Two wing chairs upholstered in striped blue damask flanked the fireplace. Edmonds stood behind one and motioned for her to sit. Trissa folded her arms and frowned, sticking her lower lip out like a pouting child. "Why are you here?"
"Sit and I'll tell you."
She hesitated for a moment then flounced across the room, perched on the edge of the seat, and glared at him. He took the chair opposite and settled back, crossing his long legs, ankle over thigh, so that an expanse of sock showed between his scuffed black oxfords and his pants legs. It was white, a rather dingy white at that.
"It surprises me, this house," he said finally. "Brewer may not be the low-life I assumed him to be." Anger snapped like a spark in her, and she opened her mouth then clamped it shut when he continued. "But every family has its black sheep, I suppose."
"All the better to make black socks, I'm sure."
His brow wrinkled for a moment at her answer, but he shook off his puzzlement and went on, "Have you known him long?"
"Longer than you. Look, Doctor, I am sitting and I am listening. But I will not do either much longer. My husband, who you insult so casually in his own home, and I have plans for the evening. So come to the point of your visit or go--"
"I went to see your mother."
"--away. What? My mother?" They were like words from another language to her at first. She shook her head in disbelief until she finally understood what they might mean for her. Then they translated themselves into fury. "Why you arrogant, meddling bastard! How did you even find out where I lived?"
"I copied your address from your suitcase. And I got this address from hospital records." He gave her a smug smile.
She lurched out of her seat and flew at him, grabbing him by the shirtsleeves as if to drag him out of his chair. When she couldn't budge him, she kicked his shin. "You've ruined everything, damn you!" She stepped back, straining to keep her tears in check. Anger was all he deserved from her.
"Easy, easy," he said, rubbing his shin, "I didn't tell her anything. I mean, I meant to, but I saw how she was. You were right to run away from her."
"I'm so grateful for your approval, Doctor."
"Trissa, please, I've gone about this all wrong. Could we start over?"
"Does that mean I have to sit again, sir?"
"It would help me if you would."
Something in his voice, a ragged edge completely foreign to his usually imperious tone, made her do what he asked. She could not erase her indignation for both his rudeness and his interference in her life, but she did sense his discomfort in having to admit he needed her help and it softened her a little.
"I lost a patient last night. A victim of gang violence. She was a bit younger than you and probably a lot tougher. But she fell in with the wrong crowd and she died for it."
"I'm sorry, but--"
"Usually, I can scrub up for the next patient and go on. You have to when you work emergency. You may call it arrogance, but that's what it takes sometimes, a certain godlike disdain for death that allows you to face it down and beat it. She wasn't the first patient I've lost, and she won't be the last. I just -- I just don't want you to be one of them. I don't think I could live with that."
"I don't understand."
"I don't either. No one is more surprised than I that I am here and confessing this -- this weakness to you. But this patient reminded me of you. And well -- all I can say is that something about you has touched me in a way I've never felt before.
"And I don't trust Brewer. I wish you would tell me how you came to be with him. Tell me you grew up with him. Tell me anything I can believe and I'll go away and leave you in peace."
"I trust him. Isn't that enough?"
"No. It's not."
"That's just too damn bad." Nicholas scowled in the parlor doorway.
Edmonds stood to face him, smiling a challenge. "I keep turning up. I warned you that I would, didn't I, Brewer? I'm like a bad penny."
"Or a bad smell."
Trissa slipped between them and took Nicholas' hand. "I missed you."