by Ann Gimpel
“I bet Brice doesn’t see it that way,” Julie muttered. Sarah opened her mouth, but Julie shook her head. “I’ll work it out. The folks already wrested a commitment for Christmas Eve out of me. Susan McKinnon will be there.”
“Perfect.” Sarah clasped her hands together. “It’ll be amazing. We haven’t spent a Christmas Eve together since our undergrad years.”
Gazing into her sister’s luminous eyes and hopeful face, Julie vowed to do her damnedest to make the event a success. She’d be charming, socially correct, smile in the right places, and make her family proud of her. No matter what it cost on a personal level.
“I love you, twin.”
“Back at ya, twin,” Sarah countered in a greeting they’d pioneered as two-year-olds.
“I’m heading home, and I will do my best about Christmas Eve. Truly I will, but I already told you about the row with my department head. What you don’t know about is the problems I’m having at the dig site.” She hurriedly sketched out what was happening and her father’s offer.
“Dad said he’d charter you a military jet,” Sarah said. “Wow. That’s huge. I know jet lag is a bitch, but it means even if you have to go you’ll get there fast. No one works over the Christmas holiday, though.”
“National Geographic does, which reminds me. I need to phone my contact again. See you tomorrow, Sis.”
“I’ll look forward to it. For a while there I wasn’t looking forward to anything. It still feels risky, but it’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
“Good. I meant what I said about respecting your wishes. All of them.”
“I know. And it means more than I have words to tell you. Bye, Julie.”
“Bye, sweetie.” She walked out of the room, ditched her anti-germ gear, and angled toward the parking lot. A glance at her phone told her it was the 20th. She had a few days until Christmas Eve.
Five nights, counting this one.
Her phone was still in her hand when it vibrated. She glanced at the caller ID. It flashed, Michael Weiss, National Geographic. Fingers tightening reflexively around the phone, she clicked accept and said, “Hi, Mike. What’s up?”
Chapter Fifteen
Brice was sitting on one of the buff-colored leather sofas arranged in conversation pits around his ridiculously oversized living room, nursing a tumbler of port and watching lights twinkle on the tree. He’d had a magical afternoon playing with Timmy. What had begun as an altruistic offer to provide care for the boy had ended up so much more.
Who would have guessed small people had so much wisdom? Or that they were such fun? Timmy’s unabashed glee had drawn Brice out of himself and into the enchanted world kids lived in. Somewhere between the swings and the slide, the boy had confided how hard he worked taking care of Momma. A domestic, she cleaned houses, picking locations that allowed her to bring Timmy along.
Timmy told Brice all about how he prayed every night for a daddy, so Momma wouldn’t have to worry so much. Or work every day like she did. He didn’t trust new places after a man scared his momma by hugging her. Millicent had slapped him, and he’d yelled at her to take her brat and get out.
Brice took a deep swallow of liquor, holding it in his mouth to appreciate its age and flavor. The world could be a harsh place, but if Father John hadn’t stepped forward and offered financial assistance, Brice would have found a way to do something for Millie and her boy.
Someone had made certain he was where he needed to be when the accident happened. Now that he knew Timmy and his mom, he couldn’t let them flounder. It was irrational. The world was full of unfortunates, and he didn’t have the means to help them all, but he’d do what he could.
He thought about Doctors Without Borders. He’d gone on several assignments with them during the latter part of his residency—afterward too—and really enjoyed the sense of accomplishment and purpose. The group traveled where need was greatest, providing medical care under desperately primitive conditions. They emailed regularly. Never pushy, just making certain he didn’t forget about them.
Brice got to his feet, glass in hand, and wandered through the lower level of his mansion. What had he been thinking to buy a house with ten bedrooms, a dozen baths, two kitchens, and impeccably manicured grounds? Gardeners cared for the outdoors. A pool service maintained the pool he rarely swam in and the spa he used from time to time. Lupe managed the house.
