Chapter Two

The troops hit the ground running upon arrival. Base camps and communications had already been set up in a vast desert basin surrounded by mountains. The layout was not unlike a wheel, with the helicopters in their own space in the middle, then tent cities and portable buildings laid out accordingly. Medical and medics in their own area. Troops in their areas next to motor pool, and pilots bunking near the choppers that they flew. The entire base camp was fenced, with a single-entry point and rotating guards.

Nearby villages were still inhabited by locals, but after so many homes and buildings had been destroyed by the wars, the survivors lived in little more than hovels cobbled together from whatever was left.

When the pilots weren't in the air, their time on base was about strategy sessions and daily updates from their commanders. Waiting for intel, plans changing on a dime to take down the next group of insurgents.

Troops on the ground dealt with snipers and IEDs, and when soldiers on the ground needed air support, they called in an air strike. For them, the blade slap of Apache Longbows was better than the jingle of Santa's sleigh bells on Christmas night.

The quick strafe of ammo from the choppers always sent the enemy scurrying for cover. The precision launch of radar-control Hellfire and Stinger missiles blew up enemy tanks and insurgent strongholds.

Hunt's near-perfect record for hitting targets in the simulator had given him the gunner position, which put him in the front seat of an Apache as both gunner and copilot, while the pilot steered from the back seat.

Hunt's pilot was a man they called Preacher. He got the name by quoting Bible verses instead of curses during times of stress.

As the months passed, the violence of where they were had begun to smooth the rough edges of Hunt's grief. Surrounded daily by death, the hunger and hardship of the people of this nation took him out of his own sadness. Humanity was at war with inhumanity, and he was just a heartbeat in the middle of the roar. He still dreamed of Lainie, and made love to her in his sleep. He could still remember the scent of her and the sound of her voice. But he had no tears left to cry.

As the months passed, his dreams became rehashes of battle and bombs, of snipers and death. Of children laughing in a street one moment, and running from gunfire the next. Of witnessing a woman approaching the gate of their base with a child in her arms. They could hear the woman praying aloud to Allah over and over in a high-pitched shriek, while wearing explosives strapped to her body.

The guards had been given orders to fire when she suddenly stumbled, falling shy of the gate by about a hundred yards. The explosion blew her and her child to kingdom come. It rocked the entire compound. Blew the guards off their feet, and left a hole in the land where she fell.

The sadness and madness of war was never-ending, and whoever was still alive when night came lived to fight another day.

LIKEEVERYSOLDIER, Hunt had long ago accepted that what he did in the air also killed whatever was on the ground. He tried not to think of innocents caught in cross fire, or of the children they sacrificed as human shields.

He dreamed of the hot, humid heat of the Louisiana swamps and woke up to blowing sand and a land so dry the sky looked yellow. It was cold in the winter, with snow and rain in the northern mountains, but cold weather didn't ever stop war.

He missed the drawl of the Deep South, and the Cajun accents from the streets. He missed the taste of Creole gumbo that started from a rich dark roux. It bubbled with tomatoes and okra, had thick, fat shrimps and chunks of andouille sausage, and was seasoned with filé gumbo powder that cooked down to a heavenly stew, then was served over a big bowl of rice. He dreamed of promising Lainie the world on their last Mardi Gras together, and woke up wondering where she was.

There was only one real rule that mattered in war, and that was never for a second forget the constant danger you are in. Forgetting could get you killed. Even during a pickup basketball game on base, on a hot windy day.

HUNT'S T-SHIRTWAS drenched with sweat and stuck to his body. Because of his long arms and ability for high leaps, he'd just blocked a shot from a gunner they called Rat. Rat had retrieved his own rebound and was dribbling back out for a long shot.

Preacher was on Hunt's team. He saw Rat dribbling out, and when he turned to make a long shot, Preacher came running up behind him to steal the ball.

Hunt saw the glee on Preacher's face. Then someone else was shouting at Rat, "Behind you! Behind you!" when all expression on Preacher's face disappeared.

It was the bullet hole in Preacher's forehead that sent Hunt running toward him in a crouch, but he never made it. The second shot fired hit Hunt in the back. The blood from Preacher's head wound was already soaking into the sand as Hunt dropped. He heard T-Bone shouting, "Gator's down," saw Rat running for his weapon, and then somebody turned out the lights.

HEWOKEUPin the ICU of a Level 1 medical unit, with an Army nurse standing over him.

"Welcome back, soldier. Surgery went well. The shot nicked a rib, exited out your side and missed all your vital organs."

Hunt grunted, then closed his eyes.

"You kept saying the name ‘Lainie,' over and over. You don't have any next of kin listed. Would you like us to notify her?"

A tear rolled out from under his eyelid. "Don't know where she is. She's lost...like me," Hunt said, and fell back under the drugs.

He learned later they'd taken out the sniper up on the rim of a surrounding mountain, but Preacher was still dead. There would be no more Bible verses as he drew a bad hand at poker. No more preaching in Hunt's ear when they flew. Preacher's war was over, and Hunt's was on hold. He spent two weeks off duty before he was cleared again to fly.

The next time Hunt went up, it was with another pilot, with the call sign, T-Bone. Their missions were successful, but Hunt missed the Bible verses in his ear.

After that, life became a blur. Their company was moved so many times he lost count. They'd get sent stateside only long enough to get their bearings before they'd be deployed to another place of unrest.

Being a chopper pilot meant he owed ten years of his life to the Army, but he often wondered what would happen if he didn't make it to ten. Who would pay that debt for him if he died?

THEFIRSTFIVEyears of Hunt's service flew past, but the last five felt like forever. On base, it didn't matter so much not getting mail, because they had their own housing. But when they were deployed, mail mattered, and he never received letters or any packages from home, even though the other guys who did always shared.

T-Bone's wife sent gummy bears and Werther's caramels.

Rat's mother sent the best ginger snaps on the planet, and Roadrunner's wife often mailed them huge bags of flavored popcorn.

A pilot they called Memphis got chocolate fudge and divinity on every holiday, and they fought over the last pieces and laughed.

Cowboy, who was Memphis's gunner, got boxes of homemade beef jerky—a highly sought-after commodity they used for money in their poker games.

Hunt was the odd man out with nothing to share.

WHENWORDBEGANto spread that "Gator" was being discharged, his buddies were all in shock. Even Hunt's commanding officer was rendered speechless by the request. He'd assumed Gator would retire out of the Army, but there was no dissuading him, and he accepted the soldier's rights without questioning his reasons.

"Warrant Officer Gray, I have to say, I am sorry to see you go. You have been a huge asset. I hope you find what you're looking for," he said. "I'll put your papers through."

"Thank you, sir," Hunt said, saluted, and then left.

WHENTHEDAYof Hunt's discharge finally rolled around, he was at his quarters on base, packing to leave. He'd left the boy he'd been somewhere back in Louisiana, and the Army had turned what was left of him into a lean soldier with a rock-hard, war-weary body.

Never had he looked more like the old sepia photograph of his great-grandfather than he did now. Crow-black hair. Skin burned brown by desert sun. The beginnings of tiny crow's-feet at the corners of ice blue eyes. A sharp edge to his jaw, and not an ounce of body fat left on him.

He was emotionally burned out.

Over.

Done.

He'd been a part of death and destruction in a way no human should ever face. But war did that, and there was no way around it except to wade through it and ask God for the forgiveness he wasn't able to give himself.

The men he'd flown with and fought with knew he was leaving, and had gathered at his quarters to watch him pack. Their normal chatter was absent. They still couldn't reconcile the fact of never seeing him again.

He knew them by their call signs better than he did their given names. T-Bone. Rat. Roadrunner. Memphis. Cowboy. Galahad. Duke. Sundown. Chili Dog. Tulsa. Cherokee. They'd flown together. Lived together. Bled together.

"You're gonna be a hard act to follow," Rat said.

Gator was a legend among his peers, but in all the years they'd been together, they were beginning to realize they only knew the soldier. They knew nothing about the man.

Roadrunner still couldn't believe he was leaving. "So, Gator, where are you headed?"

Hunt kept shoving socks into his duffel bag without looking up. "Flagstaff. Got a job flying choppers for a charter service."

Rat frowned. "That's a long way from Louisiana. I kinda thought you'd be headed home to family."

Hunt paused, and this time he looked up and began carefully scanning their faces, imprinting the moment forever in his memory.

"This place was home. You are my family. Don't go and get yourselves killed," he said, then shouldered his duffel bag and walked out, with them following behind him.

A soldier and a Humvee were waiting for him. He tossed his bags in the back, crawled into the passenger seat and never looked back as they drove away.

Rat had a lump in his throat and a knot in his belly. It felt like losing a brother. "Dammit. Somebody slap me. I have a sudden urge to cry."

Roadrunner cleared his throat and swiped at his eyes. "He never did get over losing Preacher."

Rat shook his head. "I think he lost someone who mattered more, long before he came here."

HUNTSPENTHISfirst night as a civilian in a hotel in nearby Fayetteville. He had a flight out to Flagstaff the next morning, and after he got to his room, he checked in with Pete Randolph, the man who would be his new boss.

"Hey, Hunt. Where are you?" Pete asked.

"Still in North Carolina. I have a flight out tomorrow. I'll be in Flagstaff sometime late afternoon."

"Awesome! We're really looking forward to you joining the crew, but take time to find living quarters. Tend to whatever business you need to do, and then give me a call when you've settled, and I'll show you around."

"Thanks, Pete. I appreciate this."

"Hey, I'm the one who got lucky. You're the most highly trained chopper pilot I've ever hired. Even with all my years in the air, you've got me beat. You flew Longbows, man. An Apache pilot is an ace in my book."

"Ex-Apache pilot. I like flying, but I can do without being shot at. I'll be in touch," he said, then disconnected.

HUNTWASATthe airport early the next morning. He grabbed a sweet roll and a coffee on his way to his gate, and without thinking, began searching the faces of every approaching female in the concourse, while ignoring the looks women were giving him.

The aviator sunglasses he wore had a twofold purpose. Wearing them to hide his eyes was like wearing a mask, as well as using them for blocking out the sun. He didn't have civilian clothes that fit anymore, and was wearing dark charcoal tactical pants and a plain gray T-shirt beneath his flight jacket. The shirt clung to his abs like a lover, giving a hint of the dog tags beneath it.

His boots were old, but polished. He was wearing a baseball cap with an Army star insignia, and his black leather flight jacket with an official Army patch on the back, and an Apache chopper patch on his sleeve.

He knew the odds of seeing Lainie again were infinitesimal, but through all the times he thought he would die in a country not his own, luck had been with him. It stood to reason he could get lucky again.

When he reached the gate, he stood near a window to use the sill for a table, and set his coffee on it while he ate. It was the first time in years that the choices he was making were all his own. The weight of duty had been shed, and he felt lighter. If he wanted, he could search for Lainie now. But there was a part of him afraid to find out where she was. He didn't want to know if she'd married someone else. He couldn't bear the thought of her sleeping in someone else's arms. So, he let the thought fade, and decided to let fate play the hand for him.

When they began boarding, he fell in line, and once on the plane quickly took his seat. It felt strange being in a regular passenger plane, but he wasn't flying over hostile territory anymore, and after the plane was in the air, he stretched his legs and put the cap in his lap.

A flight attendant came by later and quietly whispered, "Thank you for your service," as she handed him a beverage.

He grasped the cup and nodded.

And elderly man in the opposite aisle had already seen the patches on Hunt's jacket, and leaned across the aisle.

"Active duty?" he asked.

Hunt shook his head. "Not anymore."

"Ah...headed home, then," the man said.

"I'm already home," Hunt said. "Just looking for a place to be," then finished his beverage, set the empty cup on the tray table and closed his eyes.

After that, nobody bothered him. He changed planes in Atlanta, and then had a straight flight to Flagstaff from there. By the time he landed, it was late afternoon. He caught a cab to the hotel where he'd made a reservation, and as soon as he had checked in and dumped his stuff in his room, he went down to the dining room and ordered steak with all the trimmings, and sweet tea. It wasn't southern sweet, but it suited him. Afterward, he went straight back to his room to shower and shave, then kicked back in bed with the intent of watching a movie, and fell asleep within minutes.

And he dreamed.

