Hailey held up her hand for a high five. Elaine answered Hailey’s high five and watched her blow her nose. After washing her hands, Elaine opened the door. “Come in next week if the symptoms aren’t significantly improved.”
Hailey’s mother smiled. Hailey hopped off the exam table in a blur of rainbow colors. Elaine watched them leave and then walked over to Nina. “Looks like you’re right.”
Elaine added a note to the file and slid it across to her.
Nina saluted and handed her the next folder. “One of the Shady Ladies is waiting. Just a follow-up for Sue Jackson.”
Elaine grinned at Nina’s affectionate nickname for the ladies who lived at Shady Pines, the assisted-living facility in town. If they ever heard her use it, they’d have T-shirts made up and start a bowling team to have somewhere to wear them.
“Everything okay in the waiting room?” Elaine asked as she glanced at the doorway. She did not want to check for herself.
Nina’s lips twitched. “We handled it without you.”
Elaine blushed and then laughed. “Of course you did. That’s why I can’t do this by myself.”
Nina brushed that off. “Best doctor in town. Everyone says so, and you know it. Vomit being your kryptonite doesn’t change that fact.” She glared at the ringing phone. “Don’t forget we’re all headed to the Smokehouse for dinner. Wendy’s birthday.”
“Sorry, but I’ve got a shift at the clinic. You guys party without me.” Elaine straightened the stack of forms on the counter in front of her and then shoved her hands into her pockets. “I’ll tell Wendy happy birthday.” Now that Nina had reminded her.
“Sure thing.” Nina’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Hope you’ll get a day off soon, though. It would be good for you.”
Nina might be right. Elaine had been wondering if she’d know what to do with a full weekend off. She might remember to buy a birthday card for the woman who kept the lights on and the office running.
But as long as her patients needed her, she couldn’t slow down.
That was what she told her mother every time the subject came up.
It wasn’t entirely a lie. After a lifetime of hitting goals and pushing herself, she felt guilty if she sometimes wished for a few hours to drive to Lawrence to buy new shoes.
“Thanks for all your hard work, Nina. I couldn’t manage without you.” Elaine fought the urge to scurry away because a patient was waiting. She wanted to be sure Nina understood how important she was. Normally, Elaine did the job and let the emotions settle where they would, but something about today made it important to say exactly what she meant.
“You aren’t dying, are you?” Nina raised both eyebrows. “You don’t do the touchy-feely.”
“Definitely not dying. I’m a doctor. I would know.” Elaine waved her file. “And on that note, I’ll get back to work.”
“These sick people won’t cure themselves.” Nina zoomed around her to find the next patient to fill up the currently empty exam room.
Elaine tapped the file on her hand and considered that. Nina was exactly right. She was the best doctor in town. She’d worked hard to get here, and she was doing what she was meant to do. That should be satisfying. And it was. She was proud of herself and what she’d accomplished, but lately she’d been wondering if there was supposed to be more. Or at least a bit of breathing room.
The thought of slowing down scared her. What if her practice slipped? What if she disappointed her patients?
Who would she be if she wasn’t the number one doctor in town?
Elaine rubbed her forehead to ease the nagging headache that came from second-guessing her life and not getting enough sleep. Learning to relax wouldn’t be the worst idea. Maybe she should take the advice she’d given Robert Collins. A new hobby could improve her whole outlook.
And if that hobby was restoring an old inn, the site of her favorite family getaways, she could also make another dream come true.
All she had to do was convince Dean Collins to hit the road again and she would have the Bluebird all for herself. How hard could it be?
DEAN COLLINS FOUGHT the urge to kick his feet like a bored four-year-old. After reading all the news he could get his hands on—old issues of the local paper, the state paper and his favorite online news sites—he’d come to sit on the edge of the dock while his father fished. Dean had wanted to start a conversation or make a connection or whatever the proper term was for two grown men talking about their feelings.
And they were sitting in silence.
Like they did most of the time, in fact. He raveled the edge of the latest pair of jeans he’d managed to destroy. For years, his wardrobe consisted of heavy boots, worn jeans and a collection of T-shirts that could fit in a backpack. No shorts. But these had a ripped knee and a bloodstain from an ill-fated trek from Dharamsala. That was the kind of thing he did for fun: climb mountains and shake off a skinned knee when the climb turned into a tumble.
Now he dangled his feet in the water and hoped for a nibble—anything exciting. Adjusting to the change of pace was harder than he’d thought it would be.
“Nice weather.” The whole world over, there was one topic of conversation everyone could fall back on: the weather forecast. Maybe they were on different sides of hot vs. cold or wet vs. dry, but everyone had an opinion about the weather. Tall Pines was no exception.
In fact, the weekly forecast enjoyed some prime real estate on the last page of the Times. Most of the world had gone to infographics. Not so here. He’d actually had to read the forecast so he was prepared to converse.
Obviously, there was no need yet. His father’s grunt could be taken as either agreement or disagreement, but it didn’t do much to pick up the conversational ball and run with it.
Even if they’d had a rousing conversation about precipitation, he’d still be bored.
Or maybe restless, antsy. Thinking could be trouble, but the urge to move usually kept him distracted. Outrunning bad memories was a habit he’d picked up early. His problem now was that, no matter how fast or far he went, they were catching up.
So, with his first strategy failing, he’d come back to the place it all started: home.
“How’d the doctor visit go?” A question that required either an answer or outright rudeness. That ought to open the door.
“Good.”
So the question wasn’t as foolproof as he thought. “Sheesh, no need to talk my ear off.”
His dad glanced in his direction. “You’re one to talk. Ready to tell me about this concussion and why you don’t sleep?”
Dean pulled his feet out of the water and stood. “You know the military. Bunch of worriers.”
His dad’s lips formed a thin line, and Dean was afraid he was coming up with questions Dean had no answers for. “Right. They do love to coddle the journalists they cram in beside their delicate soldiers.”
Dean rolled up the sleeves of the flannel shirt he’d pulled on over his ragged jeans and stepped into flip-flops that looked as though they’d been feeding a small family of rodents. “The unit I was with got caught in a firefight with a small band of rebels. There was an explosion. No one was killed, but I hit my head. Saw stars. That was enough for the army doctors.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “You