Dancing With the Doc

by Jennifer Youngblood

  Curiosity lit Harper’s eyes. “Whereabouts are you from in Illinois?”

  “Chicago,” she answered and could tell Harper wanted more. “I left last night, heading for Florida.”

  Harper nodded. “We get a lot of business from tourists passing through.” She opened the door and waved Cat inside the quaint restaurant. “Have a seat. Are you hungry?”

  Cat’s stomach rumbled at the question.

  Hearing it, Harper laughed. “I’ll be right back. In the meantime, sit down and make yourself at home.”

  “Thank you,” Cat said, immensely grateful for Harper’s kindness. Her mami had been a religious woman and took Cat to church every week. When Mami got sick, Cat prayed more earnestly than she’d ever prayed before, begging for Mami to be healed. When those prayers went unheard, Cat was angry with God. She didn’t understand how a loving Heavenly Father could take the one person who’d meant everything to her. Cat had stopped praying. However, last night, a prayer had risen from her heart like the whisper of an ancient song that was imprinted in a forgotten section of her soul. Right here and now, she felt the need to pray again. She glanced around at the other patrons in the restaurant. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she feigned looking out the window as she bowed her head and offered a silent prayer. She ended this one with, Please forgive me for being so angry about Mami. Please help me to want to pray more often. Moisture rose in her eyes, but she pushed it back down.

  “Here you go,” Harper said as she placed a steaming plate of food in front of Cat. It looked and smelled delicious. There were crispy strips of fried chicken, fluffy mashed potatoes swimming in gravy, green beans, and fragrant rolls. Cat’s mouth watered as she unrolled the silverware.

  “I didn’t know what you wanted to drink,” Harper said.

  “Uh, how about a Dr. Pepper?” Caffeine would do her some good.

  “Sure thing,” Harper said, returning a second later with the drink.

  The food was outstanding. Cat devoured every bite. When she was done, she sat back in her chair, sighing in contentment. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

  “You’re not done yet.” Harper motioned to a slim brunette who was standing behind the hostess desk. The girl walked over. “Andi, I’d like for you to meet Cat.”

  “Hello,” Andi said with a welcoming smile.

  “Would you mind getting Cat a slice of sweet potato pie?”

  “You bet,” she chirped as she walked briskly away to do Harper’s bidding.

  The words sweet potato and pie didn’t seem to go together. However, Cat wasn’t about to point that out. She was just super grateful for Harper’s kindness. If it took eating a strange pie to show her appreciation, then so be it.

  Andi returned with the pie and placed it in front of Cat. She took a small bite, her eyes rounding. “This is amazing.” The velvety smooth texture was not too sweet but just right. She savored the melt-in-your-mouth goodness. “What did you say it was called?”

  “It’s our signature dish. Sweet Potato Pie.”

  Cat took another, bigger bite. “I have to admit, you had me worried with the sweet potatoes.”

  Harper giggled. “I guess they don’t have this in Chicago.”

  “Not even remotely.” She took three more bites in rapid succession. Before long, she’d polished off the pie. She had to fight the temptation to lick the plate. “That was delicious. Thanks. How much do I owe you?”

  Harper waved a hand. “It’s on the house.”

  Emotion welled in Cat’s chest. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Cat was overwhelmed with the generosity of a stranger.

  Harper drummed her fingers on the table. “Now, about that mechanic … I have an idea.” She motioned to Andi who came back over. “Can you get Frank to come out here?”

  “Sure.”

  A few minutes later, a middle-aged man with an expansive waist and thinning hair emerged from the kitchen, wearing an apron.

  “You’re good with cars, Frank, aren’t you?” Harper asked.

  “Yeah, I’m fairly good.” A large grin split his face. “You thought I was just another pretty face who can cook, didn’t you, darling?”

  Harper chuckled. “The Magnolia would be lost without you, Frank.” She looked at Cat. “This is my friend Cat. Would you mind taking a look at her car to see what’s wrong with it? It’s something to do with the radiator.”

  “Sure. Where’s your key?” Cat handed it over. Frank took off his apron and laid it across the back of a chair then went out the front door.

  Cat hoped he could fix it. If so, Frank would surely charge less than an actual mechanic.

  “So what’s in Florida?” Harper asked.

  Cat sighed. “I love to dance. My dream has always been to open my own studio and teach.”

  “You didn’t want to teach in Chicago?”

  She tensed, not wanting to go into the details of her sordid relationship with Drew. Her face was still sore and there was some slight bruising. Thankfully, she’d been able to mask it with makeup. Her dark olive complexion helped. “It’s so cold there,” she hedged. “I want someplace warm.”

  Harper looked thoughtful. “Florida fits the bill. Do you know anybody there?”

  Cat’s head swung back and forth. “Not a soul. I’m making a fresh start.”

  “Won’t your family miss you?”

  Cat hesitated, questioning how much she should share with Harper about her life. Then she thought, why not share about Mami? There was nothing to hide. “My mother was my only family. She died a little over a year ago. Now that I’ve graduated high school, there was nothing keeping me in Chicago.” She thought of Drew, a shiver snaking down her spine. What would he do when he realized that she was gone? She’d not even told Romina where she was going for fear that Drew would try to strong-arm her for information. She shrugged. “That’s my life in a nutshell.”

  “Good for you. That’s exciting.”

  Frank came back inside. Harper turned toward him. “That was fast. What’s the problem?”

  He held up what looked like a railroad spike. Upon closer inspection, Cat realized it was a nail about ten inches long. “Your radiator’s fine,” Frank said. “The hoses are good. You know that plastic bottle on the side of your radiator? It’s a reservoir for coolant, the fluid that circulates through your radiator. Someplace between here and Illinois this must have fallen off somebody’s truck and went straight into your coolant reservoir.”

  “Wow.” Harper turned to Cat. “I’m glad it got the reservoir instead of coming through your windshield.”

  “You need a new reservoir,” Frank continued. “We can send someone over to the dealership in Montgomery and get you one. It’ll cost a bit but like Harper said, you’re lucky. A plastic coolant tank is a lot cheaper than a new radiator or a windshield.”

  “Why don’t I just drive over there and get it myself?” asked Cat.

  Frank shook his head. “I wouldn’t recommend it. Your car would never make it that far.” He tipped his head. “I think we can find someone in the next day or two who’s heading that direction and can pick one up for you.”

  Cat pushed her hair from her forehead. Great! She was stuck!

  “The Clementine Bed and Breakfast is about four blocks that way and one block up. That’s the only place to stay around here,” Harper said.

  “Uh, I wasn’t planning on paying for hotels. To tell the truth, I slept in my car last night.”

  Harper glanced at Frank, and then back at Cat. “Do you have any experience waiting tables?”

  “No. My only job’s been teaching dance classes.”

  “You can learn though, right?” Harper asked.

  “I suppose.”

  “There’s a bedroom upstairs where you can stay for a few nights if you want, and we have all the food you can eat. One of my girls has been out on maternity leave. It’s been tough keeping customers happy during the mealtime rush. Want a short-term jo
b? I mean, long enough to get your car fixed?”

  Cat thought for a minute. It was comforting to know that she’d have a place to stay and food to eat … at least for a few days. “Will you also throw in the cost of a radiator bottle?” She wondered if that was asking too much. To her relief, Harper stuck out her hand again for another shake.

  “You’ve got a deal.”

  3

  Six years later …

  The upbeat music flowing through the speakers made a pleasant duet with the lively chatter from Cat’s nine to thirteen-year-old beginning jazz class. She clapped her hands. “Girls, let’s go through the routine one more time before I let you go for the day.” This elicited a few groans. Cat bit back a smile. She could always tell which girls had a future in dance as opposed to the ones who attended class out of a passing fancy. Today they were into dance. Next year, it would be soccer and so on. “We need to get you ready for the recital.” She stopped the song that was playing and thumbed through the list to find the one that went along with the routine.

  The students lined up and took their positions. When the music started, they began. “Backs straight. Hold your positions,” she instructed. As they flowed through the routine, a rush of exhilaration went through Cat. She never grew tired of teaching. It was in her blood. Her gaze swept over the polished wood floors before moving up to the tall ceiling. Her studio was a converted storefront, nestled in a corner section of the square. It was hard to believe that she’d been here six years.

  She’d stopped in Clementine to grab lunch that fateful day and never left. Cat would forever be grateful that her car needed repairing. Cat’s temporary work for Harper had turned into a full-time job. Eventually, Harper worked out a deal with her grandfather allowing Cat to rent what was then an empty storefront Mr. Foster had acquired when the space went up for a tax auction in the 1950s. Remodeling the space was a beast, but Mr. Foster was handy and Cat was determined. The two of them made a great team. Cat’s business built slowly. For six months, she lived in the small room at The Magnolia. Eventually, she rented an attached apartment from Marsha Bentley a widow in town. The dance studio was picking up business, but Cat still supplemented her income by working at The Magnolia. All in all, life was good. Much better than she could’ve ever dreamt. Mami would be proud.

  Thankfully, Cat never heard from Drew again. Concerned that he might try and track her down, she’d stayed off social media. However, a couple years ago, she’d found it necessary to start a Facebook page for the dance studio. That’s when she looked Drew up and saw that he’d married Sadie Wellington the daughter of a prominent businessman. Learning that Drew had moved on came as a huge relief to Cat. She could finally put the past behind her and move fully into the present.

  “Hello, Frank,” she sang as she entered the kitchen of The Magnolia the following morning.

  Frank look up from the vegetables he was cutting. “There’s she is … the accomplished dancer, beautiful, as always.”

  An appreciative smile curved her lips as she went to his side and gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek. “And you’re charming, as always.”

  “Ah, thank you, darling,” he laughed.

  Frank was like the brother and father she’d never had, rolled into one. Cat reached for an apron and tied it around her waist. Next, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work on the food prep. A couple of hours later, she was laughing and talking to Frank, Harper, and Stan the other cook when it happened. Cat was carving the seed out of an avocado when the knife slipped. She felt the tear in her flesh as she yelped. Her stomach roiled when she saw the deep gash filling with blood.

  “Oh, no!” Harper exclaimed, jumping into action as she grabbed paper towels and pressed them to Cat’s hand. It only took a second for the paper towels to become saturated with blood. “Sam’s operating today,” she lamented. “We’d better get you over to the emergency room in Daphne to get some stitches.”

  “Go,” Frank said, his voice coated with worry. He looked at Stan. “We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone.”

  “I’ll let Andi know what’s going on as we go out,” Harper said. Quickly, Harper wrapped a clean towel around the wound as they rushed to get to the ER.

  4

  Chase paused half a second, looking at the small, modest hospital in Daphne, Alabama. It was a functional, no-frills building about a decade behind in design. That was okay. Chase was simply happy for the experience. “And, so it begins,” he said to himself with a grin. It felt good being assigned to an actual hospital. As he strode across the parking lot, his mind flitted through the span of time that had led him here. The first two years of medical school were brutal. The first day shock of dissecting another human being caused three of the students to drop out when they’d barely started. They lost four more over biochemistry. Having to memorize dozens of enzyme cycles was just too much for them. One more left during pharmacology and two during neuroanatomy. After that, there were one hundred and seven students remaining.

  Those who survived moved into their third year rotations, which involved anywhere from one to three months in various specialties. The school at Mobile had excellent facilities, but with medical students, interns, residents, and fellows all competing for patients, it could get crowded. Students were at the bottom of the totem pole and got to perform almost no procedures. To help with that problem, the school farmed out students to area offices and hospitals that were willing to take them.

  Chase was grateful for his assignment to a rural medicine rotation. He’d packed only his clothes, toiletries, and essential books. The hospital was going to put him up in a hotel so he didn’t want to take everything he owned.

  Once inside, he introduced himself at the emergency room desk. “Oh sure, we’ve been expecting you,” the receptionist said. “Have a seat over there.” She pointed with her pen and picked up a phone. He obediently sat on the plastic chair, a little nervously since he had no idea who’d been in that chair before him or what disease they’d brought to the ER for treatment.

  Dr. Simpson the ER director came out and met him just a moment later. He was a large man with a deep voice. With outstretched hand he walked across the waiting room. In one movement he shook his new student’s hand while pulling him up out of his chair. “Hello, Mr. Brooks. Welcome. Come in, come in,” he ordered with a smile and a wave. He swiped his security card at the double doors and led Chase inside.

  The ER was tiny compared to what they had at University Hospital. There were four beds, each in an isolation room. The equipment looked top notch. “Here’s the nurses’ station. You’ll do your charting here.” He introduced each of the nurses, who looked back suspiciously. “Over here’s the procedure room. There’s the supply closet. Whatever else you need, just ask the nurses for it. Come with me to the break room.” They went to a small area out the back door with a rickety table. “I was in your shoes once, Mr. Brooks. But remember, you’re going to be a real doctor in just a couple of years. You’ll have MD after your name. This is the time for you to learn all you need to know so when the time comes, you’ll be ready. You’re going to work up patients by yourself and present your findings to me, after which I’ll go see them with you. I’ll be in house the whole time you’re here, but I may not be right next to you. Don’t do more than you know how to do. Don’t be afraid to ask questions. Make sure the nurses know you’re the boss, not them, but at the same time respect them. They’ve got years of experience and are a tremendous asset.”

  The door pushed open without a knock and a nurse stuck her head into the room. “Dr. Simpson, got a hand lac. They’re checking in now.”

  “Put him in the procedure room.” He looked at Chase. “Mr. Brooks, are you ready to check your suturing skills?”

  Chase gulped, reminding himself that this is what he’d trained for. “Yes, sir,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

  “All right. Remember, lidocaine without epi in the fingers. Check his tetanus status. Test neurovascular f
unction before you do anything. Don’t sew up anything if there’s a laceration in a tendon. Those have to go to orthopedics.”

  “Yes sir,” he repeated.

  The nurse piped up. “The laceration’s a her, not a him, sir.”

  “Got it,” Dr. Simpson answered. He slapped Chase on the shoulder. “Go get her, tiger. Oh, and another thing, that I obviously haven’t impressed enough on my nurses. You’re not treating a hand lac in the procedure room. You’re treating a person. This person has a lacerated hand and is in the procedure room. Never treat a patient like a hand lac. They’re people, not lacs.”

  “Absolutely. Thanks.”

  Chase followed the nurse out the door. Outside the procedure room he paused, taking in a deep breath. The nurse nudged him. “Time to get to work. I’ll pass you things.” She handed him the ER chart. He didn’t even look at it.

  Through the door, he could hear a woman’s voice. “The next time you’re cutting avocados, please remember to shell them out of their skin with a large spoon before you take the knife and start dicing them.”

  He pushed open the door. An attractive blonde sat on his stool facing a long-haired brunette whose back was toward him. The blonde stood and smiled. “Hi, doct—” she read his badge, “—Brooks.” Her lips turned down in a frown. “You’re not a doctor?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m a student at the medical school in Mobile.” He offered a brief smile. “But don’t worry, I won’t try anything I haven’t been taught. My job isn’t to harm anyone.” He laughed at his joke, but realized he was the only one laughing. “I’m only here to help,” he inserted. Sheesh. He sounded more nervous than a new graduate at his first job interview.

  “I’m Harper Wallentine,” the woman said congenially. “I own The Magnolia restaurant over in Clementine. This is my employee, Cat. Seems she tried to interrupt a squabble between a knife and an avocado.”

  He grinned. “It sounds like the knife won.”

  “Indeed,” Harper quipped with a brief smile that showed she got and appreciated his humor. “We would have had my husband sew it up,” Harper explained, “but he’s operating today.”