Who’d have thought that dermatology could be anything besides sedate?
Purnima arrived with that healthy glow she got every time she went home to India. George assumed it was the diet: real food instead of the hormone- and pesticide-filled crap that masqueraded as nourishment around here. But it was more than that, she knew. Purnima’s eyes looked clearer, her smile centered. God, how George admired that in her—how together the woman was. She might be George’s employee, but she’d always thought there was a ton she could learn from her.
“You’ve been busy, I see,” Purnima said from her spot in front of the computer. “I thought you said you’d take it easy while I was gone? Wasn’t there mention of a mini break or something?”
George just smiled and hesitated. Should she hug her? She’d been gone for three weeks, after all, and… No. Hugging was inappropriate.
“And then the A/C…” George said with a sigh. “You have no idea.”
“Feels good this morning. Did you call Carmichael’s?”
“Yes,” George said, her face reddening with shame. “I hated to call in a favor, but—”
“You caught his melanoma, George. He wants to help. People are happy to thank you, however they can.”
“Yes, but it’s my job.”
“Sure.” Purnima raised her hands, one on either side, like a scale weighing the difference. “Fixes A/C, cures cancer. I’m sure they come out even in the end.” The woman laughed and clicked a couple of keys before looking up and catching sight of George for the first time.
“My God, what happened to your face?”
“Oh, nothing” was all George said, self-consciously touching the bruise on her cheek. Thankfully, Purnima was discreet enough that she wouldn’t pry after being rebuffed. But then guilt won out, of course, because if it wasn’t safe for her, then… “I was attacked. Outside.”
“No! Who would do that?”
“It was the Fourth of July, and I think they were on drugs, perhaps? There was a scuffle and I intervened and… They were young.”
“What did the police say?”
“I didn’t call the police.”
“Whyever not?”
“I…” George thought about it, suddenly unsure. “I…I suppose I didn’t need to. Someone came to my rescue, and they left.”
Purnima’s brows rose at that, but George didn’t feel like going into it any further. She didn’t quite understand herself why she hadn’t called the police. Maybe something about Andrew Blane made her think he wouldn’t want that. No. He definitely hadn’t seemed to want that.
Whatever the reason, she felt shaky enough as it was today. She was done talking about it, which wasn’t something she cared to examine, especially after spending all day Sunday hunkered down at home, thinking—or rather not thinking—about him.
“So, no patients Friday afternoon, then?”
She debated how to answer but, as usual, gave in to the truth. “There was one.”
Purnima turned back to the screen and keyed through charts for a few more seconds, until she eventually turned back to her boss. And somehow, for some silly reason, George had to force herself, with difficulty, to look her nurse in the eye.
“I don’t see it on the books,” said Purnima.
“No.”
The woman’s brows rose.
“Pro bono?”
“I…” George swallowed, wondering when she’d ever been this conflicted about a patient. Never. Never was the answer. “Yes,” she finally whispered.
Uma popped into her head. She was the only other patient she’d had come in like that, off the street, looking like a victim. No, not a victim. A survivor, maybe.
And not weak at all. Andrew Blane was strong, frightening, compelling.