LAINIEWASLYINGbeneath him, her arms locked around his neck. There were tears in her eyes, and her lips were slightly parted, as if trying to catch her breath. They'd both been scared when they laid down. She'd never had sex. He'd never made love to a virgin. He was fully erect and protected, and she was willing, but this was a hell of a responsibility he didn't want to flub.

"I love you, Lainie, but don't know how to keep from hurting you," he whispered.

"I know that, but I love you, too, and you're worth it," she said, and held her breath as he moved between her legs, and then slipped inside her, felt the barrier and pushed.

Quick tears came with a gasp, and then he began to move, and the pain was gone. She looked up into the face above her, and then wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes. It felt good. It felt right. And it kept getting better. She didn't know what a climax was until it hit, and then she lost her mind.

The blood rush was still rolling through when Hunt raised up and began searching her face, afraid of what she'd think. How she'd feel.

"Did it hurt you, darlin'?"

"Only for a second," she said. "The rest was magic."

His hands were in her hair as he leaned down and kissed her.

"I have dreamed of what this would be like, to make love to you. It was perfect. You're perfect."

Her gaze was locked upon his face. He had that raptor look in his eyes. Like he'd just caught the prey he'd been after, and claimed it. It was the side of him that turned him into a machine on the football field. That fight or die mindset. She loved it and she loved him.

"Hunter James Gray, you are my first love. My last love. My only love. It will always be you."

"God, Lainie. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I love you so much I ache from it," he whispered, then moved from her, and stretched out beside her instead.

Silence filled the moments as they nestled in each other's arms, but it was Lainie who broke the silence, and her voice was shaking when she spoke.

"If I ever get lost from you, Hunt, don't quit me. It will never be my choice."

He knew where that was coming from. Their fathers' war.

"If they cause trouble, I'll find a way to save you. I promise," he said.

"I promise... I promise... I promise."

HUNTWOKEUPsaying the words. "I promise. I promise."

The moment he heard his voice, the old regret rolled through him, but today he was starting over. He threw back the covers and headed for the shower again. He had a thousand things to do today, and finding a place to live was first on the list.

WITHINAWEEK, Hunt signed a lease on a 900 square foot, two-bedroom, one-bath house on the outskirts of Flagstaff. He just spent the last ten years of his life within an army, responding to orders shouted, the constant chatter of conversation, and when deployed, a multitude of snoring. He needed peace and privacy. He was lost, and looking for the man he would be without the boots and uniforms.

With a new address to his name, he then contacted the lawyer back in New Orleans to have his personal papers sent. He didn't know if his parents still lived where they had, or if they were even still alive, and didn't care. They were part of what broke him.

The job he'd taken with Randolph Tours and Charters was perfect. Nothing was asked of him but to ferry people from one place to another. Wherever he went, he was always home by evening. The churning waters of his life were beginning to calm. He was almost twenty-nine years old, and most days, he felt fifty, but life went on, taking him with it.

SIXHUNDREDSEVENTY-SEVEN miles north, Lainie Mayes was leaving home in a downpour on her way to work at Denver Health Center. She'd long ago switched her studies from nursing to X-ray and radiology, then on to becoming Certified in Radiologic Technology. She was coming up on her ninth year at the facility, and was as satisfied with her path in life as she knew how to be. There was a hole in her heart, and a tear in her soul, but she was still standing. She glanced back at the house as she was driving away.

It was her refuge. The place where she could unload frustrations and tears in the privacy of her own home, and she bought it the second year after she received her CRT certification.

THETHREE-BEDROOMbrICK, two bath house had been a fixer-upper when she took possession, and the first thing she did was hire a contractor to remodel and update it to her style.

The first thing she changed were the old red bricks. She had them painted a soft, eggshell white, then repainted the shutters sage green. The extra-wide door was stripped down to the wood, and refinished in a cherrywood stain to match the fireplace mantel in the living room.

And when the exterior was finished, the contractor began restructuring the interior, taking down walls, remodeling the entire kitchen, retiling the fireplace and the bathrooms, adding a stand-up shower in the en suite, and a soaker tub instead of the old Jacuzzi. She finished all the walls in white, and used furniture and decor to add color.

