He turned to Tony. “I promised to teach her about baseball, how the rules work and everything.”
“Mm-hmm. Good luck with that.” My brother smiled in a way that conveyed he grasped the futility of Will’s project at a level Will had not even begun to understand.
I ignored them. We sat watching. After a minute, I ventured, “What’s with the Boston players? Why do they all have beards?”
“Tribal thing. Team solidarity,” said Will.
Tony nodded. “I read that Napoli’s is so bushy now, he has to use shampoo and conditioner on it.”
“Whereas the Cards pitchers might be too young to grow facial hair.”
“Ha! Probably true. But could you believe the fastballs that Wacha was throwing the other night?”
And they were off again, yammering away in Swahili.
As the third inning wound down, after I had fixed my brother with an evil stare and made a pointed comment about how both steaks, all two of them, were nearly ready, Tony finally stood to leave.
At the front door he leaned close and whispered, “Great guy.”
“Thanks.”
“Not your type, though. He’s disturbingly . . . normal.”
“Shhh, you’re just worried you won’t have an excuse to bust out your ‘Sprockets’ routine at Thanksgiving.”
“Oh, I’ll find a way to work it in.” Tony studied my face. “Look, I have no interest in your sex life. But is he likely to stay over tonight?”
“Tony! That is so none of your—”
“I’m just thinking you shouldn’t be alone. If he’s not staying, I could swing back by later tonight, give you a lift up to Mom and Dad’s.”
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m worried about you. I can tell you’re in pain. And I didn’t like that reference you made earlier, to ‘crazy stuff ’ you turned up in Georgia. Tomorrow you’re going to tell me what you meant by that.”
Despite myself, I glanced over my brother’s shoulder. The street was quiet. No gray car in sight. “Sure. I promise. I need to get back inside.”
“So?” Tony inclined his head toward where Will sat in my living room.
“For God’s sake. He’s staying. Now good night, you.” I shoved my brother out the door. Smoothed my hair. It occurred to me that I must really like Will; I couldn’t wait to get back to the sofa, snuggle in, and listen to him hold forth about baseball.
But in my absence, Will’s mood seemed to have darkened.
At first, I assumed he was annoyed that I’d stood whispering with Tony on the front step for so long. Will shook his head no when I dangled another beer. He didn’t lift a finger to help as I made up plates and carried them through from the kitchen. I plopped down beside him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” He fake-smiled at me, then returned to staring at the screen.
For the next hour we sat on the sofa like strangers, not snuggling, not even touching. Politely chewing and swallowing steak and salad. Every few minutes he offered a point of incomprehensible sports commentary, and I pretended to sound interested. We spoke less and less as the game ground on.
Eventually, I’d had enough. I laid my hand on his. “You okay?”
“Me? Yes. Bit tired. I should get going.”
He should get going? This was not the way I had envisioned the evening unfolding.
“Thank you for cooking.” He stood up. “Delicious marinade on the beef.”
“Will. What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing. Sorry.”
“Then why won’t you look me in the eye?”
He did then, miserably. “Caroline. I don’t know how to . . .”
“Just say it.”
“I’m an idiot. You are amazing. I just—you and me—this is a mistake. I’m your doctor. I should never—”
Ah. So that was it. “It’s okay. I’ve been thinking about it, too. The ethics of our situation.”
He looked stricken. “You have?”
“I’m guessing doctor-patient sexual relationships aren’t exactly smiled on in the medical profession.”
A pause. “No. They’re not.”
“But we’re grown-ups, and this is consensual. The situation is what it is. I don’t want to presume anything, but . . . if this is something we both want to continue after my surgery, then I’ll just switch doctors. Et voilà, no more conflict of interest.”
“Caroline—”
“And I promise not to subject you to my stupid brother again until we’ve had a chance to figure out where things between us stand.”
This drew a small smile. “I liked him, actually.”
“He liked you, too. Now stop talking about Tony and kiss me.”
“I would love to. But I need to go home. ” Will shook himself, a forceful, involuntary movement, the way a dog shakes dry after a swim. “I’m—I’m sorry everything’s gotten confused.”
“What are you talking about? Everything’s gotten confused—as you put it—because you chased me down to Atlanta. Are you now professing that your interest was purely medical?”
He bowed his head. “No.”
I gaped at him in fury and bewilderment. “So did you come over here tonight as my doctor or my—or my—or what?” I sputtered. “Is this your thing? Are you in the habit of seducing all your female patients?”
“Whoa. Whoa, whoa, whoa. No. Jesus. This has never happened before. It won’t happen again.”
“Shit.” I never curse. Madame Aubuchon must have been rubbing off on me. “Shit. Will, wait.”
But he was already striding out of the house, the door slamming shut behind him.
Twenty-eight
* * *
They say we are born with five basic senses.