Not quite satisfied but at least pacified for the time being, I turned and walked away. As expected, I heard the front door open and close with a thud as I headed to the nearest security panel.
Dr. Wentworth drove a modest four-door sedan, which she climbed into with not a small bit of exasperation, throwing her medical bag over the headrest to the backseat. I practically heard the door slam and couldn't help smirking.
Only once she’d exited the gates and they’d closed behind her did I return to my father’s temporary room. “If not the hospital, then her? Is that your deal?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s pretty, she’s qualified, and she stood up to your boorish behavior.” Dadcoughed into his handkerchief. “Which is the only reason you’re protesting.”
Moving over to the dry bar, I poured two fingers of bourbon and wished I could offer one to Dad. “So, attractiveness in a doctor ranks up there for you? I guess I shouldn't be surprised.”
“Nero.”
Closing my eyes, I downed the bourbon and opened them again, facing the man I loved more than anyone else on earth.
He only called me by my given name in specific circumstances. It made it more difficult to argue with him, which I suspected he knew.
“I cannot abide the thought of dying in a cold, sterile hospital room.”
A vise squeezed my heart. “You’re not—”
“I’m not done speaking,” he said, cutting off my interruption. “Do not make me spend my nights worried about the future from an impersonal place surrounded by people I don’t know.”
“Dammit, old man.” Crossing the room, I clasped the back of his head and rested my forehead against his. “You fight dirty.”
“There’s no other way to fight.”
Releasing him, I took one step back and assessed his pallor. Same as before, unfortunately. His prognosis wasn't great, but the odds were decent. Assuming he followed the doctor’s instructions and the antibiotics worked, he’d recover to about seventy percent of his previous strength.
I simply wasn't prepared to take chances with his life.
“Why don’t you bother your sister instead of me?” he asked, wiping his mouth again.
“She’s out shopping.”
“When isn’t she?” Dad returned.
“Besides, she isn’t sick and in need of constant care.”
“You don’t have to remind me of that fact every single hour.”
Pouring another drink, I carried it with me to the windows. The gray sky called to me somehow, as if it were where I belonged. Cloudy, heavy, burdened by life; those words could easily describe me.
Something about the doctor rubbed me the wrong way, and not just because she was on Dad’s side. When I first walked into the room and saw them together, a sense of familiarity struck me hard. Why would a complete stranger trigger some hazy, unformed memory?
I took a sip from my glass. “I want to run a background check on her.”
Though he coughed, Dad’s voice was strong when he responded. “You’ll do no such thing! The hospital already sent me her background check, which is more than they should have done.”
“Please, Dad. They're on the payroll. What else would they do?”
And yet, I wasn't comfortable with the choice they’d made. Who was Dr. Wentworth? Why send someone overqualified?
“I can see the cogs turning, son, and I’m telling you it’s not worth it. She’s perfectly competent, if nothing else.”
“As though I would settle for nothing more than basic competence when it comes to your health.” Turning back to face him, I saw the color of the sky mirrored in his complexion, and it made my chest hurt.
“Why must you question everything?” he demanded. “Just let it go!”
I had to laugh. “Because, old man, that’s what you taught me to do. Take nothing at face value. Double and triple check.”
