Dr. Dad (18 page)

“I took my wife there for our tenth anniversary,” he said. “We had a good laugh trying to remember which fork was which.”

His wife. His wife, to whom he'd been married for more than ten years. His wife, who'd given him a daughter and died tragically young, making a mockery of his training and his trust in medicine. Why had he mentioned her? The only reason Susannah could think of was that he wanted to set the tone for the evening: friendly. Not romantic. Love would not be on the menu.

This was good, she decided, determined to shed her tension. It was fine. It was exactly what she wanted.

They reached the restaurant a few minutes later, and she debated whether to don her eyeglasses. Toby was already out of the car and circling to her side before she'd removed them from her purse, so she decided to leave them off. He knew how she felt about attracting attention; he'd seen how awkward it could be. Surely
he wouldn't have taken her to this restaurant if he'd thought there would be a problem.

If the maître d' recognized her, he gave no indication. He did, however, greet Toby by name: “Dr. Cole! Good to see you. Please follow me.”

He led them to a secluded table in a dark corner. Susannah wondered whether Toby had arranged in advance to be seated in the most private area of the room, so they wouldn't be bothered by fans.

They busied themselves with their menus for a few minutes. The entrées were more elaborate than the store-bought spaghetti with jarred sauce and rubbery shrimp that Toby had served the last time they'd had dinner together. She ordered a veal dish. He chose seafood, an antipasto platter for them to share and a bottle of Chianti Classico. The waiter took their menus and vanished, leaving Susannah with nothing to look at but Toby's handsome face.

Did he know she was anxious? Could he guess that she was pathetically inexperienced when it came to dating? She'd never had time to socialize as a teenager, when normal kids were learning how to mingle with the opposite sex. Once she'd turned twenty, her father had hired a public-relations firm to promote her career. The firm had set her up with assorted celebrities with whom she was supposed to be “seen.” That had been the whole point of the exercise; Susannah Dawson would be seen here or there, escorted by this star or that, as if mere proximity to stardom would turn her into a star, as well. She'd struggled through stilted dinners with B-list actors, second-tier rock stars, men on their way up or on their way down. At best, they'd have a few pleasant outings, both of them aware of the artificiality of the arrangement. At worst, photogra
phers would capture them on film, and she'd find herself in one or another tabloid, the picture carrying a caption insinuating that true love was just around the corner for up-and-coming actress Susannah Dawson.

The fact was, she didn't know how to date.

Toby seemed completely comfortable, however. His face was tanned, his posture relaxed as he sipped his wine. “I spent this afternoon at a soccer game,” he told her. “Lindsey's team won big. She plays midfield. She got two assists.”

Susannah smiled. Surely no man who intended to get romantic would talk about his daughter.

“I don't know much about soccer,” she admitted.

“I didn't know anything about it until Lindsey started playing a few years ago.” He proceeded to explain the game to her, what it meant to play midfield, how until last year Lindsey had played on six-person teams, but once she'd turned ten she'd moved up to the older league, where the children played on larger fields and each team had eleven players.

If the evening continued in this vein, with the conversation centering on Lindsey and sports, Susannah would be fine.

The antipasto arrived, a platter heaped with prosciutto, plum tomatoes, sprigs of basil, slabs of fresh mozzarella, olives and herbs drizzled with balsamic vinegar. Toby solicitously advised her on what to try and how to soak the cheese in the dark vinegar before she ate it. He was definitely in a fatherly mood, she acknowledged, feeling more of her tension drain away. She could imagine him counseling Lindsey on how to get the most out of the antipasto, too.

“So,” Susannah said, transferring a strip of pro
sciutto to her plate, “tell me how you wound up becoming a pediatrician.”

The question caught him unprepared. “I thought you were going to come and observe me at work.”

“I intend to.” She truly did, once she was sure she could avoid a dangerously intimate involvement with him—and once she had him clearly separated in her mind from the pediatrician character she'd created for her script. “Maybe next week, if that would be all right with you. But meantime, tell me about your work. Did you always want to be a pediatrician?”

He laughed. She noticed his dimples, the tiny laugh lines extending from the outer edges of his eyes, the even white of his teeth. “I don't think anyone grows up dreaming of becoming a pediatrician. A doctor, maybe, but choosing a pediatrics specialty isn't what little kids set their sights on.”

“Why not?”

“It's not dramatic. As far as I can tell, people become doctors because they want to save the world, they want to get rich or they're good in science and can't think of anything better to do with that ability. Of course, nowadays, with managed care, only a fool would become a doctor because he wanted to get rich.”

“So which are you? Do you want to save the world or did you have an aptitude for science?”

“A little of both, I guess.” Their entrees arrived. Toby waited until the waiter was gone before he elaborated. “My older brother was a golden boy. A triple-threat athlete—football, basketball, lacrosse—and a straight-A student. Officer on the student council. Winner of the oratory competition. Recruited by colleges
from coast to coast. I guess I figured there was nothing left for me to do but save the world.”

She detected no jealousy in his tone. “What does your brother do now?”

“He sells insurance,” Toby said without a trace of irony. “And he's damned good at it. I wish I saw more of him, but he lives out in Minnesota, near my parents.”

“Were you an athlete, too?”

“I did some sports, but I was never as good as he was.” Toby shrugged. “I followed my own path. Sciences, college, med school.” As they ate, he told her about his years in college and then at Yale Medical School. He'd met his wife in college, and they'd gotten married and moved to New Haven when he'd started medical school. She'd taken a job with a local television station, selling advertising. She'd been good at her job, he said, but once she'd become pregnant her commitment to her career had faltered. And he'd decided not to pursue one of the more time-consuming specializations, because he'd wanted to have time for his daughter.