He returned to the sofa where he’d begun. The house was paid for. He’d long since dispatched his med school loans. He’d bought the house as an outward symbol of his success, but he didn’t need it. Success was a mindset, not an extravagant house to prove anything to anyone. Feeling shallow and somewhat embarrassed it had taken years for him to realize he didn’t need the trappings surrounding him, he flirted with walking away.
From everything.
And spending the next few years doctoring folk who truly needed him, instead of the patients at Overlake who had access to first-world medical interventions. Some more readily than others, but in truth emergency rooms couldn’t turn anyone in need away. And once they admitted a patient, neither could the hospital. Most of the out-of-the-way spots Juliana’s digs were located in needed someone like him.
They’d make a great team. She’d bring needed resources to the area by focusing attention on premier finds, and he’d provide medical triage and care. DWB encouraged them to suggest new places...
“Cheers, mate!” Angus breezed into the room, the usually dour lines of his face creased into a smile.
“Can I pour you a drink?” Brice stood and clasped his friend’s hand. Freedom had an allure, but for now he wanted to focus on Angus, find out what had happened with Sarah.
“Sure. Whatever you’re drinking will be fine.”
Brice snorted. “I highly doubt it. This is port.”
“Eww.” Angus wrinkled his nose. “I’m a simple man. I’ll take a simple whiskey. Single malt anything will do.”
“Tell you what.” Brice motioned him to follow and slid a polished wall panel aside, revealing a wet bar lined with shelves and bottles. “Pick your poison. I’ll be back by the tree.”
“Sure you don’t want to trade out that overly sweet rotgut?”
“I’m on call after midnight.” Brice retreated to the couch.
Angus joined him, a tumbler of something fragrant in hand, and sank onto a seat facing Brice at right angles. “How long before they funnel me into the schedule?”
“Probably won’t happen until after the holidays. They’ll have to verify your credentials, and the hospital admin center is short-staffed until after the first.”
Angus smiled mischievously. “Great. I can devote all my time to Sarah.”
Brice wanted to mine for details, but he took a different tack. “You’ll want to join my practice group.”
“Will I?” Angus raised one dark brow.
“Aye,” Brice aped his brogue. “That you will. ’Tis either that or running your own practice, which means you’ll be on call twenty-four-seven, three hundred sixty-five days a year.”
“You talked me into it, but I swear I miss socialized medicine already.”
Brice thought about the poor sod with lung cancer. Coming for treatment sooner would have given him more years of life but probably wouldn’t have changed the outcome.
“Will you make this move permanent?”
“I believe so.”
“Does that mean you’ll go for dual citizenship?”
Angus shrugged. “Haven’t worked out the fine points yet, mate. I’ll do whatever I have to, so I can work here.”
Having pushed the backdoor open a crack, Brice edged it wider. “Aren’t you worried Sarah might do the same thing she did before?”
“You mean dump me?” At Brice’s nod, he went on. “Life doesn’t come tied up in a bow with promises. I’ll take each day as it comes. She and I talked about that. And a whole lot of other things too. She’s scared. Mostly because she doesn’t want to be a burden, but I convinced h
er she has a right to as much happiness as anyone else.”
“You always were a silver-tongued devil.” Brice drained his glass. He wanted more, but it wasn’t a good idea given his call obligation.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean.” Angus looked askance at him.
“You’ve talked patients into treatments that were sketchy as hell and not only convinced them to say yes, you made sure they came through the gates of Mordor alive.”
“We’re doctors. It’s what we do.” He nailed Brice with his dark eyes. “So, how’d your afternoon go? You found out about mine.”
“It was...different.”
“You have to say more than that.” Angus took a hefty swallow of whatever was in his glass, sighing with pleasure.
“I had a wonderful time. I went into it thinking I’d be kind of like a glorified babysitter, but the boy charmed the socks off me. He’s smart and funny and sees the world through fresh eyes. I could have listened to him for hours, but he fell asleep on me after we came home from the park. Lupe carried him up to bed.”
