Day 3 – Sunday morning
Auld Kirk
Sunday morning dawned flawless, the sky brilliant with winter sun and the weatherman predicting a ten percent chance of snow in time for Christmas Day. It added a cheerful note to the holiday preparations.
Ginny and her mother were sharing a hymnal, singing, in parts, the carols that accompanied the Advent season. Because of her work schedule, Ginny was not free to participate in divine service every week, but she was a trained chorister and never missed an opportunity to sing along, especially the descants. Most she knew by heart, so it was no surprise to find her eyes straying from the page to the front of the sanctuary.
Among the duties of the Laird of Loch Lonach was the responsibility for reading the Sunday Lessons. As a result, his place was in the front pew on the right hand side of the church. As his heir, Jim’s place was beside him.
Ginny studied the pair. They were of a similar height, with the same broad shoulders, though Jim’s filled his suit jacket more completely than did the older man’s. Both stood ramrod straight, the white head on one side, the dark blonde on the other, bending to the page, then looking up at the ceremonies going on behind the altar.
The hymn ended, the Laird took his place at the lectern, and the congregation settled down to listen. The subject was courage.
Ginny bit her lip. She was not feeling brave. She should be back to normal by now, but she wasn’t, and it scared her. She dropped her eyes to the prayer book, scowling at it, and tried to concentrate on the lesson. Trying to focus, praying for help, and guidance, and courage, and finding only silence.
* * *
Sunday late morning
Streets of Dallas and environs
Jim pulled out of the parking lot at his apartment, half his mind on the hazards of driving in a city the size of Dallas, the other half on Ginny. The physical wounds had healed, but the psychological wounds remained. Hers showed. Did his? He frowned at the thought.
He’d been focusing outward. It was easier that way. Much easier to concentrate on work and Ginny and the learning curve at the Homestead than to face mortality. Who wants to admit he will die someday, could die at any moment?
If he was honest with himself, part of his frustration with Ginny was having to wait for her. He wanted to wed her and bed her and get children on her now, rather than later, to make sure he got the chance. Because he might die without warning. Almost had.
Jim swallowed hard and glanced at the speedometer, then eased his foot back. People died on the Dallas roadways every day, but he’d rather not be one of them.
He pulled up in front of Ginny’s house, seeing the door open and Ginny emerge. She was wearing brown slacks, ankle boots, and a pumpkin-colored sweater with a subtle texture that caught the December light and made it look soft, even from a distance. He wanted to touch it, touch her. He got out, came around the car and opened the door for her.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded, her eyes on his face. “What is it, Jim?”
He slid a hand across her back, caressing the cashmere. “I’ll tell you after we’re rolling.”
Jim had identified several sailboat retailers in the DFW area. The most likely were on the highway between Dallas and Denton. That gave them a good thirty minutes of driving time in which to talk. She waited to open the conversation until they headed north.
“So, what is it that put that grim look in your eye?”
“I hate feeling like a failure.”
He heard the surprise in her voice. “You? The miracle worker who managed to defeat certain death?”
“Me. The man who can’t cure cancer or prevent closed head injuries or persuade you to confide in him.”
“Oh.”
Jim had been thinking about what he was going to say. “I had hoped taking some of the load off your shoulders would help you heal. Grandfather tells me that was a mistake.”
She shook her head. “Not at first. You handling the medical decisions—that helped.”
He reached over and took her hand. “Thank you for that.”
“But,” she said, “it’s time I went back to taking care of myself.”
Jim waited long enough to be sure his voice didn’t betray him. “Does that mean cutting me out of your life?”
“Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not afraid—” Jim stopped himself. “Can we find some middle ground?”
She pulled her hand back. “Can you stop treating me like a half-wit child?”
Jim frowned. “When I see something that can be corrected, I feel obliged to mention it.”
“Mentioning is not what you’ve been doing.”
“I made a promise I would take care of you.”
She sighed. “Jim, you’re not at fault in this. It’s just time I took back the reins.”
Jim was trying not to think about all the times he’d had to let a patient leave without treatment, knowing she would never return. “You want to make the decisions.”
“About myself, yes.”
He nodded, more to himself than to her. Whether he liked it or not, informed consent was a tenet of best practice in healthcare.
She continued. “I want you to feel free to make suggestions, but not expect that I will do whatever you say.”
