The Holiday Triplets (19 page)

“Maybe I should have exploded more often,” Mark mused. “Would that have helped?”

“Nothing would have helped.” Bryn's mouth twisted ironically. “I had to do this on my own, one step at a time.”

“Apparently you've succeeded,” he said with approval.

“I'm an alcoholic. I'll always have to be careful.” She
paused as a couple of nurses, sauntering past with their trays, paused to greet Mark.

He made introductions and was grateful that they didn't linger. Once he and Bryn were alone, he picked up the thread of the conversation. “You're right. There's no cure for addiction, but it can be controlled.”

“Coming here is a big step,” she admitted. “I want you to understand how sorry I am for what I put you through. You're the best friend I ever had. You cared more about me than anyone, maybe even our parents. And I repaid you by acting like a jerk.”

“I forgive you.” Now that she sat in front him, this woman he remembered through so many stages of her childhood and adolescence, he felt only gratitude for her recovery.

“Do you really?”

“To prove it, I'm going to take the rest of the day off. You said you don't have to leave till tomorrow morning, right?” He had an idea how they might celebrate their reunion.

She nodded. “I worked New Year's Eve, so I get an extra day off.”

“You used to enjoy playing laser tag,” he recalled.

“Still do.”

“Well?” he said. “What're we waiting for?” Then he added, “There is one stop I'd like to make on the way.”

“I hope it's to meet Samantha.”

“You're way ahead of me.”

 

S
AM WAS BARELY HALFWAY
through the accumulation of cards when Mark stopped by to make introductions. She immediately liked his sister's straightforward manner. In Sam's experience, people who'd come to terms with their own failings didn't waste energy on pretenses. They
simply accepted others as they had learned to accept themselves.

“I hope I'm not interrupting any plans you guys had for this evening,” Bryn told her. “We could all get together if you like.”

“With three screaming infants?” This was Nanny Nancy's night off. “I'll let you enjoy your evening together.” Mark had explained that Bryn planned to drive back to Phoenix first thing tomorrow.

“Thanks.” He gave Sam a look full of tenderness. “For encouraging Bryn to contact me and for that excellent advice you gave her.”

She wasn't sure what he meant. “Advice?”

“About guilt.” He left it at that and guided his sister toward the door.

“I hope I get a chance to know you better,” Bryn added. “Next visit, okay?”

“Absolutely.”
But it had better come in the next month or so, because after that I'll be gone.

Sam's chest tightened at the thought. Despite her attempts to whip up some enthusiasm, she hated the idea of leaving Safe Harbor.

If she married Mark, Bryn would be her sister-in-law. Sam pictured them all gathered around his living room or at the cabin, laughing as the triplets toddled and plopped on the floor.

No. Erase that image.

She'd be somewhere else, doing what she was meant to do. After all, how many people were lucky enough to have a mission in life as significant as hers?

Wistfully, she went back to reading, but didn't get far before her phone rang. “Dr. Forrest.”

In the split second before the caller replied, she heard
a girl's voice in the background say, “Mom! Quit eating all the fudge.”

“I'm only testing it” came a crisp voice. “Sorry. This is Eleanor Wycliff.”

“Happy New Year.” That seemed a civil greeting, which was the best Sam could do. She and Eleanor hadn't crossed paths since their fencing match in the media a week earlier.

“Mark told me that you're leaving and I think it's ridiculous. Please stay. I hope you'll continue as the clinic's adviser, too. We need you.”

“I'm sorry—I can't,” Sam said.

A long sigh. “I was afraid you'd say that, but I hoped…” Eleanor broke off, and in the background Sam heard her daughter say, “Tell her about Vivien.”

“What about Vivien?” Sam asked.

Eleanor gave a dry chuckle. “I stopped by the shelter to see Mrs. Babcock and apologize for being rude to her. I won't say that I like her, but she's much more tolerable when she's sober. Thanks for showing me that even people who lack social skills deserve sympathy.”

“You're welcome.” If Eleanor was mature enough to apologize for her mistakes, the clinic wasn't in such bad hands after all.

“Now, I have another request. If you insist on leaving, at least keep guiding us long-distance. Answer our questions and keep us focused on why the clinic was established in the first place.”

Sam's mood lifted at the notion that she didn't have to give up all contact with the project. “I'd be happy to consult by phone or email.”

“That's wonderful.”

“Remember the slogan” came Libby's voice over the clang of a pot.

“Watch where you put that, dear!” her mother said. Back to Sam, she explained, “We've decided we need a slogan. Something to keep the staff, volunteers and clients in a positive frame of mind. Any ideas?”

A slogan? “That's more Jennifer's area than mine.”

“She suggested Optimism in the face of adversity, then shortened it to, Think positive, but I'd prefer something with more snap.”

“I'll let it simmer in my brain.” Perhaps one of the cards would provide inspiration.

