Family Practice

by Marisa Carroll

  “Sorry, honey. You come from a long line of women with big feet,” Ginger sympathized.

  “Ugh. Don’t talk about school.” Brandon shoved the last inch of his ice-cream cone into his mouth and chewed noisily. “I’m still hungry.”

  “You can’t possibly be. You had two hamburgers, French fries and a salad not two hours ago.”

  “I’m still hungry.” He folded his arms over his chest.

  “Brandon,” Ginger said warningly. He uncrossed his arms. “You can have some carrot sticks when we get home but no more ice cream.”

  “I’m not hungry for carrots,” he muttered under his breath, “unless I can dip them in ranch dressing.”

  Ginger rolled her eyes and sighed. Callie repressed a smile. She was enjoying herself with Ginger and the twins; something she wouldn’t have believed possible a month earlier.

  “Hey, there’s Karen,” Brandon said, pointing to the street below the elevated deck.

  Sure enough her mother was wheeling her vintage Schwinn Corvette with its oversize whitewall tires and big wire basket to a stop in front of the ice-cream parlor. Karen owned a Volkswagen Beetle but she seldom drove it during the summer months, preferring the bike. Karen disappeared from view for a moment while she parked her bike and then mounted the steps to where they were sitting. “Hello, everyone,” she said. She was wearing heavy shoes, denim capris and a loose white peasant shirt with the sleeves rolled to below her elbows. She looked cool despite what must have been a warm ride in from the farm.

  The temperature had reached into the eighties during the afternoon and the humidity was high enough to make it uncomfortable to sit outside. A floppy straw hat, which served to protect Karen’s long, braided hair from road dust, was tied under her chin with a loosely woven rainbow-striped scarf. She took off the hat as she walked toward them, dangling it and the scarf from her fingertips.

  “What brings you to town this late in the day?” Callie asked.

  “Actually, I’m trying to find someone to help me harvest my tomatoes and cucumbers,” she said, leaning against the waist-high railing that protected patrons from the eight-foot drop to the sidewalk. “I have a stand reserved at the farmer’s market for this coming Sunday, as well as keeping my little stand at the end of my lane supplied. I can usually count on the farmer next door sending one of his sons over to help, but they’re busy haying and he can’t spare any of them.”

  “I’m not busy Saturday,” Callie offered, she hoped not too grudgingly. “I’ll come help you.”

  “I’ll do it,” Brandon said eagerly, raising his hand. “I’m saving up for the new edition of ‘Zombie Wars’ for my PlayStation. It’s gonna be awesome. It’s coming out real soon.”

  “I’ll come, too,” Becca said, surprisingly. “I’d like to see the goats again. I’ll help pick tomatoes and maybe we can do some more carding if you have any fiber ready.”

  Karen looked slightly taken aback, then shrugged. “Why not? But only if it’s okay with your mother.”

  “Are you guys sure?” Ginger cautioned. “It isn’t as easy as it sounds. You have to know which vegetables are ripe enough to pick and be careful not to bruise them.”

  “We had never bused tables, either, but now Mac says I’m one of the best she’s ever worked with,” Brandon boasted.

  “It will be hot if you don’t start early in the morning. And you both like to sleep in on Saturday.”

  “Yes, the earlier we start the better,” Karen agreed. “And you should wear old clothes. It might be muddy.”

  “I’ll get up without you having to keep calling me,” Brandon promised his mother. “Is it okay?”

  Ginger seemed conflicted, as if her agreeing to the twins spending time with J.R.’s ex might be getting a little out of control. Callie felt a pang of guilt. She had set this in motion when she’d taken the children out to the farm in the first place. Once more she was reminded that good intentions had all kinds of unforeseen consequences. Introducing Karen into the weaving of her new family was producing a very complicated pattern.

  Callie gave her stepmother a slightly apologetic glance. “Is it okay with you, Ginger? I’d be glad to take them.” Visions of a quiet Saturday spent sleeping in and maybe driving into the park to hike one of the dune trails was replaced with visions of washing garden dirt off bushels of tomatoes and cukes before hauling them into town in her Jeep. But it would also guarantee she wouldn’t have to keep looking over her shoulder to avoid being alone with Zach at the cottage all the next day.

