office in the medical building had a corkboard displaying photos sent in by happy patients, plus the expected medical certificates and professional awards. But nothing like this.
She gazed around. âThis is my nest. When I was growing up, we lived like we were in the military. Nothing but essentials ready to pack at a momentâs notice, although we stayed in the same house practically forever. My parents met in the Peace Corps in South America and they swore theyâd be heading south of the border again soon. Twenty-odd years later, they went.â
âYouâre making up for those bare surfaces,â he concluded.
âItâs more than that,â Sam told him. âI guess Iâve been cramming as much as possible into every day and every inch of space. This past week, it hit me that Iâve been living as if the cancer might return any day.â
âAnd you finally accept that it wonât?â He hoped that was the case.
âIâm trying to accept that I have to live one day at a time like everybody else.â She polished off a last bite of garlic bread.
âLet me know if you figure out how to do that,â Mark said, âbecause I havenât a clue. Iâm generally thinking at least half a step ahead.â
âYou never seem rushed.â
âI put a lot of pressure on myself.â As he spoke, he consciously relaxed his muscles. Heâd been tense all day. First thereâd been the press conference business, followed by his strained late-afternoon discussion with Chandra.
Her staccato voice still rang in his ears. Sheâd been upset that Samantha had spoken to reporters and displeased that the hospital was once again featured on the evening news for a reason other than its medical excellence. Mark had barely hung on to his patience with the woman.
She ought to trust his judgment. Heâd made his share of mistakes, but so, he suspected, had Ms. Chandra Yashimoto. Besides, todayâs situation had turned out well, even if it hadnât been strictly on message.
âRough day for you, too?â Sam asked.
Rather than dwell on his running skirmishes with the executive, Mark deflected the question. âOccasionally I fantasize about practicing medicine full-time. But then Iâd have to work under some idiot administrator who forgets to put patient care first. Instead, I get to be the idiot administrator.â
âYouâre not an idiot. Very often.â
âSuch high praise.â
Sam gave him a wry smile through her water glass. âYou were pretty darn cool out there in the parking lot.â
âI admired the way you handled the press,â he admitted. âYou were doing great until Candy showed up. When you decided to take the babies, well, that was unexpected.â
âTo me, too.â Her plate empty, she leaned back.
âWere you even considering adoption?â
âYes, in the theoretical sense.â Even after a full meal and a long day, her sharp features exuded restless intelligence. âI didnât imagine it could happen this quickly, with these children, but it seems almost destined.â
âAnd now youâre a mommy.â Mark found the term endearing when applied to Sam.
Emotions flickered across her face. âOh, wow, I am , arenât I?â
âThis comes as a surprise?â
âI mean, of course I know Iâm a mother. But Iâve been so busy putting out fires, I havenât had time to consider the big picture.â
Heâd suspected as much. âWhich part hit you the hardest?â
âThat the kids are going to be counting on me to be there for everything.â She rested her chin on her palm. âFor help with homework and heartaches, for Halloween costumes and Christmas dinners, for proms and college prep. What if I let them down?â The responsibility was a lot to take in. âYou donât think youâre up to
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