Could Be Something Good

by Fiona West

He brought their foreheads together, and it was the most pained smile she’d ever seen him give her. More forced even than when Mrs. Foster ran over his toe with her wheelchair. “At least I can still kiss you.” He pulled back to see her better. “I can still kiss you, right?”

  “Yes.” She gave him a lingering peck, just for emphasis. “Definitely. In fact, she seemed to encourage that.”

  “Yeah, she wants us to fail.”

  “That’s very possible.” She kissed him again. “But we’re not going to.”

  “Nope.”

  A thought occurred to Winnie. “Not that she’d really know . . .”

  Daniel pressed his lips into a flat line. “Fred, when I make a bet, I keep my end. I once had a game of Monopoly running with Philip and Kyle for two months because no one would concede defeat. My mother finally confiscated the game just as I was about to pull off my epic victory. We can do this.” He kissed her. “We’re in this together, right?”

  “Yes, absolutely. We’re a team.”

  “Good. And you’re not mad?”

  “Oh, no, I am mad.”

  She covered her face. “I’m sorry. She’s a bit of an arrogant jerk, but she’s my mom, and I love her, and it’s been weird being on the outs with her. I kind of played all my cards on the ‘I’m not going to medical school’ thing. I just wanted—”

  “Hey.” He pulled her hands down. “It’s okay. I wish you’d talked to me first, but we’ll figure it out.” Daniel pulled her into a tight hug, and as she felt his chest rise and fall, she hoped like crazy that he was right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DANIEL HAD JUST FINISHED a percutaneous nephrostomy for Mr. Townsend and his kidney stones, wincing the whole time. It had been a good experience, but delicate procedures like that made him nervous, which in turn made him hungry. He had just collapsed on the lumpy futon in the on-call room and taken an enormous bite of an onion bagel when Dr. Trout found him.

  “Dr. Baker says you have to go home.”

  Daniel sat up. “Why?” Surely she wasn’t going to take her frustration out on him at work?

  “She said you’re up against your time limits.”

  “Really?” Daniel thought he should’ve had two hours left for the week, and he also knew they were short-staffed today. The Libby Zion law prohibited interns and residents from working the long hours they’d been forced into in the past, but he really hated leaving when people needed his help. That was one reason he’d already decided to stay in Timber Falls; he wanted to be where he was needed. He felt a pang of annoyance that she was avoiding him by sending Greg. They were both adults—they could work this out.

  “She also said you should keep track of your own hours, because the hospital doesn’t need the liability.” Greg grimaced as he slowly pulled his head out of the way of the closing door. “Just the messenger, don’t shoot me.”

  Grunting, Daniel got to his feet and grabbed his backpack. It was lunchtime; she’d probably be in the cafeteria. He wasn’t going to confront her, just talk things over. As he expected, she was eating with Dr. Udawatte. She’d taken Tharushi under her wing a little more than him and Dr. Trout, partly because they were both women, he expected. Then again, he’d never really tried to get more into Dr. Baker’s good graces; he’d never had a reason to. Until now.

  He approached the orange table cautiously; only Tharushi had noticed his arrival. “May I join you?”

  Dr. Baker turned. Her face registered mild surprise, then she nodded. “As I was saying, they’re still examining exactly what makes their oral bacteria different and how it’s related to heart health, but it’s an interesting correlation.”

  Tharushi nodded, her wavy black hair bobbing. “I hope they can isolate it. So much research could be done at the microbiotic level. I can’t wait until there are more tests available. It’s less invasive and inexpensive.”

  “And yet, our textbooks barely mention that kind of diagnostic information,” Daniel added. “Hard to keep them up to date when medicine changes so quickly.”

  Dr. Baker took a sip of her water. “I thought I sent you home.”

  “Uh, yes. You did, I’m on my way.” He cleared his throat. “I just wanted to clear the air before I left.”

  “Oh?” Her gaze was disinterested.

  “First of all, I did have two hours left by my count, and I’m happy to stay and serve those.”

  “Unnecessary.”

  “And secondly, I just wanted to say that I really like your daughter and have good intentions where she’s concerned. I hope that’ll become obvious over the course of the next few weeks.”

