Hot Docs On Call: New York City Nights. Tina Beckett
A few minutes passed as she sat there, and then the table beneath her cheek shifted a bit. Caren had evidently come over and set something down.
“Hey,” the other woman said. “You look tired.”
“Am.” The mumbled word was all she could manage.
“Then eat something. I made chicken and dumplings—classic comfort food. Besides, I have something I need to talk to you about.”
Oh, no. This was the second time today someone had used those words.
Tessa looked up to find her friend sitting across from her, and, yes, there was now a shallow, wide-rimmed bowl sitting in front of her. A second bowl sat in front of Caren. The concoction smelled even more heavenly this close to her nose. “What’s the occasion?”
“Not really an occasion. I may just not get any Southern cooking for a while, so I thought I’d make some now while I still can.”
Caren wasn’t from New York, and Tessa found her slow drawl soothing somehow. Even now it seemed to drift through her soul, pushing back the tide of confusion and grief that had gripped her ever since her surprise encounter with Clay in the hospital lobby.
She tilted her head, accepting the spoon the other woman handed across to her. The brownstone, owned by Holly and her family, was decorated in classic dark woods and rich upholstery. It reminded her of what she might find in Clay’s parents’ home. Wealthy, understated. But for some reason this place didn’t make her cringe the way it might have had she not been paying her own way.
“Why wouldn’t you get Southern cooking for a while?” She stirred the mixture in her bowl to help cool it.
“That’s the thing. I was going to talk to you, Holly and Sam after you all got home. But when you came in first, I thought I’d sound you out about it.” Caren paused and eyed her for a second. “Is everything okay?”
“Peachy.” She cut into one of the dumplings and blew on it for a second before sliding it into her mouth. Her tastebuds perked right up, a low groan sounding from her throat. She’d never tried honest-to-goodness Southern cuisine before meeting Caren, but she was rapidly becoming addicted. Swallowing it, she smiled. “This stuff is awesome.”
“Told you you’d like it. Aren’t you glad I forced you to try homemade dumplings after you moved in?”
“I hate to admit it but yes. I’ve only had the fluffy biscuit kind. These are so good.” She waited until Caren had eaten a couple of bites before continuing. “So what’s going on?”
Setting her spoon down in her bowl, her friend propped her elbows on the table. “I’m thinking of going on a medical mission.”
“What?” Caren had never mentioned leaving the hospital or the brownstone. “Where to?”
“Africa. Cameroon, actually. I just got the go-ahead to start packing.”
“Wow, that was fast. What about your fellowship, are you just going to let it go? And what about your unit?”
The house had been divided into four separate units with a shared kitchen, living room and dining room. Over the course of their residency the four roomies had become fast friends. Maybe because they were all young and single, but it was probably also because they shared a common goal of becoming doctors.
She’d just assumed things would stay the way they were for a while. To think of Caren no longer being here…
“That’s the thing. I have a cousin who is thinking of coming to West Manhattan Saints and applying for a fellowship.” Caren scooped up another bite of dumpling and waved it around for a minute. “She could sublet my unit. All my furniture would stay put. There would just be a new face to go along with it.”
A key scraped in the lock just before the front door was pushed open. Sam Napier appeared, carrying a couple of bags, which he switched to the other hand before closing the door again. He glanced at them. “Hi. Am I interrupting something?”
With his longish hair, lean build and the slightest hint of a Scottish accent, Sam could only be described as superhot, but he was also something of an enigma, quiet and intense, rarely sharing anything personal about himself. Maybe it was just a guy trait, but Tessa had a feeling there was more to it than that. Whatever it was, he was definitely the quietest of the housemates.
She shrugged. “You’re not. Caren was just… She glanced at the other woman, wondering if she wanted the medical mission thing kept a secret.
“I was just telling Tessa that I might be leaving for a while. My cousin Kimberlyn—who’s also on her way to becoming a doctor—would be able to move in and take over my share of the expenses, if that’s okay. I wanted to check with everyone first before giving her a definite answer.”
Sam came over to stand by the table. “I don’t have a problem with it. I guess it’s really up to Holly, though, since she and her folks own the place.”
“You’re probably right. I’ll ask her tonight.”
“Is Kimberlyn still in med school?” Sam asked.
“She’s a resident, like us. She’s just getting ready to apply for a fellowship.”
Sam slung a bag over his shoulder. “Sounds like the perfect solution, then.”
“I think so, too,” Caren said with a smile. “I’m so relieved. I was worried you guys might be upset with me for bailing on you so close to the end of our residency.”
Tessa smiled back. “Of course not. I’m excited for you. Besides, you’ll be back. And you’ll have to send loads of pictures of Cameroon.”
“I will.” She popped two more spoonfuls into her mouth and then stood. “I’m on call tonight, so I need to jump in the shower really quick. And I’ll start packing for the trip.”
“Go,” Tessa said. “I’ll clean this up.”
Caren squinched her nose. “It’s a mess out there—there’s flour everywhere. Are you sure you want to tackle it?”
“Definitely.” Besides, it would give her something to think about other than Clay.
“Well, I’ve got an early surgery in the morning, so I’m going to turn in.” With a wave, Sam went up the stairs toward his unit.
“Thanks again. I think you’re all really going to love Kimber.”
Tessa stood and stacked their bowls. “If she’s anything like you, I’m sure we will.”
“DR. MATTHEWS? YOU’RE needed down in Emergency,” one of the nurses at the central station called over to him, phone still to her ear.
Six hours into his shift, Clay had performed two surgeries and done a phone consultation with a doctor from one of the other local hospitals. It had been hectic enough that there’d been whole blocks of time in which he hadn’t thought about Tessa once.
Until now.
“What have you got?”
“Looks like they have an elderly gentleman who fell down his front porch steps and broke a leg. Or maybe a hip.”
“Tell them I’m on my way.” Clay pushed the button on the elevator. The funny thing about fractures in the elderly was that cause and effect were rarely quite as simple as the nurse made it seem. Whether the break caused the fall or the fall caused the break was often up in the air. He’d seen enough spontaneous fractures in his time that he knew brittle bones could suddenly give way under the stress of years’ worth of use and abuse.
By the time he got down to the first floor his thoughts were all on his patient, already