Sold to the Highest Bidder (18 page)

“Now you understand the bachelor part,” he growled, looking away from Kate and taking a drink. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

When Kate said nothing he turned his head back. She was watching him with a puzzled expression.

“What do you mean, understand the bachelor part?”

“Ella’s not the same girl I married, Kate. I don’t think I know her at all. And just when I think I do, she up and does something to reinforce my original opinion.”

She pushed the paper back across the table and got up. “Maybe you need to read the article, Devin, rather than jumping to conclusions. I’ve got work. Let me know if you need anything.”

He waited until she was out the door before picking up the newspaper. His heart pounded for some undefined reason as he opened the editorial section once more.

There it was, with a picture of him, and another of Betty Tucker. His eyes scanned the print.

Healthcare for Real People

Ella Turner, Columnist

Last month I brought you a story about Betty Tucker and how our healthcare system—and the capitalist structure of our insurance companies—has failed her. Today I was planning on continuing that story with numbers and facts and, let’s face it, making an example of her plight in her fight for cancer treatment.

But that’s not the story I’m bringing you today because healthcare isn’t about dollars and cents, profit and loss. Nor is it about who gets to decide which treatments are available to patients. Doctors should be the ones making those decisions, not bureaucrats in high-rise offices. Healthcare is about people.

Life is about people, when it comes right down to it.

Devin McQuade, a business owner in Betty’s town of Durango, has stepped up and paid for Betty’s treatment out of his own pocket. He didn’t do this for personal gain. He didn’t do it for recognition or to buy himself good favor with karma. In fact, he would have preferred that I not bring the matter to your attention at all. He did it for Betty. Because for Devin, it’s about people and doing what’s right.

Oh, that stung. She’d used the same argument in convincing him her “arrangement” was for the best. He set his teeth and read on.

It’s about a woman who once called 911 when he needed it, visited him in hospital, brought him home cooking. Betty was a friend who gave what she could—her time and her caring. Devin McQuade has done nothing more than help a friend. Betty is the true hero of this story, an example of the good we want to believe is in all of us. A person who deserves the same chance of survival as someone with many more zeroes on file at the IRS.

There is no place for moral judgments or financial comparisons in healthcare. It’s about equality. We’re all human beings. We all have families and friends, hopes and dreams. We all deserve kindness, and compassion, and access to treatments that can make us well again.

We could debate the merits of healthcare models all day long, argue about fiscal ramifications and politics, but the truth of the matter is, none of it is important.

Perhaps if we treated all our patients as friends and gave them a face where currently a dollar sign resides, the reform we need so desperately could finally happen.

We wish a speedy recovery to Mrs. Tucker.

Devin put down the paper.

It was not the article he had expected when he first saw his picture on the page. It was conspicuously absent of details of his illness. It treated Betty with caring and respect. It had very likely landed Ella in hot water with her superiors—a short editorial piece rather than the newsworthy exposé he knew she’d been assigned.

So why had she done it?

As he let out a breath, he realized he’d been testing her. Ever since her return, he’d prodded, searching for the gentle, caring Ella he remembered. He’d criticized and berated her for her choices, only seeing her through the glasses of his own hurt pride and disillusionment. And here she was, that young, soft-hearted girl that had become a strong woman. Right in this short piece of writing that would never be syndicated in national papers as a hard-hitting piece of journalism. It was quiet and truthful. It wouldn’t earn her any promotions, wouldn’t be syndicated in big papers around the country, wouldn’t open any doors.

Perhaps it had stopped mattering. Because she’d given up those dreams so they could parent their child together.

And for the first time since seeing her again, he felt like a complete and utter heel.

He read the article once more. This was the Ella he’d fallen in love with. A woman who could see the big picture, who cared about others and showed compassion. In her words he caught a glimpse of the eight-year-old girl who had hollered blue murder at a classmate who was torturing a frog and then had picked up that slimy thing and carried it to the tall grass on the side of the playground. A woman who kept her word and had exploited no one, even knowing she might bear the brunt of it professionally.

Devin put his hand over his mouth, rubbing the two-day stubble on his chin. He’d been so utterly wrong. He’d made another mistake, this one bigger than any of the others. He had signed the papers, setting her free rather than fighting for her. And why? He always fought for what he wanted—his business, all the years he’d refused a divorce. Hell, he’d fought for his life when he’d been sick.

It was only the last in a line of mistakes he’d made with her—twelve long years of jumping to conclusions, as Kate had put it. The night at the hotel Ella had admitted she’d waited for him to come after her. To fight for her. And all he’d done was demand that she be perfect, even though he’d made it impossible.

He threw a tip on to the tabletop and tucked the paper under his arm. Tomorrow morning he’d be on the commuter flight. And he’d make this right once and for all.

***

Ella put the potted plant down on her desk and pressed her fingers to her lower back. No one at the paper besides Amy knew about the baby. It was just as well. She’d put off enough explanations already. But from now on, that wasn’t going to be a problem.

She’d thought long and hard, into the wee hours when she should have been sleeping. But the same answer kept coming back to her. This wasn’t what she wanted, not anymore. Last week she’d put in her notice. Going freelance had sounded liberating at two a.m., and her idealistic side—a part of her she’d tamped down ever since her rushed marriage to Devin—thought that being able to work from a home office, at least until the baby was old enough for daycare, sounded brilliant. It was a freedom she hadn’t experienced in a long time. She was the one calling the shots. She could write whatever she wanted. Whenever she wanted.