After the call, pleased to have made peace with Eleanor, Sam resumed reading. A young mother thanked her for a referral to counseling to treat her depression. She also heard from a girl with curvature of the spine, who now stood straight and was training to become a dancer. A mother wrote that her autistic son, referred for early intervention, had improved enough by age five to enroll in a regular kindergarten.

By the time she finished, Sam ached with longing to stay here in this place where she'd done so much good. But her higher and better self responded with a resounding “no.”

Although it was only midafternoon, she felt too restless to linger. Pushing the stroller home through the crisp air ought to clear her mind and perhaps help her come up with a slogan for Eleanor.

If not, at least she could stop at yard sales and indulge in a little shopping.

Mark's urge to give someone a sharp poke, which had gone into hibernation during his sister's visit, came roaring back early Tuesday morning when he realized Owen Tartikoff still hadn't returned his call. Annoyed, he dialed the man's number in Boston.

“Tartikoff,” came the curt response.

“This is Mark Rayburn. In case you didn't get my message…”

“I got it,” the man said. “Let me be sure I understand correctly. You consider Dr. Forrest as much an asset to Safe Harbor as I would be.”

“That's about the size of it.”

“I'll take the job.”

Having braced for an argument, Mark tried to make sense of Owen's words. “You're accepting the position as director of the fertility center?”

“Unless you've changed your mind about offering it to me.”

“Welcome aboard.” Mark struggled to bring his reaction in line with this unexpected development. “When can you start?”

“I have a contract to fulfill here, so I won't be able to come full-time until next summer. But we can get started implementing policy.” As they agreed on a timetable, Mark
wondered whether to ask what had influenced Owen's decision. The new director saved him the trouble. “I admire a man or woman who can stand up to me. In the long run, it leads to better outcomes. I look forward to working with you and to meeting this fire-breathing pediatrician.”

“We're excited to have you join us.” Mark decided against mentioning that Sam seemed resolved to leave. Or that he, too, might depart.

“Shall I give Ms. Yashimoto a call with my decision?” the fertility specialist asked.

“I'll handle that.” Mark had a piece of business to settle with Chandra, as well. After a bit more discussion with Owen, he put through a call to the vice president and, when she answered, broke the news about Tartikoff.

“That's fantastic!” Her voice registered relief. “How on earth did you pull this off?”

“I stood up to him,” Mark said. “And that's the second reason I'm calling you. It's about the chain of command.”

“Excuse me?”

“You shouldn't have called him in the first place. The corporation hired me as hospital administrator, and that means I'm the person Owen reports to. I don't want him going over my head every time there's a disagreement.”

A long silence greeted his remarks. Finally, she said, “I didn't mean to undercut your authority, but this project is of the utmost importance.”

“I thought the hospital as a whole was of the utmost importance,” he answered coolly. “
Including
the fertility center.”

“Well, of course.”

Might as well go for broke. “I should warn you that I'm considering leaving when Dr. Forrest does. She and I may be taking on a new challenge together.” That was a stretch,
since Sam hadn't agreed to any such thing, but Mark was in no mood to pull his punches.

Chandra gasped. “Mark, we can't afford to lose you.”

“I suspect that's an exaggeration.” He'd expended far too much energy these past months mediating between Chandra and his staff—Sam in particular—to fall for idle compliments.

“You have no idea what a brilliant job you're doing. Safe Harbor is our flagship hospital. One of our other hospitals is in bad shape due to poor leadership, and a couple of others are struggling. You're even more important to us than Dr. Tartikoff.” Chandra spoke in a rush, with no sign of her usual calculation. “I hope you'll reconsider, Mark. And Dr. Forrest, as well. We'd like for her to stay in any capacity you deem fit.”

Hmm. Interesting. “I'll take that into consideration.”

“Naturally we'll be raising both your salaries by ten percent,” Chandra added.

Even more interesting. “Much appreciated. I'll get back to you soon.”

After hanging up, Mark sat staring out the window toward the harbor. He loved this view and he'd really hate to abandon it.

Now for the tough part: persuading Sam to stay.

A tap at the door ushered in Eleanor Wycliff. “Good morning,” she said, far too cheerily for someone who'd presumably driven all the way from Beverly Hills in what he'd heard on the radio was heavy postholiday traffic. “How do you like the clinic's new slogan?” She indicated a bright yellow lapel button bearing a prominent single word: Yes!

“Excellent.” Mark tried to show more interest than he felt. Right now the clinic was the least of his concerns.

“Dr. Forrest found a box of them at a yard sale
yesterday,” Eleanor continued. “Well, I won't keep you. Ciao!”

After she'd gone, he reflected on the fact that he and Sam had been offered substantial raises. What a shame to give those up. Still, she'd never let money influence her decision.

