As Gladys Metzier, their nurse and receptionist, unlocked the door, Amy felt more nervous flutters than she had during her residency. After all, these were her neighbors, former classmates and teachers, and friends. There would be new faces—people who’d moved to the area and children that had been born—but she’d still know most of her patients by name.
Her father was around for consultations, although Amy thought he spent most of his time reading the newspaper and chatting with Gladys. She’d been with her dad for about nine years, after his previous nurse had retired. Gladys knew everyone who came in, maintained all the records and ordered all their supplies. Amy was eternally grateful to have such a dependable helper.
Patients weren’t filling up the seats of the waiting room. Perhaps word hadn’t gotten out yet that the clinic was open, or maybe this was just a slow time. With the usual spat of colds and flu, Amy had anticipated more patients. Her father had kept reduced hours since his fall, often closing early when he couldn’t bear his weight on his ankle any longer.
Her eleven o’clock appointment, Wanda Gresham, arrived a few minutes early. However, when Amy entered the exam room, the woman didn’t appear all that eager to see the doctor.
“We’ve been coming to your father for years,” the woman announced. “He doesn’t seem too old to practice medicine.”
Amy smiled. She understood patients’ fears over seeing an unknown doctor. “He’s still recovering from his fall, and being on his feet for a long time is difficult. I hope you’ll give me a chance to show that I’m equally qualified to provide care for you and your family.”
Mrs. Gresham harrumphed. There was no other description of the sound. “I hope your father is going to be around for a while. My husband is being treated for high blood pressure and poor circulation.”
“I’ll be glad to continue your husband’s care, Mrs. Gresham. Does he have an appointment?”
“Not yet. I wanted to come in and meet you first.”
So, perhaps Mrs. Gresham’s unspecified knee joint pain wasn’t as acute as she’d led Gladys to believe. Amy smiled in a reassuring manner. “I’ll look forward to meeting Mr. Gresham when he comes in for his checkup.”
The woman narrowed her eyes. “You are single, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“You’re also very young.”
“Almost thirty. I believe I went to school with one of your sons.”
Mrs. Gresham harrumphed again. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable if your father could continue to see my husband.”
Amy found her reassuring smile harder to maintain. “I’ll consult with my father, of course, but I’ll do my best to provide good medical care for you and your family.”
The negative remarks stayed with her long after the exam ended and her patient departed, though. She’d expected resistance, but for a patient to bring up her age and unmarried status…Well, she simply hadn’t expected both those concerns.
What effect could her marital situation have on her patients? She decided to seek Gladys’s advice. The woman knew every one of their patients in detail, far more than charts would indicate.
“Mrs. Gresham is convinced every woman she sees is out to steal her husband away from her,” the nurse advised.
“Does he have a roving eye?” Not to mention roving hands, which Amy had also encountered in her practice among certain uncivilized individuals.
“Are you kidding? Mr. Gresham is kept on a pretty tight leash. I don’t know what he did when he was younger, but ever since I’ve known them, he hasn’t strayed.”
“Then why is his wife so convinced he’s going to look at other women.”
Gladys shrugged. “Who knows? All I can say is be careful. That man needs medical treatment. He’s a prime candidate for a stroke.”
“Thanks, Gladys.” Amy sighed and walked toward her dad’s office—which was her office now, too. She was still having trouble thinking of the clinic and the desk as also her domain.
A blast of cold, fresh air swirled through the waiting room as Ambrose Wheatley hobbled inside.
“Good morning, ladies,” he greeted for the second time that day. He’d left before the clinic opened to run an errand. Amy suspected he’d treated himself to a sweet roll and coffee at the café.
“Hi, Daddy,” Amy said, trying to make her voice and expression cheerful.
“What’s wrong, Amy girl? Not an emergency?”
“No, just one Mrs. Gresham who thinks I’m too young and unattached to treat her husband.”
Her dad shook his head. “She’ll come around. Some of these people just need a little time.”
Time. Well, now that she was back in town to stay, Amy suspected she’d have plenty of that commodity. Especially since she wouldn’t be going out on any more dates with Grayson Phillips.
AMY HAD DECIDED TO take Wednesday afternoons off so she had some free time during the week to conduct personal business or just spend some time away from the clinic. She hadn’t had much time to start any hobbies in Forth Worth. Maybe now that she’d settled down, she could pursue some of her other interests. She’d love to look up some of her old friends, although she knew many of them had married and moved away. Looking up friends hardly qualified as a hobby.
First, she needed to find something interesting besides medicine. Immediately, Gray’s image popped into her head. Now there was a man who could become a full-time hobby.
She shook off the unproductive thoughts as she pushed open the door of the Four Square Café. She had a craving for one of their turkey club sandwiches and French fries. Thelma and Joyce were just getting up from their usual chairs when Amy walked past to take a seat.
“Good afternoon, ladies.”
“Amy! How nice to see you,” Thelma greeted. The newspaper owner and editor had been nice enough to run an article on Amy’s return to town and work at the clinic.
Joyce reached out and fluffed her hair. “How’s that new cut coming?”
“Fine. I’ve gotten used to the layering around my face and I really like it.”
“Good. It makes you look a little older. More sophisticated,” Joyce added.
“I wish you’d convince some of my patients that I’m plenty old to practice medicine.”
“Oh, they’ll come around.”
“That’s what my father says, but I’m worried. I’ve had two women this week who hinted they didn’t want their husbands treated by a young, single doctor.”
“Old habits, my dear,” Thelma answered. “Some of these people are very entrenched in their thinking.”
“I’m just concerned. I’m sure things will work out.”
“Of course they will,” Joyce advised.
“Have you heard from our Mr. Phillips?” Thelma asked.
“No, I haven’t.” And she hadn’t expected to, either. Not that she hadn’t remembered him every night as she’d slipped between the cool sheets of her lonely bed.
“I thought perhaps he might have asked you out again.”
“No. Why did you think so?”
“Because we mentioned a certain other young lady who needed a date for a wonderful arts event in San Marcus, and he claimed he was unavailable. For Saturday night! Can’t imagine why unless he had a previous engagement,” the editor said, her expression questioning.
Amy