The Alphabet of Love Ch. 19

Monday morning I dressed in one of my most expensive pantsuits. I wanted to look as professional as possible when I dropped the bomb on Dr. Miliano. He wouldn't be surprised, I thought, only that this was happening so soon. After Derek flew back to Boston, I'd spent time on the phone with Isabel, and talked to my Dad. I'd made up my mind that I wouldn't ask for time off; I'd just give my notice. I wanted my new life to begin now.

I still hadn't called or texted Trevor. What would I say, and how would I say it? I reminded myself that we'd not even known each other very long, we'd had sex a few times but there was no real relationship or emotional connection, although we'd both sensed those were possibilities. Ending it now would clear the way for me to focus on Derek and my new life. If only I had the gumption to get it over with.

My Dad changed his tune about Derek when he saw my engagement ring. No more 'he's too old for you;' it was now, 'you have a great future.' I told Dad about Derek's clinic and how he wanted to make me a partner in it, and he was suitably impressed. He didn't like the fact that I'd be moving so far away, but for once in his life, he saw that I was happy and he was glad for me. He even confided that of his three daughters, I was the one who'd made him most proud. It took thirty-plus years, but I'd finally got the approval from him I'd sought.

Dr. Miliano sat behind his teakwood desk when I entered his office. A view of downtown Seattle spread out behind him through the big window. Of course it was raining. He beat me to the punch by asking how much notice I would give him. I caught him eyeing my engagement ring, too. I told him I'd give the standard two weeks, but would come back after I returned from Boston to help transition my remaining patients. Dr. Miliano seemed satisfied with that. We shook hands and he wished me well; I felt that he truly wasn't angry with me. Perhaps that was a testament to the respect he had for Derek.

The next two weeks flew by. I reserved my flight to Boston. I talked to my patients about moving to new providers; there were some tears between us but good wishes, too. I knew I'd develop warm relationships with new patients but I'd surely miss these. Dr. Couslard became even more reserved now that he knew I'd given notice. In fact, he enlisted a new doctor as his assistant and informed me he didn't need me anymore. I never spoke to him again.

Since I'd be gone so long, I put Faldo into a kitty kennel. I'd avoided doing this to him before since he had a blood-curdling yowl when he was unhappy, but I needed to be certain he was somewhere safe in case anyone should break into my apartment again. I'd replaced my laptop by now, but I took it with me to Boston. I still had paperwork and charting to finish up even though I was no longer reporting to work.

As it happened, the Omaha nephrology conference began two days after I was due to arrive in Boston. If I planned to go, I'd have to pay late registration fees and book my own flight now. Naturally, Derek wanted me to come with him. It seemed crazy to fly to Boston for two days, then to Omaha, and back to Boston. But my life had become unpredictable lately; I tried simply to go with the flow. And this would be the first conference where Derek and I could be outwardly affectionate with each other. I had to admit, though, that pretending we didn't know each other and meeting up for our trysts in hotel rooms lent an air of naughtiness to our antics.

He was there to pick me up at Logan International. My plane circled for an hour while a runway was cleared of the snow that still fell. When I finally stumbled out of the plane and into the terminal, burdened with my purse and stuffed laptop bag, weariness overcame me. I'd been up since six to get to SeaTac on time, my butt sore from hard seats at the gate, and the less than comfortable seat on the plane. Add to that I'd got my period the night before, and I'd been popping ibuprofen every four hours to alleviate my cramps. I told myself not to snap at Derek. All I wanted to do was go to his house, get into a bed, and die.

There he stood, tall and smiling, in jeans and a trendy LL Bean coat. He pulled me close and buried his face in my hair, and said he loved me. I clung to him and nearly cried. Tired, emotional, biologically vulnerable - finally I was with him.

"I'll bet you're tired," he said, looking into my eyes. "You've had a long day."

I nodded, grateful for his astuteness. "I am. I got my period, too."

He kissed me again. "You hungry?"

"Yes, but I'm so tired."

"It's your lucky day. I've got a beef stew in the crockpot, and I bought some fresh bread. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful," I could scarcely contain my relief. I'd been afraid he'd want to take me to an elegant restaurant. That would be fun in a day or two, but not tonight.

