Page 90 of Just One Look
Slippage
At eleven-thirty the next morning,Elizabeth grabbed the ringing phone from the pocket of her white coat, glanced at the screen, hit the button, and told Jordan, “Talk fast. I’m walking the stairs from the cafeteria in my free ten minutes. Fitting exercise into my life instead of eating a candy bar. If I’m panting, that’s why. Everything OK?”
“What, with my life?” he said. “My life is alternately horrifying and hideously routine, the same as always. I’ll just say, though, that sometimes I despair for the future of our nation. I’ve got four or five kids this year who can still barely write a sentence. I’m trying to let the buck stop with me, noble educator that I am, but let’s say they’re trying my patience. Why are they always boys? The most hideous kind of middle-school boys, at that? I’m not calling about that, though. Like I said—dull. I’m calling about you, because you haven’t been filling me in.”
“I’m not … that entertaining.” She was already gasping. This was not good.
He said, “Stop thinking that people don’t want to talk to you!” Which brought her up short, but then she started climbing again. She could run, maybe. Harder, but it’d be over quicker.
She tried it.
No. She couldn’t run. Oh, my lord. That wasterrible.
Jordan was still talking. “I wanted to talk to you when I was across the street, and I want to talk to you more now, probably because I get so little gossip. Tell me something else fabulously new and exciting has happened. New prospects on the horizon, maybe?”
“No,” she said, “nobody new. But—”
“Elizabeth,” Jordan said. “Just because one relationship doesn’t work out—afteronedate—that doesn’t meannothingwill.”
“Not that.” She really was getting winded here. Taking the stairs alwayssoundedlike a great idea, but she was only four floors up, and it was like she was summiting Everest. Hospital stories weretall.There were twenty steps for each floor! She paused on the landing. “I mean nobody new. Same guy.” She started climbing again. That should keep Jordan talking for a while.
“Lovely Luka?” Jordan sounded delighted. “Tell.” Not nearly enough exclaiming.
She said, “Shorthand, because stairs. Took me perfume shopping. Out to dinner. Met his sister. Metmysister. Drama ensued. Invited me to rugby game. Kissed me after rugby game.”
“Wait,” Jordan said. “Wait, wait, wait. All right, I should ask you about the sister—Piper? Really? But I’m going to ask about the kissing. Tell more.”
“From the field.” These short sentences were working. She could gasp one out and keep climbing, at least until her heart exploded. Sixth floor. Only four more. “I was … at the railing.”
Jordan said, “Be still my heart. Are we talking sweaty and manly and dirty, grabbing you hard and kissing you in triumph?”
“Exactly,” she said. “Exactly. Hotness ensued. Invited me out after. I fell asleep. He took off my clothes. While I was asleep. Not in a sleazy way.”
“What? How can that happen in a non-sleazy way? You need tosharethese things. I’m telling Clement we need to move to New Zealand, because you clearly need my help.”
Eight floors. Getting so close. Also possibly courting a myocardial infarction. She said, “Too much to explain. Stairs are hard. Met him again yesterday. Overshared, thenreallyovershared. Tropical cyclone. Flooding. Rapid exit from car. Possible psychotic break.”
Jordan was nearly screaming now. “Wait, wait,wait.You need totellme!”
“Can’t. My pager just went.” She pulled it out. “Consult. One more floor to go. I’m going to die right here. OK. Took me home. Made me dinner. Slept with me.”
“Sleptwith you? After the psychotic break?”
Tenth floor. “Sorry,” she said. “Got to go.”
* * *
Nils Larsen,the head of neurosurgery, was on his feet in a consultation room, telling Luka, “The films are pretty clear.”
Luka said, “I hear you. I’d like to wait for Elizabeth, though.” Keeping it calm. Keeping it controlled.
She came through the door fast, looking like she’d been out for a run. Her version of a run, the kind that always looked like she’d hit her anaerobic threshold some time back and might be going to have a stroke. Her hair was coming out of its knot, and her face was red. She said, “What’s up,” though, like she was completely focused on business. Clearly, the disheveled-and-sweaty thing wasn’t up for discussion, because she was in Surgeon Mode. “What do his films show?” she asked Nils. No “Hi, Luka,” even though she’d just spent the night with him.
Well, this was new.
* * *
He hadn’t meantthat to happen. It just had. After the revelation and the tears, she’d gone quiet. He’d asked, “How was it with your dad, after that? When he took you home?”
