“Don’t hang up,” he pleaded. “Please, Shana, just hear me out.”
“It won’t do any good.” She’d gone ramrod-straight, her resistance up. She didn’t even find this difficult, although she had to admit she was mildly curious as to why he’d sought her out.
“I don’t care. I need to get this off my chest. Just promise me you’ll listen.”
She didn’t want to encourage him with a response.
He continued despite that. “You told me you were leaving Portland, but I didn’t believe you. Shana, I miss you. I need you. Nothing is the same without you. I feel so empty. You have no idea how awful it’s been for me.”
That was their problem in a nutshell. The entire relationship had revolved around Brad Moore and his needs. He missed her, he needed her. She was convenient, loyal and endlessly patient. Well, no more.
She rolled her eyes and made a circular motion with her hand as though to hurry him along.
Jazmine planted her hand over her mouth to smother her giggles.
“Are you listening?” he asked, finishing up a five-minute soliloquy about how much he missed all their special times. Translation: all the “special” times when she’d been there to see to his comfort. He recounted the little ways she’d indulged him—the meals she’d cooked according to his likes and dislikes, the movies she’d watched because he’d chosen them, the Christmas shopping she’d done for him…Not once did he say any of the things that might have changed her mind, including the fact that he loved her.
So far, everything he’d said reaffirmed her belief that she’d made the right decision. It would always be about Brad and what he needed from her and how important she was to his comfort. Apparently Sylvia wasn’t nearly as accommodating as Shana.
Finally she couldn’t take it any longer.
“Are you finished yet?” she asked and yawned rudely to signal her boredom.
Her question was followed by a short silence. “You’ve changed, Shana.”
“Yes,” she told him in a curt voice. “Yes, I have.”
“I can’t believe you don’t love me anymore.”
Shana noticed he hadn’t even bothered to ask about the girl who’d answered the phone.
Brad seemed shocked that she wasn’t ready to race back into his arms just because he’d made an effort to find her. A short while ago, she’d been grateful for each little crumb he’d tossed her way. Those days were over. Oh, this felt good. She felt good.
“What’s happened to my sweet Shana?” he asked. “This isn’t like you.”
“I woke up,” she informed him, “and I didn’t respect the woman I’d become. It was time to clean house. Out with the old and in with the new.”
The line went silent as he absorbed this. “You’re dating someone else, aren’t you?”
The temptation to let him believe that was strong, and she might have given in to it, if not for Jazmine. With her niece listening to every word, Shana felt honor-bound to tell the truth.
“It’s just like you to think that, but no, I’m not seeing anyone else.” She bit back the words to tell him she could if she wanted to. Well, there was that single father who might’ve been interested—and Adam Kennedy.
His relief was instantaneous. “You’ll always love me….”
“No,” she said firmly. “I won’t. I don’t. Not anymore. For your sake and mine, please don’t call me again.”
He started to argue, but Shana wasn’t willing to listen. She should’ve hung up the phone long before, but some perverse satisfaction had kept her on the line.
As she replaced the receiver, she looked over at Jazmine. Her niece gave a loud triumphant shout. “Way to go, Aunt Shana!”
They exchanged high fives. Shana felt exuberant and then guilty for not experiencing even the slightest disappointment. She was actually grateful Brad had phoned because this conversation had provided complete and final proof that she’d reclaimed her own life.
“Can I tell Uncle Adam about this?” Jazmine asked happily.
“Adam?” Her suspicions immediately rose to the surface. “Whatever for?”
“Because,” Jazmine replied as if it should be obvious. “He should know that you really are over Brad. The door’s open, isn’t it? I mean, you’re cured.”
Shana liked the analogy. “I am cured, but let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?”
Jazmine frowned. “If you say so,” she said without enthusiasm.
The kid was certainly eager to get her and Adam together. Presumably she’d abandoned her earlier hopes for Adam and her mother. “I want your promise that you won’t talk to Adam about any part of my conversation with Brad.”