“Even if I’m right and you’re wrong?”
“How are we going to know who’s right if we don’t try both ways?”
Jim bit off the retort that rose to his lips. This was no ignorant patient off the street. This was a trained ICU nurse. “Okay. I make suggestions, we talk about it, you decide. Will that do?”
“It’s a start.”
Jim felt a stab of annoyance. “What else do you want?” The question sounded peevish, a small child whining, and Jim kicked himself when she didn’t answer. “I’m sorry, Ginny. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Talk to me. Please.”
He heard her take a deep breath. “Does that work both ways? Are you willing to talk to me?”
Jim glanced at her, the corners of his mouth turning down. “I’m not the one having nightmares.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“What?” he demanded.
“You’re too proud to admit you’re human.”
Jim squirmed. “I cried.”
“Did you?” She sounded interested.
He nodded. “That’s why I had all those tissues in my pocket.”
“And why you were gone so long.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause. “You’ve never talked about it. Not to me.”
“You had enough going on.”
She turned toward him. “You cut me off, Jim. Every time I tried to ask, you changed the subject. So I stopped trying.”
Jim admitted to himself that he hadn’t wanted to face his feelings, hadn’t felt he needed to. He glanced at her then put his eyes back on the road and eased off on the accelerator, again. The highway was typical of Texas, permanently under construction, and filled with the unrelenting Dallas traffic, sprinkled with suicidal drivers. He took a careful breath.
“All right. Having established that I don’t have the slightest idea what I’m doing, can you tell me what you need, to help you move forward?”
She was silent for a moment, then answered him. “I need to feel competent again, to be able to rely on my own judgment. I need to face my fears and overcome them. And I need—somehow—to find a way to trust you.”
Jim felt his heart leap in his breast. “You can trust me, Ginny. Absolutely.” It was hard to be convincing without being able to make eye contact, but he hoped his tone of voice conveyed the depth of his feelings.
“You’re not the problem. I am.”
“But I can help. How to build trust is one of the things we studied in medical school. It starts with listening.”
She sighed. “Men, even doctors, don’t want to listen to a woman complain. They want to fix the problem and move on.”
“Is that what you need? Someone to listen to you? Because I can do that.”
“You have better things to do with your time.”
He took a breath. “We’ve known each other for—what? Two months? Two and a half?”
“About that.”
“Yet I feel as if I’ve always known you, as if we were friends before we met. I care about you. I want to do whatever it takes to help you get well. If you need to talk, then we’ll talk. Or, you talk and I’ll listen.”
He waited through the long silence that followed. Eventually, he heard her stir.
“Trust requires being vulnerable,” she said, “on both sides. It’s sort of like emotional blackmail. I let my hair down and expect you to reciprocate. Men hate that.”
Jim frowned. “You’re right. Men hate emotional blackmail, but people need to be able to unload on one another, to be honest with someone they trust. It’s the nature of the beast. Even men need that so, unless you fight dirty, I don’t see a problem with being vulnerable. I’m just not very good at it.”
“Okay,” she said. “Assuming you mean that—”
“I do.”
“—I’ll go first.” She took a breath. “I know I need to put this behind me, but every time I try to act normal, especially at work, I find myself making stupid mistakes.”
“And catching them.”
She nodded. “Yes, thank Heaven, but it scares me.”
He nodded. “You need to rebuild your trust in yourself.”
She threw her hand out. “How am I supposed to do that? I missed all the warning signs. Worse, actually. I ignored them. I deluded myself, lied to myself. How am I ever supposed to trust my own judgment again?”
Jim took a minute before answering. “Trial and error. You try, you fail, you learn. You try again.” He looked over at her. “You have to believe you’re going to be all right.”
“Eventually, yes, but I need time and everyone’s pushing me: you, Tran, Mother.”
Jim blinked. “Detective Tran? What does she want?”
“She wants me to spy on my coworkers. To root out their dirty little secrets and report back to her.”
Jim frowned. “And you don’t want to.”
“No, but I can’t get out of it.”
“Why not? She can’t force you to help.” He heard her sigh.
“Because I owe her for what she did for me, for us. If she hadn’t been willing to listen to you, there’s no telling who else might have died.”
“I see your point.” The problem with Ginny, Jim thought, was that she could think straight. It was hard to argue with her conclusions.