The fireplace had been converted to gas logs, which suited her, and she also kept the massive cherrywood mantel and retiled the surround. It was her favorite feature in the house. Not only was it striking, but useful in offsetting the harsh Denver winters.

One day not long after she moved, she picked up a child-size rocking chair at a tag sale. When she got home, she set it beside the hearth, then went into her bedroom to get her old teddy bear and carried it back to the fireplace.

She gave the soft, floppy bear a gentle hug. "My treasures forever," she whispered, then set it down in the rocker and stepped back to get a better view.

After all these years, the bear's floppy head had begun to tilt the slightest bit to the right, like it was waiting to hear another secret. Without Hunt in her life, she'd given them all to his bear.

She turned the smallest bedroom into an office, and lined an entire wall with bookshelves, and through the ensuing years, filled them with books. On her days off when the weather was dreary, she puttered around her kitchen, trying new recipes and baking, and when the weather was good, she hiked the trails in the surrounding mountains.

The day she finally moved in, she said a little prayer, thanking her grandmother's generosity in leaving her that trust, and settled in like a little hen in a nest. She liked her job, and had long since mastered driving in snow. In short, Denver had become her home.

She'd framed Hunt's last text message to her, and hung it over the headboard of her bed as a talisman against bad dreams and lonely nights. But it didn't stop the longing. Time had not eased her broken heart.

She was barely twenty when she first began working at the hospital; she'd had to go through the gamut of being the new, single woman on the job. Doctors, interns, coworkers, even patients hit on her, and her friends kept trying to fix her up with dates, until they realized it was futile. They didn't know her story, but it was apparent having a partner of any kind was not on her radar.

Sometimes she'd hang out with friends, but only as part of a group, and wherever she went, she arrived alone and left the same way. She didn't want another man holding her. Kissing her. Making love to her. She'd had the best. And if she couldn't have Hunt, she chose no one at all.

THERAINWASstill pouring as Lainie pulled into the employee parking lot, but she'd come prepared. She had a raincoat over her clothes, and an umbrella over her head as she got out running. Once inside, she headed to her locker, stowed her things, grabbed the lanyard with her ID and pass card and put it around her neck. After a quick check of her pockets to make sure she had everything she needed, she locked her locker and went to check the schedule.

Soon, she was on the job, readying a thirtysomething woman for X-rays. After that, it was a succession of patients, and the morning passed. When there was a break in her schedule, she went down to the cafeteria to grab some lunch, and saw some friends eating at a table, and headed over.

"Got room for one more?" she asked.

A little blonde named Charis Colby waved a French fry in the air. "Sit by me," she said. "I need positive vibes. I just weighed myself this morning and it's not looking good for that wedding dress I'm soon going to need."

Lainie smiled at the comment and the French fry as she sat. "So, you've finally set a date, have you?"

Charis rolled her eyes. "I have six months to pull a wedding together. My mother is in hysterics. You'd think she was the one getting married."

They laughed in sympathy, and then picked up the conversation, most of which was hospital gossip, as they ate. Lainie kept an eye on the time and was just about finished when she noticed a heavyset man in scrubs approaching the table with a food tray. He was a bald, thirtysomething man with broad shoulders, and a mat of thick brown hair on his arms, but it was the look on his face that alerted every ounce of self-preservation within her. To her dismay, he stopped at their table. Before she could leave, Charis was introducing her.

"Hey Lainie, this is Justin Randall...a new nurse on our floor. Justin, this is Lainie Mayes. She's in radiology."

"Lainie, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said.

Lainie nodded politely. "You, too. Welcome to Denver Health. Sorry, but I've gotta run. Later, y'all."

She picked up her tray as she went, sorted the dirty dishes and silverware at the station, and left the cafeteria. She didn't have to look back to know he was still watching her. She could feel it, and it gave her the creeps.

Justin frowned as he watched her go, then put down his tray and sat in the chair she'd just vacated. He took note of the warm leather still holding the shape of her backside, and let dirty thoughts roll through his head as he took his first bite.

Her day got crazy, and toward the end of her shift, she wound up down in ER with a portable X-ray, trying to get film on an unconscious child who'd been pulled from a wreck. By the time she headed home for the evening, she'd forgotten Justin Randall even existed.