  “If Callie’s going to be there, I guess it will be okay.” Ginger said, giving in with grace. Callie smiled her thanks and Ginger smiled back. Then she looked sternly from one child to another. “You have agreed to do this job for Callie’s mom. That means you will do it, understand? You have both given your word. It is important to keep it. You are not to start whining and complaining if it isn’t as much fun as you both imagine it’s going to be.”

  “We’ll do it,” Brandon said. “Won’t we, Becca?”

  “We always finish our jobs at the White Pine. We’ll do a good job for Karen, too.”

  “All right, then.” Ginger smiled, although it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Karen, I guess you have yourself a pair of vegetable pickers.”

  Karen leaned forward and shook hands with both children. “It’s settled, then. Don’t worry about feeding them breakfast,” she said to Ginger. “I’ll make oatmeal and blueberry muffins.” Brandon had wrinkled up his nose at the mention of oatmeal but brightened again when the words blueberry muffins were added. “I’d better be getting home. It’s going to be dark earlier than usual tonight because of the clouds. Goodbye,” she said and started down the steps of the deck...just as J.R. started up them.

  Beside Callie, Ginger tensed. Becca was gathering up their garbage to drop it in the trash receptacle disguised as a rain barrel and Brandon was hanging over the railing, having spied something of interest in the massed hostas hiding the foundation. They didn’t notice the quick look of distress that crossed their mother’s expressive features as she watched J.R. and Karen exchange stilted greetings. But Callie did. Again a spurt of anxiety assailed Callie. Was she doing the right thing attempting to build bridges between her two families?

  Karen continued down the steps to her bicycle, while J.R. came toward them with long strides, waving a greeting through the parlor’s big plateglass windows to people he recognized inside. He wasn’t smiling and there was a furrow between his eyebrows, but when he spoke his tone was jovial. “Hey, I wondered where everyone had gotten to.”

  “I told Mac we were coming here for ice cream,” Ginger responded. “We met Callie at the counter and she joined us.”

  J.R. gave Callie a quick smile. “Hey, sweetheart. I’ve missed you around the White Pine this week.”

  “Swamped at the office,” she said, returning his smile and experiencing a surge of nostalgia for the childhood nickname he seldom used anymore. If the new baby was a girl, would he call her sweetheart, too? Callie hoped so, and hoped she wouldn’t be jealous when he did. She cupped her chin in her palm and thought how childish and silly that would sound if she said it aloud, but she suspected there would be a tiny pang the first time it happened anyway.

  J.R. put his hand on Ginger’s shoulder. “Mac passed on your message. It’s quieter than usual in the taproom, so I decided to take a break and stretch my legs. I can’t be gone long enough for ice cream, but I thought I’d walk home with you.”

  “I’d like that,” Ginger said, smiling up into his eyes. “Ready, kids?” She rose heavily to her feet. J.R. put his hand under her elbow and helped her stand.

  “I’m going to bed early so I can be really rested to pick tomatoes at Karen’s tomorrow,” Brandon said.

  “Yeah, I bet you will.” Becca rolled her eyes.

  “Walk. Don’t run,”
Ginger said automatically. Only she wasn’t watching her son, but J.R. Brandon didn’t run but he did power walk, arms pumping, across the deck and down the steps. Becca followed in a more dignified manner.

  “Is it okay if we walk ahead?” she asked. “I want to get started on the new Crystal World book. It came from Amazon today and I can’t wait to read it.” Crystal World was a planet inhabited by gentle fairylike humans. They had formed a reluctant partnership with a warrior clan and their intelligent dragon allies to battle alien invaders who wished to take over their beautiful, unspoiled world. Becca had told Callie and Karen all about the books the day they carded wool and watched Karen spin it into yarn. One of the heroes of the series was a warrior prince, naturally—the very one in the poster in Becca’s bedroom Callie had noticed resembled Zach to a startling degree.

