Family Practice

by Marisa Carroll

  She cupped his face with her hands. “You can’t stay out here in this awful weather.”

  He bowed his head a moment, struggling to get a grip on himself. He raised his head and nodded. “All right.” He put his hands beneath her elbows and pulled her up with him, as though she weighed no more than a child. He pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear. His hands were shaking, his teeth chattered and his eyes were hollowed out, as haunted as his gaze. “You get inside, too. Get out of those wet things. Get warm and dry. Now. Go.” He waved a hand toward her side of the cottage.

  She shook her head. “Good advice, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily, Doc.” She wouldn’t leave him. “Come, let’s go inside.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, gathering his composure. Callie saw the effort it took and was awed by his determination to fight his demons to a standstill.

  “You win,” he said, grabbing the wildly swinging screen door. With one strong jerk he wrenched it off its loosened hinges and wedged it against the wall. Now only the creaking of the heavy pine rocking chairs competed with the sounds of the storm.

  He reached out and ran his hand over the splintered door frame. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.” Callie nodded and took his hand.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “I’M FINE NOW,” he said for at least the third time. “Go to bed and try and get some sleep.”

  “No,” Callie replied, just as patiently and stubbornly as she had twice before. “Not until you do.” She flushed slightly but held his eyes stare for stare. She was wearing one of his old sweatshirts, an equally old pair of sweatpants and thick cotton socks she could barely keep on her feet. Her hair was wrapped in a towel around her head.

  The sweatshirt was heavy enough to preserve her modesty but he tried to keep his eyes above shoulder level anyway, and mostly succeeded.

  She had refused to leave him alone even to change out of her wet nightgown and robe. “Why do that?” she’d asked with irrefutable logic. “As long as it’s raining and blowing so hard, I’d just get wet again on the way back.” He’d still been too disoriented by the panic attack to argue with her. Besides, she’d been shivering as violently as he’d been, and they’d both hovered on the brink of hypothermia. She’d turned on a table lamp by the couch, watched from the door of his bedroom while he hunted out dry clothes for the both of them, then insisted he get in the shower first.

  “You’re the patient. I’m the doctor,” she said, pointing to the bathroom door. “Go.”

  When he came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, she was changed and searching through his cupboards for plates and cups. Hot milk simmered on the stove and a box of instant-cocoa mix stood beside it. “You’re supposed to get in the shower, too,” he reminded her.

  “I’m fine,” she said. “I wasn’t out there as long as you were. I’m still a little chilly, but warming up fast.” She smiled at him from the shadows of the tiny kitchen, where only the range light provided illumination, but she didn’t quite meet his gaze head-on. “I’m making toast and cocoa. It’s what my dad did for me when I was little and couldn’t sleep.”

  He hooked his foot around the leg of one of the slightly rickety wooden stools that fronted the narrow breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the rest of the main room, turned his back on the storm and sat down. He envied her those childhood memories. He was sure someone in one of the foster homes he’d been in had made him toast and cocoa, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember which one.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Of course, but I want some, too.” She poured the milk into mugs, stirred the cocoa and added just a little cold milk from the carton to lower the temperature a bit.

  “Cocoa’s great, but I’ll pass on the toast.” He said it a little too gruffly, but he didn’t want to be reminded of the past. He didn’t want to think at all right now, but his brain refused to shut down.

  She ignored his tone, just as she would ignore a patient’s sharpness when it was caused by fear and anxiety. “Okay, we’ll skip the toast. You don’t have any little marshmallows, so this will have to do.” She slid the mugs onto the counter and then came around the half wall to perch on the stool he’d pulled out for her.

  “It’s good,” he said, taking a swallow. “Thanks.”

  She watched him over the rim of her mug. He held out his hand. Her brows furrowed. “What?”

  “Want to check my pulse?”

  She blushed slightly and shook her head. “Sorry, I’ll stop watching every move you make. Habit, that’s all.”

  “My pulse is back to normal and so am I. I’m fine, Doctor,” he said, managing a grin. “Emergency’s over. You can dial down to concerned-neighbor mode.” He was okay. His nerves were still thrumming, but it was more because she was sitting here beside him so close their knees almost touched than residue from the panic attack.

  “PTSD?” she asked without preamble, probably anticipating if she’d asked him to talk about what had just happened he would just change the subject.

  He shifted slightly on the stool so he didn’t have to meet her still-watchful hazel eyes. He braced his elbows on the counter and held the mug between his hands, absorbing the warmth and the homey smell of chocolate. He never made the sugary stuff for himself. He didn’t even know why he’d bought it, except it seemed like something he should keep in his cupboard, the same as salt and flour.

  He chose his words with care. “It’s pretty much part of the job description after two tours attached to a Marine unit in Afghanistan.”

  “You’ve never shown any symptoms or the slightest sign you had a problem.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ve worked very hard to get to that point.”

  “Can you talk about it? About what happened over there?”

  “No.” It was too abrupt, but he couldn’t help himself.

  She winced slightly but didn’t falter. “I understand why you’ve never confided in me. The only thing I know about PTSD is what I’ve learned in books. I’ve never dealt with it in the real world.”

  He swung his head around. “Stop putting yourself down.”

  She lifted her eyes to his. “I wasn’t. It’s the truth,” she said simply. “I’m a good doctor, but I’m a green one. Facts are facts. So, please, help me understand a little more. If not for your sake, then for the next soldier or sailor or Marine I have as a patient.”

  He didn’t have an answer for that one. She was learning quickly how to get around his defenses. “If you won’t talk to me as a physician, will you talk to me as a friend?” She had her hands clutched around her cocoa mug. She was almost as tense as he was, but he realized she wouldn’t be denied.

  “I’m fine, Callie,” he said, softly this time. “Really, I am.”

  “You frightened me. You were in a place so far away and so terrible I was scared you might never find your way home.”

  He leaned his elbows on the counter, both hands wrapped around his mug. “I was dreaming. I still have nightmares, but not as often. The storm must have set it off. Loud, sustained noises can be a trigger. I thought I had it under control. Most of the time, I do.”

  “I know a little of what happened to you over there in Afghanistan,” she said, staring down at her own mug. “That night at the White Pine after the barbecue, you and Ron Seamann were at the bar getting drinks and Rudy and Gerry were dancing to the jukebox, remember?” He nodded. “Jen Koslowski and I were alone at the table. She confided to me how Rudy lost his leg. Jen was a little drunk and she was so proud that Rudy could dance again, when for years he wouldn’t even try. She told me how close he came to dying. How you saved his life. Is that what your dreams are about? Rudy and the other men you needed to save?”

  He wanted to get up and run out of the room. In the past he might have, but he was better now; he should be able t
o talk about it. So he made himself continue.

  “I never remember much about my dreams,” he said, deciding she wouldn’t give up until he explained at least some of it, and he owed her that much. “High anxiety mostly. My guys are hurt. I can’t get to them ’cause I’m not ready. My gear’s not packed. My instruments are missing, all kinds of things go wrong.”

  “Or is it you can’t get to them because you’ve been injured yourself?”

  He shrugged. “You’d make a good shrink. I’m always slow and clumsy but I honestly don’t remember—” He shook his head. “Usually I wake myself up, but tonight I was out the door before I got myself together. The rain helped.”

  She laughed a little, softly, with sympathy underlying the tinkling sound. “Rushing headlong into a monsoon will shock anyone into cold, hard reality.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not what I mean.” He’d never told anyone this, but he had no worry she would betray his confidence. “It’s the rain. Storms spook me these days, but it’s the rain I crave.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He set his empty mug on the counter, stood up and walked to the window. After a couple of seconds, she did the same. She stood beside him looking out into the night, not touching but almost. “I grew up in the desert in California. None of the families I was placed with were well-to-do. A couple were downright poor. We didn’t have big swimming pools or spa rooms. It hardly ever rained. We were always worried about wildfires in the dry season. Then when I was about the twins’ age, one of my better-off foster families took us to the ocean for a vacation. I’d never seen anything like it. I never even dreamed so much water existed. I couldn’t get enough of the smell and the sounds and the movement. That’s when I decided to join the navy.”

  “But how did you end up here in White Pine Lake? We’re a long way from the ocean.”

  “From salt water, maybe. As the crow flies we’re less than a mile from one of the largest inland seas in the world,” he said.

  He was just enough taller so that she had to tip her head slightly to look at him. He liked that. She probably didn’t.

  The storm had moved off inland, the lightning reduced to mere flickers, the thunder a low, soft growl at the edge of his hearing. But still the rain came down. He watched it with both hands resting on the windowsill. “You might not believe this, but I spent eight years in the navy and never had sea duty. I did my medical training in Texas. After that, I was in Afghanistan attached to a Marine combat unit. There might be beautiful places in that part of the world. I never saw any of them. To me it was all heat and cold and dust and dirt everywhere I looked. I swore to myself that if I ever got home I’d never be out of sight of water again. I didn’t have anything or anybody to tie me to California and the places I was raised. Rudy thought White Pine Lake was the greatest place on earth. So I came home with him on leave once. I was standing right over there—” he gestured toward the reappearing marina light “—suddenly I realized I was over three hundred miles from Great Lakes in Chicago where I did my basic training, and it was still the same water. I decided that was ocean enough for me.”

  “‘Water, water everywhere,’” she quoted.

  “And rain and snow in winter, and it’s all fresh and clean and clear. And there are no sharks.” He grinned.

  “I’ve seen the T-shirt. Lake Michigan—Unsalted and Shark Free,” she said, smiling also. The smile became a yawn. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I probably scared you half to death and ruined your sleep.” He caught her hand and held it with his own.

  She went very still but didn’t attempt to break free. After a moment she laid her other hand on top of his. “Don’t be sorry. And for the record, I was already awake.”

  He used the opening she gave him to change the subject from his problems to hers. “Are you still worrying about Eno’s condition?”

  She shook her head, her expression hard to read in the low light. “No, I’m sad but I’m getting a perspective on it. You’re right. There are some things I can’t fix. I just have to endure.”

  “Then it’s your family that’s concerning you.”

  She sighed. “As usual.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She narrowed her eyes slightly. “We are done talking about you. Am I right?”

  He nodded. She inclined her head. “So be it.” She didn’t say she would be there for him again if he needed her, but she would. If he could keep himself from doing what he longed to do—taking her in his arms and asking her to stay in White Pine Lake with him always—the step forward they had taken tonight might not come with the usual two steps back. “I’m guilty of trying to blend my families again,” she said with a smile that wavered a little at the edges. The vulnerability in her smile made the urge to hold her even stronger.

  “What are you up to now, Dr. Callie?” The rain was beginning to slacken. In a few more minutes, he would have no excuse to keep her with him. He lifted her hands and held them close to his chest. She bowed her head a moment, and he held his breath that she might move into his arms of her own free will. But she stayed where she was, so close but still so far away.

  “My mother has hired the twins to help her pick market vegetables tomorrow—” She stared out the window where, indeed, the sky was beginning to lighten along the edges. “I guess I mean this morning, in just a couple of hours. We were having ice cream at Kilroy’s when my mother showed up. I offered to bring them out to the farm, and Ginger went along with the plan, though I don’t think she really wanted to. She only did it because I asked her to. Then my dad joined us, and, well, I figured out why Ginger had been so reluctant. He’s not happy with the idea, or with me.”

  “I never pictured J.R. as a vindictive man.”

  She smiled. “He’s not, but he is a very protective man, and he has never quite forgiven my mother for deserting me. For deserting both of us.”

  “Have you?”

  “Yes, for the most part.” She hesitated. “Not completely. Maybe I never will. But now I’ve caused more tension between Ginger and my father, and that’s exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do. Suddenly that cruise-ship job is looking better and better.”

  “You sound like you’re giving up.”

  “It’s way past three o’clock in the morning. No one’s very optimistic at this hour.”

  “I can’t argue with you there.”

  She blew out a breath and it came close to a sigh. “I want us all to be comfortable with each other.” She seemed to hear the uncertainty in her own words. “That’s a lot to ask, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not much of an expert on family dynamics, blended or otherwise.”

  “But you are certainly skilled at getting your patients to open up to you. Listen to me, rattling on to you like one of those women who don’t have proper boundaries.” She attempted a smile, but it faded away like the sound of the rain on the roof. “Am I wrong to attempt so much?” she asked softly.

  “If anyone can, it’s the stubborn and laser-focused Dr. Layman. But not if you’re sailing the seven seas in a floating hotel.”

  She tilted her head slightly and studied him through her lashes. Long, straight lashes that could veil the emotion in her hazel eyes. “Are you telling me I should stay if I’m offered the position?”

  “I’m not telling you to do anything, I’m only stating the obvious. You can’t blend a family long-distance.” He paused. “Would you consider it?”

  “The committee hasn’t asked me. But yes, I would consider it. Especially after today.”

  “Why today?”

  “Us.”

  “Us?” His heart rate kicked up a notch.

  “We made it through everything that happened tonight, and we’re still on speaking terms,” she said with a lit
tle smile. “That is real progress.”

  “Yes,” he said. “I guess it is. Thank you for everything you did for me tonight.”

  He leaned down and kissed her before she could object. For a moment she held still, then very quickly she returned his kiss before pulling away.

  “Zach, I don’t—”

  “Yeah, it’s not a great idea. But hey, it’s the middle of the night. Great ideas are few and far between.”

  “You say the strangest things.” She shook her head, not quite smiling, not quite frowning. “I have to go. I don’t want anyone to see me leaving your side of the cottage.”

  He wanted to point out no one was likely to be out spying on them at 4:00 a.m. in this kind of weather, but he kept his mouth shut. He dropped her hands and put some distance between them, anxious not to undo any of the progress they’d made. “Try to get some rest. There’s still a couple of hours until daylight.”

  “I intend to do just that. My things.” She looked around for the plastic grocery bag he’d given her to hold her wet nightgown and robe. He leaned over the old leather sofa he slept on most nights and handed the bag to her.

  She waved her free hand down her side. “I’ll return your clothes as soon as I get them washed.”

  “Don’t bother. Just leave them on the porch. I do laundry most Saturdays.”

  She flushed, opened her mouth to protest, then relented. “Okay, I’ll leave them on the rocker. Try to get some sleep yourself,” she said.

  “Sounds like a plan.” A moment later he heard her door open and then close very quietly. He stood staring out at the still-dripping eaves. The birds were beginning to stir. Dawn would be coming soon but he wouldn’t be awake to welcome it. The horror of his midnight dreams had receded. When he closed his eyes, he might dream again. But it would not be of blood and heat and death— it would be of her.

  * * *

  CALLIE’S MOTHER CALLED just after six, sounding tired and distracted. “Callie, I’m going to have to cancel our plans for today.”