Dancing in the Dark

Rod smiled. “Yeah. Good-looking, and good for you, too.”

The easy remark lightened things, but only for a minute. Then Seth started pacing again.

“Not that it has any bearing on this, but Wendy and I aren’t together again. We had a major disagreement this afternoon.”

“And you still want me to see her?”

Seth nodded. “It’s what she wants, Doc.” His smile was tight. “This is a farewell gift, you might say.”

“I just hope Miss Monroe understands that all I’m doing is agreeing to talk to her. I’m not making any commitments.”

“She knows that. I just wish you’d see her without me around. She and I agreed that I’d leave before she arrived.”

“Well, you agreed without consulting me first.” Rod’s smile took the edge off the rebuke. “Look, I’m not trying to be a hard-ass about this, Seth, but I don’t know the lady. You do, and you’ve made a couple of interesting observations about why you think she shouldn’t have surgery.”

Seth looked puzzled. “Yeah, and you pointed out—and rightly so—that decisions about Wendy’s life were hers to make, not mine.”

Pommier shrugged. “True. But deciding whether or not a patient’s suitable for what I do isn’t strictly dependent on reading X rays and taking case histories. The dynamics of a situation are often as vital as the physical aspects.”

“Meaning,” Seth said wryly, “you think you can learn something about Wendy by watching us play off each other.”

“Yes,” Pommier said bluntly. “I find myself wondering if Miss Monroe’s feelings for you and her feelings about this operation aren’t somehow connected.”

“Only if you mean she’d rather have surgery than have—”

“Here she is,” Rod said quietly, looking past Seth. He put down his glass and stood up. “At least, I’m assuming that’s her coming toward us.”

Seth turned around and saw Wendy and her parents. Wendy was smiling, but her smile disappeared when she looked at him.

“What are you doing here, Seth?”

“I asked him to stay,” Rod said smoothly. He held out his hand. “How do you do, Miss Monroe? I’m Rodney Pommier.”

* * *

IT WAS AS IF they’d all been cast in a play.

After introductions, Pommier led them upstairs. His room was one of the larger guest rooms and had a small sitting area in front of a marble fireplace.

Everyone but Seth took a seat. He stood to the side, a reluctant observer wishing he could fade into the wallpaper as Rod Pommier, easygoing Rod Pommier with a good sense of humor, turned into Dr. Rodney Pommier, world-renowned surgeon.

Wendy seemed to know her part, too. She made a point of turning her back to Seth as soon as the doctor began asking her questions. She referred to the accident with a detachment Seth first admired and then found troubling, referring to “the” injuries, “the” operations, “the” treatments she’d undergone as if they’d happened to someone else.

He tried not to listen. He didn’t feel detached at all. The terrible litany of what Wendy had endured took him back to the first weeks after the accident, when he’d almost gone crazy, imagining her suffering.

Pommier asked Howard for the medical files. They were all quiet as he scanned them. At last he looked up.

“Miss Monroe,” he said slowly, “surely you know that I’ve decided not to take on any new patients.”

Wendy nodded. “Yes, but I’m hoping I can change your mind. I can’t believe you’d turn away someone who’s a perfect candidate for your technique, Doctor.”

Pommier smiled. “Why do you want this surgery? At best, there’s a long and arduous recovery period.”

“I know that. But—”

“My daughter was a champion skier, Dr. Pommier,” Howard said. “She wants to ski again.”

“She has skied again,” Seth said. All heads turned toward him. Wendy looked angry. Her parents looked surprised. Pommier’s expression was resolutely neutral. Seth could feel his cheeks coloring. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t say a word. “Today, at Jiminy Peak.”

Howard’s brows lifted. “Wendy?”

“I skied a beginner’s slope,” she said impatiently, “that’s all.”

“It was a low intermediate slope,” Seth said coolly, “and she skied. That’s all I’m pointing out—that she can ski if she wants to.”