Muttering under her breath, Jazmine shook her head. Halfway to her room, she turned back. “Uncle Adam wanted me to tell you he’ll be by next Saturday. That’s all right, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” Not until later did Shana realize how dejected she was at the thought of waiting almost a week before she saw Adam Kennedy again.
Chapter Nine
Ali read Shana’s e-mail a second time and smiled. This was exactly what she’d hoped—but didn’t dare believe—would happen. Although her sister was skirting the issue, she was interested in Adam; her e-mail confirmed it. Adam had definitely gotten Shana’s attention.
It took half an hour for Ali to answer her sister. She worked hard on the wording for fear she’d say too much or not enough. Adam was a lot like Peter in the ways that really mattered. He was loyal, compassionate, with a strong work ethic and an endearing sense of humor. Through the years, Peter had encouraged him to settle down and get married. Personally Ali didn’t understand why Adam hadn’t. Aside from the important stuff, he was good-looking. As far as she knew he dated, but obviously hadn’t found the one woman with whom he wanted to spend the rest of his life. Could Shana be that woman? Far be it from her to suggest such a thing. Much better if a relationship developed without her meddling. From the sounds of it, they were getting all the romantic assistance they needed—or didn’t need—from Jazmine.
Once she’d finished her e-mail, Ali prepared for her shift. It’d taken some adjustment, but she’d become accustomed to life aboard the aircraft carrier. Routine helped pass the days, and being able to stay in touch with her daughter through the Internet eased her mind about Jazmine.
The hours went by quickly as she responded to small medical emergencies.
She was almost finished with her shift when Commander Frank Dillon entered the sick bay. His complexion was sickly pale, and his forehead was beaded with sweat. When he saw that Ali was the duty nurse, he attempted a weak smile but she noticed that his jaw was clenched and he was clearly in pain.
Ali remembered him from her first day in the wardroom. Since then, she hadn’t seen him at all but thought about him often, reliving those few seconds when he’d reached out to steady her in the passageway. Just seconds—it couldn’t have been more than that. She didn’t know why she’d read anything into such a minor incident. Still, she’d fantasized about him an embarrassing number of times in the weeks since. No one had to remind her of the professional issues involved in fraternization aboard ship.
“Commander Dillon,” Ali said, coming forward to assist him. He held his hand pressed against his side. “What happened?”
“Something’s wrong,” he muttered. He looked as if he was close to passing out. “I need a doctor.”
Ali led him into an examination room, and learned that he’d had a stomachache for the last couple of days. It’d had grown steadily worse and now the pain had become intolerable. She alerted Captain Robert Coleman, the physician on duty, who examined the commander.
Ali suspected it was his appendix, and apparently Dr. Coleman did, too. Following the examination, he ordered X-rays. Ali accompanied Commander Dillon while the X-rays were taken. The commander didn’t utter a word, although she knew every touch, no matter how gentle, brought him pain.
One look at the film confirmed her fe
ars. Time was critical; judging by the amount of pain he was suffering, his appendix could rupture any minute. Dr. Coleman scheduled emergency surgery, which he planned to perform immediately.
Ali helped prep the commander, explaining what was happening and why. She hooked up the IV and taped the needle in place. After checking the fluid bag, she glanced down and discovered him watching her. She smiled shyly, unaccustomed to such intent scrutiny.
Frank closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Ali squeezed his hand. “Don’t worry, we’ll have you back to your command as good as new,” she promised.
He was silent until just before he was rolled into the surgical bay. He gripped Ali’s hand unexpectedly and with surprising strength. Half rising from the gurney, he said, “It’s bad. Listen, if I don’t make it…if there are complications…”
“You’re going to live to tell about this, Commander,” she assured him. She gave his hand another squeeze and urged him back down. Their eyes met and she did her best to let him know that the medical staff would take good care of him and all would be well.
The commander dragged in another deep breath. “I don’t mean to sound fatalistic, but I don’t have any family. My wife left me years ago—no kids. My brother died a few years back and I’ve never updated my will.”
“I’m sorry about your brother,” she told him softly.
His hand clutched hers. “Money to charity. Decide for me. Promise you’ll decide for me.”
“I will, but, Commander…”
He wasn’t listening anymore, she realized. The pain was too intense.
“I’m going into surgery with you,” she whispered. “If God decides it’s your time, He’ll have to argue with me first.” Although she was certain he was past hearing anything, she thought she detected a faint smile.
As the surgery progressed, Ali wanted to chastise the commander for waiting so long to seek medical attention. He had risked his life because of—what? Pride? Ignoring the pain hadn’t made it go away. An infected appendix was not going to heal itself.
The surgery was routine until they found that, exactly as she’d suspected, the appendix had burst. Extra time and care was needed to ensure that the infection was completely eradicated before it could spread to the entire abdominal area. Peritonitis could be fatal. Having a ruptured appendix wasn’t as life-threatening as in years past, but it was serious enough.
After the surgery, Commander Dillon’s incision was closed and he was taken into Recovery. Lieutenant Rowland was sent in to replace Ali, whose shift had ended.
“I’ll stay with him a bit longer,” she told Rowland. Sitting at the commander’s bedside, she took his blood pressure every twenty minutes until he woke from the anesthesia several hours later.
He moved his head instinctively toward Ali, who sat by his side.
She smiled and touched his brow. “God didn’t put up much of an argument. It seems that neither heaven nor hell was interested in collecting your soul, Commander.”
“You sure about that?” he whispered weakly. “I thought this pain meant I was in hell.”
“How are you feeling now?”
“Like someone hacked me open with a saw blade.”
“I’ll give you something for the pain.” She stood and reached for his chart to make a notation. “Rest now. Your body’s had quite a time of it.” That was an understatement, but she felt better knowing he was awake. His vital signs confirmed that he was out of immediate danger.
Ali sat with the commander for another hour and then reluctantly turned her patient over to Rowland.
“Do you know the commander?” the lieutenant asked as she left the recovery area.
“I met him our first day out.”
Rowland seemed surprised that she’d stayed with him. It surprised Ali, too. She was busy these days and got as little as four or five hours’ sleep a night, but hadn’t been able to make herself leave. One thing was certain: this man had her attention. Just as Adam had Shana’s…
Frank Dillon was lost in a dark, lonely world. Every so often he heard a soft, feminine voice and it confused him. He couldn’t figure out where he was. Then he remembered the pain, the surgery, the nurse—that soft voice was the nurse talking to him. The one who haunted his dreams. He prayed it was her and in the same breath pleaded for God to send her away. Her touch was light, and on the rare occasions when he found the strength to open his eyes, she was standing by his side.
She smelled good. Not of flowers or perfume, but a distinct womanly scent. Clean and subtle and…just nice. It lured him unlike anything else he’d ever experienced. He wasn’t a man accustomed to the ways of women. He’d lived his life in the Navy and for the Navy, and he’d learned the hard way that he wasn’t meant to be a Navy husband.
He’d married at twenty-five and Laura had left him two years later. That had been nearly twenty years ago. His wife had walked out when she realized no amount of crying, pleading or cajoling would persuade him to resign his commission. She knew before they were married that he’d made the Navy his career, the same as his father and grandfather had. Nothing was more important to Frank than duty and honor. Not his marriage, not Laura, not one damn thing. She hadn’t been able to reconcile herself to that and he doubted any woman ever could. Other commitments took second place to military life. He’d accepted that, and dedicated himself to his career. Not once in all those years had he regretted his decision. Until now—and now he would willingly have sold his soul to keep this woman at his side. He needed her, wanted her and he didn’t care what it cost him.