  “Becca, remind your brother to watch for traffic,” Ginger cautioned. “You know how tourists are, gawking at the lake and the shops and not watching out for kids walking.”

  “We’ll be careful.” She didn’t start running until she hit the last step and in fifty feet had caught up with her brother.

  “What’s this about going out to Karen’s farm?” J.R said in a low voice. The deck was filling up. Customers were waiting in a line that now stretched outside the shop. Callie, Ginger and J.R. would have to walk single file to exit the deck.

  “She hired the kids to pick garden vegetables tomorrow,” Ginger explained. “I told them they could go. It will be a learning experience for them. They should understand that food just doesn’t get off-loaded from a truck or dropped onto the grocery shelves already wrapped in plastic and ready to eat.”

  “But we agreed they shouldn’t spend a lot of time at Karen’s farm.” J.R. grimaced. “I’m sorry, Callie.”

  She had stood up when Ginger had. “It’s all right, Dad. I know it’s awkward. But the kids really did enjoy themselves.”

  “It’s helping them bond with Callie,” Ginger said more firmly than Callie had ever heard her speak to her husband. “That’s why I’ve agreed to it. It’s my decision—”

  “They’re your kids,” he finished for her. His face set.

  Callie could see the remark hurt but Ginger didn’t relent. She raised her chin a tiny bit. “That’s not what I was going to say, J.R. I realize you are just trying to protect them from getting hurt and I love you for it. But you are right. They are my kids.” Their eyes held for a long moment before J.R. nodded.

  “I don’t want them to be disappointed by Karen’s self-centeredness like Callie was.” J.R. was fiercely loyal and protective of those he loved and cherished. He would lay down his life for any and all of them.

  “I know, J.R.,” Ginger said softly. Callie saw the tension slowly drain away from her body. “You want what’s best for them. But she is Callie’s mother. She is an important part of Callie’s life and our lives, whether we’re happy about it or not. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, at least this once.”

  “Okay,” he said with a hint of a smile, “as long as I don’t have to deal with her.” Callie stifled a sigh. Those big Norman Rockwell painting-type family Thanksgivings she’d always dreamed about were probably not going to happen with her extended family anytime soon.

  “The twins will be ready at seven for you to pick them up,” Ginger assured Callie.

  Callie raised her hand in a small gesture of regret. “Dad, I’m sorry. None of this is Ginger’s fault. I set this all in motion. She’s just trying to get along with all of us.”

  “I understand that. I’m sorry I let it get to me. I guess I’m not objective when it comes to your mom even after all these years. I remember all the ways she disappointed you as a kid. I don’t want her doing the same thing to the twins.”

  “That was a long time ago.” She wanted to reassure him her mother’s self-centeredness hadn’t hurt her, but it had and they both knew it. “She’s changed.”

  “Has she? I’m not so sure,” he said, but more in sorrow than in anger.

  And now, after all of that, she and the twins might not even go to Karen’s. Callie put down her empty glass and wandered into the main room of the cabin to stare out the window at the storm. It was raining so hard the lights of the marina, only a quarter of a mile away, weren’t visible, but she was looking more inward than outward anyway. It had been a rough day, a whole series of rough days since her confrontation with Zach. She’d been pulled in so many directions these past few weeks.

  Intellectually she understood as well as anyone that life was a complicated business, but that didn’t make it any easier when it involved people close to her heart. But as Zach had said, sometimes she couldn’t make everything right, heal every condition and bring people together, no matter how hard she tried. The most difficult part was to keep from feeling as though she had failed them all. Especially Zach.

  She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and shivered in the chill darkness. She might as well go back to bed. Nothing was going to get solved tonight. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

  But she stayed where she was. The storm demanded her attention. Lightning flickered almost continuously across a sky as black as spilled ink. Thunder rumbled in long timpani rolls that never seemed to end. The wind lashed waves onto the narrow sand beach, their white crests slightly luminous in the darkness. Zach’s small boat bucked at its anchor but the ropes holding it were strong and appeared to be riding out the storm. She couldn’t make out the raft farther out on the lake where she and the twins had watched the meteor shower only a week before, but it had survived many storms over the years and would probably be okay. Rain drove against the windows. She should feel cozy and safe, watching from her snug sanctuary as the rain pinged on the steel roof and splattered against the windows—but she didn’t. She felt alone and a little sad with a steadily increasing sense of foreboding far out of proportion to her worries about her family; she couldn’t shake it, but neither could she identify its cause.

  Almost on the thought, the screen door on Zach’s side of the duplex slammed open, banging against the stone wall with the force of a gunshot. Startled, Callie put a hand to her throat. What had happened? Had the door become unlatched somehow, caught by the storm’s wind? She waited a moment, staring hard into the darkness beyond her window, working to get her pulse and heartbeat under control. Surely Zach couldn’t have slept through a noise like that. The door continued to bang against the lightweight wooden frame as it was battered against the building again and again by the gusting wind. She knew he was home. His truck was parked beside her Jeep behind the cottage. Should she find her rain jacket and check on him? At least close the swinging door? How could Zach not hear it and come to investigate the source of the noise?

  Her anxiety level ratcheted up. Something must be wrong. No one, no matter how sound a sleeper they were, could remain unaware of such a racket. More lightning shimmered across the sky, striking somewhere out on the lake, throwing everything outside her window into vivid relief. That was when she noticed him. Zach was on his knees with his hands curled around the porch railing, head lifted to the cold rain.

  “Zach?” Raincoat forgotten, Callie was outside in an instant, hanging on to her own screen door with both hands as the wind tried to take it also. She slammed it shut and held on to the wildly swaying rocking chair to catch her balance.

  Zach remained where he was as the rain poured off the eaves and blew onto the porch in silvery sheets. He was wearing only a T-shirt and sweats and he was already soaked to the skin by the deluge. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Zach, what’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” The rain hit her like a million stinging needles of ice, making her breath catch in her throat. In a matter of moments she was as wet as he was, her thin robe and nightgown clinging to her, her hair plastered against her throat and neck. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. The muscles and tendons beneath her touch we
re rock hard with tension. He was shaking. She raised her voice and put all the authority she could muster into a repetition of his name. “Zach, answer me.”

  “I’m fine. Nothing but a bad dream. Go inside.”

  His voice was hoarse, grating, devoid of any warmth, like the rain-soaked night. Whatever had driven him out into this storm was more than just a bad dream.

  “Not without you.”

  He shook his head. Raindrops flew from his hair and chin. “Here,” he gasped. “I’m going to stay here a little longer. You leave, Dr. Layman. Now!” He was good at giving orders, but Callie was not to be put off.

  “No.” She sat on her heels. Did he believe she would leave him here in this condition, exposed to the elements, in real danger of suffering hypothermia or worse?

  “Stubborn woman.” He dropped his head. His voice was gentler now, weary as though he didn’t have the strength to keep arguing with her.

  “So I’ve been told.” Her teeth were chattering. She couldn’t help it. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees since sunset. The wind and rain made it seem even colder. The screen door still swung on its hinges, banging itself to pieces against the stone wall of the building, but she ignored it.

  She couldn’t begin to guess what kind of nightmare—or memories—tormented him. But she wanted to, so she could take his pain away.

  The realization brought her up short. She was already way too attached to this man, a coworker, a colleague, a man scarcely more than a stranger.

  But he was also a human being in pain and she was a healer first. She tugged on his arm. “Zach, come inside.” He didn’t budge. She swallowed a sob of frustration. If he refused to obey her, she wouldn’t be able to move him. Should she call J.R.? Rudy Koslowski? No. He wouldn’t thank her for letting anyone else see him like this. “Zach, please.” The plea seemed to reach the dark place where he had gone. He raised his head and stared directly at her. For a moment there was no recognition in his eyes, only torment. The fitful light produced by the almost constant play of lightning between the clouds allowed her to witness his anguish, and it was almost too painful to bear.