Charlotte nodded, but blooming warmth in her stomach spread to her cheeks. “Did you have a good flight?” she asked, trying to make small talk.
“As good as can be expected. The man next to me seemed to invade my space a lot, but overall it was as enjoyable as any other flight.” He pulled up the handle to his rolling suitcase with a snap. The tone was a bit arrogant and that attitude was why she’d never brought him to Cape Recluse when they had first got engaged. Quinn had champagne tastes and was a city slicker through and through. Of course, if she’d brought him home when they had first got engaged it might’ve saved her some heartache.
Then she wouldn’t have lost the baby, except she didn’t regret carrying his baby, even for such a short time. She had known from the get-go that Quinn was not a family man. In her youthful naivety she’d thought she could change him.
How wrong she’d been.
Let it go.
It was no longer her job to care what Quinn Devlyn thought. “Well, we’d better get up to Cape Recluse. It’s a two-hour flight there and there’s talk of a storm coming in from Labrador. Also, I’d like to get up there before it’s dark.”
“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” he said, puzzled.
“The sun sets early up here.”
“I thought this was the land of the midnight sun?”
“In summer … This is winter. We have long periods of night.”
“Yikes.” Quinn shook his head. “So how are we getting there?”
“I fly.” Charlotte turned on her heel and strode off toward the other section of the airport where her plane was kept in a private rented hangar. Quinn kept in step beside her.
“What do you mean, you fly? As in a plane?” His tone was one of surprise and perhaps awe.
“Yes, I don’t have wings.” To prove her point she flapped her arms. Quinn rolled his eyes; he had never been one for foolishness in public places.
“You know what I mean. When did you learn how to fly?”
“About four years ago, after a man died in my arms from a very mild myocardial infarction. His death could’ve been prevented if we’d had regular flights from Iqaluit to Cape Recluse. By the time the air ambulance landed, Mr. Tikivik was dead. It was then I decided to learn how to fly, so I could fly my patients to Iqaluit if need be.”
“So you’re a physician and a paramedic, as well?” The tone was sarcastic, making her bristle with annoyance. His attitude on job specifications certainly hadn’t changed one bit.
“What else are they supposed to do? Plan their medical emergencies to fit around a pilot’s schedule?”
“I didn’t mean to upset you. I think it’s a lot to ask for limited pay.”
Charlotte turned to face him. “Money doesn’t mean that much to me. Lives mean more.”
Quinn didn’t respond but looked a bit taken aback. Guilt assailed her. She didn’t want to pick a fight with him, not after he’d come all this way and on his own dime. “Sorry,” she apologized.
“For what?” he asked.
“If I insulted you.”
“You didn’t. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
“Of course.” Charlotte shook her head. Quinn never had hidden the fact that success and to be the best in his field drove him. In his eyes you were nothing without those attributes.
“I’m interested in meeting Mentlana Tikivik and examining her and the baby. Still, I don’t quite understand why you don’t just fly her down to Toronto.”
“She has a pulmonary embolus.”
Quinn whistled. “Does she know about the diagnosis of the fetus?”
“Yes, I told her.” Charlotte sighed. “I told her I was bringing a specialist up to determine the severity of the CCAM. She’s aware of what may have to happen, and she’s fine with it. She wants to do whatever it takes to save her baby.”
Just like I would’ve done to save mine.
A lump formed in her throat as her mind wandered back to that horrible day when she’d spotted the mass on the baby’s lungs. She’d recognized the congenital cystic adenomatoid malformation, or CCAM, for what it was, and there had been no way she could fix it. She was only a general practitioner. She wasn’t qualified.
“Of course.” He nodded. “Did you explain the procedure to her?”
“Oh, yes.” Charlotte couldn’t help but smile as she remembered having to go through each step of the procedure, like she was talking to a first-year surgical resident.
“Did she understand?” Quinn asked, confused.
“Eventually,” Charlotte replied.
“Eventually?”
Charlotte laughed. “She understands, but Mentlana is very … inquisitive. I’ll warn you now, she’ll bombard you with questions.”
“No need to warn me. I’ve dealt with worse, I’m sure. I’ve consulted on many patients before and I’ve a way of explaining complex medical procedures so patients understand me.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Your pride is healthy, I see.”
Quinn smiled. “I have an excellent bedside manner.”
In your dreams, perhaps.
“Right, I forgot about your charming persona with patients.” She snapped her fingers. “You’re something of a McSteamy.”
“A … what?”
“Never mind, it’s a Grey’s Anatomy joke.”
“Didn’t that character die?”
Charlotte smirked. “I didn’t know you were a Grey’s Anatomy fan.”
He sighed. “What I meant was that I have a way of getting people to open up to me. I have a winning personality.”
Charlotte cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Quinn chuckled. “Okay. Look, what I meant was I’ll be able to explain it to her and gain her trust. I’ve done this surgery before.”
Trust was important, especially in the Inuk culture. Trust was important to her, too. She’d trusted Quinn. She’d never forget how deeply in love with him she’d been. Quinn had claimed her heart, body and soul. He’d taken her innocence and had then crushed all her hopes and dreams when he’d walked out on her after she’d lost their baby.
“It’s for the best, Charlotte. We’re not ready. We have our careers ahead of us.”
The day he’d walked out had been the day he’d lost her trust. She’d never let him in again.
Never is a long time.
“Hey, are you okay? You zoned out, there, for a moment,” Quinn said, waving a hand in front of her face.
Charlotte shook the painful memory away. “If you’re sure you can handle Mentlana, I’ll leave you to it.”
“Charlotte, your friend will be totally at ease and informed during the entire procedure.”
“Trust is not easily given by people in a small, close-knit and isolated community.”
“Trust me.” He grinned, a dimple puckering.
“I did that once before,” she muttered.
“What?”