"Of course. The implants would-have the most value in trauma cases, but they'll become routine in procedures like hysterectomies and appendectomies. A few weeks post-op you could wear your bikini, heck, you could even go to a nxde beach if you wished, and no one would even guess you'd had surgery." Gin's hand strayed to the front of her blouse. Through the fabric she could feel the upper end of the thick, numb, puckered ridge of scar that ran the length of her abdomen.
Duncan's scar.
Bikini? she thought. I've never owned even a two-piece. Never even considered it.
"But the biggest benefit I see is in pediatrics, " Oliver was saying.
"Kids scar more than adults, and some of those scars, depending where they are, can be disabling because they don't stretch as the rest of the body grows." Tell me about it.
"That sounds wonderful."
"It will be. And the word is out. Other surgeons want to try the implant. Companies are calling every day wanting to license it and the FDA has put it on the fast track for approval. And that's only the start. Duncan came up with an innovative idea on how to enhance the implant, and I've just about got the bugs worked out of the new, improved model. And . . . " He raised his hand and wagged his index finger in the air. "And . . . someone very important has taken a very personal interest in the implant procedure." ' Who? " "Sorry. I can't tell you. Not yet, anyway." She didn't want to care, but the way his eyes shone with excitement piqued her curiosity.
"Come on, Oliver. You just told me about beta-3, you can trust me with this too."
"No. Duncan would kill me. It's his secret after all.
And it's big."
"Okay, " she declaimed with her best forlorn sigh. "I guess I'll just have to read about it in the papers." '"Oh, dear. I hope you never do that. But I have a feeling Duncan may tell you himself when the time comes."
"Speaking of Duncan, you started telling me about the daughter Lisa he had. Does that mean what I think it does? " Oliver nodded glumly.
"She was just eighteen when she died five years ago." From her days as a teenaged file clerk in Duncan's office, Gin vaguely remembered an occasional mention of his two children, a boy and a girl, both younger than she.
"Five years ago . . . I was away in medical school then. I never heard about it. What happened? " "A fall. She never regained consciousness. It was terrible. Duncan was devastated. It was the straw that almost broke his back."
"Why? Was there something else?
" "I've said enough. If Duncan wants you to know, I'm sure he'll tell you. He's put it all behind him." His gaze wandered away. "He's put a lot of things behind him." He took a deep breath. "But as for the here and now, why don't you solidify your technique by filling a few more membranes? Then call it "Will do, " she said, and patted his shoulder. "One thing's for sure, Oliver, it looks to me like these implants are going to make you a very rich man."
"Oh, I hope so."
"What are you going to do then? " "Get as far away from here as I can.
" "Really? Where? Hawaii? " He sighed. "Anyplace where I don't have to watch Duncan wasting his talents like he is . . . prettifying twits and playing . . . golf! " And then he hurried out with his white lab coat flapping around him.
Gin stared after him in shock.
DUNCAN
DUNCAN GRIPPED THE LITTLE GIRL'S CHIN BETWEEN HIS thumb and forefinger.
He tilted her head up, then down, then rotated it left and right.
Her name was Kanesha and she was six. She wouldn't meet his gaze directly, and her hand kept rising and fluttering about the left corner of her mouth, hovering there like a hummingbird that had found a nectar-loaded blossom. Only there was nothing sweet or flowerlike about the thick wad of scar tissue massed at that corner of her mouth.
Her skin was a glossy milk chocolate, her eyes huge and a deeper brown, the color of espresso. She had big white teeth and a smile that would have been knockout beautiful if not for that scar, fusing the lips at the corner, cutting every smile in half.
Her skin was scrubbed, her hair was braided, her shirt and shorts had been ironed. Kanesha and her mother had dressed up for her visit to the doctor.
Duncan liked that, not simply because it showed respect for him, but for themselves as well. Some of the people he saw in the clinic had estranged relations with all species of the soap genus and didn't give a damn. What the hell, it was a free clinic, right' Right. The maxillofacial clinic occupied a fifth-floor corner of one of D. C.
General Hospital's older buildings. The seats and fixtures in the waiting room were worn but clean, the examining room smelled faintly of the bleach that had been used to wipe the counters, its sickly yellow paint was chipped, its examination table needed reupholstering, but the staff was efficient and, more important, they cared.
Duncan turned to Kanesha's mother. "When did this happen, Mrs. Green?
" No father was listed on the intake form, but Duncan had never been able to adjust to the noncommittal "Ms " Cindy Green was young, barely into her twenties, probably little more than a baby herself when she'd had Kanesha. The intake form said she worked as a waitress. She was very pretty in a round-faced, full-lipped way. Duncan studied those lips.
Kanesha's mouth would look exactly like her mother's if nOt for the cicatricial deformity.
"About four and a half years ago. When she was seventeen months old.
Happened before I knew it." How many times had he heard that one?
But he kept his voice neutral, "They're a handful at that age, aren't they." ' One minute she was sitting on the floor playing with the pots and pans. I turn to clean the sink and I hear her scream. I turn around and she . . . " Her throat worked and her voice grew thick.
"She was knocked out and her mouth was smoking. I knew she was teething but I never dreamed she'd bite an electrical cord."
"Happens more often than you'd think." Which was true. Obviously it happened more often in neglected kids, but he didn't think Kanesha was neglected. Just one of those tragic accidents.
Near tragic, actually.
Duncan could fix it.
He was mapping out the incisions now . . . debride the scar tissue, restore the mouth to full width, evert some mucosa for the lips . .
.
This wasn't the first time he'd reconsmlcted an electrical burn on a child's face, and it wouldn't be the last. Kanesha was a lucky one.
She'd survived without brain damage, and she had a mother who cared.
And now she had him.
A shame he couldn't use the beta-3 on her, but a clinic was no place for an experimental protocol. The hospital didn't want the hassles, and he couldn't blame them. As soon as free-clinic patients heard the word "experimental" they started thinking Frankenstein and feared someone was going to use them as guinea pigs.
"Can you fix her, Dr. Duncan? When I saw what you did for little Kennique, " "Who? " "Kennique LeFave . . . you know . . . her cheek was all, " "Oh, yes. Of course." The names people came up with these days. But he certainly remembered the three-year-old who'd fallen from a window last year and ripped the right side of her face to the bone.
That had been a real challenge.
"All her mommy does is sing the praises of Dr. Duncan, Dr. Duncan.
So I knew I just had to bring Kanesha to you. Do you think you can .
. . ? " Duncan nodded. "It will take a couple of procedures, but yes, I think we can fix her up good as new." The mother's eyes were intent on Duncan's. "Can you? Can you really? " "Is that a note of doubt I detect? ' "No, it's just, " "Smile for me, ' Duncan said.