“Okay, my turn.” Jim took a breath. “You’re right. I’m afraid of losing you.” He glanced over, finding her eyes on him, then put his back on the road. “I’m afraid the minute you don’t need me anymore you’ll leave and never come back. Because of what he did.” He took a breath.
“I understand you’re not ready to trust a man and I’m willing to wait, but in the meantime, I’m going to do everything in my power to prove you can trust me.” He reached over and slid his hand over hers, entwining their fingers.
“I want you to feel safe with me, Ginny. Safe enough to be yourself. Believe me. I will never hurt you.”
“Not on purpose.”
“Not ever. I want you to feel free to ask me for help, or a hug, or to scream at me in frustration. Whatever you need to get you back to where you were before.”
She sighed. “I’m not the same person I was.”
“No. Neither am I.” He looked over at her. “Better, I hope. Give me the chance to prove it.”
“I’m afraid you won’t like the new me.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Is the new you a serial killer?”
“No!”
“A slattern?”
“No.”
“A self-righteous know-it-all?”
“A frightened, humbled used-to-know-it-all.”
He looked at her in sympathy. “I know the feeling.” He pulled the car into the parking lot of the sailboat shop, turned off the ignition, then faced her.
“I have one more thing I want to say. Ginny Forbes, you and I can’t go back to the way we were before and I wouldn’t want to. I’m glad we were thrown together, and I want that to continue. I know I have a lot to learn, but I also have things I can offer, if you’ll let me.”
She nodded. “I want this to work, too. I just don’t want you to think you have to fix me. That’s my job.”
Jim nodded. “Promise you’ll come to me if you need anything.”
She looked at him then nodded. “On one condition—that you do the same.”
“Agreed. Now, let’s go see if we can find a toy boat to put in my stocking.”
* * *
Sunday afternoon
Sail Shop
They spent the next two hours looking at sailboats and Jim saw several that might do, but he didn’t fall in love with any of them. He decided to wait until summer, when the selection would be better. Also, he was having trouble concentrating.
He’d never had a companion on his boat before. It had always been just him and the vessel and the elements. It gave him an odd feeling to see Ginny walking around the display models, absorbed in the search. She seemed to be enjoying herself, peering into the interiors, asking questions, trying out the deck chairs. If he got his way, she would become a part of every aspect of his life. He would have to learn to share his toys and, as an only child, he’d had little chance to learn how.
She was testing him, too, descending the ladders too quickly. When he realized what she was up to, he turned the tables on her, blocking her exit, forcing her to jump and trust him to catch her. When he had her in his arms, he found her trembling. She buried her face in his shirt and he held her, stroking her hair until she stopped shaking.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I want to trust you. I do.”
“I know. Just give it time.”
On the drive back, they talked about the boats, Jim explaining the types of sail craft and the ways they could be used. He let his passion show and glanced over to find her smiling at him. “Am I boring you?”
“Not at all.”
“It gets under your skin.”
“My skin is not made for spending much time on the water. I burn if you look at me sideways.”
“That’s what you get for being a redhead. Sunscreen is available, as are sleeves. Do you get motion sick?”
“No, though I’ve heard anyone can get seasick under the right conditions.”
“Even that can be handled. How about some dinner?”
It was emblematic of their medical training that neither Jim nor Ginny had any trouble going from vomit to veal without missing a beat.
“Will you buy me a steak with garlic bread and iced tea and a nice salad?”
He smiled over at her. “Whatever you want.”
She met his eye. “Let’s start with dinner.”
Jim was just opening his mouth to reply when his phone went off. He pulled it out, glanced at the number, then handed it to Ginny.
“Put it on speaker.”
“Hello?”
Himself’s voice answered. “Auch, Ginny, is it you, lass?”
“Yes. Jim’s driving, but we’ve got you on speakerphone.”
“Aye, well lad, listen then. There’s a bit o’ a situation at th’ Hillcrest ER and I’ve a mind ye should go find out what they’re talkin’ aboot. Something tae do wi’ a bairn. Can ye go?”
Jim glanced over at Ginny and sighed. Dinner would have to wait. “Yes,” he replied. “We can be there in fifteen minutes.”
“Let me know what ye find.”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
He watched Ginny end the call. “Guess I’ll have to owe you that steak.”
She smiled at him. “That’s all right. I’ll be just as happy with drive-through chicken.”
* * *