But Justin Randall hadn't forgotten her. She was exactly his type. Her auburn hair fit into the category of redheads. She was average height, busty and lean, and by the time his lunch with his coworkers was over, he now knew she was single, too. All he had to do was bide his time. She given off all kinds of "don't touch" vibes, but he didn't care. He liked a good fight.

He picked up a pizza and a six-pack of beer on his way home, and settled in to watch the sports channel, while Lainie was in her oversize soaker tub on the other side of the city, up to her neck in lavender-scented bubbles.

THEARRIVALOFJustin Randall began to change Lainie's routine at work. He appeared at random times, in random places where she was working, and at first, she thought little of it. But then it dawned on her that while she moved around within the floors and halls of the hospital according to what her job required, his job did not. He was a nurse on an assigned floor, and yet there he'd be, out of place and in her face.

As the months passed, he began upping his approach, trying to include her in group lunches, asking her to go bowling, to take a ride, to have coffee, and every time, she turned him down. Some days, she made excuses. Other days it was a flat no.

But on this morning when she saw him coming, it was too late to make an escape, and all of a sudden, he was in her face.

"Lainie! You're looking great today! How about a drink after work? I know this place with great bar food and even better drinks."

"Thanks, but I have other plans. Gotta go. They're waiting for me," she said, and kept walking.

Even though he was talking to her back now, he still persisted. "Maybe another time," he called out, and frowned when she didn't respond.

Before the week was out, he'd blindsided her two more times—appearing out of nowhere. All she could think was that he had to be following her. Why wasn't he on his floor?

Finally, she cornered Charis midweek in the cafeteria. Charis was alone at the table, and Lainie immediately sat down.

"Charis, isn't Justin Randall assigned to your floor?"

Charis nodded. "Yes, why?"

Lainie leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Everywhere I go, no matter what floor I'm on, there he is. It's been going on for months. He just appears out of nowhere, asking me out. I make excuses but he doesn't quit. He's in my face. He's in my personal space. And he creeps me out."

Charis frowned. "How long has this been happening?"

"Since almost from the time you introduced us. He's giving out stalker vibes like you wouldn't believe, and you know me. I don't flirt. I'm not sending out any vibes that could be misconstrued."

Charis's frown deepened. "Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I'll put a bug in the supervisor's ear, and let her know he's not on the job like he's supposed to be. Other than that, I don't know what else to do."

Lainie's shoulders slumped. "Thanks. I've never experienced anything remotely close to this, and it's getting scary. These are the times when I wish to God I still had Hunter Gray in my life," she said, and then went quiet, shocked that she'd actually spoken out loud.

Charis stilled. This was the first time any of them had ever heard her mention a man.

"So, he's the reason you don't date?" she asked.

Lainie nodded.

"I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"Our fathers happened. They were stepbrothers who hated each other, and Hunt and I committed an unpardonable sin. We fell in love. Life happened. And we lost each other. I don't know where he is. I don't even know if he's still alive in the world...if he even lived to become a man, but he was my everything. He stood between me and our fathers' hate until they broke me, and when that happened, I think it broke him, too."

Charis was horrified. "Here I am all gushing about my happy life and pending marriage, and you're living with this. I'm so sorry. That's the saddest thing I think I've ever heard."

Lainie shrugged. "It is what it is. Look, I would appreciate you keeping this to yourself. Hospital gossip is deadly. I don't want this to be my identity because it's not. That was me at eighteen. I'm neither broken nor helpless. All I want is Justin Randall to leave me the hell alone."

Charis nodded. "I promise. And I'll talk to our supervisor, too."

"As long as he doesn't find out that I'm the one who ratted him out, it should be fine," Lainie said, but those were famous last words.

The next day, Lainie clocked in, locked up her things and was on her way out of the break room when Justin walked up behind her.

"Hey Lainie!" he said, and gripped her shoulder hard enough it physically stopped her in her tracks.

She jerked, then shoved his hand away. "What the hell, Justin? You scared me half to death! Don't sneak up on people like that, okay?"

She knew the minute she said it that he was angry, because his eyes narrowed, and the smile on his face turned into a thin-lipped grimace.