We collected my bags and headed out into the night. Well, it was only around six local time, but with the snow and clouds, completely dark. Snow plows circled around the airport arteries, lights blinking, and we followed one out to the connecting roadway, then headed into Boston. Derek told me he lived in West Roxbury, which meant nothing to me, as I had no reference to anything in Boston. Right now all I cared about was the warm air flowing around me and getting into his warm (I hoped) house. I was grateful for his careful driving on the icy roads. I knew he hadn't had the Jaguar very long and hoped he was used to it in these conditions.

He chatted a little but I mostly just nodded. He said his mother was anxious to meet me, maybe we could have dinner with her tomorrow. The kids would be coming sometime. And he wanted to take me to the clinic in the morning. Surely I'd be better by then, after a good night's rest, I thought. He seemed so anxious to incorporate me into his workplace, to make it known that I was going to be a big part of the operations. I couldn't show up looking weak, whiny, or as tired as I felt right now.

The snow let up before we reached his house. Everything was covered in white, sparkling beauty. He slowed and pulled into a driveway that circled in front of the two-story colonial style house; and around to the back, where he drove into a three-car garage. The door opened for him; he pulled in next to the hated Prius, and the door closed behind us. He shut off the car and looked over at me.

"We're home, my love." The way he said it gave me a warm feeling; he considered this our home already.

To my surprise, when I opened the car door the air inside the garage was warm. He took my bags out of the trunk and we went inside the house via a connecting door into the laundry room. It wasn't like any laundry room I'd ever been in, though. Large, with modern appliances, it also featured an open closet area for coats and boots, a half bath, and tables for folding and sorting clothes.

He led me from there into the kitchen, where the wonderful aroma of stew enveloped us. My stomach growled at me.

"It smells so good!" I exclaimed.

"I hope so," he smiled, punching a button on the crockpot. "Here, I'll take your coat and things upstairs. Be right back."

So he left me there, in the spacious kitchen. I imagined myself mistress of the house, cooking for us. The window over a double porcelain sink looked onto the back yard, snow-covered - was that an in-ground pool? Marble counters featured a shiny Kitchenaid food processor, a state-of-the-art coffee maker, bowl of fruit. Appliances included the usual dishwasher, stove, microwave, fridge. I ran my hand over the center island with the hanging pots and pans overhead. I could do some real baking here. I loved to cook and oh, this would be perfect.

I couldn't help nosing into the crockpot. Big chunks of beef, potatoes, carrots, celery, and onions in a dark brown liquid. My mouth watered. I hoped Derek would hurry up.

He returned, in socks, his jeans and a wool sweater, and kissed me. "It feels great having you here at last," he said.

"It's great to be here," I told him.

He opened cupboards and brought out bowls and plates, retrieved utensils from drawers. He sliced the fresh bread. We sat at the island on stools, and dug into the delicious stew.

"Oh god, this is great," I told him after my first few slurps.

"Not bad. I cook occasionally, but it's just me, so not much point in something like this. I usually eat out or get takeout."

This tore at my heart strings. I'd make him good meals after we were married. I suddenly wanted to take care of him, this beautiful house, our sanctuary.

I felt better after eating, but still bone tired. He took the dishes to the sink and rinsed them out, but left them until later. Coming up behind me, he massaged my shoulders. "What can I do to help you feel better?" he asked gently.

I turned to him and put my arms around his neck. "I already feel better being here with you. Thank you, Derek."

"I love you, Shiloh. I'll do anything to make you happy."

"Can I take a nice hot bath?"

He smiled. "Of course. I have a deep tub and I'll even bring you wine."

"I think I'm dreaming," I said, and kissed him.

We went upstairs. I followed him slowly, taking in the grandeur of the entry way, with its colorful floor, and the sweep of the stairs with its wide bannister. Double doors opened into his bedroom upstairs. A king-size bed made up with off-white linens dominated the space. Tall windows were draped in swaths of white and blue, and a vanity table seemed to be waiting for me to cover it with my makeup and perfume bottles.

The bathroom, like everything else, was large. Red tiled floor, gold fixtures, and a bright red porcelain tub - I hated it. This had to be Brenda's doing. I determined to keep my mouth shut, though. Derek showed me towels and lit a candle for me before he went back downstairs to retrieve wine. I ran water into the tub, adding a dollop of bubble bath I discovered in a cabinet. While the tub filled, I opened my suitcase and sorted out some clothes. I hung a few things in Derek's big closet but left most for later. I looked sadly at the sexy negligee I'd bought just for this trip; it would have to wait a few days. I knew some women enjoyed sex during their period but I wasn't one of them. Derek and I had never talked about it.

