Family Practice

by Marisa Carroll

  “What’s happened?” she asked, frowning down at the cup of coffee she’d just poured, unable to stop herself from recalling her dad’s words about Karen’s habit of disappointing people. She was suddenly suspicious.

  “A tree came down in the storm last night. One of the big old cedars.”

  “That’s a shame,” Callie said, meaning it. “Any damage?”

  “It missed the house, but it’s across the driveway. Armand Zimmer and his sons—the ones who farm the fields behind the house—are coming to cut it into firewood and clear up the mess. So I’ll be too busy to pick the vegetables. The cukes will be okay for a couple of days, but I don’t think my tomatoes will hold until next week. I’ll have to give up my spot at the farmer’s market and just put them all out at the stand and hope for the best,” she rattled on nervously. “The problem is I’m not comfortable having the children here with chain saws and axes—”

  “That’s okay, I get it.”

  “Thanks, sweetie. I knew you’d understand.” She sounded relieved. “I don’t have your dad’s private number anymore, and frankly, I’d really rather not speak to him if I don’t have to, so could you explain this all to them?”

  So much for Callie’s daydreams of everyone getting along. “Sure, I’ll just stop by the White Pine and explain what’s happened on my way out to the farm.”

  “I’d appreciate you doing that for me, but you don’t have to come out here. I’m used to managing on my own.”

  “Well, you’re not managing on your own today. I’ll help stack firewood instead of picking tomatoes. I don’t suppose you got around to making those blueberry muffins?” she asked a little wistfully.

  Karen laughed, sounding relieved she’d have Callie to help. “No, I didn’t. The power was out for almost three hours here and I just wasn’t up to making them in the woodstove.” One of Karen’s more successful online videos was of her baking bread in her antique woodstove. She made it look easy on the internet videos, but it wasn’t. Callie had tried it herself when she was home at Christmas and much preferred the convenience of a good mixer with a bread-hook attachment and a reliable electric oven.

  “I’ll grab a couple of Mac’s cinnamon rolls when I stop to explain the situation to Ginger and the kids. How does that sound?”

  “Make it a dozen rolls, then I’ll be able to give Armand and the boys a plate to take home. Armand’s wife is away in North Dakota caring for her father, so they’re all batching it.”

  “A dozen it is.” Callie looked at the half banana she’d planned for an early breakfast and reached into the cupboard for a box of cereal to add to it. It was going to be an even busier day than she’d anticipated.

  Before leaving the cottage, she laid Zach’s clothes on his rocking chair. She studied the broken screen door and considered just how much strength it took to wrestle even a lightweight door off its hinges, as he had done last night. She paused, listening for sounds of movement from inside, but could hear nothing. She hesitated a moment longer, wondering if she should check on him. Her dad kept a spare key above the roof edging, but she decided against using it. Zach had been fine when she’d left him only two hours ago. He was probably sleeping, dead to the world, and she didn’t want to disturb his rest. She wished she could stay until he awakened, but she had promised Karen she would come as soon as she could. She hoped his dreams this morning were pleasant ones.

  * * *

  ZACH WOKE FROM a light doze, sensing more than hearing that Callie was nearby. He was lying on the couch, where he’d spent the remainder of the night in a dreamless sleep. He held his breath and stayed very still, hoping she would tap on the door and call his name, but after a moment he heard the sound of her footsteps going down the steps and onto the gravel path that skirted both sides of the cottage. Another minute passed and her Jeep coughed and sputtered to life, and then he heard her drive away. Off to the White Pine, as she’d planned. Maybe that meant Karen hadn’t backed out on the twins. He hoped not.

  He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He rested his elbows on his knees and stared down at the floor. He felt as if he’d been run over by a truck, but the aftereffects of the panic attack were already fading away. In the early weeks and months after his return from Afghanistan, he’d been almost paralyzed with anxiety and depression, not able to function for hours and sometimes days if it was a really bad episode. Last night should have been the same, but it hadn’t been.