“Aye, children are little miracles. You didn’t have brothers or sisters? Not younger ones, anyway?”
“None at all,” Brice said. “Unless you count my rotation through Peds as an intern, I’ve never spent any time around kids.” So long as he was on a roll, he kept talking, not censoring his thoughts. “I always supposed I’d have children someday, but it was one of those philosophical assumptions. Like I figured I’d get married because it’s what you do once you’re finished with your training and are established in your career. Kids come with marriage.”
“Aye, and your wife takes care of them?” Angus smiled archly.
Brice felt his face heat. “Something like that. I never counted on feeling so protective of Timmy.”
“It’s archetypal,” Angus murmured. “From an anthropological standpoint, children are helpless. They need adults to want to protect them, fend for them, until they’re big enough to care for themselves. A couple hundred years ago that was when they were around twelve and hit puberty.”
“Today, it’s until they’re done with college.” Brice laughed.
“Aye, and beyond.”
“You look happy.”
“’Tis because I am happy. I’ve dithered back and forth about Sarah for years.”
“What made the difference this time?” Brice set his tumbler on a low-slung glass-and-brass coffee table and leaned forward. The parallels between his situation and Angus’s were disturbingly similar.
“Lots of things. A collection of small items, though, rather than one big one. Of course, her illness played a role, but she’s been ill forever. It was more me hitting forty and never finding a woman who resonated here”—he tapped his breastbone—“in quite the same way as her.”
He pushed dark hair out of his face. “I had to try one more time.” Angus narrowed his eyes. “You look like a ghost just walked over your grave.”
“You Highlanders with your ghosts and leprechauns and little folk.” Brice attempted to gloss over Angus’s hyper-sharp insight with a stab at humor.
“Nay, there’s more to it than ye give credit for.” Angus lapsed into Gaelic.
“Did you bring your bagpipes and kilts?”
“I do have my family’s ceremonial tartan. ’Tis what I’ll wear for my wedding, but we’ll wait till Sarah is strong enough to enjoy it. ’Twould be a terrible shame if the bride couldn’t dance at her own nuptials.”
Brice stood. He was happy for Angus, but his friend’s joy underscored his own loneliness. And his indecision about his future. “I’m off to bed. See you in the morning. Want to plan another run?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Wake me a quarter hour before you’re wanting to leave.”
“Will do. Wish me a quiet night.”
“Och, you’re on call. I’d forgotten. Tell you what. If you get called in, wake me. I’ll tag along. ’Tis the only way I’ll get the lay of the land, figure out how your group practice operates.”
“Are you sure? No reason for you to join the ranks of the sleep-deprived.”
“Aye, sure enough. Don’t push it, mate. I’m already kicking myself for being a chump.” Angus tossed back his head and laughed.
Brice chuckled and strode from the room, taking the home’s main staircase to the upper levels. He stopped by Timmy’s room to check on him. The boy clutched an enormous stuffed wolf and was sound asleep. Lupe had left a small light burning. Brice started to turn it off, but changed his mind. If Timmy woke, the light would be a comfort. Dark places were where the bad things hid.
Maybe I missed my calling. Should have gone into pediatrics.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it to eye level to read a text from his mother.
Leaving early tomorrow. See you soon, son. Can’t wait.
He texted back, Safe travels, Mom. Looking forward to meeting Trevor and Rob.
She sent him two hearts and a rainbow, reminiscent of the stickers she used to paste on her students’ papers in the days before the Internet ruled everything.
It would be great to have his mother here. He’d visited her about a year ago, and always had good intentions to go back, but there’d be a patient crisis or his practice would be shy a doc for some reason. He was the only unmarried partner, so the others looked to him to fill in. At this point, he’d been accommodating so often, the other docs expected it.
“No one takes advantage of you without your permission,” he muttered and made a sour face.
Brice shook his head. He had more money than he could spend in two lifetimes, and a pile of off time banked. But no one special to share any of it with. He winced. If his own mother got short shrift, how the hell would he manage a family of his own?
