The Lady Vanishes (26 page)

“It’s clean. I promise. I’ll see you later,” he said swiftly, and bent to kiss her cheek.

He left before she could say anything back, half afraid she wouldn’t say anything at all.

LATER THAT MORNING,
Regina contemplated the enormous bouquet of pink roses that Milton had sent over. His note had been succinct and to the point.

“They remind me of you. Certain parts, anyway.”

All of the staff had waited for her to tell them whom they were from, gathering around the nurses’ station and taking turns smelling them.

“Somebody’s got herself a lover,” Sarah had teased.

Regina had ignored her and opened the card. Her blush upon reading it had caused a ripple of laughter through the waiting crowd.

“Okay, okay,” she’d said, waving them down. “You can all go back to work now. Show’s over.”

“But you didn’t say who they’re from,” Sarah protested.

“And I’m not going to,” Regina had returned, picking up the heavy vase and carrying it toward her office.

“Mystery lover. Boom chica wow wow,” Sarah had said to her back. There was enough serious curiosity in her tone that Regina winced. That was all she needed.

Regina had placed the flowers on her desk, though they took up a good bit of space, and thought about Milton Shaw. He was getting to her. Damn it. That thing with the ear cover this morning, the kiss on the cheek, the flowers. He was making her like him too much. Asshole.

Muttering to herself, she touched the petals absently with her fingers. She had the paper flowers he’d given her hidden in her top desk drawer—the one from the day she’d met him, and the one he’d given her yesterday morning.

There was a knock at her door.

“Come in.”

It was Charlie Hong, dressed in bright yellow scrubs today, searching for her over the mountain of roses.

“Here.” She moved them to a filing cabinet on the other side of the office.

“So, who’s the mystery lover?” he teased.

Huffing in annoyance, Regina settled back into her chair. “Why is everyone so fascinated by my love life?”

“’Cause you have one for once?”

Regina rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. It’s just that it’s a novelty, is that it?”

“Well, you turned down Dr. Berkeley, and everyone has the hots for him.”

Berkeley was an ass. A grandiose ass who took himself way too seriously. She hadn’t even hesitated to turn him down.

“And that pharmaceutical rep who looks like Captain America. You turned him down, too.”

“He’s like twelve,” she protested.

“And that father who came in with his daughter, the one who’d been in a skiing accident and turned out to have an osteochondroma. He asked you out.”

“And I said no, because I wasn’t interested in dating the parent of a patient.”

“A temporary patient. Well, there’s been a pool going that you’re gay, so don’t be surprised if money changes hands today.”

“Great. That’s just great. Well, everyone can just keep wondering, because I’m not going to spill the details of my private life just to amuse you fools.”

“Hey,” he said, raising his hands in protest. “It’s not me.”

Regina eased back in her chair. “Sorry, Charlie, guess I’m a little touchy.”

“Yeah, no kidding. You really hate having your privacy invaded, don’t you?”

Regina didn’t want to get into her father and the cameras and the attack, so she just shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

“Well, hey. I’m sorry I bugged you about it.”

“It’s fine. Maybe I’ll tell you about him sometime.”

“So it
is
a him?”

“Seriously?”

“Sorry.” He snickered. “Oh, hey, listen. I wanted to tell you. You have a new patient. He’s a little famous around here. His name is Saint George.”

Regina knew him, had met him when he’d come for a checkup. He was a little pistol of a kid around six or seven who’d been treated for leukemia prior to her coming to the hospital. The treatment had been successful and the boy hadn’t had any detectable cancer for the past twelve months. They called him Saint George because he liked to wear a helmet and carry around a lance, but his name was George Carter. “He’s here now?”

“Yeah,” Charlie answered, and stole a tissue off her desk to wipe his nose. “Came with his mom last night because his head hurt. We took a look . . .”

“And it’s back,” she finished.

He nodded, his square face seeming to sag. “You should go talk to him in a little while. He’s getting some blood drawn, but he looks pretty shaken up.”

Regina nodded, ignoring the burning sensation in her eyes. “Yeah, I will.”

“Cool. Jackie called the Shaw the Magician. He should be here soon.”

Regina’s head lifted. “Why would she call him? He was already on his way for the benefit rehearsals.”

Seeming puzzled at her tone, Charlie tilted his head. “I don’t know. I think Saint George likes him. The magician promised to come visit him if he ever ended back up in the hospital. You okay, Reggie?”

Regina realized she was frowning fiercely. “Yeah.” She looked down. “I’m okay.”

“Okay,” Charlie said, but his tone was doubtful. “I’ll see you later.”

Regina sighed. She didn’t want to tell Milton that a kid he knew was sick. She wanted their relationship to be about fun and sex and magic, not huge emotional upheaval. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she pulled up Saint George’s chart on her screen. She was surprised she hadn’t seen him on her list when she’d made her rounds this morning, but saw that he’d been scheduled for an MRI and hadn’t been transferred to her until late morning.

She checked her phone. Milton hadn’t called or texted. Why did that worry her?

A few minutes later, Regina knocked lightly on the door to Saint George’s room.

“Come in,” a woman’s voice said softly—presumably Saint George’s mother. The woman, a slightly plump blonde with a short bob and a small upturned nose looked at Regina with red, swollen eyes, but she wasn’t crying.

Saint George was turned away from Regina, the sheet pulled up over his head.

“Hi, Mrs. Carter. Hi, Saint George. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Dr. Burke. We met at your checkup last year.”

“Hello, Dr. Burke,” Mrs. Carter replied, and her gaze drifted back to her son. He didn’t say anything, but he tugged the sheet a little farther over his head.

Regina walked over to the bed and wanted to put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to comfort him, wanted to, but knew better. Instead she folded her hands in front of her.

“Well, George, this just sucks.”

