The Architect of Revenge: A September 11th Novel (7 page)

“Caroline,” he said, “I don’t want these anymore.” Then he grinned ardently into her eyes. “Unless…of course, you have a warm enough coat to go with me. Soldier Field can be damn cold in December.”

“I do.” She nodded and wiped her nose discreetly in her napkin.

“Good, then it’s all settled.” He poured the remaining wine. With restored confidence, he said, “Nice to finally have the last word.”

“I’m glad you think so.” They shared a smile.

Swirling the wine, he studied its legs on the side of the glass. “One more thing…”

“Whether the coat is warm?” she asked without irony.

“No,” he grinned.

“What then?”

“Could I…” He paused. “Kiss you in public?”

Caroline came in close from across the table. “Sweetheart, you’ll have to try it to find out.”

Mid-December 2000

A
t the far end of the waiting room, the shared look of fear on the parents’ faces vanished the moment Morgan smiled at them. It was a simple message that streamed like a banner: Everything went well.

“Your son’s doing great! I’m proud of him,” Morgan said, sitting down on a multicolored footstool designed to look like a mushroom. “Sorry it took all morning. These repairs take time, but we fixed it.”

He pulled off his surgical cap and looked at the damp band where it clung to his forehead.

“Maybe
I
did
sweat a little.”

His laugh brought the first smile to both parents’ faces.

“When can we see him?” asked the mother.

“The nurses will let you know,” Morgan replied. “Right now they’re getting him settled in.”

Everything he said was crafted to encourage confidence. Such was the nature of the world he worked in. Rarely did he have to deliver bad news, but when it happened it was given in private, with other staff to assist with the grief that followed.

“Dr. Morgan…” Abby was behind him. He turned. “I apologize for interrupting,” she said.

The surgeon stood up and introduced the senior surgical nurse to the parents. “This wonderful woman is my rock…and keeps my leash tight.” There were handshakes. “What’s up, Abby?”

“You left your phone on the side table again…almost vibrated to the floor.” She smiled, handing it to him. “I took the call. I think it’s important.”

Morgan saw Caroline’s number.

“Thanks, Abby.” He winked at her and said to the parents, “We’ll be checking in on your son a lot. Maybe after you’ve had a chance to see him, you should stretch your legs, get lunch. Worrying is our job. You and your family have a Merry Christmas!”

They shook hands and then Morgan and Abby walked together back to the surgery suites.

“You talked to Caroline?” he asked with caution, knowing Abby would speak her mind if she didn’t approve.

Once she saw him vigorously kiss a woman near the entrance of the hospital.

Abby later scowled in private at Morgan and said,
“No lady wears a blouse that revealing in public. You can do better—much better.”

“And?” Morgan asked.

“My oh my…Polite!” Abby looked directly at him. “Ms. Caroline’s a Southern woman…I can tell. She called me
ma’am.
Her mother and father raised her to be proper.”

“So you approve, Grandma?” Morgan could only hope.

“What a sweet voice! She should be in our tabernacle choir!”

“Guess I better call her back right now!” Morgan tapped in her number.

“Don’t you keep that girl waiting alone in the cafeteria!”

“Huh?” The phone was already ringing.

“Hi!” Caroline said into his ear.

“What are you doing here?”

“Other than stalking young doctors,” she replied, “I’m doing some site work today, building your hospital. Remember? Architects do visit their edifices from time to time.”

“Where are you?”

“Got a table for two by a window. Look for the candles and wine. You can have half of my turkey sandwich.”

“Hang on, Cay,” Morgan said, turning to Abby. “Do I have time to have lunch with her?”

“I don’t think we’ll be counting instruments for about an hour,” Abby answered.

“My hair flat?” he asked.

“No,” but she still used her fingers to fluff and comb his errant cowlick. “That’s better.”

“Thanks, bye, later.” His voice rose as the distance between them grew. He hadn’t had a chance to see her since the Bears game last Sunday.

“Hey, you!” Caroline said. Her tight ponytail bounced as she looked up.

He kissed her.

“That’s enough for now,” she said, breaking away. “You’ll ruin your reputation.”

“I don’t care.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Morgan!” The unified greeting came from a moving cadre of white-coated residents clearing their trays.

“More scandal for you,” Caroline said merrily.

Morgan scanned the crowded room. Diners were looking their way.

“I think we’ve succeeded already. Want to go to the staff dining room? Less crowded.”

“Dressed like this? I don’t think so.”

Her sweatshirt and jeans were streaked with dust and grimy stains. She had a smudge near her right ear but freshly applied lip gloss. Her carefree beauty seemed so natural it took his breath away.

“Oh, I don’t think anyone would mind if I took a construction worker to—”

“Nah,” Cay said, “this is fine. Abby…we talked for a couple of minutes. She’s really a dear woman! Knows you like a book!”

Morgan groaned.

“I assured her I wouldn’t keep you long.” She handed him an iced tea, a napkin, and her plate. “Here…I promised you half a sandwich.”

“Hope you have a good lunch, Dr. Morgan.”

The surgeon looked at the speaker—the nurse who circulated in his operating room. Wasn’t she supposed to be setting up his next case?

Caroline smiled and said, “So what’s the rest of your day looking like?”

“Have one more operation this afternoon.”

He bit into the bread.

“I’ll be done here about five.” Caroline stroked her ponytail while she spoke. With each pass, her hand lingered just above her breast. “Can you do dinner?”

