She had to get home. That was all that mattered.
Without even a sideways glance at the man sound asleep in her bed, Peyton fled the room, thankful at least that ValentinoLombardi lived on the other side of the planet and she’d never,everhave to see him again.
3
Peyton arrived for her last day of work before her holidays at St Auburn’s with a spring in her step. She hadn’t had a spring in her step for a long time but it was absolutely there today. She couldn’t believe McKenzie’s operation was just three days away now.
Threedays.
Her daughter hadn’t been unwell or had a fever since the night she’d slept with… Since Nat and Alessandro’s wedding two months ago, and she had even put on a little weight.
Things were finally looking up. Finally going their way.
All Peyton had to do was convince Harry to let her be in the theatre to observe McKenzie’s operation on Monday and life would be complete.
A butterfly flapped its wings in her stomach as she rehearsed the words again. Not that Peyton really thought it would be an issue. Yes, it wasn’t usual, but she knew Harry well enough to feel confident that he’d overlook the rules for his right-hand woman.
So confident, in fact, Peyton was actually humming as she entered the operating theatre change rooms.
Dr Gloria Reinhart, the anaesthetist Harry used for his lists, was changing into her scrubs and Peyton bade her a hearty good morning.
‘Morning,’ Gloria said, staring at Peyton with an odd expression.
Peyton frowned. ‘What?’
The other woman shrugged. ‘Nothing. It’s just… I’ve never heard you hum before.’
Peyton didn’t need a translation; she knew what people thought. That she was too serious. Not a lot of fun. She came to work, ran Harry’s theatre and his clinics with ruthless efficiency, not particularly caring whether she made friends or not. She didn’t socialise or have time for idle chit-chat, so what did it matter what people thought?
She was respected, that was the main thing. Being liked hadn’t been a priority.
Peyton grinned. ‘Well, it’s about time that changed, don’t you think?’
Gloria responded with a grin of her own. ‘Past time, I’d say.’
They chatted while Peyton changed into her scrubs then went in different directions – Gloria to the staffroom for a cuppa with her colleagues, Peyton to theatre four to set up for the first case.
The theatre list was sticky-taped to the door of theatre four’s anaesthetic room and Peyton removed it. Not that she needed it; she knew exactly which patients were being operated on today. In fact, if pushed, she could probably recite the list for the next month, even though it was next Monday’s she was the most fixated on.
There were two paediatric patients on the list this morning. Children were always done first. It caused less stress for the parents, who didn’t have to wait around all day worrying about their child going under general anaesthesia, and also for the children, who were often at an age where they were frightenedof the clinical hospital environment and didn’t understand why they couldn’t eat and drink and run around.
A little thrill ran through Peyton’s stomach. Come Monday, McKenzie Donald would be first on this list and her spirits lifted even further. Peyton couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt this positive. It had been a long hard three years with many a detour and roadblock.
It was hard to believe the path was suddenly clear.
Theatre four was frigid when she entered via the swing doors and Peyton rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms. Soon she would be gowned up and under hot lights and wistfully remembering the cold, but for now it seeped quickly into bones that had very little covering insulating them.
Her mother constantly fretted about Peyton’s leanness.You’re too thinwas a regular refrain as she tried to tempt her daughter with home-made delights.
She was already slender to start with, and a rough pregnancy hadn’t helped. After two admissions to hospital because of hyperemesis, the vomiting had eventually stopped – for four blissful weeks. But her appetite had barely returned when the twins were born prematurely at twenty-eight weeks.
It was hard to eat with the stress of two babies in the NICU even though she’d known she had to for her breast milk supply if nothing else.
And then Daisy had died and Arnie had left, piling grief upon grief into the mix and, subsequently, with the ongoing issues of McKenzie’s fragile health, Peyton’s appetite had never really recovered. She ate only to nourish her body.
Food wasn’t fun, it was fuel.
All her energy was focused on getting McKenzie to eat.McKenzie’sappetite.McKenzie’snutritional needs.McKenzie’scaloric requirements. Peyton Donald came low down on Peyton Donald’s list of priorities.
