drive back to the city. After all, Mr. Brooks was home and doing well. He was still my patient but not Trevor's. The followup appointments had been made with a different resident, I'd noticed in his chart. UW was a huge hospital, and I didn't have cause to go there often, and when I did it was only for a handful of patients. The chances of Trevor and me having a mutual patient again were slim.

I tried putting him out of my mind. He had personal problems; didn't we all? I wasn't his mother or his shrink. Sure I was attracted to him, and he seemed to be attracted to me. But that big obstacle stood between us -- his marriage -- and he might simply not have the desire or energy right now to do anything to change that situation. I certainly couldn't 'wait' for him, based on having known him for such a short time, no matter how much I liked him. Not that I had any other prospects.

I'd done the online dating thing; made a profile and got all sorts of 'matches' who turned my stomach. Whatever algorithms that website used were faulty if not deliberately skewed. I'd dated one of the guys from it, and he turned out to be a medical school dropout still looking for some connection to the field, to justify himself. A medical hanger-on, so to speak. I suspected he hoped to marry a desperately lonely lady doctor and be her kept man. It wasn't going to be me.

So my life consisted of work, my standoffish cat, and, during football season, keeping up with the Seahawks and going to the home games. I had no shortage of people wanting to go with me, to use my other season ticket. I'd taken a few people from the clinic where I worked. I even took my Dad for his birthday. More often than not, I went on my own so I could soak up the atmosphere and really get into the game. I liked the idea of going with Trevor, a football insider, someone who'd lived and worked with a football team. But that might never happen.

I'd just got in my car to drive back to Seattle and turned on the news when I heard that Kyle Banks had announced his intention to run for President. He was described as a 'maverick one-term Governor from Idaho, a former magistrate judge and trial attorney of some local renown,' who had run one of the most unconventional gubernatorial campaigns in recent memory. He was lauded as a success in his term as Governor, managing to finagle some important legislation through Idaho's notoriously conservative lawmakers.

If was anything like his son, I thought, he could charm the pants off anyone.

Then I got a shock that nearly made me drive off the road -- a live statement from his campaign manager, Amanda Robinson-Banks. I couldn't even comprehend what she said -- some kind of political bullshit -- I focused on the sound of her voice. She sounded uber-professional, a bit condescending, and very, very shrewd. Trevor's wife. Wow.

What did this mean, then? I wondered. She'd be on the road now until the election. Trevor couldn't very well divorce her while she was working for his Dad, could he? How awkward. He'd be free, though, to pursue interests with other women. The question was, did I want to be one of those women?

I made it home early enough to make my own dinner for once. I loved cooking and often wished I had an excuse to cook for someone other than just myself. I gave a few morsels of chicken to Faldo, the shameless beggar. He chewed with his mouth open, looking up at me, as if to say, "Yeah, bitch. I've got you feeding me by hand."

Little asshole.

It wasn't until I heard my phone's ringtone, a sappy song by Beyonce, that I realized I'd left it in my purse in the bedroom. It had quit by the time I got to it. A missed call from Trevor. Surprised and pleased, I called him right back.

"Sorry," I apologized when he answered, "I was in the kitchen."

"It's cool," he said. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I was gone for the weekend, just got home. How've you been?"

"Okay. Did you hear about my Dad?"

"I did. I, um, heard your wife, too."

He was silent for a moment. "Yeah, she's going to be managing the campaign. She's so excited about it."

"Well, she must be good at it," I said diplomatically.

"Look, I . . . we have to talk about what we're going to do. I mean her and me. We've talked about divorce, I finally got her to own up that things aren't good. But right now -- with her working for my Dad -- I don't know what to do."

"I figured that would be a complication," I told him.

"I'm not saying my Dad wouldn't like it. He wouldn't interfere. It's just, with me working so much and her doing this, I honestly don't know how we'd have time for a divorce. That sounds stupid, doesn't it?"

I sat on the edge of my bed. "Well, you do what you have to do, or you don't."

He said nothing for a moment. "I'm not giving up on you," he said. "I hope you'll give me a chance to sort this out. I don't expect you to keep yourself on hold or anything, but just maybe be open?"

"Open-minded? I'm fine with that. I'm just not sure what you want from me."

"I'd like to spend more time with you."

I took a breath. "How will we do that, with your schedule?"

"I'll figure something out. Amanda's going to be moving to Boise, pretty much, as soon as she can. At least my off time will be my own."

As much as I wanted to see him, I still didn't like how it felt. But I decided to see what happened. "I'll let you work something out, then," I said.

"I'm generally off around seven, eight, depending on the caseload," he said. "I start at six every day but Saturday and Sunday. I do rounds about eight, work until noon or one, just depending on patients, call, and all that."

"I could make you dinner some night," I offered. "I'm a pretty good cook."

"Oh, I'd love that. And you're sort of on my way home."

"Let's plan on that. Maybe this Wednesday? I'm out at four on Wednesdays."

"Great!" he exclaimed. "I'll let you know how my day is going so we can pin down a time."

"Any allergies or anything?"

"No. I like everything."

I laughed. "All right, then, I'll surprise you."

"I can hardly wait." He sounded like he meant it.

I refused to let myself get too anxious about the upcoming dinner. Part of me wanted to jump in with both feet, work a big seduction on him, give him the best sex of his life. But the part that had been hurt over and over again held me back. If Trevor wanted sex, he'd have to earn it with sincerity, honesty, and some kind of commitment. I wasn't sure exactly what.

My apartment looked presentable by Wednesday evening. He'd told me he was leaving work at six -- he'd got out a bit early due to a light caseload. I'd seen him eat and knew he really enjoyed food, so I decided to serve him a filet mignon. It wouldn't be my first time creating this meal; I felt comfortable and adept. I got a nice wine and set the table with my best plates and crystal. Faldo trolled the kitchen behind me, hoping I'd drop something, and curious as to what I was up to. He must have sensed my mood.

I gave myself time to change into a sexy dress, earrings, and a little squirt of perfume. My breasts were perky and mostly exposed. Was that a good idea? Would it look like I was offering myself up? The doorbell rang -- too late to reconsider.

He stood in my doorway, that easy smile on his face and a bouquet of flowers in his hand. He gave me a quick kiss, looked me over. "You're beautiful."

I took the flowers and led him into the kitchen, where I got down a vase for them.

"Cute place," he glanced around.

"Small," I said, running water into the vase, "but it's cheap and all I need."

"Oh hey there," he said, looking down. Faldo rubbed himself against Trevor's legs and gazed adoringly at him. He scratched the cat's head and I actually heard the traitorous bastard start purring.

"That's Faldo," I said, marching out of the kitchen to put the flowers on the table.

"Nice kitty," Trevor said, following me, Faldo on his heels.

I let him open the wine.

"Any exciting news from the hospital?" I asked, picking up my glass.

"Not really," he touched his glass to mine. "To us," he said.

We sipped.

"You have any family here in town?" he asked, eyeing a few personal photos I'd grouped on a shelf of my bookcase. Me and Isabel, some with Tila, and some other Wenatchee friends.

"No, those mostly aren't family. I'm not real close to them."

"Why not?" he turned to me.

I shrugged. "Long story. What about you?"

"Sort of. I get along with everyone but I don't know that I'd say we're particularly close. My Dad and I are getting better than we used to be, and I like his wife. She's really nice to me, always has been."

"Your wife's mother?"

He winced a little. "Yeah. But I knew her before I met Amanda. Amanda was back east for a long time after college, working at the Capitol. My Dad and Anita hooked up before she came out for their wedding."

I moved into the kitchen to bring our salads, he waited for me at the table. "What about your mom?" I asked him. I recalled him using the term 'vapid' to describe her.

"Mom is -- well, the first thing you notice about her is her looks. She's drop dead gorgeous. After that, well . . . I mean, she was a good Mom, but she cheated on my Dad and she, I don't know, doesn't seem like the same person I knew when I was growing up."

"That's too bad," I said, sitting across from him.

"This looks great," he said, grinding fresh pepper onto his salad.

"What's your Dad like?" I asked. "He must be really exceptional in some way if he's going to run for President."

He laughed. "'Exceptional,' that's a good word for him. Yeah, he's pretty brilliant. Anita says he's conceited and, yeah, he is. But he's a nice guy, too. He's not conceited in an obnoxious way. He just, he believes he's going to be good at everything and he is."

"He believes in himself," I nodded. "I suppose you have to if you want to be the leader of the free world."

"Yeah," he moved the salad around with his fork, "he had a lot of expectations for me and I failed, pretty much. I did it on purpose. He thought I should go right to college, to graduate school. Like I told you before, I was basically a ski bum even though I had a couple of jobs."

"Not everyone knows what they want right out of high school," I nodded, although I'd been more of what he'd described his Dad wanted. I had a clear vision of what I wanted to be from the time I was about fourteen.

"He's proud of me now that I have a goal in mind. I think he would have liked for me to go into law, but that shit's boring."

I laughed. "And your sister's an actress."

"Yeah, that," he rolled his eyes. "Talk about family drama. They all got pissed at Anita because she said Lindie should go follow her dreams while she was young, and my Mom and Dad both wanted her to stay in college. Rowena, she's the only one who quietly was the big success, academically."

"Rowena?" that was a name I hadn't heard.

"My other sister. Fucking mathematical wizard. Heard of Ladd Limited, the big corporation?"

I nodded. Who hadn't? Ladd Limited had been at the forefront of some of the world's most controversial gas and oil exploration, as well as reforestation and rebuilding indigenous cultures around the world.

"She's the head of their Asian finance division."

I whistled. She probably made more money than I did.

"So," he crunched his last crouton, "that's my illustrious family."

Uh oh. It was time for me to come clean. So, after I brought out the filet mignon and the accompanying sides of sautéed mushrooms and pickled vegetables, I gave him the bare bones about my heritage. I also told him a little more about my Aunt Rhonda and her influence on my life.

It didn't feel weird talking to him; ordinarily when I had to tell anyone about my family (which I avoided to the best of my ability), I got a sick sense of dread. Oh sure, they were still as bad now. It's just that I didn't sense any judgment from Trevor, no second-guessing why I'd distanced myself from them. He accepted what I said at face value.

"What a great meal," he smiled up at me as I cleared our plates. "Thank you for cooking for me."

"Oh, I enjoy it. It's fun to cook for someone other than just me."

"Where's your cat?" he asked me.

I glanced around but didn't see Faldo. "He's around somewhere, why?"

"I saved him a bite of the filet. Here, kitty!"