Radclyffe - Turn Back Time

"Bring me those plates and I'll get the dishwasher loaded."

"Got it."

"Wynter tells me you're her senior resident."

"Technically," Pearce said as she handed off the first stack of dishes. "We're actually the same year, but...well, I guess you know Wynter got a bit behind because of...that business at Yale."

"Mmm-hmm," Mina said noncommittally. "Ken thought about surgery--for about two days."

"Then he saw the light?"

"Then I informed him that he had a choice--more children or surgery."

Pearce glanced at Mina's prominent belly and laughed. "Easy choice."

"Not everyone thinks so." She turned away from the sink and regarded Pearce with a friendly smile. "How about you? Are children in your future?"

"I'm not married."

"That's not a prerequisite."

"I'm also gay."

"That's not a disqualification."

"Ever considered becoming a lawyer?"

Mina chuckled. "I've given it some thought, when the kids are big enough to stay in school all day. And there's no law against not wanting kids, you know."

Pearce stacked another armload of dishes next to the sink. "I didn't say that. Being a surgery resident makes it pretty much impossible."

"It sure makes it difficult, I agree. More so than for most residents."

"Wynter obviously does a good job of it."

"I do a good job of what?" Wynter said, leading Ronnie by the hand. In her red snowsuit, Ronnie looked like a fireplug with feet.

"Everything," Mina said fondly and turned back to the sink.

Pleased to be rescued from the odd conversation, Pearce grabbed her bomber jacket off the coat tree by the back door. "All set?"

"We're ready."

Outside, they walked side by side with Ronnie between them. She immediately took each of their hands and alternated between running until their arms were outstretched and then picking her feet up and swinging back.

"She'll do this until you're worn out," Wynter warned.

"Me? Not a chance."

"Uh-huh. I still want to get a good look at your hand. I noticed you kept it out of sight during breakfast."

"It's okay." When Wynter gave her a hard stare, Pearce amended, "All right. It's much better."

"Will you be able to operate tomorrow?"

"I'll probably beg off doing anything in the OR until Tuesday."

"Won't your father notice?"

"You can take his cases. He'll just think I'm being generous."

"You are generous with the cases."

Pearce shrugged, but she was pleased. "Thanks. And thanks for the breakfast. It beats the...heck...out of Pop-Tarts."

"Oh, you're welcome. I'm sorry it was such short notice. I know you had company." Wynter blushed, having said more than she intended.

"I mean--"

"I couldn't sleep so I went out for a while after you left."

"Uh-huh." Wynter knew she should tell Pearce that she didn't need to explain, but she said nothing.

"I ran into one of the OB-GYN residents at O'Malley's, and she was a little under the weather," Pearce said, wanting Wynter to know it wasn't what she thought. If she thought anything about it at all. Mindful of Ronnie, Pearce said circumspectly, "I couldn't send her home alone, and it was already so late, it just made more sense to bring her to my place."

"Of course." Wynter knew it shouldn't make one iota of difference to her what the reasons for Pearce having a woman in her apartment overnight might be. But she was unreasonably glad.

"I was going to call and explain, tell you to come by later, after she left."

Wynter smiled. "Well, it doesn't matter now. I'll look at your hand when we get back, before you go inside."

"Jeez, you're relentless."

"What did you expect? I'm a surgeon."

Pearce laughed. When Ronnie started making car noises--at least that's what Pearce thought she was doing--she had a sudden idea.

"Look, do you have a few extra minutes?"

"Sure. It's my day off. Why?"

"There's something I want to show you. Ronnie will like it."

Wynter gave her a perplexed look but nodded. "Okay."

They continued a few blocks in silence, and when they passed in front of Pearce's apartment, Wynter refused to think about Pearce's company .

"It's right here," Pearce said, leading the way down a narrow driveway toward a garage at the rear of a lot two houses away from her building. The white concrete structure with the black tar roof had double wooden doors and small round windows above each one. An industrial-scale lock secured the metal clasps, holding them closed.

Pearce pulled her key ring from her jacket pocket. "It stays pretty warm in here, but I have a kerosene heater if you're cold."

"Is this yours?" Wynter asked curiously.

"I rent it."

Pearce pulled open the doors and reached inside for the light switch. Unzipping her jacket, she watched Wynter gaze curiously around. Pearce's Thunderbird occupied nearly half the space. The frame of a '65 Corvair stood on cinder blocks next to it. Workbenches covered with neat rows of tools lined one wall, and an air compressor, jack, and other automotive equipment stood on the floor.

"I take it this is what you do with your spare time," Wynter said, not surprised to see that the space had a certain order and precision, not unlike an operating room.

"It's relaxing." Pearce squatted down next to Ronnie. "These are my cars. They're just like yours, only a little bit bigger."

"Mine," Ronnie announced, pointing to a shelf that ran above the workbench filled with classic car models.

Laughing, Pearce picked her up and carried her to the side of the room. "Which one?"

Wynter joined them. "She probably means all of them."

Pearce took down the replica of her Thunderbird. "You like this one?"

"Pearce," Wynter warned, but it was too late. Ronnie immediately grasped the car and held it tightly.

"Mine."

"Ronnie, honey, that's--"

"She can have it." Pearce leaned against the workbench, holding Ronnie loosely while the child waved her new possession in the air. "I can replace it."

Wynter turned away, feigning interest in the cars, which she knew absolutely nothing about. Pearce had such an easy way with her daughter, and Ronnie looked so sweetly happy that it hurt. It hurt because it should have been Dave holding Ronnie and making her laugh, and she didn't want it to be him. Realizing that only made her own unexpected sense of joy even more confusing. Her throat was tight, and she hoped her voice would sound normal. "You're careful, aren't you? Working in here alone?"

Pearce walked up beside her and put Ronnie down. The child sat at her feet and began to drive the car over the concrete. "I've been doing this since I was just a kid. I'm very careful."

"Did your father teach you?"

"Hell no," Pearce said with a bitter laugh. She glanced down at Ronnie. "Sorry."

"It's all right."

"My grandfather--my mother's father. I spent every weekend with my mother's parents, and some nights during the week too, if my father was working and my mother was busy."

"What does your mother do?"

"She was a microbiologist. She taught at Bryn Mawr."

Wynter heard the careful phrasing and saw the pain in Pearce's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, careful, you," Pearce said, quickly stepping sideways to block Ronnie's path before she could bump her head on the undercarriage of the elevated Corvair. Then she met Wynter's sympathetic smile.

"Thanks."

"How old were you when it happened?"

"Nine."

Wynter reached for Pearce's hand. She squeezed it and didn't let go.

Pearce resisted the urge to thread her fingers through Wynter's.

Her hand was so warm. So soft. The garage suddenly felt hot and close.

She dropped Wynter's hand and stepped away. "I guess we should go get that ice cream for Mina."

"Yes." Wynter shivered, although she hadn't unzipped her parka, and she wasn't cold.