Page 78 of Just One Look
“Why not?” he asked. “Because you’re brilliant? Because you’re honest? Because you’re not sentimental? Which of those things is bad?”
“Because I’m alwayslate?”
“Because you’re saving lives.”
“That’s whatIthink,” she said. “Unfortunately, the nobility of it tends to pale after a while, and it really doesn’t fly when your boyfriend’s invited his parents to meet you, or when somebody has tickets to a play.”
“Maybe you should chuck those unimaginative people out of your life, then,” he said. “And go for the more spontaneous types with lives of their own who’ll be glad to see you when you do turn up. Like, say, Nyree. Or me.”
They were going up a hill now. He slowed his pace, and she said, “All right. I’m going to answer that. But first, I’m panting, and second, how’s your neck? Does it hurt as much as I think?”
“Probably. I’m scheduled for another MRI tomorrow morning at six-thirty.”
“How many MRIs have you had?”
“Ever?”
“Yes. Ever.”
“Couldn’t possibly count. Now you’re askingmeabout my job, and the part of my job thatIleast like to talk about. Injuries. I asked for you as my surgeon. You can talk to me about it tomorrow when you’re being my surgeon, if I need one, and I’m guessing I will. You’re not allowed to talk to me about it today.”
“I’m notallowed?Also, I can’t be your surgeon. I’ll consult with your surgeon, but I’m not doing the work myself. I’d recommend Nils Larsen. Head of Neuro, and he’s good.”
“As good as you?”
“Experience-wise, yes, clearly. Otherwise? Mmm … maybe. I’d have to see more to know.”
“You reallyarearrogant,” he said. “And, nah. I want you.”
“I told you I was arrogant. And that’s not just my rule. It’stherule. You don’t perform surgery on people you’re related to. Or are, uh, close to. And not on people who’ve seen you naked.Also, this hill is steep. Slow down.”
“Because you may not be objective,” he said. “And here you’ve just told me you have no feelings for anybody. A cold, dead fish. Right, Nils Larsen it is. And until you’ve actually looked at my MRI and talked to him, no, you’re not allowed. This is what you do when people try to force you to talk about things you don’t want to talk about. You keep telling them you don’t want to talk about it until they shut up. I’m guessing you can manage that. I’m guessing you’re perfectly capable of controlling the direction of a conversation, because you do it every day.”
“Yes,” she said. “When I’m incharge.”
“Here’s a thought,” he said. “Pretend you’re in charge everywhere. Why not?”
“Because I’ll never date again? Or have friends again? But mostly date again. Men are exceptionally fragile.”
He laughed. “Nah. You just need a man strong enough to fight it out with you and be inspired by the battle.”
“I am a Southern woman,” she said. “Southern women don’t fight it out. They say, ‘Well, bless your heart.’ Or, ‘Imagine that.’ And you have to decode the passive-aggressive verbiage. Being direct, socially? Not acceptable.”
“Fortunately,” he said, “you’re good at learning. Let’s talk about last night.”
“What if I don’t want to talk about it?” she said. “Ha. I’ve got you there. What now?”
“Then,” he said, “I try to find somebody else as interesting as you to go out with. I’m not looking forward to it.”
She paused a minute. “No fair,” she finally said.
“What? That’s what fighting it out means. Why did you think I’d had sex with you? I won’t say anything about your clearly low opinion of me. Not yet, anyway.”
“Uh … because I woke up in myunderwear?Without mybra?”
“Did you feel like you’d had sex, though?”
She stopped walking, and he realized after a moment and stopped, too. “That’s weird,” she said. “That was what I first thought.”
