orchids, the delicate blossoms creating a touch of elegance amid the informality. Mallory studied the varied menu with delight, ordering a salad and a shrimp dish, both of which had a three-star spiciness rating.
“Does thatcome with a fire extinguisher?” Justin asked, after he’d ordered his own milder dishes. “Or are you going to want something to drink?”
“Soda,” Mallory said.
“Make that two,” he told the waitress.
When she’d gone, he leaned back in his chair and studied the dark-haired woman opposite him. He wondered what it was about her that had convinced him to break his firm rule about avoiding personal relationships with all people—and especially women—at the hospital. He’d learned the hard way that they were complicated and often messy, especially when they ended. Even a dinner as casual as this one violated his long-standing code of behavior.
More important, he wondered why he’d let his guard down with a psychologist. Ever since his own tumultuous childhood, he’d had a well-founded distrust of anyone in that profession. There was something about Mallory Blake, though, that told him she might be different. There was fire and honesty in her eyes and compassion in her voice. Even when she’d snapped his head off, there had been an underlying gentleness about her that he trusted.
He didn’t want to trust her. In fact, he viewed this dinner as nothing more than an extension of his earlier apology and a chance to hear how it was going with Davey.
“Tell me aboutour patient,” he said. “Any signs of progress?”
Mallory sighed. “Not really. I keep thinking it will happen at any moment, but I’m afraid to push too hard. Sometimes, I get so frustrated, I just want to yell to provoke him into responding.”
Justin’s expression became instantly wary. “Don’t you dare yell at that boy.”
“Of course I’m not going to yell at him. I know in the long run it would only be counterproductive.” Her wide-set, blue-green eyes watched him closely. “Why are you so concerned about Davey?”
“He’s my patient.”
“You have other patients. From what I’ve heard, you don’t spend a lot of postsurgical time worrying about their problems.”
Justin flinched as the barb struck home. He was well aware of his reputation for being aloof with his patients, and it rankled, even though he did nothing to change it. “My responsibility is to give them the best possible chance at survival with a decent quality of life, whether I’m dealing with a brain tumor or a spinal cord injury.”
“If you’ve done that, you think you can just slip out of your scrubs, go home and rest easy?”
“Exactly,” he said tightly, feeling a knot of tension form in his stomach. No matter what he said, though, he didn’t rest easy. There were nights when, despite the exhaustion, he tossed and turned restlessly, wishing he could give more, but he couldn’t. He needed that distance, worked at it. It was the only way he could do his job.
“Why did you become a doctor, if you don’t care about the whole person? Don’t you think you have an obligation to give them some moral support?” she persisted.
“I thought thatwas your business.”
“In some instances with the kids I’m part of the team, yes. So are the social workers and nurses. That doesn’t mean you can just walk away and go on to your next case.”
“I have to. There’s no time for anything more.”
“That’s an excuse. Other residents find the time.”
“Check my schedule. Show me how to fit in any more.”
“I’ll take your word for it, but I ask you again: why is it different with Davey?”
Justin glowered at her, infuriated by her persistence. “I’m not on your couch, Dr. Blake.”
“I’m just trying to make a little friendly conversation. Davey seems to be the one thing we have in common.”
“Fine. We can talk all you want about Davey. Just leave my motivations out of it. If you can’t do that, let’s
Janwillem van de Wetering