Surgeon Boss, Surprise Dad

Steeling himself for the worst, he met the specialist’s gaze. “What does this mean, exactly? What should I expect?”

Did he even want to know? With the way things had gone thus far, perhaps he shouldn’t ask. Perhaps ignorance was bliss. Before seeing Larry, he’d known something was wrong but hadn’t felt this heavy sense of impending doom.

“Since this is your first known exacerbation, it’s difficult to say. As you probably already know, symptoms vary from individual to individual just as the course of the disease varies. It’s possible this exacerbation could go away tomorrow and you won’t have another episode for decades.” Dr Winters shrugged. “Maybe never.”

“It’s also possible that this is only the tip of the iceberg, that what I’m experiencing is mild and will get much worse before going into remission—if I go into remission at all.”

“That’s true. There’s no way of knowing the course of your individual disease, or how progressive your case will be,” Dr Winters agreed. “Generally there are considered to be four classifications of MS, each a different level of progression of the disease.”

“There’s no way to know which type I have, is there? No test or study that can be done to determine which one?”

“With time we’ll know, but as far as a test I can run…” the doctor shook his head “…there’s not. The best we can hope for is that this will be your only exacerbation and that you’ve already experienced the worst of your symptoms.”

“But that’s not what you expect?”

Dr Winters frowned. “You know I can’t predict the future. Anything I said would only be a guess.”

“I could lose control of my body functions, go paralyzed, even die from this.”

“That type of progression is rare, Adam. The majority of MS cases fall into the category where the person only has a few exacerbations throughout his or her lifetime.” Dr Winters gave a stern look. “You can’t go into this thinking the worst. You have to fight, keep a positive outlook.”

But no matter how Adam tried to focus on the positive, on the fact that this might go away, the stark reality wouldn’t let up.

“I could end up in a wheelchair. Crippled.” He winced. “Bedridden.”

Just like Gramps.

The thought of Liz putting her life on hold to wait on him hand and foot while he lay in a hospital bed caused bile to rise up his throat.

“What about my job? My career? I’m a surgeon with MS.” He laughed with ill humor.

He felt like he’d made an admission much as an alcoholic would at an AA meeting. Hi, my name is Dr Adam Cline, and I’m a surgeon with MS. Only with alcoholism a person could fight. How did one fight one’s own haywire immune system?

“Am I medically clear to perform surgeries? To pilot my plane?”

“For now,” the neurologist said. “As long as you’re physically and mentally capable. However, you should check with your airport on any regulatory guidelines that would restrict you from flying. But if your symptoms worsen, I’d have no choice but to put you on medical leave.”

Adam liked his life. He had a great job, a hobby he loved, financial freedom, and Liz. Now all the best parts were slipping through his fingers like loose grains of sand. He wanted to grasp each bit, hold it all in place, but doing so was futile.

“Adam?” Dr Winters touched his forearm. “I’m concerned about you. You’re not suicidal?”

His life might be over in many ways, but he wasn’t a murderer and in his eyes suicide was a form of murder. He laughed with a bitterness he wasn’t sure had ever come from his lips before. “Suicidal? No, I’m not suicidal.”

Although he’d rather die than burden Liz with taking care of him for years on end.

“You know…” Dr Winters studied him “…there are lots of people who have MS who live fairly normal lives.”

Adam nodded. There were, but he had to face facts. His life would never be the same. He had MS and no way of knowing that the future wouldn’t leave him an encumbrance.

How could he do that to Liz? How could he put her in the position of having to take care of him that way? It would be like starting all over with her grandfather. Each day Liz would have to care for him, wonder if he’d be able to do anything for himself, if he’d know who she was, as memory issues occasionally went along with MS.

She’d lose all possibility of having a normal life.

They had to end. Continuing their relationship was condemning Liz to a life sentence.

He wouldn’t be able to tell her why. She’d never let him walk away if she knew about his MS. Not his Liz. No, she’d insist on staying by his side, caring for him despite him trying to push her away so she wouldn’t carry this burden.

He didn’t expect her to understand. Not at first, but in the long run she’d discover he’d done the right thing to set her free.

What woman who’d already given up so much of her life to care for an invalid would want to take on that burden a second time?

Worse, what kind of man would he be if he knowingly let her?

CHAPTER FOUR

WHILE chatting on the phone with Kelly, Liz chopped a tomato. Her stomach protested at the thought of yet another salad, but she had to eat and these days her stomach protested at everything anyway. Tonight would be no exception regardless of what she ate so she’d at least eat healthily.

“I’ve barely seen Adam since my grandfather died. I miss him so much. We haven’t spent enough time together for me to figure it out, but I know something is going on with him. He says nothing’s wrong, but he’s just not been himself.”

“He has seemed a bit distracted at work lately,” Kelly agreed, pausing in thought before saying, “Maybe he doesn’t know what to say to comfort you and that makes him feel inadequate.”

“Maybe.” What Kelly said sort of made sense, but Liz wasn’t convinced. Adam wasn’t an inadequate kind of man. With reason. There wasn’t a thing inadequate about Dr Adam Cline. Except his communication skills for the past month. “But Adam was perfect during Gramps’s funeral and right afterwards. He held me and with his arms around me I knew everything would be all right. Just his being with me was enough.”