He told Susannah that once he and his wife had settled in Arlington, she'd decided to return to work, designing ads for the
Arlington Gazette
on a part-time basis. Lindsey had adjusted well to preschool. Toby had begun to pursue a subspecialization in pediatric cardiology. He loved working with children, knowing his patients practically from the moment they were born, watching them grow and thrive. He thought kids were fantastic. In fact, he'd pretty much thought his life was perfect until Jane had been diagnosed and everything changed.

“You must miss her,” Susannah murmured, sym
pathetic and also gratified that Toby kept sending her signals that this meal wasn't a romantic adventure. He wouldn't have kept discussing his wife with her if it was.

“Yes and no,” he admitted, nudging his plate away and lifting his refilled wineglass. He swirled the ruby fluid in the bowl, then took a sip. “I miss her sometimes. But on a day-to-day basis…I have a life. Maybe not enough of one yet, but I'm working on it. And it's mine.”

“How do you build a new life?” Susannah asked, genuinely curious. She was trying to build a new life for herself, but she'd barely started, and she didn't know if she was doing it right.

“My Daddy School teacher tells me I need to put my own needs first. That's not something I'm used to doing. But I'm trying.”

Susannah would bet he wasn't used to it. He lived for Lindsey, and he'd doted on his wife through her illness, and his patients were always on his mind.

She wasn't used to putting her own needs first, either. But like him, she was trying. How odd that she and Toby were going through the same thing, in their own ways.

“What's so funny?” he asked.

She hadn't realized she was grinning. “Just that we're both trying to learn how to be selfish.”

“It's a whole new thing, huh? Maybe we ought to start a movement—‘All me, all the time.”'

“God, no! There are more than enough selfish people in the world. They don't need encouragement.”

“Just you and me, then. We'll make our own movement. We can be completely egotistical and self-serving.”

“Sure. Why not?”

He laughed. “You can't have anymore wine. I want it all for myself,” he teased before refilling her glass.

“That was the most unconvincing acting I've ever seen,” she criticized. His smile was contagious. It warmed her from the inside out, like the wine.

“Maybe after I teach you everything about being a pediatrician, you can teach me about acting.”

“No,” she said swiftly, her smile fading. “That part of my life is behind me.”

“You don't think you'll ever go back to it?”

She started to say no again, then rethought her answer. She'd actually enjoyed acting. It had been everything else about her career she'd hated—the pressures and demands, the lack of choices, the control everyone had exerted over her. The fact that she'd sacrificed such a large part of her life to it, and been taken advantage of by her family.

“Maybe,” she allowed, “I'll join a community theater. Is there one in Arlington?”

He nodded. “In the summer, when all the city people spend their weekends in the area. I guess you'd call it summer stock. They'd be thrilled to have you.”

The waiter returned to their table to clear away their plates and inquire about dessert. Susannah declined with a shake of her head. She wasn't used to eating big, heavy dinners. If not for Toby's invitations, she'd be eating tuna fish or salad for supper every night.

He asked for the check, handed the waiter his credit card and settled the bill. Susannah watched him, envying his poise. She'd started to unwind during dinner, but now her anxiety returned. What would happen when they left the restaurant? When they got back to her house, what would he expect?

His hair looked nearly black in the dimly lit corner of the dining room. His hands looked strong wielding the pen, flipping open his wallet, separating his receipt from the restaurant's. She knew his hands would feel as strong as they looked—strong but graceful. Talented. Hands that healed babies, she thought. Hands that comforted sick children. Hands that applauded for his daughter on the soccer field.

Hands that could hold a woman, caress her, arouse her. Hands that could touch her the way Susannah hadn't been touched since she'd kicked Stephen out of her life.

She blinked and glanced away. She wasn't going to let Toby touch her tonight.

They left the restaurant for the mild, moonlit night. It was only nine-thirty, early enough to take a walk or a drive, to catch a late movie—except that he had an unsupervised daughter at home. Which was just as well, Susannah told herself. If she spent more time with him, she'd feel closer to him, and if she felt closer, she'd grow more vulnerable to him and to her own troublesome yearnings. But that threat wouldn't materialize. He wouldn't prolong their evening with a movie or a walk…or anything else. He would have to go straight home to Lindsey.

He helped her into the car, then climbed in behind the wheel. “See?” he said, apparently pleased. “You got through a few hours in a restaurant without any fans pestering you.”

“I know.” She shared his smile. “What a pleasure.”

“Did people pester you in Hollywood? When you went out to dinner, I mean.”

“Sometimes.” She smoothed her skirt over her
knees. “There was always jockeying for a table. You'd want to sit at the right table in the right restaurant at the right time, so the right people would see you.”

“You're kidding. Really?” He appeared astonished.

“Yes, really. Do you find that shocking?”

He laughed and shook his head. “I'm not shocked by what you said. I'm shocked that Lindsey knew about this. She warned me today that I needed to know about sitting at the right table in the right restaurant and all. She knows more about showbiz than I do.”

“She's young. I'm sure it seems exciting to her.”

“She wants to be a star when she grows up,” he said, starting the engine and backing out of the parking space. “I'm hoping she'll outgrow that.”

“I'd be happy to tell her all about the dark side of showbiz life,” Susannah offered.

He shook his head again, this time serious. “Don't. It's her dream. Nobody should ever skewer a kid's dream. Let her enjoy it.”