He was marshalling his arguments when Lori popped in. “Just a reminder that you have patients scheduled this morning.”

Mark checked his watch. “In half an hour. I'm aware of that, thanks.”

She tapped her own Yes! button. “I like the clinic's new slogan so much, I thought I'd wear one, too.”

“I hope you sanitized it. I understand they came from a yard sale.”

“Grouch.” Quickly, she added, “Yes, I did.”

Something occurred to Mark. “Wait a minute. Shouldn't you be on your honeymoon?”

“Jared couldn't reschedule his duties on such short notice, so we took a long weekend in Palm Springs,” the nurse answered. “Anyway, I wouldn't miss this.”

“Miss what?”

She gave him a broad smile and ducked out. He imagined her grin still hanging in midair, as if she were the Cheshire cat.

What was going on?

Then Sam came in. “Hi.” She pointed to her yellow Yes! button.

“Good morning.” Mark took a deep breath. “I have good news.”

“Oh?” She quirked one of her amazing eyebrows. The gesture seemed to convey a world of meaning, but at the moment, he had no idea what it was.

“Dr. Tartikoff's going to be joining our staff. Also,
Chandra wants you to stay at Safe Harbor and she's offered us both ten percent raises.”

“What's the punch line?” Sam asked. She looked particularly lovely today, he observed, with her hair curling seductively around the shoulders of her tweed suit. He'd missed walking to work with her this morning, but he'd wanted to have breakfast with Bryn.

“No punch line. I'm serious.”

“Good thing.” She indicated her button again.

“I like the new slogan,” Mark said politely.

“It's also the answer to your question.”

Which question? “Refresh my memory.”

She held up her left hand. The rainbow ring, adapted to fit with a thick Band-Aid, clung to her third finger. “That question.”

When Mark started to rise, his knees defied him, and he sank down again. “You'll marry me?”

“I love you. Whatever we're doing and wherever we're going, let's do it together.”

“That's the most brilliant thing I ever heard.” This time, he propelled himself upright and strode around the desk.

“Actually, you said it.” Sam reached for him. “I was quoting you.”

“I did? I must be a genius.” He gathered her in his arms, exactly where she belonged.

“I finally figured out,” she murmured, “that I shouldn't let defying death take over my life.”

“You're a genius, too.”

“And since you'd be monstrously unhappy in a small clinic, I've decided to stay here.” She nuzzled the curve of his throat. “As long as I'm getting a ten percent raise.”

Mark breathed in the scent of baby powder and peppermint. A practical woman, his future wife. “I'm glad you dressed for the occasion, by the way. You're smashing.”

“I had to erase that image of myself receiving a proposal in sweats and baby spit-up.”

He wanted to be sure she wouldn't regret this. “What about that dream of yours? The idea that you were saved for a reason?”

“I still believe that,” Sam replied. “The thing is, I kept saying no to my own instincts. After I bought these buttons, I felt them nagging at me all night. Finally I got the message about saying yes. That I can save the world one child at a time just as well right here in Safe Harbor.”

Mark kissed her for a very long while. Not as long as he'd have liked, though, because he heard giggling and whispering in the outer office. Reluctantly, he lifted his head. “What now?”

Catching his hand in hers, Sam stepped back and called out, “Okay, guys.”

Lori entered first, with Eleanor and Jennifer right behind. “Can we pop the champagne now?” his nurse asked. “It's really sparkling apple juice.”

“Please do.” As Eleanor twisted off the lid, Mark didn't even mind that Sam had told her friends about her decision before she'd told him. Otherwise, how could she have arranged this celebration?

“I had my fingers crossed for you both,” Jennifer added.

“Was there any doubt about how I'd react?” Mark had already proposed, after all.

Lori poured juice carefully into plastic champagne flutes. “With the two of you, we never can tell.”

Come to think of it, neither could he.

 

O
N A BALMY MORNING IN
February, Dr. Mark Rayburn and Dr. Samantha Forrest set out on foot from their large home on a cul-de-sac. While he lowered the oversize
stroller to the walkway, she locked the door on the once-austere house, which seemed much friendlier now that it was stuffed with a flowery sofa and chairs, baby furniture and a collection of colored glassware.

Dr. Rayburn and Dr. Forrest, who had discussed merging their names when they said their vows but decided Rayburn-Forrest would be too much of a mouthful, enjoyed the salty breeze that blew from the ocean and the early spring flowering of pansies, snapdragons and primroses in the yards they passed.

A couple of times, they stopped to tug a blanket into place over one of the triplets, who were getting feistier every day, much like their parents. And occasionally the two doctors' voices rang out in cheerful disagreement about some policy or other. But when they neared the complex, their steps quickened as they eagerly anticipated their arrival at Safe Harbor Medical Center.

This was—and for a very long time into the future would surely remain—
their
hospital.