I started undressing as Derek appeared with two wine glasses. I took a sip from mine and set it on a little ledge over the tub. Derek joined me in the bathroom, parking himself on a little gold chair, watching me. I gingerly stepped into the tub and lowered myself with a happy sigh into the wonderfully warm water.

We talked and enjoyed our libation until the water got cold. He helped me out, wrapped me in a big fluffy towel, and held me close. I'd never felt so completely loved.

I woke alone in the big bed. The clock on the bedside table read nine-fifteen. No! Then I remembered the time difference. Oh shit, I was going to make Derek late getting to his office. I scrambled in the closet and put on one of his bathrobes, a tacky plaid thing with stretched out pockets. I loved it. I found my way downstairs where I smelled coffee. Suddenly I felt alive.

"Hi," I said as I came into the kitchen.

His back to me, he said, "Good morning, sunshine." He was dressed already, in gray slacks and a beautifully draping black silk shirt.

"I'm sorry I slept so late. I'll hurry and get dressed. I just wanted you to know I was awake."

He turned around, smiling, with a bowl of peeled oranges in his hand. "It's all right. I'm the boss. I show up whenever I want to. I cleared my schedule today so I could show you around. Take your time."

"In that case," I smiled, heading for coffee. He'd set out a mug for me and I filled it, held it up to my nose, and sipped.

"You look like you're feeling better," he observed.

I nodded. "Much better. The bath and the sleep made a new woman out of me."

"I hope not. I like the woman I know and love," he teased me.

"Give me some of those oranges," I shoved him a little and he shoved back. He put his arm around me and gave me a warm kiss.

I popped an orange wedge into my mouth.

"I have some pastries," he told me. "Sorry I didn't cook anything."

"No, no," I shook my head. "That's great. I'll nosh a little and get upstairs. I don't want your staff to think you hooked up with a lollygagger."

He laughed. "Honestly, I don't care what they think. Well, I do, but I'm going to do what I want to do anyway."

The sun was out. I'd neglected to bring sunglasses so Derek pointed out an extra pair in the Jaguar for me to wear. The snow on the streets had started to break up; the temperature had warmed. I still wore my dress coat over my best navy blue pantsuit. It wasn't that warm. I'd taken time, sitting at the vanity table, to do my makeup perfectly, and pull my long dark blonde hair into a professional-looking ponytail. I paired diamond stud earrings with the necklace Derek had given me for Christmas. I felt good; even my cramps had subsided. I was ready for whatever the day held in store.

I craned my neck every whichway to see the views of Boston as we drove to the clinic. Everyplace looked better in the snow, I thought, but Boston seemed particularly lovely today. Old stood by new; some of the buildings, Derek told me, dated back to the 1600s.

His clinic, Boston Nephrology, occupied six floors of a medical office building near Tufts Medical Center. He'd told me about his working affiliation with the hospital and its own nephrology practices; it seemed to be a beneficial arrangement for patients. We drove into the underground parking garage and he eased into a spot labeled "Dr. Wiley" and from there we took an elevator to the clinic's main floor.

I left my coat in the car so that everyone's first look at me would be of a tall, serious woman dressed well, eager to see and learn. The last thing I wanted to do was to come in here with a condescending attitude.

Derek, in his gray suit, black shirt, and tie, looked almost like a mob boss. I loved his style when he dressed for work. No one would have ever guessed he'd be caught dead in those horrid polyester track suits that he loved.

Double glass doors read "Boston Nephrology" in gold lettering. Inside, on a placard near the wall, all the providers' names were listed, his at the top as Derek M. Wiley, MD, Clinic Director. I wondered where my name would end up.

A wide, half-circle reception desk with six private windows for greeting patients dominated the entrance. On either side the waiting area featured plasma televisions, a coffee bar with barista, couches, magazines. Derek held my hand and led me around one end of the half-circle to an entry to a long hallway. We passed two or three people who greeted him; he said pleasant good-mornings but didn't stop. He finally pushed open the door labeled with his name.

