“It’s a pinot noir. Great with steak. Can you taste a little sweetness? A little cherry or raspberry?”
“Hmm. I think so.” She tasted it again. “And there’s something kind of… earthy?”
“Excellent palate, Sassy. I’m impressed.”
They placed their orders—both of them medium rare—then sat back and regarded each other.
“What should we talk about?” she asked.
“Lots going on. Depends where we want to start.”
“Marion’s in Vietnam,” she said, pulling an expression of disbelief. “Seems like a good starting point.”
They spoke of many things over dinner, and though there were moments where they both paused to reflect, most of the night was filled with engaging conversation and building with a growing intimacy. When dinner was done, he wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin.
“Let’s talk houses,” Tom said, sitting back in his chair. He was relaxed from the wine and the meal, his gaze soft with satisfaction.
Sassy sat back as well. “Ah. Business talk. What about them?”
“Tell me about the market right now. I love listening to how your mind works.”
She glowed with the compliment. “Let’s see. The average home price in this city is about twenty-four thousand dollars, and it’s going up. I know you recently sold a three-storey in Moore Park for forty-two thousand. Congratulations.”
He smiled and sipped, enjoying their second bottle. “You noticed. The buyers are in their early forties. They’ve moved around a lot, and theywanted something bigger this time. Their last place was in Cabbagetown. What do you think of the choice?”
“Dad always said the biggest consideration when you’re buying a home is the neighbourhood. I’d say this was a step up for them. Lots of room for grandchildren.” She felt a little tug on her heart and dropped her chin. “I think I’m going to keep Dad’s house,” she said softly. “It needs to be there for Joey when he’s back.”
“I think that’s a practical move.” He grinned. “Did you hear that? I just called you practical.”
She laughed. “But… oh, you’re going to think I’m silly.”
“Probably. Try me.”
She exhaled. “I don’t want to leave my apartment. I love it there. I love everyone on my floor, pretty much,” she mused. “How can I leave the Romanos, the Levins, the Moores? I can’t imagine not having them around whenever I need a cup of sugar or a new plant, or just company. And what am I supposed to do about Marion? I can’t live miles away from her. Then there’s Mr. Snoop, the guy who always has to see who’s coming out of the elevator. I definitely need him in my life.”
“Another thing I remember your dad saying was that you should never make a major decision, like buying a house, when you’re emotional. It’s like buying groceries when you’re hungry. You can easily make the wrong decision. You don’t have to rush, Sassy. Take your time.” He paused. “I do hope you won’t quit working just because you’re independently wealthy now. Travel around the world, hit all the coolest spots, never come back…”
“I’m not going to quit. I’m going to let you teach me, and I’m going to teach you, too.”
His smile warmed. “Yeah? I bet you have a lot to teach.”
“Practical, remember?”
“I do. My practical Sassy.”
Mine.
“Besides,” she said, folding her napkin and setting it aside. “I don’t think I want to travel around the world. Not yet, anyway, and not by myself. Maybe someday, I’ll do it with you.”
forty-twoMARION
Marion loved the panic of a hospital emergency room. She loved when people ran to her, bleeding and broken, having no idea what to do. There was no feeling in the world she liked better than being the one who could turn chaos into logic. Pandemonium into efficiency.
But not here. This place seethed with so much turmoil, so much madness, it was like the river where she’d almost drowned. She couldn’t catch her breath. She couldn’t focus. She watched the orderlies rolling gurneys in or helping the wounded hobble onto a cot, and for the first time in her life, she found herself rattled by the sight of blood. Sure, she was out of practice, but it was more than that. It was the sheer volume of need here. The all-consuming, inescapable tragedy of war.
Her first surgery in Vietnam was a compound femoral fracture. She had done similar procedures in the efficient, sanitary Toronto hospital, but this felt nothing like that. She was assigned to the debriding, but the sheer extent of the damage was shocking. She could not fall back on what she knew would help, because despite this hospital being funded by Canada, they didn’t have what she needed. Once the femur was put back together, they needed to extend the muscles, ensuring they maintained length. At home, they did that by using a pulley system with weights. Here, they used sandbags. And atone point, she had three patients in the same bed, all hooked up to the same sandbags.
Later that first morning, a young man ran in, shouting something at her in Vietnamese. When he saw her confusion, he switched to French. “Venez vite! Maintenant!” A nurse, the anaesthetist, and Marion ran outside and found an older man lying unconcious on the ground outside. His head was bruised and bleeding, his blood pressure was elevated, and his right pupil was dilated. But it was the swelling over his right temporal area that demanded attention. Even without an X-ray, she was fairly sure it was a skull fracture with a subdural hematoma. As they rushed him inside, the anaesthetist slid in a nasotracheal tube to help him breathe, then the nurse shaved the side of his head with an old, albeit clean, straight razor. Just in time, the surgeon arrived and cut an incision down to the man’s skull. He drilled into the bone, and they were rewarded with a spurt of dark blood as the area decompressed. The surgery continued for two more hours at least, and at the end the medical team were feeling cautiously optimistic.