The little shape shifted beneath the sheet, but he didn’t speak.

Mrs. Carter looked a little startled, but seemed too exhausted to process anything.

“I was told you’d fought your last dragon, but here you are again. You really need to stop chasing them down, George.”

“Saint George,” the voice mumbled. “And I know what you’re doing.”

Regina almost smiled. “What am I doing?”

“You’re acting like you don’t care so I don’t get upset.”

Regina chuckled. “You’re right. Sorry about that, George. I guess I’m used to the little kids. They don’t like it when I start crying. So you’re saying I can go ahead and bawl my head off?”

Something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker came from under the sheet. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Regina gave her best theatrical sob, and the sheet was ripped away, revealing a small face with brown eyes and short red hair.

“Gotcha,” Regina told him with a superior sniff. “Too easy.”

Saint George shook his head, scowling. “I have cancer. You’re supposed to be nice to me.”

Sarah came in with a lunch tray, passing briefly in front of Regina as she set the meal on a rolling cart with an arm that swung over the bed.

Regina shrugged, pretending indifference. “I’m not nice to anybody.”

“It’s true,” Sarah chimed in as she checked the monitors. “Dr. Burke is not nice. She won’t even tell us who sent her flowers.”

“See,” Regina continued, “I’m not nice. Now tell me something, Saint George, where is your lance and helmet?”

The kid, now looking disinterestedly at the food on the tray, glanced over at his mother. “My head got too big, and I broke the lance jousting on my bike.”

Regina glanced at his mother, and wished she could send him home to ride his bike and joust and play, but she knew better than anyone that sometimes life sucked, and you just had to fight your way through it. Not exactly magic tricks and costumes, but she was here to help him fight as best she knew how.

“I suppose we’ll have to get you some new ones,” she mused. “Only the best, of course.”

The kid looked glumly at his food while Sarah straightened some of his tubes and cords. “I don’t want to be a knight anymore.”

“That’s pretty sad,” Regina said sincerely. “There aren’t enough knights these days.”

“Now that’s the truth,” Sarah chimed in again. “Though I think a knight sent Dr. Burke the flowers.”

Regina glared at her—not the flowers again.

George was frowning, his freckles standing out on his nose. “Someone sent you flowers?”

“Yes,” Regina admitted, “but I’m pretty sure the man who sent them isn’t a knight.”

“How do you know?”

Regina quirked an eyebrow at the kid, about to reply, when an imperious knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” Saint George shouted, seeming to have forgotten his shyness.

A man in a suit, a fedora, and a mask swept inside the room with a dramatic flair that should have been ridiculous.
Oh, damn. Here we go. This is the man I’m sleeping with.

“Shaw,” George said, sitting up straighter, his face brightening. “How did you know I was here?”

Regina couldn’t help but feel like Milton’s eyes rested on her for a moment. With an elaborate flourish, he removed his hat and bowed to everyone.

“Saint George. I had no idea you knew such pretty women,” the magician said matter-of-factly, tossing the fedora at the end of George’s bed and taking a seat.

“Dr. Burke is my doctor,” Saint George explained with a small yawn, and Milton’s grin flashed.

“She looks very nice.”

The boy shook his head, shifting restlessly on the bed. “She’s not.”

Sarah laughed. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so, Dr. Burke, to check on him.”

Regina nodded absently, only half listening.

“Well, there is a rumor that she’s an evil princess who’s actually a dragon in disguise,” Milton explained easily.

Saint George stared at her, brown eyes huge in his face. “I could see that.”

“Would a knight send a dragon flowers?” she countered. “I received flowers this very morning from a man everyone is sure is a knight.”

“He’s probably trying to trick you so he can stab you through the heart,” the kid predicted nonchalantly.

Regina felt her lips quirk.
Right you are, kid.
“That does seem reasonable.”

“Come here.” Milton gestured for the boy to lean closer. Regina took the hint and directed her attention to Saint George’s mother, but she could still hear the low whisper.

“In a few weeks we’re going to put on a magic show,” Milton whispered, “and I am going to make this evil princess disappear forever. I’m betting that once I work my magic, the dragon will come out.”

Regina hadn’t heard the part about the evil princess being a dragon. She suspected Milton has just made that up.

“You really think so?”

“And I’d very much like your help, since you’ll be here.”

The kid looked doubtful and wise beyond his years. “I guess I could do that.”

“Great! If you feel up for it, join us in the entertainment room after lunch.”

The boy had been sliding farther and farther back into his pillows, his bruised-looking eyelids drooping, but he answered, “Okay. Maybe.” The last word was barely audible.

“All right,” Milton agreed, his voice softening. “We’ll play it by ear.”

The boy fell asleep while the three adults watched over him silently. Tears ran down Mrs. Carter’s cheeks and dripped unheeded onto her pink T-shirt.

“I thought he would stay well,” she said quietly. “It’s almost worse than the first time.”

Regina started to speak, to say something, but stopped when she realized that there were no words of comfort she could offer that wouldn’t sound like bullshit. She started to say something anyway, but Shaw the Magician had already slid nimbly off the bed. Wanting to keep him from trying some kind of trick, Regina tried to intercede, but he gently, implacably set her out of his path by putting his hands on her shoulders and moving her a few inches out of the way.

He crouched down next to Mrs. Carter and produced a handkerchief from somewhere.
Who carries handkerchiefs?
Regina thought.

George’s mom accepted the handkerchief, but made no move to wipe her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Milton said. “Cry all you want. He’s asleep.”

“I just thought . . .”

“I thought so, too,” he finished for her. “You had to believe that he would stay well. Otherwise, you would have lived your life in fear, which is no life. Trust me. I know.”

She shook her head, denying that she wasn’t guilty, that she hadn’t messed up, but he wouldn’t have it.