this would be possible without her.”
Jannine giggled and denied it self-consciously.
“Yes. We met earlier, but she wouldn’t tell her phrase,” he said, turning Jannine seven shades of scarlet as he examined her head to toe.
Holly empathized. Oliver had a way of looking at a woman that only the most cold-blooded of the sex could ignore. She’d been suffering hot flashes all night because of it and was glad for the respite, sure that Jannine would eventually recover.
If only she were as sure of herself...
How many times had she found herself waiting to feel his hand at her back as she moved about the room? How many times had she recalled the kiss in the empty corridor and felt her lips tingling? How many times had she been nudged into his side or pressed close to his chest in the crowd and wished for his arms to hold her there?
“I’ve got it,” Oliver said. “The headphone. The K-Y jelly. You’re a slick operator.”
Jannine grinned, “It was Holly’s idea. I couldn’t think of anything. I was going to wear my bunny outfit again and call myself a pubic hare, but...” She broke off in tongue-tied embarrassment, as she had every time she’d discussed the costume with Holly.
“Holly thought up mine too,” he said quickly, coming to her rescue. He turned his head, and Holly was once again in his limelight. “She’s very clever, isn’t she?”
Jannine agreed that she was, then felt a sudden urge to be needed elsewhere and left.
“You love this stuff, don’t you,” he asked.
“I like seeing people happy, yes.”
“Your patients must love you.”
“My patients?”
“The residents at the convalescent center. Do they fight to see who’s going to get you for their nurse?”
“I’m not a nurse. I don’t even work there. I just volunteer some of my time.”
“Oh,” he said, taken aback. She’d been so at ease with so many of the people that he’d assumed she was part of the staff. Her efficiency and caring ways had fit the mold of a nurse.
“Nurses come from a special mold, I think.” He cringed at her choice of words, but she didn’t notice. “They have to care and still be objective, and I can’t do that. I’m too impatient. I get angry. I want to see results right away.”
“What do you do, then? For a living.”
“I work at the Joey Paulson Clinic on Deaver Street. We do crisis intervention, which is a fancy name for a little bit of everything, I guess.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see, we find homes for people who’ve lost theirs. We get food for people who don’t have any. We find medical care and psychiatric help for those who need it. We take in runaways and supply prostitutes with prophylactics, and we baby-sit kids while their mothers look for work, and we... do a little bit of everything. And if we can’t do it, we refer people to places that can.”
“You do all this by phone or do people come to you?”
“Both. We do a lot by phone, but they come in too.”
The band was interrupted to announce the beginning of the auction, and they continued to talk as they followed the flow of people into the next room.
“Frustrating work,” he observed.
“Good work, when it works.”
“Is that how you got connected with St. Augustine’s, then? Through your work at the clinic?”
“No. Whatever I can do for St. Augustine’s is purely personal.”
“Don’t you ever get depressed?” he asked, knowing that he would.
“Sure I do. But it doesn’t do anybody any good to stay that way, now does it?”
No, he supposed it didn’t do any good. But to work with the sick and indigent day after day; to live in a rundown apartment building; to have grown up not knowing her real parents... Holly Loftin was a woman unlike any he’d known before. An endless fountain of unselfish giving and concern.
She was beautiful, smart, educated. There were people who would do anything in the world for her. Yet there didn’t seem to be anything she wanted for
Jannine giggled and denied it self-consciously.
“Yes. We met earlier, but she wouldn’t tell her phrase,” he said, turning Jannine seven shades of scarlet as he examined her head to toe.
Holly empathized. Oliver had a way of looking at a woman that only the most cold-blooded of the sex could ignore. She’d been suffering hot flashes all night because of it and was glad for the respite, sure that Jannine would eventually recover.
If only she were as sure of herself...
How many times had she found herself waiting to feel his hand at her back as she moved about the room? How many times had she recalled the kiss in the empty corridor and felt her lips tingling? How many times had she been nudged into his side or pressed close to his chest in the crowd and wished for his arms to hold her there?
“I’ve got it,” Oliver said. “The headphone. The K-Y jelly. You’re a slick operator.”
Jannine grinned, “It was Holly’s idea. I couldn’t think of anything. I was going to wear my bunny outfit again and call myself a pubic hare, but...” She broke off in tongue-tied embarrassment, as she had every time she’d discussed the costume with Holly.
“Holly thought up mine too,” he said quickly, coming to her rescue. He turned his head, and Holly was once again in his limelight. “She’s very clever, isn’t she?”
Jannine agreed that she was, then felt a sudden urge to be needed elsewhere and left.
“You love this stuff, don’t you,” he asked.
“I like seeing people happy, yes.”
“Your patients must love you.”
“My patients?”
“The residents at the convalescent center. Do they fight to see who’s going to get you for their nurse?”
“I’m not a nurse. I don’t even work there. I just volunteer some of my time.”
“Oh,” he said, taken aback. She’d been so at ease with so many of the people that he’d assumed she was part of the staff. Her efficiency and caring ways had fit the mold of a nurse.
“Nurses come from a special mold, I think.” He cringed at her choice of words, but she didn’t notice. “They have to care and still be objective, and I can’t do that. I’m too impatient. I get angry. I want to see results right away.”
“What do you do, then? For a living.”
“I work at the Joey Paulson Clinic on Deaver Street. We do crisis intervention, which is a fancy name for a little bit of everything, I guess.”
“Like what?”
“Let’s see, we find homes for people who’ve lost theirs. We get food for people who don’t have any. We find medical care and psychiatric help for those who need it. We take in runaways and supply prostitutes with prophylactics, and we baby-sit kids while their mothers look for work, and we... do a little bit of everything. And if we can’t do it, we refer people to places that can.”
“You do all this by phone or do people come to you?”
“Both. We do a lot by phone, but they come in too.”
The band was interrupted to announce the beginning of the auction, and they continued to talk as they followed the flow of people into the next room.
“Frustrating work,” he observed.
“Good work, when it works.”
“Is that how you got connected with St. Augustine’s, then? Through your work at the clinic?”
“No. Whatever I can do for St. Augustine’s is purely personal.”
“Don’t you ever get depressed?” he asked, knowing that he would.
“Sure I do. But it doesn’t do anybody any good to stay that way, now does it?”
No, he supposed it didn’t do any good. But to work with the sick and indigent day after day; to live in a rundown apartment building; to have grown up not knowing her real parents... Holly Loftin was a woman unlike any he’d known before. An endless fountain of unselfish giving and concern.
She was beautiful, smart, educated. There were people who would do anything in the world for her. Yet there didn’t seem to be anything she wanted for
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