Some of his fellow officers had been against letting women serve at sea. Frank hadn’t been one of them. Now he wasn’t so sure his peers had been wrong. Senior Medical Officer Alison Karas had taken up far more of his thoughts than warranted. He’d decided from their first, chance encounter to stay away from her; he wasn’t risking his career for a shipboard romance. Avoiding her was easy enough to accomplish with five thousand sailors aboard the USS Woodrow Wilson. It was just his luck that she was the one on duty. Luck or fate? He wasn’t sure he’d like the answer.
A cool hand touched his brow, followed by Alison’s quiet voice. Unable to make out the words, Frank thought it might have been a prayer. Apparently he was worse off than he’d known, although she seemed to think she had some influence with the Man Upstairs. Her constancy touched him. No one had ever done anything like that before—not for him.
The darkness didn’t bother him anymore. He was at peace, even though a vague memory, something about Alison, hovered just out of reach. She was with him. He planned to tell her how much her presence meant to him.
If he lived through this.
The next morning, the USS Woodrow Wilson was hit by a raging storm. The massive ship had turned into the typhoon, and there was nothing to do but ride it out. Thankfully, Ali had never been prone to seasickness, but a number of men were sent to sick bay. She had her hands full the first day of the storm, but things had settled down by the second. During a quiet moment, she went in to check on Commander Dillon. He was sitting up in bed, still pale and not in the best of moods.
“What the hell is going on topside?” he demanded the moment he saw her.
“We’re in the midst of a typhoon, Commander.”
He tossed aside his sheet and seemed ready to climb out of bed. “Get me out of here.”
“No.” She prevented him from moving farther.
From the way his eyes widened, Ali could tell that it wasn’t often anyone stood up to the high and mighty commander. “I’m the navigator and I’m needed topside,” he argued, his face reddening.
“This might come as a shock, Commander Dillon, but the Navy stayed afloat without you for more than two hundred years. They’ll manage to survive for another day or so. Now stay in bed, otherwise I’ll have you restrained.”
His blue eyes flared. “You wouldn’t.”
Although her heart was pounding, Ali didn’t dare let her nervousness show. “I do
n’t think that’s something you’d like to find out. Your orders are to stay in bed until Captain Coleman says otherwise. Do I make myself clear?”
His gaze challenged hers, but then, apparently reaching a decision, he nodded. Although he wasn’t happy about it, he would abide by what he knew was best.
Ali was grateful. Under normal circumstances, the commander wasn’t a man to cross; she’d figured that out quickly enough. And if his scowl was any indication, he was on the mend. He’d been in bad shape the first few days, but his improvement was steady. To show him how much she appreciated his cooperation, she patted his arm.
He stiffened as if he found her touch offensive and Ali quickly backed away. While he was under anesthesia, she’d touched him many times. In an effort to comfort him, she’d stroked his brow and talked to him in soothing tones. She’d frequently taken his pulse and blood pressure and let her hand linger on his arm, hoping he’d sense her encouragement and concern. Perhaps she’d grown too familiar, too personal.
“I apologize,” he muttered gruffly.
Embarrassed, Ali retreated an additional step. “No, the fault is mine—I’m sorry.” By all rights, she should turn and leave. The clinic was busy. Sailors were waiting. She should get while the getting was good, as her grandmother used to say.
“You were with me in Recovery until I regained consciousness, weren’t you?” he whispered.
She nodded, afraid they were taking a dangerous risk by acknowledging this attraction. Not since Peter’s death had Ali allowed herself to feel anything for another man. In fact, she’d been certain she never would and now…now she wasn’t sure what to think.
“Any particular reason you stayed with me all those hours?” he asked.
Ali didn’t know what to tell him. Honesty might be the best policy, but there were times the truth was better avoided. This appeared to be one of those times.
“Your appendix had ruptured, Commander. In such cases, there’s a significant chance of complications. It was easier for me just to remain on duty than explain the situation to my shift replacement.” Ali used her best professional voice, making it as devoid of emotion as she could.