From a desk by a window overlooking Tufts and other medical buildings, a bright, "Good morning, Derek," came from a perky middle-aged woman. She abandoned her computer to stand up, smiling.

"Libby," Derek said, "I'd like you to meet Dr. Westland."

We shook hands; the woman not even hiding her curiosity about me. "It's good to finally meet you," she said, eyeing me up and down. Her gaze rested on my engagement ring.

"Thank you," I responded.

"I'm going to show her around, take her to meet people," Derek told Libby. "If anything comes up, just text me. I'm expecting a call from Mr. Garrison."

"Will do," Libby said, returning to her seat.

Derek opened the door to his office and let me in first. I didn't know what I expected, but it wasn't as luxurious as I'd anticipated. The view was spectacular, but his desk was normal-sized. Several chairs dotted the room, file cabinet, television, and a private bathroom. Photos of his children stood on a table behind the desk, along with a photo of me taken when we were in Orlando.

"I'm going to check email if you don't mind," he said, sliding into his leather desk chair.

"Oh, of course," I said, and sat in the chair nearest the window. I took out my phone, took a photo, and texted it to Isabel. Suddenly I wondered if I'd have my own office, and if so what kind of view I'd have.

"Nothing urgent," Derek said, shutting his laptop after a few minutes. "Shall we?"

We nodded to Libby as we went out again.

"I'll take you to HR first," he said. "You can give them your basic information so they can prepare for you to join the staff. And IT will need to set you up in the computer system with logins and passwords."

Those two things took over an hour. By then it was nearing lunch time and Derek informed me that he'd arranged for us to dine with his senior physicians. Ah, here it came, I thought. The gauntlet. The Spanish Inquisition.

Lunch had been catered, and served buffet-style in one of the clinic meeting rooms. This arrangement allowed for milling around, chit-chat, and a lot of surreptitious checking out of the boss's fiancée. I only got hostile vibes from a few people; one of them a Dr. Bailey, an older physician who asked me where I'd been educated and seemed a bit put out when I told her. She had to acknowledge that the University of Washington was a stellar institution.

Once everyone had loaded their plates and sat to eat, Derek called them to attention and introduced me officially, describing me as his fiancée and future co-owner of Boston Nephrology. This appeared to be news to some of them. A strong air of resentment floated around the room, some outright dirty looks flew my way. I knew 'gold digger' was on the lips of many. I'd already steeled myself for this. I could talk until I was blue in the face; the only way they'd be convinced I wasn't a gold digger was if I proved myself. That would take time.

Some of the resentment, I knew, was due to the age difference between us. The older doctors didn't like that someone my age would be their boss and have more say in the operations of the clinic than they did. To attempt to assuage some of these doubts about me, I gave a short address myself. I detailed my background and work, and assured everyone that I would be relying on their experience to do the best job I could here. I also expressed my interest in focusing on the home hemodialysis program, and for the physicians with patients doing home hemo to assist me.

Naturally, one of those physicians was the prickly Dr. Bailey. Dr. Adrienne Bailey, I learned. She cornered me as everyone filed out of the meeting room. Even though I was taller, her presence was intimidating.

"Home hemo?" she said sharply. "What experience do you have with it?"

"I've had patients who do it," I answered, determined not to let her get to me.

She poked herself so hard in the chest I knew it had to hurt. "I'm the home hemo expert around here," she informed me. "They all ask me when they need to know about it."

"Have you ever run a dialysis treatment on a home hemo cycler?" I asked her.

"Myself? Of course not. That's why we have hemo nurses trained to teach patients."

"I have," I told her. "I went through the same training that patients undergo so I would know exactly how it works, the settings on the cycler, timing, BFR, and everything. They appreciate the fact that I took the time to learn this in order to talk one-on-one about it, and not have to refer them to the nurse all the time."

She snorted. "Waste of time. That's not your job, Doctor."

"Communicating with patients is my job," I disagreed, keeping my tone level. "It's every provider's job."

"Don't you tell me how to do my job," she leaned toward me.

Several people had stopped to listen, though not looking directly at us. Derek still hadn't noticed; he was in conversation with two doctors on the other end of the room.

"You think because you're some pretty little thing," here she looked me up and down with a sneer, "turning Wiley's head around backwards that you'll just parade in here and take over? Try it, missy. And you'll have a battle royale on your hands."