Unfortunately, in his mind, the report to shut her down here was already half written. He could do it tonight, then move on to another assignment if that’s what he wanted to do.
But in his heart he couldn’t do it. Not until he absolutely had to.
* * *
Taking a long, discouraging look at the bare bones of her new life, Della shuddered as she walked toward her house. It would have been pretty once. She could almost picture it a hundred years ago, all bright and new, with white wicker furniture on the porch, and ferns and begonias hanging from the ceiling. She could see herself sleeping there with Meghan on hot summer nights, or sitting on a porch swing, sipping lemonade with her in the late afternoon. So many wonderful things that could be if only the porch floor hadn’t rotted a decade ago. But now the ravages of time and salty sea air had taken their toll. The house leaned a little, and the rusty tin roof that sloped down to cover the front porch sagged. All in all, it looked worn out, which was the way she’d felt so often lately.
Suddenly she felt sad for her little cottage on the beach. It had so much more potential than meeting this fate.
Della walked around the structure, spotting the chimney on the side of the house. Running her fingers over the brown stones it was made of, she noticed many of them were chopped away now. Even so, the prospect of a warm, toasty fireplace inside where she and Meghan could spend a long, chilly fall evening together, reading stories and toasting marshmallows, was so appealing that the thought of it nearly melted away all her anxieties. Nearly…because she’d have to have the windows put back in first. They were there, and the tiny, colonial panes made her think they were originals. But they had been removed from the house and were stacked in a pile near the chimney. The openings where they should have been were covered with dirty cracked plastic, as if someone had started a restoration, then stopped all too quickly. The last doctor? she wondered. Had he come here with optimism and ambition only to realize there was so much more to overcome than poor-fitting windows?
The yard was amazing, though. Della turned from the house to have a good look, and even with all the odd, deteriorating art on the way in, it was perfect. A place of hopes and dreams once. There were wispy trees along one stretch of her drive, a grassy knoll extending beyond her house and down the side opposite the tree lines, and out front a beautiful, unspoiled beach. Della sighed wistfully. She’d always wanted to live on a beach in Miami. Begged Anthony for it. Just a little cottage for the three of them where she could look out at the water. Instead, Anthony had bought a large, rambling deco home on a canal that was lined with other large deco homes, and docks jammed in together, board to board, for all the recreational boats that accompanied the houses. Then he’d bought the boat—one practically as large as this cottage—and lined up in that ostentatious weekend queue to take it out and show it off. The whole lifestyle there was so close and stifling, with all that togetherness, she would have happily traded it for breathing room with a view.
This was her breathing room with the view. Only problem was, it wasn’t in the condition she needed. “Since you know my secret, that I bought it sight unseen, would you happen to know where the clinic is?” She was hoping it wasn’t the barn she saw sitting back near the trees.
“It might be the barn. Or one of the guest cottages out there somewhere. But I haven’t seen it.”
“Well, wherever it’s hiding, I hope it’s in better shape than the house.” If it wasn’t it would have to be her first priority. Getting her patients into a fit establishment was more important than her own comfort. At least, until the time came when the judge would have a look at what she’d set up for her life with Meghan.
He smiled. “If it’s got the same view as all this, I can understand why the artists came here. It’s a perfect place to do a painting, or even write a novel, if you’re a writer.”
The last he said with a slight sigh, and she wondered if his heart might be in an art—painting or writing. Maybe even having a go at one of those junkyard sculptures. “With a view like this, I’m afraid the best I can ever do is enjoy a painting of it, or sit and read a book where I can take an occasional glance at it.” Turning her attention to a wild guinea hen strutting off the front porch, Della watched it wander around to the back, stopping occasionally to peck at something in the dirt. Then she shut her eyes, hoping that when she opened them again the house would be something with green shrubs, red and yellow tulips in beds along the walkway, and a picket fence. When she opened them, though, everything was the same. Since, apparently, there wasn’t a miracle to be performed, she wondered what came next.
As it turned out, Della didn’t even have time to ponder that question before a pickup truck honked a greeting and came to a stop next to Sam’s SUV. Immediately, half the town of Redcliffe hopped out. At least, to Della, it looked like half the town. It was actually the Brodsky family bringing all their kiddies for a check-up. Four of them plus Mom and Dad— Nola and Matt—both of whom also expressed the desire for a check-up. “Nothing’s really wrong with any of us, except that Bianca has a little bit of a sore throat,” Nola explained. “But since you’re here, we thought we might as well be the first. And it will be so nice not to have to go to the mainland for this.”
Bianca was two, and besides a sore throat she also had a slight fever, Della discovered when she saw the child’s flushed cheeks.
“Is she cranky?” she asked, reaching over to take the toddler from her mother’s arms.
“Quite. And nothing’s calming her down.”
“Is she eating?”
“Not much. She gets fussy when we try to feed her. Refuses to take it or spits it out when she does.”
“I’m not really set up here to practice yet,” she said, looking at Sam to see if he had a suggestion. He didn’t, and he indicated as much with a vague shrug of his shoulders.
“I haven’t even had time to go inside my…” She hesitated to call it her house, even though it was. Somehow, the image of a competent doctor didn’t fit here, not on this property, not in this house, and as bad as things were, she really did want to get off to a good start. “My, um, building, here. I haven’t unpacked yet.”
“We’ll be glad to wait,” Nola offered. “And I’m sure Matt could take the other three and go play on your beach for a while, if you don’t mind.” The other three were Ryan, aged four, Keith, aged five, and Shawn, aged six. Brave woman!
For a moment, Della wondered how Nola could divide herself in so many ways, having that many young children to tend. At one time she’d thought about a brother or sister for Meghan, but Anthony had said no more children, then to emphasize his objection, had gone off and had a vasectomy. Another one or two besides Meghan would have been nice, though.
“I’ll tell you what. Let me put Bianca down in the back of my car and have a look at her, then I’ll set up appointments for the rest of you when I have things more settled here.” When, or if.
Nola gave her a pleasant smile. “We didn’t mean to impose, but when we heard you were here, we got so excited…It’s hard raising children when there’s not a doctor handy.”
“What about emergency services?” Della asked, as she cradled the toddler in her arms and walked over to her borrowed SUV.
“Helicopter if it’s urgent. Boat if it’s not.” She laughed. “Pray that the weather is good when you have to go.”
What a tough way to live a life, Della thought. Then she remembered this was the way she was going to live her life for