She sighed. Kelly had to be tired of listening to her go on and on about Adam.

“Sorry, Kel. I know I’ve turned into a major whiner, but worrying about Adam is driving me crazy. I can’t stand not seeing him or talking to him when it’s so obvious something’s bothering him. When I know he’s not telling me something.”

“If it was anyone other than Adam I’d ask if you thought he was seeing someone else.”

With the way he hadn’t been able to get rid of her fast enough on the day they’d gone to the nursing home and then so obviously avoiding her since then, that thought had crossed her mind, but she’d quickly dismissed it. Adam loved her and was the most honorable man she knew. If he was interested in someone else, he’d tell her.

“I don’t understand what’s going on with him, but I don’t think it’s another woman.”

“Then you need to confront him. Make him tell you what’s bothering him,” Kelly advised, not for the first time. “Sorry to cut you short, but Jason’s here.” Kelly had dinner plans with the hospital pharmacist she had been dating on and off for the past few months. “I just called to check on you and to see if you’d had a chance to talk with Adam. I really think this is all just a misunderstanding of some kind. I’m sure he’s fine. That everything’s fine.”

Guilt washed over Liz. Her friend had called to check on her and all she’d done had been to moan and groan.

“I’m sorry to lay all this on you.” Eyeing the tomato wedges, she set the knife on the counter. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Liz…” Kelly hesitated. “Promise me you’ll get some rest and not let this keep eating away at you. You’ve lost weight and look so tired. I know you keep saying you’re worried about Adam, but I’m worried about you.”

“I’ll try to get some rest.” She would try. Not that that meant she’d actually get any sleep.

More often than not she caught herself lying in bed remembering the happy days before Gramps had got sick. Remembering him taking her down to Tillman’s Hollow to go fishing in Riley Arnold’s pond when she’d been a small girl. Remembering his laughter at Barney Fife’s antics as they’d watched The Andy Griffith Show—Gramps’s favorite. Remembering his look of pride when she’d graduated from high school with honors.

Tears welled in her eyes. No matter how many times she reminded herself that he was gone, when she dozed off she forgot and when she woke up again, fresh loss washed over her.

Just as fresh loss washed over her each time she remembered the reality that something was horribly wrong between her and Adam.

Why was he shutting her out?

Kelly was right. She needed to confront him, to talk with him and tell him how she felt.

She poured a glass of milk to drink with her salad and gathered her things to go to the living room. She set her plate on the antiquated coffee-table with its peeling veneer and plopped down on the worn, almost threadbare love seat. Curling into the permanently indented furniture, she tucked her feet beneath her. But when she was comfortable, she didn’t pick up her salad. Instead, she looked around the barren living room.

The whole house was barren. Empty. The only living part of the place was the roses that still bloomed brightly in the front yard. Roses that she could see if she flipped on the outdoor lights, but she hadn’t done so since her grandfather had died.

Was Kelly right? Was Adam not dealing well with her grandfather’s death and felt lacking in some way? Was he inadvertently pushing her away without realizing what he was doing?

But what about him rubbing his temple? Adam didn’t have headaches. At least, she couldn’t recall him ever having had one. Was it stress?

An insistent rap at her front door had her jumping up from the love seat. Her fork clanged against the plate, then onto the faded hardwood floor.

With Kelly on a date, only one person would show up at her door this late in the evening.

Excitement shimmied up her spine. Adam. He’d come to her. Finally. They’d talk, work through whatever had been bothering him.

On her way to the door she paused to stare at herself in the small framed mirror that hung on the wall.

Her hair remained pulled up in a loose ponytail, her face was clean-scrubbed, and she wore shorts and a T-shirt. But it was the dark circles and puffiness around her eyes that stood out most. She looked haggard even to her own eyes.

Maybe that explained Adam’s recent avoidance.

Or maybe if she’d quit procrastinating and open the door, she’d know exactly what the problem was.

“Who’s there?” she asked, her hand hesitating on the safety chain until she’d verified who was at the door.

“Adam.”

Barely able to contain her happiness, she undid the chain and lock and stared in horror at the man who’d become so entangled with her very being.

He looked awful.

Even more so than she did. His hair was ruffled from him having repeatedly run his fingers through it. His face was pale, gaunt. And his eyes. Never had she seen such lost blue chasms indenting his face. Deep blue orbs that threatened to drown anyone who looked too closely.

“Adam? What’s happened?” She reached for him, stopping short when he jerked back before her fingers made contact. As if he feared her touch.

“Adam?” she asked, uncertain how to take his reaction.

His gaze shot beyond her, never connecting with her face.

That’s when she got a whiff of him. Still wonderfully masculine Adam. Spicy, musky, sexy, intoxicating to her senses, but something more. Something intoxicating in a very different way. A way very unlike Adam.

He’d been drinking, and not just the glass of wine they occasionally shared.

She stared at him, wondering if he was drunk.

At least that would explain his strange behavior.

Liz’s anxiety increased tenfold. What was going on?

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