"Sorry! Didn't know you were so touchy. I know you're off tomorrow, and so am I. I thought it would be fun to—"

Lainie held up her hand. "Justin, just stop. I'm not interested in dating anyone. Period. I don't intend to hurt your feelings, but let's not have this conversation again, okay? Now, I have to hurry, and that's not an excuse. I'm doing MRIs all day today, and we don't keep people waiting."

"Yeah, sure. No problem. I understand," he said, and walked off.

Lainie breathed a quick sigh of relief, thinking he'd finally gotten the message, and hurried up the hall.

Her first patient, a fortysomething woman named Renee Reilly, was already in tears from the fear of the test itself, when Lainie arrived, but she quickly launched into patient mode and began talking her down.

"Hi, Renee, I'm Lainie, your MRI technician. We're doing an open MRI with contrast today, right?"

Renee nodded. "My doctor explained the process. I'm just scared."

"That's fair, and I certainly understand. We can talk while I start your IV so we can begin the drip for the contrast."

"Yes, okay," Renee said, and closed her eyes as the needle went in.

"There we go," Lainie said, as she taped it down, and started the drip. "This will take about twenty minutes or so to finish. Are you cold? I can get you a blanket."

"A blanket would be good," Renee said.

Lainie got a fresh one from the warmer and tucked it around her. "I'm going to be just inside the lab here getting things ready. I'll check back with you in a few minutes."

Renee stifled a sob. "I have cancer. I just know it. The women on my side of the family all die from it. I have three children still at home. They're going to grow up without me," she wailed.

Lainie paused, then pulled up a chair and sat down. "I've been at this job in one capacity or another for almost nine years now, and if there's one thing I've learned about medicine, it is that we never assume anything, okay? The only man I ever loved had a saying that always made me laugh. ‘Darlin'." She paused and smiled. "He always called me darlin'. Anyway, he would say, ‘Darlin', you never want to borrow trouble. The only safe thing to borrow is eggs and butter.'"

Renee smiled through tears. "Sounds like a wonderful guy."

"The best," Lainie said. "Now, let's just get through this test, and then you go home and take your kids out for pizza tonight. I believe in using every day to make memories. Nobody knows what their tomorrow will bring. I don't know what awaits me, any more than your doctor knows what awaits him. One day at a time, honey. One day at a time. How about some music while you wait?" she asked.

Renee squeezed Lainie's hand. "Yes, please, and thank you for that."

"Absolutely," Lainie said. "What kind of music do you like?"

"Music from the '80s."

"You got it," Lainie said, slipped headphones on her, pulled up the proper link and started it playing.

When Renee gave her a thumbs-up and closed her eyes, Lainie slipped into the control area, and began checking the orders to confirm the imaging required for the test.

When it finally came time for Renee to be moved into the open MRI, she was calm enough to follow all the directions. It would be an hour-long process of immobility, flat on her back, with the thump and pulse of the machine around her upper body being drowned out by Bon Jovi singing in her ears.

When the test was finally over, Lainie helped Renee out of the machine and then helped her sit up. "Everything okay? Are you dizzy sitting up now?"

"No, I feel fine," Renee said.

"Good. Now, what are you doing this evening?" Lainie asked.

Renee grinned. "Having pizza with the family at Famous Pizza and Subs."

"Yum! Eat a slice for me!"

"Count on it," Renee said, "and thank you."

Lainie helped her into a wheelchair, and signaled for the waiting orderly to take her out.

Before her day was over, she'd done three more MRIs, and was emotionally exhausted. Dealing with patients' stress was always more complicated than the actual act of her job. She knew the job and did it well. She just never knew what drama, if any, the next patient might bring.

She finally clocked out and was walking across the parking lot when she saw Charis, and waved.

"See you tomorrow!" Charis called.

"My day off! I'm hiking Beaver Brook Trail tomorrow!"

Charis rolled her eyes. "Better you than me. Some of us are going to Adelitas tomorrow evening for drinks and tacos. Seven o'clock. You're invited!"

"Deal!" Lainie said. "See you there!"

"Yay!" Charis said and did a little two-step as she got in her car and drove away.

Lainie envied Charis's ebullience as she was driving away, unaware Justin Randall had overheard everything, including her hiking destination.