by Tracy Ewens
Ella patted her hair and tightened her ponytail when Bri emerged and called her into the exam room. This was officially not a good Monday.
Chapter Five
By Friday, Ella had shoved the conversation with Bri to the back of her mind. That afternoon, one of the doctors from urgent care had to leave because his wife went into labor, and Ella agreed to fill in. She was on call anyway and didn’t have set plans for her day off.
Oh, shut up Bri.
The overhead clock flipped to one o’clock and Ella made another circle through the empty back exam area. She was dressed in business casual and a lab coat, which was a nice change. The urgent care was frequently short-staffed, but the birth of a child carried some weight even among doctors.
Why did it seem like everyone was jetting off somewhere, in love, or having babies but her? Maybe she should plan a trip someplace sunny and warm. Unexpectedly memories of the last time she was on a sunny, warm beach came to mind, and she decided she’d stick with the Petaluma River for now.
Urgent care was adjacent to the ER. There was rarely a true emergency, so they were pretty much the same thing. Except the vending machines in urgent care accepted credit cards and seemed to have an endless supply of Dots. Ella wasn’t certain if it was years of being told they would rot her teeth or that they were always well stocked, but she loved Dots.
A red one had settled into her left molar as Felix, the triage nurse from the front desk, notified her she had a patient. Ella wiggled her tongue to dislodge the candy and pondered what she could possibly be treating at one in the afternoon. Maybe a school kid scraped his knee getting off the bus, or a teacher had a sinus infection and her primary care doctor couldn’t fit her in?
Bri’s words creeped back in again. Maybe Ella did work too much, because she enjoyed guessing what was behind the exam room door almost as much as she liked piecing together diagnoses. Although, she was rarely right with the door game.
Adding another “not even close” to her record was Boyd McNaughton. He stood propped against the bed as he had been about a week ago when she’d stitched up his hand.
“You work here too?” he asked, flashing a hint of a smile and in a much better mood.
Ella ignored every cliché to keep herself from going all Grey’s Anatomy on the poor guy. Turned out after a few nights of sleep and some sexy talk with Vienna over a Cricket Loom, Boyd McNaughton was an attractive man. Dark wavy hair, huge shoulders that would put Bri’s misguided fantasy about the scuzzy, adulterer Dr. Baker to shame. His eyes were deep set and green. Were his eyes green last week?
Hello, paging Dr. Walters. We are not good at picking out men, remember? Check the guy’s hand and turn it over to the nurse.
She didn’t even work urgent care. Maybe this was a sign… oh no you don’t. This was not a sign or fate or any of that other stupid crap that leave women with puffy eyes and crumbs in their beds. Damn Vienna and her shower stories.
He needs his stitches out and you are a physician. You’ve been in people’s chests as they were wheeled into the operating room. Massive car pileups, crushed bones. Remember the guy who pulled a knife on you when you told him his brother had died in the ambulance? Remember that? You’re a badass, Ella. This man is not attractive, do you hear me?
She stepped closer and took his arm. He smelled like a spice cabinet. Son of a bitch.
“Not usually. I’m filling in. Dr. Brandis is about to be a father.”
“Yeah? Well, I guess doctors get to have babies too.” Their eyes locked and for a moment, it felt like they’d both realized how babies were made. Redirecting her attention back where it belonged, Ella checked for redness or infection. Nothing.
“Looks good,” she said.
“Great. Can we cut these off?”
She glanced over her shoulder, still holding his arm because the warmth and smell of him didn’t belong anywhere near a sterile exam room. She felt an unexpected pull toward something messier, less cold.
Being near him was suddenly like watching trees sway in the wind from a window or the sound of birds singing on a porch. He seemed to embody everything she wasn’t, and that unnerved her. Scanning for any nurse on duty to save her from her obvious hormone or sugar imbalance, Ella found no one. Not a soul. What was it with nurses and Boyd McNaughton?
“Yes. All healed up. Let me get—” She craned her neck one last time. She could feel the steady pulse at his wrist. Her eyes traveled up his massive forearm to the velvet dust of hair that disappeared into the rolled cuff of his sleeve. Honestly, she needed to stay tired because this was ridiculous.
“I’ll do it myself and get you out of here,” she said, happy to return to the mechanics of her job.
“Perfect.” He scooted forward and Ella washed her hands.
She’d snipped the first stitch when the door opened and a young boy said, “Dad?”
Ella glanced up to find a kid with the same dark waves barely above his eyes, bright white Adidas, and a backpack that was slipping fast off his shoulders. He was lanky, a fairly typical preteen or teen until the eyes. The eyes were a dead ringer for the man she was unstitching. This was Boyd’s son.
“I’m getting my stitches out here. Don’t you knock? Who raised you?”
“Some guy who smells like beer.”
“Watch it.”
