Page 89 of Leave a Mark
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
LEE HAWTHORNE WASin love.
He delivered a baby girl an hour after coming on-shift Tuesday morning — an hour after leaving Wren in his bed — when the realization struck him. He’d watched the baby’s young parents beam through their tears and become a family.
And he knew.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been in love. But nothing in his life compared to this. Both times before — with Marcelle and with Kirsten Parks, his girlfriend from sophomore through senior year at LSU — it had felt like a gradual ascent. Attraction had been base camp, where he started. And each encounter with them had taken him a little higher. Over time, he’d found more to see, more to discover.
This was no gentle ascent. It was a freefall.
If he were honest with himself, he’d been hooked that first night in the hospital. She’d been his patient, and he cared about all of his patients, but something set her apart. He’d never driven any of his patients home before. He’d never lifted them into his Jeep or walked them up to their apartments. Or cleaned their cats’ litterboxes.
And even then he hadn’t wanted to leave her.
Reading her thank-you note… seeing her at the grocery store… finding her among the trees at the courthouse… Flipping through these memories, Lee realized each held a signature of happiness, a brightness that outshone a host of other moments that should have seemed happier by comparison. Like his birthday. The night the Saints won the Superbowl. The day he got the Wurlitzer.
A few sketches of her cat had made him happier than buying a jukebox.
And if he had to pinpoint the moment when he’d fallen, it was on his front porch with a handful of fried peach pies. Looking back on it now, it was so clear to him that this was had been the point of no return.
Because she had proven that she could see into his heart. And not only could she see it, but she’d wanted to touch it. To fill it.
Wren Blanchard might be hard to catch, but she was easy to love.
Of course, Lee knew better. The last thing he could do right now was tell her. Hewantedto tell her, but she would freak. That would have to wait.
They’d come so far in just twenty-four hours. After spending the whole day together —the afternoon in his bed — Lee had indeed woken to find Wren still in his arms, a sight that made him absurdly happy.
Wren had wanted a shower, and he was only too pleased to oblige, washing her hair and discovering three sparrows on her perfect backside. He dressed her in a T-shirt and boxer shorts, and he ordered pizza as promised, which they ate standing in his rec room while battling each other over the ping-pong table. As they played, the Wurlitzer cranked out Queen, Rush, Sam and Dave, The Police, and Marvin Gaye, and Lee caught Wren shaking her hips more than once. He’d taken her back to his bed around ten, and they’d made love two more times before he fell into exhaustion.
Hands down, it was the best night of his life.
This thought had him smiling when his phone rang just after nine that morning. Digging it out of his pocket, Lee hoped it was Wren — he hoped, in fact, that she’d just woken up and was calling from his bed. ButDadflashed across the screen.
Shaking off his disappointment, Lee answered. “Hey, Dad.”
“Leland? Did you forget how to use your phone?” his father teased.
Lee rolled his eyes. “Um, clearly not, Dad. And I guess you didn’t either.”
His father chuckled. “What do I have to do to get you to come by and see your old dad? It’s been almost two weeks! Haven’t you had a day off?”
Lee was in the middle of rounds, but he veered away from the nurses’ station in search of more privacy. He ducked into an empty corridor that led to surgical. “Yeah, Dad. Sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Are they squeezing out every last drop they can get from you? You know it’s not too late to accept Philip Maraist’s offer…” His voice trailed off with a hopeful lilt.
Lee forced a laugh. “Dad, I… um… I already accepted UMC’s.” He cleared his throat and tried to sound more assertive. “I start June 1.”
Silence.
“Have… have you signed anything yet?”
Lee stifled a sigh. “Yeah, Dad. A three-year contract. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?” He didn’t hold his breath, but it would have been nice if his father could have been happy for him.
“Son, you’re making a mistake.”
So much for being happy for me.