Some things would have to change.
He walked into his bedroom, thinking he’d put the cart in front of the horse. First, he needed a wife. Then things at work could change...
“Nope. I need to practice prioritizing my personal life—before I add a woman to the mix. Rather like I did today with Timmy.” Nodding, he tapped his phone’s display to bring up his calendar. All his work obligations were there. Using a different color, he penciled in personal time, a little bit each day, over the next two weeks, and made himself a promise he’d keep it going.
Developing new habits wouldn’t happen overnight, but if he didn’t change something, he’d end up a lonely old man with an overflowing ego wall, a phalanx of grateful patients, and not much else.
He toed off his loafers and carried them to the closet. Like he did every night, he undressed in front of the open walk-in closet, hanging clothes that could be worn again and sorting others into a hamper or the dry-cleaning bin. He pulled on a soft, well-worn T-shirt and a pair of running shorts and ambled into the marble inlaid bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth.
The DWB idea held undeniable appeal. He’d float the idea of taking a bi- or tri-annual sabbatical with his practice group at their next monthly meeting. No reason he couldn’t have a foot in both worlds. Hell, he had enough vacation time to cover two years’ worth of absences.
The tweet of his phone’s text tone drew him back to the antique dresser he’d laid it on. His mom was back. This time, her message read:
Just got off the phone with Ariel Wray. She and her husband are coming for Xmas Eve. With Juliana. I’m thrilled to see her again. One of my best students ever!
The text rambled on, but Brice had stopped reading. Juliana. Here. In his house. Damn. Whose idea had that been? Had his mom and Ariel hatched this up?
He narrowed his eyes and forced himself to finish reading her text.
Don’t worry about decorating or cooking. I’ll get hold of your housekeeper, and she and I will handle everything. I do need her cell number, though. Please send it my way.
Another string of hearts interspersed with plates of food and cakes followed.
His stomach twisted into a knot, and he recognized the one-two punch of adrenaline as his fi
ght-or-flight reaction kicked in.
“Christ.” He fisted a hand and brought it down on the nearest piece of furniture. It should have hurt, but he barely felt the impact.
He was a damned coward, but he wasn’t ready for Juliana to invade his turf. Bolting across the room, he pulled the door to a veranda open and let the chill night air wash over him. He was primed to talk with her, but he’d envisioned neutral ground.
Not. His. Home.
His mind pedaled in frantic circles. Christmas Eve was only four nights from now, five counting this one. No time at all. He strode back to where he’d left the phone and typed:
Aw, Mom. Sweet of you, but it’s a lot of people. How about if we all go out? I can have Lupe hunt down reservations somewhere close first thing tomorrow.
He read it over and cringed but tapped send anyway. Angus had come all the way from Europe. Father John showed up, probably within minutes of Millie’s phone call. What on earth was wrong with him? He should welcome the opportunity for an entire evening with Juliana present, but it scared the shit out of him.
Susan didn’t make him wait long.
Don’t be ridiculous. I love cooking for you, and Ariel will help too, although she never was much good in the kitchen. No worries. I do need Lupe’s number though.
More hearts.
Brice dutifully offered up his housekeeper’s number, adding she was asleep now but was an early riser.
He set the phone down and returned to shut the patio doors. The temperature in the room had dropped a good ten degrees, and what had felt bracing before just felt cold. Turning in a full circle, he regarded his bedroom, his sanctuary, with as impartial an eye as he could muster.
Furnished with late-nineteenth-century antiques, the oak headboard was intricately carved and rose six feet. The curved footboard was over two feet tall, giving the bed the appearance of a ship. Dressers and a towering armoire matched the bed. In another corner sat a polished roll top desk, also fashioned from oak. Shelves piled with medical reference texts were arranged nearby.
The overall effect was masculine but sterile. He’d always been neat, and everything was put away. Brice shook his head. He was wasting time. The odds of Juliana making it as far as his bedroom were slim to none.