  Because Callie had been there for him.

  He recognized that truth at the very core of his being. He wanted her with him now.

  He stood up and opened the door. The splintered door frame was going to take a couple hours of work to repair. It would give him something to do today. But he’d have to wait until the hardware store opened to start the project. He might as well go fishing for a couple hours. His clothes were lying neatly folded, socks on top, on the seat of the pine rocking chair, exactly as she’d promised. He picked them up and brought them inside, picturing her as she’d been last night, wet hair wrapped in a towel, the sleeves of his faded old sweatshirt folded over her strong but narrow hands and wrists, pant legs dragging, the socks he’d given her so big she could scarcely keep them on her feet. A corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. A little girl in her big brother’s castoffs. The smile faded away.

  She wasn’t a little girl and he wasn’t her big brother. She had dragged him kicking and screaming out of his nightmare and then, when he had broken his own word and kissed her, she had kissed him back. And just like their first kiss, it had moved him in a way no other kiss had ever done, with tenderness and hope and love.

  The realization he was teetering on the brink of falling in love with his boss brought him up short. It was love, wasn’t it? Not some gratitude for saving his sanity last night kind of thing?

  No, he knew himself better than that. He’d never felt quite this way before. Callie Layman was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met, the most principled and the most intriguing. They had argued; they had made up. They had shared the good and the bad in the past twenty-four hours. They had kissed, and it had been one heck of a kiss. They had both wanted more. A lot more. Now all he had to do was prove to her that they were meant for a partnership that was both professional and personal. One that would last a lifetime.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CALLIE DIDN’T HAVE any trouble finding a place to park at the White Pine so early in the morning, and she wheeled into a spot right in front. The restaurant opened at 6:30 a.m., but that was mostly for the early-rising coffee drinkers. The breakfast crowd on Saturday usually didn’t start showing up until a little later in the morning.

  She walked up the steps, breathing deeply of the clean, crisp air, letting it clear her head of the last lingering cobwebs of fatigue from the night before.

  The storm had taken its toll on the petunias in the flower beds lining the steps—their heads were bowed, their petals muddied. The hostas were slightly bedraggled, too, with raindrops still clinging to their broad green leaves. She noticed the plants were already done flowering, a sure sign fall was just around the corner. Labor Day was less than ten days away. Summer was coming to an end.

  She walked into the lobby, cool and shadow filled, and glanced into the taproom. It was silent and deserted, clean-swept and tidy, the chairs tucked neatly under the tables, the bar stools lined with military precision along the bar. In another twelve hours, those same tables would be filled with laughing couples and groups of friends, watching the big-screen TV, listening to the jukebox, awaiting the arrival of the DJ for his monthly karaoke night. Maybe she would come down for an hour or so. Maybe Zach would be there, too? She shook off the pleasant fantasy. She already spent far too much time thinking about the man.

  She headed into the dining room. The big room was filled with morning light and smelled of coffee and bacon and cinnamon rolls. Ther
e was only one table of tourists seated for breakfast, hikers, judging from their cargo pants and sturdy boots, fueling up before heading out for a day exploring the dunes’ trails. At a second table against the back wall sat the regulars, a group of the town’s businessmen and retirees who met to exchange gossip and weather reports before going about their days. Today the group contained a surprising number of the members of the Physician’s Committee. Callie’s breath caught in her throat. What were they doing here on a Saturday?

  “Hey, Dr. Callie. Morning to you,” Harvey Kilroy greeted her with a wave. “Saw you at the shop last night but I was too busy bringing out ice cream from the cooler to say hello.”

  “Glad that you’re so busy.”

  “It’s turned out to be a pretty good summer,” he agreed.

  “’Bout time,” Bob Budde, the owner of the grocery store, grumbled. “Economy’s been bad too long.”

  “Amen to that,” Silas McGruder, the owner of the marina and bait and tackle, seconded.