  “Why?” Tharushi asked, perking up. “What happens in a few weeks?”

  “Nothing,” Daniel muttered, glaring at her to let it go. They were fairly close; she wouldn’t take it the wrong way. But she was the wrong person to be sending silent messages to at that moment.

  “I’ve made a wager with my daughter that if they don’t have sexual intercourse, he’ll become disinterested in her within two months.”

  Daniel froze. Did she really just air our personal stuff to my colleague? Disbelief quickly ceded space in his brain to anger. Blinding, paralyzing anger.

  “What did you wager?” Tharushi asked, her eyes wide, her gaze ping-ponging between them.

  “My acceptance,” Sandra replied, with the air of a queen explaining to a peasant why he shouldn’t mind paying exorbitant taxes on his crops.

  “Your acceptance is irrelevant,” Daniel snapped. Dr. Baker pivoted toward him slowly, and Daniel knew he had made an elephant-sized mistake. Maybe even Hulk-sized.

  “Long hours will take a toll on your judgment,” she said quietly. “That’s why the eighty-hour law is in place. Go home, Dr. Durand.”

  She turned back to her conversation with Tharushi, and he stood slowly and pushed in his chair. He knew the smart thing to do would be to just walk away . . . but this was too important.

  “I’m in love with your daughter.”

  He must’ve said it loudly—either that or the other people in the cafeteria were uniquely tuned into the frequency of gossip, because twenty heads turned his way, including Sandra’s.

  He felt his face getting hot, but he plowed on. “I love Winnie, and I’ll prove it. To both of you.” Daniel blasted through the cafeteria without looking back, but he heard the whispers starting before he was through the double doors. People were so immature sometimes. He slammed the door of his Volvo and started driving home. It was one, and traffic was terrible. That is to say, there were other cars on the road with him all the way back to Timber Falls. He stopped at the Subway to pick up dinner, and by the time he’d claimed his foot-long meatball sub, his brother had texted him.

  Kyle: I didn’t think public declarations of love were your thing.

  Daniel: They’re not.

  Kyle: That’s not what Tharushi said.

  Daniel: Leave me alone.

  Kyle: When’s the wedding?

  Kyle: Is Ainsley going to be your best man?

  Daniel: First of all, jerkface, you’d be my best man, and you know it.

  Daniel: Second of all, jerkface, I said leave me alone.

  Kyle: Dad and I are going up to Olallie tomorrow to try for some yellow perch. You in?

  He sighed. He might as well go. He hated people gossiping about him; getting a little out of town might be a good idea.

  Daniel: Not too early, though.

  Kyle: Can’t go early this time of year anyway.

  Kyle: Which you’d know if you were any kind of fisherman.

  Daniel sent him a gif of a guy fishing, getting pulled into the ocean. Sighing, he went back to his car.

  “I FEEL LIKE THIS IS the setup of a joke,” Daniel said, climbing into the metal rowboat and carefully making his way to the bow. “Three doctors get into a boat in the middle of winter . . .”

  “The joke will be if we catch anything,” Kyle muttered.

  “Hey. Optimism, please. Your old dad’s been around
this lake a time or two.”

  “Then why isn’t it called catching?” Daniel asked, grinning. Evan glared at him as he passed him the tackle box and green nylon net. They headed down the edge of the lake, the slow pull, pull, pull of his father’s strokes of the oars jerking Daniel’s head forward.

  “Heard a thing . . . ,” Evan said, and Daniel pivoted to face him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Heard you had a boom box held above your head in the cafeteria. Red rose between your teeth or something . . .”

  Daniel rolled his eyes so hard, it was physically painful. “Yeah, I came out here to forget about my personal problems, so . . .”

  “I don’t think of love as a problem. Don’t you want to be with Winnie?” Dad asked.

  Daniel hesitated. “Of course I do. It’s just never been this much work before.”

  “From what I hear, most relationships are,” Kyle replied, flipping open the tackle box to retrieve the foam cup of worms.

  “And I hate having the whole town in our business.”

  “Yeah, that was shrewd on Dr. Baker’s part,” Kyle said, baiting Daniel’s hook. “No offense, but you’ve always been a little . . .”

  “A little what?”

  “Not a lot, just a little bit . . .”

  “Say it, jerkface.”

  “Shallow. You’re shallow, mostly when it comes to women. But a little when it comes to your personal care routine as well. No man should own so many hair products.”

  “I am not shallow!” he shouted, standing up suddenly. The boat rocked wildly, and all three of them grabbed for the side. He didn’t want to get wet; he loved this shirt.

  Oh.

  Maybe that’s what his brother was talking about. But that was vanity, not shallowness.

  “Fine, you can bait your own hook next time,” Kyle said, and Daniel shuddered. He didn’t mind catching the fish or even cleaning them, but he hated the way the worms writhed when he tried to spear them.

  His dad adjusted his baseball hat. “How would you feel if we disapproved of Winnie?”

  “Why would you disapprove of Winnie? Winnie is amazing. Winnie is the best.”

  “Well, Mom’s never met her. Perhaps she’d disapprove of her nails.” The younger men snickered. Their mother was even more vain than Daniel. “Would it be fair of her to ask you to cut your mom out of your life?”

  “I’m not suggesting that her mom not be part of her life, I just . . . She’s an adult. I’m an adult. I just don’t think I need her approval.”

  “No, you don’t. But you should want it.”

  “If Winnie approves, that should be enough. Kyle, back me up.”

  “No. You’re wrong. Sorry.”

  Daniel sighed and set down his pole between his feet, resting his forearms on his knees. “Fine. Why should I want her approval?”

  “Because that parent loves her child more than you can possibly imagine. She’s raised her alone, worked at our dinky little hospital when she could be doing bigger and better things, in order for Winnie to be near her grandparents, for her to have a family.” Evan brought the oars back slowly, letting the boat coast for a moment as they dripped, casting ripples. “She is all her hopes and dreams, the last vestige of the one great romance of her life. And you should want the person who loves her best to think you’re the best person to love her when she’s gone.”

  Daniel let his head drop, feeling the stretch of his muscles down his back, feeling the reality of what his dad had just proclaimed on his shoulders like a weight. He wanted to be that person for her, the person she could depend on. But it was going to take more, more than he’d been willing to give to relationships up until now.

  “Damn,” said Kyle, breaking the silence. “That’s downright eloquent, Dad.”

  “You want to go swimming?”

  Kyle smirked. “No, sir.”

  “That’s what I thought.” He glanced at his youngest son. “That being said, some people are unreasonable. If she just won’t approve, you and Winnie will have to decide where to go from there. It’s your life. If you want to live it together, you should, but it may be a bigger sacrifice than she’s willing to make.”

  Daniel was quiet a moment longer. “So you’re saying I should respect Dr. Baker’s role in her life, even if I think she’s wrong.”

  “Exactly. Respect that you both love Winnie and want what’s best for her, even if you don’t see eye to eye.” He pulled out a paleo granola bar. “And then go mow her lawn for her.”

  “I think she employs a company to do that . . .”

  “You can always come do mine.”

  “Do you remember residency, like, at all?”

  “Son, do I ever.” His dad grinned. “I’d just met this cute beautician, and all I wanted was to feel her run her long fingernails through my hair . . .” Both brothers talked over him to drown out the story they’d heard too many times already. The conversation turned to medicine, which turned to his father and brother quizzing him. They returned to shore two hours later, short on snacks, long on cold. His dad’s phone rang as they were tying the boat back to the dock.

  “Your phone works here?” Daniel asked, pulling out his own: no signal.

  His dad ignored him. “Hi, sweetheart.” He paused. “Yes, I’ll ask them. You boys want to come for dinner?”

  “Me,” said Kyle, gathering life jackets.

  “Not me,” said Daniel. He wanted to talk to Winnie first; she should be off today.

  “Just the big one,” his dad said into the phone. “Yes, we had a great time.” He listened for a moment. “Oh, none, but that doesn’t matter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  HE’D HAD NO CELL RECEPTION at Olallie Lake, so Daniel checked his messages on the way down. Apparently, the town had been busy.

  “Daniel.” Winnie’s voice on his voicemail was tense. Also, who still left voicemails? She was so adorable. “Someone in the mini mart just asked if I’m Team Daniel or Team Sandra.” She sighed shakily, and he hoped like heck she wasn’t crying. Not over this. Small towns, this is what they did. It was an act of love, really. “This is officially getting out of hand. We need to do something. Call me back.”

  “The town is drawing battle lines,” Daniel informed them as his dad pulled off the highway into town.

  “Put me down for Team Daniel,” his dad said.

  “Me too,” Kyle grunted. “Baker clearly doesn’t know who she’s up against.”

  “I kinda figured, but good to have that confirmed.” Daniel smirked. Normally, the hubbub would all blow over in a few days, but this was an eight-week bet. There would be a town meeting on Friday: that was quite a while to wait. He’d need to employ desperate measures. “Can you drop me at Hattie’s?”

  “Ooh. He’s pulling out the big guns.”

  “Better bring something good,” Kyle muttered.

  “Shoot, you’re right. Drop me at home; I’ve got some baking to do.”

  NINETY MINUTES LATER, he was walking up the steps of the blue and white farmhouse with winter-blooming camellias flanking the stairway, the still-cooling brownies wrapped in a thick terry cloth towel balanced on his hip. They weren’t frosted, but they’d have to do. He’d also brought carrots for Sir Patrick Stewart and Dame Maggie Smith, her American quarter horses. The front door opened, then the screen door, and Hattie Meyer-Bagsby was grinning at him, hands on her hips where her brown corduroy pants met her paisley polyester blouse.

  “I wondered when you’d show up here.”

  He grinned back. “How are you, Hattie?”

  “Fine, just fine. Come on in and tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Daniel wiped his feet carefully on her welcome mat, which read “No soliciting, unless you’ve got cookies.” The town council was in charge of Timber Falls, officially. They conducted town meetings, made sure the sanitation people picked up the trash, and arbitrated disputes. But Hattie . . . Hattie ran Timber Falls in actuality. The high school was named for Colton
D. Meyer, her great-grandfather and one of the founding members of the town. Her family still owned the commercial timber company that employed half the population—Ainsley’s mom, Nancy, included. Her entryway was full of photographs, just above the natural bead board paneling: candid pictures of her late husband, Davis; childhood pictures of her kids, Francine and Forest, both in their forties now; faded black-and-white pictures of the town in the twenties, when the mill was first built.

  “Brought you something,” he said, passing her the pan, careful not to let the metal touch her skin. Daniel sat down at her kitchen table. She had an office, but she seldom conducted business there anymore.

  “Aren’t you thoughtful?” She smiled, even though they both knew it hadn’t been optional. Her favors were easily bought, but they did come at a price. “Want some tea?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She put her blue Le Creuset kettle on the back burner and lit it with a match. “You want to know what team I’m on, or you want me to shut it down?”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. “I don’t know. Originally, I just wanted you to shut it down . . . but now you’ve got me curious.”

  Hattie cut herself a brownie, sniffed it delicately, and took a small bite. “Ghirardelli mix?”

  He nodded, smiling.

  “You’ve got good taste. These are better than homemade.”

  “You’re the connoisseur.” She took a larger bite and sat down next to him, chewing.

  “I like hearing you use those ten-dollar words. I remember your mom sharing prayer requests, worried you weren’t going to pass third grade, then fourth, then fifth. I told her she had nothing to fear at the time, and you know, I find I like being right.” Hattie was in her late sixties, and her health had been good since a cancer scare three years ago. “You like this girl?” He wanted to correct her that Winnie was a woman, not a girl, but he knew she meant no harm by it.

  “I do. Very much.”

  “I’d like to have a new midwife around permanently. Frances Mitton isn’t going to be working forever.”

  “Well, I’m glad my love life serves your purposes, Mrs. Meyer-Bagsby.” He grinned when she raised an eyebrow at his sass, not regretting it at all. His grandparents were all dead; Hattie was the closest thing he had now. “Are you going to keep me guessing?”