“Do you have saltines? And shredded cheddar?”
“I will have. Will you tell your uncle?”
She shook her head. “Nope. But I’ll tell Mel so if he’s looking for me, she can keep him under control.”
“I’m serious, Angie—you’ll be in good hands. I’ll treat you like the little sister I never had.”
She smirked and said, “Sounds very exciting. I can hardly wait. What time?”
* * *
Later that afternoon Mel gave Angie a tour of the clinic, which was in an old house that had belonged to the town doctor before he died. He had willed it to Mel. The living room functioned as the waiting room and was decorated like someone’s grandmother’s living room. The dining room was the reception center and file storage. Downstairs also held the kitchen, two small exam/treatment rooms and a little office. Upstairs were a couple of bedrooms—one made up as a hospital room, one for a doctor or practitioner staying overnight, plus a roomy bathroom. Mel showed her where all the supplies were, where the drugs and treatment kits were kept and showed her how to operate the rather old-fashioned autoclaves for sterilizing.
“I love this,” Angie said.
“We could use a lot of updating, but we’re a poor town. Our ace in the hole is the ambulance, which allows us to transport patients to better facilities if necessary.”
“I think it’s wonderful. Do you know what a town in Ethiopia would give for something this grand?”
Mel was stopped in her tracks, focused on Angie’s face. “Hey. What’s going on with you? That was a pretty interesting comment.”
“Nothing much,” she said. “I just think this is—”
“Bullshit. I see those wheels turning. Talk to me.”
“I don’t know. It’s just that…I’m having a hard time seeing myself as one of the doctors who treated me. I mean, they were all incredible and there’s no question they saved my life. But it made me wonder—what happens to people who don’t have UCLA Medical? After the experience I just had, shouldn’t I be ten times as inspired to get back to med school? And yet… Well, that’s what I’ve been thinking about. I’ll figure it out.”
Mel smiled softly. “I’ve only known you for five years, yet in that short time I’ve grown accustomed to the way you think out of the box.”
“But look at this place, Mel—you make a difference here, I know it. When people come here who don’t have money or insurance, they get the help they need. Don’t they?”
“We can’t do everything, but they get our best.”
“And I’ve heard you say—sometimes you’re paid in eggs.”
She laughed. “We’re paid in very interesting ways. One very darling lady from back in the mountains fancies herself a well-known psychic—she offered to pay me by telling me my future.”
Angie gasped. “What is in your future?”
“I can only guess! My past is shocking enough—why would I want to know my future?”
“But what if it’s only wonderful?”
“Then it will still be wonderful when it gets here. Ange, I wouldn’t go to a psychic. I have enough to worry about.”
“But I hear they never tell you the bad stuff!”
“Really?” Mel asked with raised brow. “Then what’s the point? If they don’t tell you what to look out for, what’s the good of hearing about that stuff that will work out just fine, anyway?”
“Oh, there’s so much more to it! I love the idea of a psychic! Maybe I’ll go—do you still have your freebie?”
“I might, but I don’t know…”
“Well, never mind. I have something to tell you.” A slight blush crept up her cheeks as she said, “I’m going to be having dinner with Patrick Riordan tonight. He’s going to cook for us. He insisted I tell Uncle Jack where I’d be and with whom, just in case there’s some worry. But I’m not telling Uncle Jack—he’s gone a little around the bend where I’m concerned. So I’m telling you.”
“Oh, gee, thanks. I just love being the one to keep secrets from Jack,” she said with a roll of her eyes.
Angie laughed. “If you sense Jack getting worked up about where I am, you can tell him.”
“So things are getting interesting between you and Patrick?” Mel asked.
“Not quite. In fact, he assured me he would treat me like his little sister tonight.”
Mel smiled. “Why does that make me feel better?”
“I honestly don’t know,” Angie said. “You should probably visit that psychic and ask her why it makes you happy to learn that your adult niece is going to be treated like an inexperienced child!”
“I don’t need a psychic to explain that,” Mel said.
Four
Patrick mixed up his chili and had it ready on the stove. He chopped onion and peppers, added them to the ground beef, then opened a bunch of cans—beans and diced tomatoes—and added packaged seasoning mix. It was a real poor man’s chili, but delicious nonetheless. Then he headed for the phone to call Marie, even though he’d already talked to her for a few minutes in the morning.
When Jake had been killed, Marie left Charleston almost immediately. There was a memorial a week after the crash and then her family swept her away, headed for home—Oklahoma City. The Navy had ensured her move was swift and efficient.
“You don’t have to go,” Patrick had said. “I have a big enough house. Have the Navy put most of your stuff in storage and take your time. You have ties in Charleston—friends, a job, a city you know and like....”
“The hardest thing to leave is you,” she said. “You’ve been such a good friend to me. But you’ll deploy again before long.”
“Not too soon, and I’ll be back. And we’ll keep in touch.”
But she just shook her head. “Navy wives are very supportive of one another, in good times and bad, but my friends shouldn’t be responsible for holding me upright. I’m sure we’ll always be in touch but, like it or not, the Navy part of my life is over. I’m going home.”
A few weeks later, the Navy shrink told him that, rather than going back to the ship, he thought Patrick should take as much leave as the Navy would allow. At that point Patrick headed for Oklahoma City. He stayed in a neighborhood motel near Marie’s parents’ home, intending to be her support for as long as she needed. There was no mistaking she was thrilled to see him even though they’d barely said goodbye in Charleston. But after four days she had said, “Paddy, I don’t know what I’m going to do without you, but you have to check in with your brothers, your family. You need healing as much as I do.”
“We can heal together,” he said. His guilt weighed on him. No matter what anyone else said, Patrick felt as though he had some responsibility in Jake’s death. And now, the least he could do was offer himself up to Marie. He hadn’t been able to save her husband. He should at least be able to save her.
“Right now I’m going to rely on my parents, sister and brother and figure out how to face the