Read Online Could I Have This Dance? by Harry Kraus - Free Book Online Page B

preceded her, just in case he was watching.
    She opened the door, adjusted the thermostat up, and opened a window in her second-floor bedroom for ventilation. She’d chosen the house after a marathon weekend search. The apartments close to the university were less expensive, but run-down, and appeared unsafe, a haven for drug pushers or worse. The houses further out were expensive, and the commute would be too long. Here, three miles from the hospital, seemed just about right. The rent was more than Claire wanted to pay, absorbing half her intern salary, but safety and peace of mind were worth the extra cost. She didn’t have anything else to spend money on anyway. She was single, at least for now, and had no children, and her surgical residency would put a damper on any expensive social activity. Being too busy to spend money did have its advantages.
    She looked at the answering machine. No messages. At least he could call me for once. She chewed her lower lip. He’s still sore about how I left him after grad.
    She changed into a cotton football jersey, her normal sleeping attire. It was John’s, of course, and the comfort she received from it had little to do with its warmth. It was nine o’clock, too early for bed, but getting too dark for a jog.
    Claire adjusted a small picture on her desk, one of her and John at U-Hall at a basketball game a few years earlier. John’s dark skin tone contrasted with hers, and her long blond hair cascaded onto his shoulders as the couple put their heads together for the snapshot. I miss my hair. I miss John. I miss his arms around me, the way he smells, the way he makes me feel.
    She sighed and picked up Sabiston’s Textbook of Surgery. It was a massive book, almost eight pounds. She had wanted the more manageable two-volume set, but couldn’t afford it. So she settled for the single volume and the added benefit of a biceps workout. She turned to a chapter entitled “Trauma: Management of the Acutely Injured Patient” and quickly lost herself in a discussion of airways, fluid resuscitation, and shock, paying close attention to the yellow highlighted areas from her previous reading.
    At ten, the phone jarred her eyes from a gruesome photograph of a man with a crossbow injury to the neck. She welcomed the diversion. “Be John. Be John,” she whispered. “Hello.”
    “I was hoping you’d still be up.” The voice was John Cerelli’s, deep, calm, and confident. As usual, Claire smiled.
    “I’m up. Doubt I’ll get to sleep very early. I’m too keyed up.”
    “I wish I was there.” He paused. “As long as you’re not sleeping.”
    “John.” Instinctively, she looked at herself in the full-length mirror next to her bed. She pressed her hand against the front of the jersey, bringing it against her stomach. She was pleased with what she saw. She hoped her long hours as a surgical intern wouldn’t be too detrimental to her figure.
    “What are you wearing?”
    “John! Why do you want to know?” She giggled.
    “I’m just trying to imagine … the football jersey, right?”
    “Let’s talk about something else. How’d your sales presentation go?”
    “You’re wearing my jersey again. Admit it.”
    “So what?”
    “I knew it.”
    “It’s comfortable. That’s all.”
    “Right.” His voice was laced with playful sarcasm.
    After a moment’s silence, Claire’s voice thickened. “There was a reception tonight for all the new interns.”
    “Great. Was it fun?”
    “Not exactly fun. It was typical superficial cocktail communication. I just went to scope out the attendings.” She cleared her throat. “I, uh, didn’t wear the wedding band …”
    “Claire, I thought we’d agreed.”
    “It—it just didn’t seem right. I know what we—”
    “Claire, do what you want,” he interrupted. “I just thought it would make your life easier if you didn’t have to fend off hordes of men. We’re almost married anyway. A ring, or a piece of paper, won’t make us