  His son-in-law, Owen Carson, who had taken over the business when the older man retired, asked, “How’d you weather the storm, Dr. Callie?”

  Ezra Colliflower didn’t speak but lifted his mug in greeting.

  Callie managed to return Ezra’s smile and answer Owen at the same time.

  “Kept me awake—” she put her hand on the “in” side of the kitchen’s swinging double doors “—but today’s going to be lovely.” All five men nodded in agreement with her assessment. “Have a great day, gentlemen.” She included all of them in another smile and slipped into the kitchen. The smile remained. She was fitting in again, accepted as a doctor and one of the locals. It felt good.

  “Hi, Callie, we’re all ready to go,” Brandon announced with a wave and a sleepy smile that was so sweet and innocent it gave her heart a little twist. He and his sister were dressed in what she suspected were last year’s clothes, faded T’s and jeans that were a little ragged and a couple of inches too short. Brandon was wearing the Detroit Tigers baseball cap that had been rejected along with the team jersey at Christmas, and his sister had her hair pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail.

  “Hi,” Becca said and returned to her dish of fruit and toast and orange juice. She didn’t look as sunny as Brandon, but Callie hadn’t expected her to. Her stepsister wasn’t as easygoing as her twin, still downright prickly on occasion, but not as openly hostile as she’d been just a month ago. Maybe she’d accomplished more than she gave herself credit for.

  “Hi, yourselves.” She had hoped she’d arrive before they got up, but they had been true to their word and were already dressed and ready for a day working in the garden. “Was that some storm last night or what?” Callie asked, giving herself a little breathing room before she had to break the news to the twins about the downed tree.

  “Awesome,” Brandon said around a mouthful of cereal.

  “I would have slept through it, but Brandon was afraid and came into my room.” Becca sniffed, dunking a half slice of toast in her glass of orange juice.

  “Was not.”

  “Were, too.”

  “She’s lying. We sat on the window seat and watched it. It was awesome,” Brandon insisted, glaring at his sister.

  Becca ignored him. She popped the toast into her mouth without letting any of the orange juice drip onto the table.

  “I used to do that when it was my room,” Callie said. “Sit on the window seat and watch the storms out over the lake.”

  “Cool,” Becca responded noncommittally. Callie didn’t say a word about talking with one’s mouth full. She was a big sister, not a parent.

  “Good morning,” Mac called out as she emerged from the walk-in cooler at the rear of the kitchen with a plastic-wrapped baking sheet of cinnamon rolls. “What brings you out this early in the morning on your day off?”

  “Morning, Mac. Are those cinnamon rolls spoken for?” Callie asked.

  “They are. You’ll have to wait for the next batch. These are going to the private dining room.” She raised one eyebrow. “Special meeting of the Physician’s Committee.”

  “Oh, dear,” Callie said faintly. Becca’s and Brandon’s eyes were on her. “I guess I’ll just have to come back into town later and pick up the rolls. Will you save me a dozen?”

  Mac took pity on her and didn’t say anything more about the meeting. “Consider it done. Heading out to your mom’s?”

  “We’re going to pick veggies at Karen’s,” Brandon piped up.

  Ginger and J.R. came down the stairs as Brandon spoke. Ginger paused at the bottom and put her hand out to steady herself against the wall and catch her breath. “Whew, we need to seriously consider putting in an elevator,” she said. “Hi, Callie, some storm last night, wasn’t it?”

  “Hello, Ginger. It certainly was. Hi, Dad.”

  “Coffee,” he croaked, giving her a grin.

  Ginger rolled her eyes and gave her head a rueful shake. “I don’t think J.R. would have any trouble joining a monastery where you have to take a vow of silence.”

  “At least in the morning.” Callie giggled.

  “I’m the strong, silent type.”

  Ginger laughed, too, went to the coffeemaker and took down a mug from the rack hanging off to one side. “Here you go,” she said to her husband.