Ella went back to removing the stitches. She was certain this child’s mother, Mrs. McNaughton, would appear any minute. Ella had been lusting after a father, someone’s husband.
Dear God, it’s like I am prewired for disaster.
“Sorry. You don’t smell like beer all the time. Uncle Trick said you were here and I”—he stopped at the sight of Ella’s work—“Holy balls that’s nasty.”
“Mouth,” Boyd said, glancing at his hand and then quickly back at the wall.
His son turned his back to them. “Okay, this is better. I can’t see anything this way. Man, this place smells like the new toilet bowl cleaner we started using.” His backpack dropped to the floor next to him.
Was this kid at home everywhere?
“I needed to talk to you right away. I was at school today.”
“That’s a good start,” Boyd said.
“She comes up to me during lunch. Like out of nowhere, and I’ve got my tray with the Friday burrito that kind of looks like a scab. Not the point.”
Ella peeked up again like he was some television show she couldn’t stop watching. He was facing the wall and somehow managing to have a complete conversation with himself, all the while assuming his father was listening. Ella went back to work.
“The food doesn’t matter. The thing is, she scared the balls… I mean she scared me and I dropped the tray right at her feet. It went splat and I froze like one of Grandpa’s rabbits. Then I bolted out of the cafeteria. I’m done-zo, right? I mean complete loser move. I ran.”
“Well, it’s hard to make dumping a burrito at a girl’s feet look cool. To be clear, we are talking about she she, right?”
“Is there any other she, Dad?”
Ella wanted to look up again but kept snipping.
“No. Maybe she… won’t remember tomorrow?”
“I rode my bike all the way here and that’s what you’ve got?”
Boyd hissed a little as Ella pulled the second-to-last stitch. “Mase, she freaked you out and you dropped your lunch. It’s not like it’s the end of the world.”
Mase, cute name, Ella thought right as he peeked over his shoulder, the need to see his dad apparently overriding his squeamishness. Boyd must have noticed the lost look on his son’s face because she could virtually see him backpedal to connect. “It probably would have been cooler to say something and blow it off, but you were nervous. She’ll get over it.”
“I blew it,” Boyd’s son huffed.
“Not true,” she said as if to herself, and both father and son grew quiet. Ella pulled out the last stitch.
“Did the doc say that?” the boy asked.
Ella nodded
, surprised they’d heard her.
“This is Dr. Walters. Dr. Walters, this is my son, Mason.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Nice to meet you. Are you done with my dad?”
“Nice to meet you too, Mason. You can call me Ella. I’m nearly finished.” She placed her scissors on the tray.
“You don’t think I blew it?” He moved closer to her, his expression as if she were a fortune-teller with all the answers he needed.
She was far from that, Ella thought. She shook her head.
“No, I don’t think you blew it.” Pulling off her gloves, she had no clue why she was so compelled to respond. She certainly wasn’t an expert on relationships, high school or otherwise.
“How so?” he asked.
“You were nervous. Girls like that.”
“They do?” Boyd and Mason said in sync.
“How do you know?” Mason asked.
She wondered how to answer that question coming from a young boy. She would have been insulted if a man had asked.
“Mase, she’s a woman,” his father helped.
“Oh, yeah. But she’s old.”
Boyd closed his eyes. “Sorry.”
Ella laughed. “That’s okay. He’s right. I mean, from his perspective.”
“How old are you?”
“Not another word.” Boyd held up the hand not being bandaged. “Back on the bike. Look both ways and I’ll see you at home.”
“No, no, wait. This is good.” Fidgeting now in a valiant effort to postpone his dad’s next words, he pulled over a chair. It got caught on the strap of his backpack and dragged that along. Ignoring it, he sat. “I’ll be good. I’ll sit right here.”
Boyd looked at Ella, eyes pleading.
“I don’t mind. Mason, I’m thirty-six.”
“Really?” They both said in concert again.
“Wow, do you two practice this at home?”
His son laughed. Ella had forgotten what child laughter sounded like. It was as if even more trees and birds and sun-soaked breeze blew through the antiseptic air. She found herself wondering if Dr. Brandis’s wife had had the baby yet. Were they sitting in awe of the change in their world? Did people recognize that the air changed as soon as a baby was born, or did it take years before an energy like Mason came into being? Ella had delivered a few babies in her career, most of them under less than optimal circumstances, but she’d never thought of them as little people. Standing in front of her now, eyes wide with questions, it was hard not to notice and enjoy a kid like Mason.
Boyd tried not to react to her first name or acknowledge that the name Ella Walters suited her. It rang regal and efficient. It wasn’t often that Boyd met a woman like Dr. Walters, and that was exactly why he needed to finish up this little visit to the urgent care and be on his way.
“Ella,” Mason said.
Boyd cleared his throat and his son glanced over.
“Sorry, