“Who?”
“Lilly’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Devereaux.”
“Rose won them over, not me.”
“You’re sure about that? Because she gave you all the credit.”
I laugh. “Does that sound right to you?”
He frowns. “No.”
“Ask Nurse Sally who deserves the credit.”
“No need,” he says. “I believe you.”
I point to the file in my lap. “This one, Addie Gray.”
“What about her?”
“Former burn patient, years of reconstructive facial surgery. She’s spent most of her life in hospitals.”
“So?”
“Her mother’s done the rounds. She’ll expect detailed consultations.”
“We’ve been doing this for your patients for years. But we’re done covering for you. From now on you’re going to consult, review, recommend, explain, and be actively involved with the parents both pre- and post-op.”
“For these types of patients,” I say.
“For all types. Get used to it.”
“I only did well with Lilly’s parents because of Rose.”
“You’ve got it bad for her,” he says.
“Doesn’t matter. She’s not interested in a relationship.”
“You’ve already learned that?” He pauses. “I’m thinking it’s a bad idea. I’ll get Melba to hold your hand when meeting the parents.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “Except that…”
“Except what?”
“I’m already starting to forget how to perform those brain stem things you were talking about. It would be a shame if I lost my first patient because I was afraid of upsetting Addie’s mom.”
He frowns. “I’ll assign Rose this time and we’ll take it case by case after that.”
“Thanks Bruce. You won’t be sorry.”
“I better not be.”
40
Five minutes later I’m standing in my office, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a view few would pay to see, unless they enjoy hospital rooftops and parking garages. Everything is as gray and dingy as my life.
Rose enters the room with a shapely young woman of twenty, who’s wearing an ink-colored dress and matching jacket. She’s that beautiful shade of half-Latin, half-Anglo, with long brown hair and perfectly-manicured fingernails. She has the look of a college graduate, dressed up for a job interview, and seems familiar, like a young Jennifer Lopez, without the big caboose. Though not quite in Rose’s league, this is a gorgeous woman. If Rose were seeking a girlfriend to counterpoint her creamy white skin and raven black hair, this young lady would fill the bill.
“Dr. Gideon Box, this is Miranda Rodriguez.”
“This is awkward,” Miranda says.
“Why?”
“You don’t recognize me.”
I stare at her. I don’t come into contact with that many beautiful women, and when I do, I see them at their stylistic worst, for good reason. Their children are near death. Their features wracked by loss of sleep, worry, and fear. Understandably, hair and makeup is the last thing on their minds. Rose has the most appealing face and body I’ve ever seen. But Miranda is definitely top five.
“I’d remember you,” I say.
“Perhaps I’m mistaken,” Miranda says.
And there it was.
She looks differently now, but her voice and manner of speaking is the same.
I not only know this young lady, I fucked her two years ago.
“Please, sit down,” I say, studying her body, trying to remember what she looked like naked.
Miranda closes her eyes tightly, as if by not seeing me, I won’t see her.
Rose’s jade-green eyes are dancing. She seems amused.
I try to remember that night, two years ago. I’d been stood up by my date, and was so upset I opened a bottle of scotch and called an escort service. I said, “Charge whatever you must, but send the most beautiful woman you’ve got.” An hour later, Miranda showed up at my place.
Only she was going by the name Bailey at the time.
I’d been drinking, so the details were fuzzy the next morning, but I recalled her being wonderful in the sack and was convinced she’d be delighted to see me again. I wanted to enjoy the experience completely sober the next night, but when I called the agency they said Bailey had gone independent. I asked for her contact information, but was told, “We don’t do referrals. It’s a sure way to put ourselves out of business.”
I tried a couple of their other girls, but Bailey-Miranda-ruined me.
“Is this a bad time?” Rose says. “Because you seem distracted.”
“Not at all,” I say, unable to pull my eyes away from Miranda.
Rose says, “You can’t tell by looking at her, but Miranda’s pregnant.”
I frown. “Oh.”
“Something wrong?”
“No, of course not. It’s just-”
“Yes?” Miranda says.
“Should I congratulate you, or-”
“You can congratulate me,” Rose says.
Noting my puzzled look, she adds, “Miranda will be the birth mother of my child. As such, she’s staying with me and will continue to do so until after the child is born and becomes healthy.”
“And you’re telling me this because?”
“Miranda’s baby will be born with serious congenital heart defects.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s no way to know that at this stage.”
“Nevertheless, it’s why I agreed to work with you. You’re going to help me save my child’s life.”
“You mean Miranda’s child.”
I look at Miranda. “You sold your baby?”
She lowers her eyes.
Rose says, “Don’t go down that road, Gideon.”
Suddenly I’ve become Gideon. But not in a good way.
“There’s no reason to believe Miranda’s baby will have heart issues,” I say.
“Did you hear me? I’ve known this half my life. It’s why I studied all these years.”
“That’s crazy. You can’t predict an unborn child’s medical condition years before it’s born. How would you even know who the father might be?”
“I knew who the father needed to be,” Rose says. “But don’t try to understand. It’s completely beyond your capacity. And anyway, you won’t remember this visit any more than you remembered me serving you birch bark tea all night in your home.”
“What? You don’t even know where I live!”
She shakes her head. “What’s important is the seed has been planted. You will accept Miranda’s surgery, and it will be the most important surgery ever performed.”
“That’s particularly dramatic,” I say.
“Just remember Miranda Rodriguez,” she says. “Miranda Rodriguez. And Dr. Box?”
“Yeah?”
“When you operate on my child, there will be no cursing.”
“Because?”
“You don’t want to piss off this baby.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“We have to go now,” Rose says.
“Wait. Miranda?”
She looks up.
“Is there any way you’d consider seeing me again?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Was I really that awful?”
She looks at Rose, then back at me and says, “You’re not a happy person.”
“Are you serious?”
She says nothing. Both women turn to leave.
As they walk out the door I say, “What’s so important about being happy?”
41
I press the intercom button. When Lola answers I ask, “Who’s our best oncologist?”
“Probably Dr. Suni or Dr. Mamba.”
“Find out which one knows more about Hodgkin’s lymphoma.”
She hesitates, then says, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course. Just let me know, okay?”
“Will do.”
Thirty seconds later Lola comes back on the intercom.
“Line one,” she says.
“Who is it?”
“Dani Ripper.”
I pick up and Dani says, “Are you ready for your bombshell?”
“Yes.”
“Willow Breeland,” she says.
“What about her?”
“She died five years ago.”
“ What?”
“Willow Breeland-the real Willow Breeland-died five years ago. In a car crash.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple, Dr. Box. Your house guest is an identity thief.”