  “Thanks.” He took the steaming mug from her hand and held it for just a moment longer than necessary as they exchanged a private smile. It didn’t appear to bother Ginger that her husband wasn’t a talker, the way it had Karen. There were other ways for two people in love to communicate, Callie was coming to realize.

  “They kept their promise, Callie,” Ginger said, “even after the storm kept us up half the night.” She made herself a cup of tea as she spoke. “I only had to call Brandon twice and he was out of bed. That’s almost a record for him on a summer Saturday.” She was wearing an oversize pink shirt and black shorts and sandals and looked rested despite the storm.

  “But I’m afraid there’s a problem.” Callie explained about the downed tree. “It’s just not going to work out for us to spend the day at the farm.”

  “We’re not going? Why couldn’t we help stack firewood or something?” Brandon demanded. “I have to earn some money.”

  “And I wanted to watch Karen spin, too,” Becca said, although she didn’t seem as angry as Callie had feared she might be. Perhaps she’d underestimated the twins’ level of maturity.

  Ginger’s expression had tightened momentarily but it cleared as the reason for the change in plans became clear. “I agree, though, that eleven-year-olds and chain saws could be a volatile combination.”

  “I’m not a bit surprised to hear one of those big old cedars came down,” J.R. said with an exasperated shake of his head. “Did it miss the house?”

  “Yes,” Callie said cautiously. “It fell across the driveway. The Zimmers are coming to clear it up and haul it away.”

  “They’ll do a good job.” J.R. was leaning against the big stainless-steel prep table, where Mac’s minions would soon be hard at work chopping vegetables and peeling potatoes, his precious coffee mug cradled between his hands. “Karen’s such a back-to-the-earth type these days she doesn’t want to take down the straggliest popple on the property, let alone one of those giants. Woman doesn’t have a lick of sense about some things. All it takes is a hard rain and wind, or a heavy snowfall to bring them down.”

  Callie found she’d been holding her breath and let it out on a soundless sigh. It wasn’t a flattering assessment of her mother, but at least neither Ginger nor her father appeared inclined to blame Karen for breaking her promise to the children. She had been worried for nothing.

  “How am I going to earn money for my game?” Brandon demanded, cutting to the heart of the matter. “I’m not scheduled to work here until Tuesday and that’s my l
ast week before school starts. I still need twenty-five dollars.”

  “You can help me later today,” J.R. said, pouring a second cup of coffee. “I’ve got a meeting in half an hour, but before that, I’m going up to the widow’s walk to make sure nothing’s leaking. And while I’m at it, I’m going to measure for a new railing for the stairs, and we’ll probably need to replace a couple of floorboards, too.” Everyone, including Mac, stared at him in surprise. He shrugged, not meeting Callie’s gaze; he hadn’t intended to mention the Physician’s Committee meeting aloud. Once in a while she could read his mind as easily as he could read hers. “It would be fun to watch the Labor Day fireworks from up there this year, like we always used to.”

  They had discontinued the family ritual the year Karen had walked out on them and Callie had cried through the entire fireworks display. She realized much later that J.R. had used the storm damage that followed as an excuse to stop her from going up there, where he feared she went to brood about her mother’s absence. It was another change from the old ways, and it was a good one. “That’d be great,” Callie said and smiled.

  “Come with us, Mom,” Brandon coaxed, but Ginger demurred.

  “Some other time,” she said, patting her stomach. “Just getting up and down the stairs from the apartment is about all I can handle these days.”

  Becca’s sandy eyebrows drew together in a scowl and she dropped her eyes to her food. Callie was reminded that Becca’s unhappiness with Ginger’s pregnancy was a sore spot that hadn’t yet been healed.

  “I second the motion,” J.R. said, giving his wife’s distended stomach an assessing glance.

  Ginger smiled but her eyes strayed to her pouting daughter and the smile faded a little. “Be gone! All of you! I’ll stay here and go over next week’s menus with Mac. Unless you’d rather stay here and help us, Becca?” she asked hopefully.

  Becca shook her head. “I want to see the view from up there.”