Love On Call

Abby smiled just a little triumphantly. “We start at seven, which means you should probably show up around ten of.”

Blake glanced at Margie. “Can you pick me up? Just until I get my license.” He looked over his shoulder at his mother with a truly angelic smile. “And a car.”

Abby merely shook her head. “Those negotiations are ongoing. What are you driving, Margie—something safe? Not a motorcycle.”

“Oh, totally.” Margie’s face glowed. “Harper gave me her old truck for as long as I keep it running and put gas in it.”

“I’ll help with that,” Blake said instantly.

“Fine,” Abby said. “Mari and I will be your supervisors in the ER.”

“Cool,” both kids said at once.

Abby squeezed Blake’s shoulder and sat back while Blake and Margie made plans in excited whispers. Mari tried and failed to imagine her own parents interacting with her the way Abby did with Blake and his friend, firmly in charge but listening to them, as if their opinions mattered. A year ago she might not have noticed, or at the most been surprised or curious. Now she was the tiniest bit jealous, and even more than a little sad.

Chapter Sixteen

Softball was a lot more interesting than Mari had ever realized. Maybe it was the players she found fascinating, though, and not the details of the game. One player in particular. She tended to forget the score and the number of outs, being mostly too busy watching Glenn. Glenn played the game the way she did everything else, with a singular focus that showed in her every movement, from the way she ran directly out onto the field with her baseball glove tucked under her arm, racing to her position, to settling into a loose-limbed stance, poised and ready for action. And watching, always watching. Her attentiveness was one of the things Mari liked most about Glenn—no matter what she was doing, evaluating a patient, instructing a student, listening while Mari talked, she was so unwaveringly there, totally engaged. Being around Glenn, when they talked in the ER hallway or relaxed across from each other in the pizza place, she knew without a doubt she was seen. It wasn’t as if Glenn had tunnel vision and shut out the rest of the world—just the opposite. Glenn was aware of everything. She constantly took in all the activity going on around them, as if to be sure she was never taken by surprise. Every time the door opened to admit a new customer or someone appeared from around the corner at the end of a hall, her gaze would flicker for just a second in that direction, as if she was assessing the threat level, determining friend or foe. And just as quickly her attention would swing back to Mari, one hundred percent.

After years of feeling as if she was only partially visible, to family and friends and even herself, Mari exulted in the sensation of being seen at last. No more hiding—and now that Glenn knew all her secrets, or probably all that mattered, she couldn’t take solace in the shadows even if she’d wanted to. In the weeks since she’d left LA, her life had turned upside down.

But she could handle it. She had to. She had nothing to go back to.

“Ooh, this guy can hit,” Margie exclaimed. “He homered a couple of times in the last game against us.”

“Yeah, I remember,” Blake muttered as if recalling some grievous injury. “He pulls right, though, and Glenn wasn’t playing the night he homered. He got a break, that’s all.”

Mari perked up at the sound of Glenn’s name and studied the batter. Unassuming enough, she would have thought. A slim, young guy she recognized from X-ray swung the bat in an easy motion and didn’t look to be all that strong. He swung and missed the first ball. The next he watched pass over the plate with barely a glance. Then he coiled just a little tighter, his front leg stretching out as Carrie released the ball, and his bat sliced the air almost too quickly for Mari to follow. The ball streaked away with a sharp crack in Glenn’s direction. Over her head. Too high for her to possibly reach.

Mari caught her breath, edged forward on the bench while people yelled encouragement and many jumped to their feet. For just an instant Glenn seemed not to move at all, but merely lifted her head as the ball soared toward her, then she angled her shoulder, her gaze still fixed upward, and ran back and back, almost to the rear wall, as the ball arced down. With a fluid sweep of her arm, she lofted her glove and the bullet-like projectile seemed to fall into it as if that had been its only intention. As if she had drawn it to her like a magnet.

Mari knew the feeling. Glenn was magnetic.