"Life," he said with a shake of his head. "Got sick of the politics. I used to be able to help people like you."
"Poor people?"
"Underprivileged," he corrected with a smile. "There are emerging procedures that will help people who need it, but the cost is beyond what any hospital will spend, knowing no one can pay for it. I got fed up and walked."
"You're so good, Doc," she said, troubled. "I mean, you can still help people like me. You extended my life over three years after the others said I had a few months."
"You were an anomaly, like a band-aid. I thought if I had enough band-aids, I'd be able to wait out the politics. There was no one else but you, and I gave up."
"I can't believe that. You always treated me like I was your only patient," she said. "You have no idea how much of a difference that made to me and probably to the rest of your patients. Even if you couldn't extend our lives, you brought us comfort."
"Perhaps."
She hid a smile. He wasn't convinced.
"Your turn," he said. "Oh, and stop calling me Doc. It's Wynn. Now, talk, Deidre. I see it on your face."
She looked away, uncertain what to say. "Logan did break up with me." Or died. God help me, I have no idea. "Life got real weird, real fast. I, um, don't even know …"
"I take it you have no place to stay." His eyes went to the bag at her feet.
"That's a different issue entirely," she said. "I didn't come here to throw myself at your feet for a place to stay."
"Or did you?" he asked.
Deidre wasn't certain what made her so comfortable with Wynn. He was always able to read her, probably because he was the first to tell her she was dying. He was one of the only people she didn't shut out of her life when she was diagnosed as terminal. He knew her mind better than she did.
"You never liked him, did you?" she asked.
"Never. He was a band-aid for you. I figured he'd walk out on you sooner."
"Yeah. I guess it was inevitable. There you have it."
"Dying didn't send you scrambling to my door but Logan did?"
Deidre flushed. "Doc … Wynn …" How did she explain her weekend to someone normal? She rubbed her face. "Later?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Very well."
"It's far too weird."
"How weird?" he asked, interest on his face. "Living for three years after a diagnosis of dying in a month weird?"
"Weirder. Like …" she paused, grappling with some way to explain things. "…realizing everything you know about the world is wrong. Or maybe, incomplete is a better word."