I closed my eyes in a long blink. “It’s not you. I don’t hate you. I’m just…”
“I wasn’t asking you out on a date, if that’s what you were thinking.”
“Oh no—of course not. Not at all.”
God how humiliating. Of course he wasn’t interested—it wasn’t like I was that girl anymore, the one guys used to ask out all the time.
He gave me a knowing oh yes you did, you little liar look but didn’t openly challenge me. “Well, I’m glad you’ll get to see your friend. Need anything from your bag before we take off?”
I exhaled, filled with relief the excruciating moment had passed. “Yes. My book is up there. Do you mind?”
Before I finished asking, he was on his feet, pulling the bag down and putting it on his seat beside me. As I unzipped it and dug around, the flight attendant came from the front and stepped close to Larson, placing a beautifully-manicured hand on his bicep.
Her voice was soft and sweet. “We’re about to taxi. You’ll need to sit down as soon as you can.”
He smiled at her pleasantly. “Yeah, sure. Just grabbing something.”
He re-shelved my bag and took his seat, fastening his seatbelt before glancing over at the cover of my book. “That’s weird,” he said.
Lifting his tablet, he pressed the power button and held the screen up to show me the book he’d been reading. It was the same one I held in my hands.
“It is weird,” I said, glancing at him sideways. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Stephen King guy.”
“Well, I don’t know any girls who read him.” He paused and regarded me with a look of amusement. “You are an interesting person, Kenley Moran.”
I felt my cheeks heat again—three times in under an hour—had to be some kind of blushing record.
Shoot. I didn’t want him to think I was interesting. I didn’t want him to think of me at all.
“Well... enjoy.”
I opened my book to the bookmark and proceeded to bury myself in its refuge for the remainder of the flight, trying not to think about how interesting I found him.
Or the fact we had eerily similar taste in books.
And definitely not about that crinkly-eyed smile.
Nine
Interview
Two hours later, we were standing in an office at the medical school’s research center, shaking hands with Sky Walker, our local photog in Nashville and with Dr. Wei Un Yin, the head of pediatric thoracic surgery. The doctor excused himself to make a quick phone call while Sky set up the camera and lights in his office for the interview.
“So, you’re Heidi’s friend?” Sky asked.
“Yes. You work with her at Channel two, right?”
“Her and Aric both. I know him from Minnesota—we worked together there before he went down to Georgia and fell straight in love—that boy is whupped. Miss Heidi’s got him wrapped around her pretty little finger. They need to hurry up and get married so he can start thinking straight again.”
Sky laughed. “I’m just kiddin’. I remember what it was like. I been married twenty years now.”
“Awesome. How long have you been at Two?”
“Just a year. I was in Mankato for ten years before that, but I’m from Chattanooga, so I’m happy to be back in Tennessee.”
“I know—gotta love TV news. You never know where you’ll wind up working,” Larson said.
“Where you from, Larson?” Sky asked, apparently one of the few people in this country not familiar with his famous family.
“I grew up in New York City—when I wasn’t away at boarding school. And my parents have a couple of other places. I guess New York is my home, though.”
I was starting to become familiar with Larson’s facial expressions, and the one he wore now was decidedly embarrassed.
How odd. Mark had loved to tell anyone within earshot about his family’s beach house on St. Simons Island. I had a feeling the Overstreets’ second home (and third and fourth) probably made the Fitzsimmons’ beach house look like a shack.
“That’s cool, man. I love New York,” Sky said, completely unfazed by Larson’s revelation of wealth. “How come you’re not working in the New York bureau?”
“I wanted to get away, do something different,” Larson said. “I like the South. People are really nice. It’s warm. And… I didn’t mind the idea of a bit of distance from my parents.”
“I heard that.” Sky laughed. “My mama wants me back in Chattanooga where she can keep an eye on me, and I’m forty years old. A couple hours away is plenty close enough.”
Feeling like a middle-school kid at the grown-ups table, I squirmed in silence.
Larson must have thought I was so immature, still living at home. I made myself lift my head and straighten my shoulders, inwardly repeating my vow—not for much longer. I was going to show Larson and everyone else I was ripe for a promotion, and then it was up and out for me.
Dr. Yin came back into the office, and I clipped a mic onto his jacket, hiding the cord and directing him where to sit. His face was tight, and his forehead was already sweating, though the stand lights weren’t even on him yet.
“Hot in here, isn’t it?” His hands showed a slight tremble as he wiped his face.
Poor guy. It was amazing how worried people got over being on camera—even geniuses like this guy must be. I had noticed doctors were especially bad about it.
They were usually very concerned about what their colleagues would think after watching them, and sometimes they tended to sound like the inside of a textbook when answering questions.
I took a tissue from my bag and patted it over his face, following that with some absorbent translucent powder.
Speaking in a low, calming voice, I assured him, “Don’t worry. You won’t look like you have makeup on. This is invisible. It just cuts down on the shine from the lights. And you’re going to be great. Just look at Larson when you answer. This is all recorded, not live, you know. We’ll edit it later and use only the best stuff, okay? So it’s not like you have only one chance to get it perfect. Just let us know if you’d like to stop at any point. And speak in words you’d use if you were doing a presentation to a group of eighth-graders. All right, you look great.”
He gave me a tense smile, and I stepped back, looking him over once more, and then heading for the rear of the room, behind the camera.
Larson sat in a chair opposite the doctor. As I passed by, I handed him a sheet of questions I’d printed out for him. He would have some of his own, of course, but I wanted to show him I’d done my research on the doctor and the procedure, and I might have come up with a few angles he hadn’t thought of.
Sky let Larson know he was rolling, and the interview began.
“You’ve pioneered a surgery where a small pulmonary valve is implanted in the heart through a catheter. It’s ground-breaking because it’s less invasive for young kids—is that right?”
Dr. Yin leaned forward in his chair, the nervousness leaving his face and his eyes lighting with enthusiasm.
“Yes. In the past, children with severe defects like a missing or defective pulmonary valve had to face multiple open-heart surgeries, sometimes starting a few days after birth. It’s necessary to preserve life, but the more open-heart surgeries a child has—the greater the amount of scar tissue. It makes future surgeries much more difficult, and there are other inherent risks. This procedure will help many children delay or even avoid open-heart procedures—like the child you’ll be interviewing today. The medical trial is still in its early stages, but one year into it we are seeing spectacular results. It’s very exciting. It offers a lot of hope for the future of these young patients.”