As she packed up her desk though, the idea was losing its luster. She needed to support herself. For Devin to assist with their child was one thing. But she refused to ask him for help. He’d done what she’d asked of him and she wouldn’t take further advantage.

The bank box was nearly full when a tap sounded on the frame of her cubicle. “Going somewhere?”

Her body froze in the second before she looked up. All week she had thought about that voice, the rough-and-ready sexy timbre of it. Leaving the marriage behind was far easier than the man, she’d discovered. She raised her gaze and saw him leaning negligently against the thin metal frame of her cubicle door. The cheeky smile was on his face, making the single dimple pop.

“What are you doing here?”

He pushed away from the frame, and her tongue snuck out to dampen her lips. He was businessman Dev today, dressed in charcoal gray trousers and a white shirt open at the throat. His dark hair was carelessly styled and she seriously didn’t know which Devin she preferred. The ultra sexy office jockey or the careless cowboy in torn jeans and boots. She might as well face it. Dev was irresistible either way. And she was going to have to get over that if they were going to be co-parenting.

“I saw your editorial.”

“You could have emailed.”

“Maybe I wanted to offer my congratulations.” He stepped inside the tiny square space and she put the cover on the box simply to keep her hands busy.

“You’d be the only one,” she muttered, searching for something to do with her hands now, incredibly ill at ease.

“It was a fine piece of writing.”

“It was an editorial abysmally short on news or controversy.”

Dev’s voice came quietly then. “It was honest. I’m proud of you, Ella.”

She swallowed roughly, fighting to keep her emotions from showing. Devin had done nothing but be negative about her choices. She shouldn’t want his approval, but in her heart his words meant more than she cared to admit.

“So the box is?” He stopped in front of the small desk and put his hands in his pockets oh so casually. Ella looked into his face. There was no mockery now. He was completely serious. His face was soft with concern. It chased away her earlier thoughts and made her pride kick in.

“Today is my last day.” She rested her hands atop the box and smiled, but it felt brittle.

“I know what was in the paper wasn’t what you were assigned. And that’s my fault. Maybe if I talk to your boss…”

“I didn’t get fired. I quit. I put in my notice a week ago.”

“You quit?” His hands came out of his pockets. “What happened?”

Ella looked around the office, at the open cubicles devoid of privacy. Work was going on as usual. Some of the staff had taken her out for a farewell lunch, and a good luck card was tucked into her personal items. But none of them knew the whole story, and Ella would just as soon leave without explaining.

“Can we go somewhere else? I don’t want to talk about this here.”

“I can take you home. I rented a car. Let me carry your things.”

He picked up the box without waiting for her assent and paused, letting her lead the way through the door. Ella felt her cheeks flare, knowing eyes were on her as she left, her sexy now-ex husband carrying the contents of her desk. That he did so, clearly out of a solicitude born of her condition, made her feel both flattered and a little like she should be insisting on doing it herself.

Outside he led the way to a silver sedan and put her box in the back seat. He opened the passenger door, waiting for her to get in. “So where are we headed?”

Ella forced herself to take deep breaths. It didn’t matter that he was here. And now she didn’t have to walk all those blocks carrying the box. It would be fine. It would be a chance to test run the new dynamics of the relationship. They needed to establish a baseline for dealing with each other, and better to do it now before the baby arrived than later.

She gave him directions, then sat back, laying her head on the padded rest.

“How are you feeling?”

“Okay. Still queasy in the mornings, but it’s bearable. Better if I have a good night’s sleep actually. It’s when I’m tired that it’s worse.” Like it had been the day she’d checked out of the Strater. Or the morning after signing the papers. She’d tossed and turned most of that night.

She pointed at the next street and Devin made a turn. “It’s just here,” she said, indicating a building on the right. “I picked it because it was close to everything. I can walk to just about everything I need. Grocery, dry cleaners, restaurants, theater…” It occurred to her that restaurants and theater were things she wouldn’t be doing as often after the baby came. There were so many adjustments she’d be making. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It was simply that it was so…different. And she’d be doing it alone. All the changes happening and those to come seemed momentarily overwhelming.

She’d never had a great model for motherhood, and she was terrified of making mistakes.

Devin parked and got out, going around the hood and opening her door. He retrieved the box from the back seat as well. Ella took a breath. After years of going it alone, having someone do even these small favors for her felt strange. It would be so easy to get used to. And so dangerous. Having it, and losing it, was what had driven her mother to try to find it again, sinking into depression when it all went wrong time after time. She blinked, wanting to let herself love him and so afraid that if she did she’d end up just like her mother had. Heartbroken and alone with a daughter to raise.

“You never did tell me why you were here,” she said, more determined than ever that they find a way to work together.

He smiled over top of the box, and she noticed how the simple angle of carrying it emphasized the muscles in his arms. She looked away, instead digging out her key for the main door.

“Like you, I didn’t want to talk about it at your office. I stopped by hoping to take you for a late lunch, but this is better.”

“It is?” Her heartbeat stuttered. The idea of being alone with him wasn’t something she was used to yet.

“We can talk better here.”

She thought they’d pretty much covered everything the last time—certainly the divorce and custody agreements had settled the rest. But he was here and he seemed to have a purpose. “You might as well come up then.”

She led him to the elevator and hit the button for the third floor. Within seconds they were at the door to her apartment. At least she didn’t need to be ashamed of her home, she realized, unlocking the door and leading the way inside. The building was fairly new, the neutral-colored walls and flooring unmarked. It was small, but she’d tastefully decorated it, using black and white tones with the odd splash of color.