“Skiing an easy slope isn’t skiing,” Howard said, turning his back to Seth. “Wendy wants to compete again. Will she be able to do that if she has this surgery, Doctor?”

“There’s an excellent chance she might, if the surgery goes well.” Pommier hesitated. “There’s also a chance she might spend the rest of her life in a wheelchair.”

Howard blanched. “What?”

“Surely you’re aware that this procedure is risky, Mr. Monroe.”

“Well, yes, but I didn’t think—”

Pommier turned to Wendy. “That’s what you must consider,” he said quietly. “I admit you’re a prime candidate for surgery.”

“You mean you’ll do it?” Howard said excitedly.

“You’re a good candidate,” Pommier continued, speaking only to Wendy, “but I want you to consider the ramifications. Most of the people who come to me are in terrible pain. Others can’t walk and have been told they never will. The risk for such people is worth taking, but you’re in neither group. You’re pain free at this point, are you not?”

Wendy nodded. “Yes.”

“And you can walk.”

“I limp,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

“Did you say...” Howard leaned forward. “Did you say she might end up in a wheelchair if you fail?”

“I did.”

“But you won’t fail. Why would you?”

“If I never failed, Mr. Monroe, I’d be God, and I make no pretense at being a deity.”

“Can you give us an idea of the odds, Doctor? I mean, can you break it down to percentages?”

“I’m not a fortune-teller, either, sir. Fifty-fifty is the best I can do.”

Howard took Wendy’s hand. “And...and she might end up in a wheelchair?” he said again.

“I’m afraid so.”

“But she might be able to ski competitively—”

“And aliens might have designed the pyramids,” Seth said furiously.

Wendy flashed him a warning look. “Stay out of this, Seth.”

Seth took a breath. “Yeah.” He folded his arms. “You’re right. I’ve got no part in this discussion.”

Howard squeezed Wendy’s hand. “Honey? You want to ask the doctor any other questions?” She shook her head. “You think we have enough information to go home, talk this through and come up with a decision?”

“H

oward!” Gina’s voice shook. “Are you crazy? Didn’t you hear what the doctor said? People who come to him are desperate to walk, or to be free of pain. What is there to talk about?”

“How to convince Wendy to go through with this operation,” Seth snarled. “That’s what you have to go home and talk about.”

Everyone looked at him. He knew he was out of line, that whatever the Monroes decided had nothing to do with him anymore because he was out of Wendy’s life. But, damn it, he still loved her. He would always love her, and he wasn’t going to keep quiet. Not this time.

“Seth.” Wendy stood up. “You have nothing to say about this.”

“I had nothing to say the last time, too, when your old man pushed you so hard you couldn’t see straight.”

Howard looked shocked. “I never—”

“The hell you didn’t.” Seth swung to face him, his expression taut with pent-up fury. “You worked her night and day. She was always on the slopes or on a treadmill, and when the roads were clear that winter, she was out on her bike, pedaling up the mountains.”

“Seth.” Wendy’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “Stop it!”

“No. I won’t stop. I was a kid, too young and too afraid of losing you to speak out, but I don’t have anything to lose now.” He strode toward Howard, stopped only inches away. “You know why Wendy fell on that mountain in Norway?”

“Seth. Seth, please—” Wendy clasped his arm.

He shook her loose. It was time, it was past time, and nothing would silence him now.

“She was tired. She was sick. Did you take a good look at her those weeks you were busy training her to win that damn medal for you, Monroe? Did you see the circles under her eyes?”

Howard’s face was white. “Wendy? I didn’t... I was only trying to help.”

“I know, Daddy. Believe me, my accident had nothing to do with—”

“The hell it didn’t!” Seth’s mouth twisted. “He was so wrapped up in that miserable medal that he forgot you can only push somebody so far before they break.”

“Stop it,” Wendy said. She stepped between Seth and her father. “You have no right. You don’t know anything about why I wasn’t in top shape for Lillehammer.”