“Going to be later for me,” he replied with a dazed pout.

“Hope you’re having a pleasant lunch, Dr. Morgan.”

He looked in the direction of the voices. A trio of operating-room staff kept moving, only to pause and wave at him a few feet behind Caroline.

“Popular fellow,” Cay said.

“These people never leave the OR lunch room,” Morgan confided. “Most brown-bag it.”

“Another wave inbound,” Caroline noted.

Several more OR staff dressed in pale green scrubs said hello in passing.

“Sweet of all your friends to stop by,” she said as Morgan nodded to the group.

He shook his head. “Anyway…if we do dinner, it’ll be late…but more private.”

“I rarely go to sleep before midnight,” she replied.

“We could eat at my place. It’s clean, I think.” His brow crinkled before he smiled confidently. “Yeah…It is…My housekeeper’s been there.”

Morgan was fastidious about keeping his home neat and organized, but without exception there was probably a pair of underwear that missed the basket or some dishes left in the sink. Henrietta righted those little things, cleaned the place and every week washed his sheets and remade the bed—good in any circumstance, but especially today if Caroline ended up in it.

“Hi there!” a voice behind him said.

Morgan turned around. “Abby, what are you doing here?”

He put down his sandwich and managed to formally introduce the two women. When Caroline rose to take Abby’s hand, she towered over her.

“Pleasure, Abby.” The women bonded immediately. “Wes speaks highly of you.”

“Dr. Morgan and I have known each other a very long time,” Abby replied.

“Some rich stories, I suspect,” Caroline nodded.

Morgan felt perspiration accumulating rapidly under his arms. He held his breath.

“Dr. Morgan is a real joy to work with.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” said Caroline. “So…I guess, Dr. Morgan, Abby has come to reclaim you.” Caroline looked at her. “I hope someday we can get together…share more.”

“There’s plenty to tell,” Abby laughed not so subtly. “Take years, but I’d enjoy that.”

“Hey, what happens in the OR stays, right?” Morgan reminded her as he answered his ringing cell phone and pulled on her arm. “Back to work for us, Abby.”

“My boss here needs to take me away,” she said. “Wonderful meeting you, Ms. Pruitt.”

“Likewise,” Caroline said.

“Cay…” Morgan really didn’t want to go. “I’ll call you when I break scrub, swing by and get you.”

“That’ll work. I’ll bring the food. Call me when you leave.”

Morgan and Abby walked back toward the elevators that would take them to the operating suite.

“How many people did you tell I’d be in the cafeteria…you know, with Caroline?”

“Lord have mercy, she’s a beautiful girl!”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Abby smiled. “I never gossip, Dr. Morgan.”

“I know,” Morgan said, aware hospitals were dry kindling and a bit of gossip would ignite an inferno of curiosity.

“You’re going to marry her, I hope.”

Abby was never this frank.

“It’s only been a month. And she hasn’t asked me yet,” he replied.

His growing preoccupation with Caroline totally supplanted any desire to remain unattached. He had never felt this way before! He could only hope…

“Don’t let her go,” said Abby, pulling him from his thoughts. “She loves you.”

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. A pizza would have been fine.”

Morgan meant it, but when he’d called to say he was on his way, Caroline said the cooking was done. All she had to do was warm the veal and construct the salad while he uncorked the wine and lit a fire. The entire time she moved around his kitchen, he watched, mesmerized, as she reached, bent, and stretched, opening cabinet doors.

After they finished eating, Caroline nestled against his shoulder as they sat on the sofa, enjoying the final drops of wine.

“I’ll clear this,” Morgan said, “because I’ve got to get the dessert.”

The plates were soon stacked on the kitchen counter and he returned with his hands behind his back.

“Here,” he said, presenting her with a bottle of eighteen-year-old Macallan.

“My goodness!” she said.

“It’s the reason I was bit more late picking you up,” he admitted. “I wanted to get you something special…with you cooking and all.”

Her fingers ran over the label. “Wes, you shouldn’t have. I know this really set you back.”

“I don’t care,” he said and went rummaging through his glassware. “You only live once, and damn it, I’m enjoying this.”

His confidence wilted as he searched his cabinets.

“Oh crap! Cay…I’m an idiot! I don’t have any snifters.”

Caroline joined him and found two highball glasses. Holding them up to the light, she shook her head.

“My! Crate and Barrel—good start! At least you’re aware that glassware counts.” She started washing them and grabbed a drying towel. “They’ll do just fine…tonight.”

Morgan opened the bottle and poured generously.

“You’ve learned proper dosing,” she laughed and gave him a hug. “Turn off the lights and put on another log,” she said. “This needs to be enjoyed with just firelight.”

Morgan did as instructed then joined Caroline on the sofa.

After a deep sniff, she took a taste and looked again at the glass.

“Santa will be here soon.” She gave him a kiss. “When I write him my letter, I tell him you’ve been nice…so maybe he’ll bring you some real snifters. You’ll have to promise him, though, that you’ll use them only with me.”

She rested her head again on his shoulder, pulling a throw blanket over them both. In warm silence, bathed in the serenity of the soothing fire, they sipped until their glasses were empty.

Morgan heard the dishwasher running and realized he had dozed off. Without waking him, Caroline had loaded and started the machine and come back under the blanket. He felt her bare breasts massaging his chest each time she breathed. The heat of their bodies heightened the scent of her perfume, generating a sublime sensuousness.

“Time for bed,” she whispered.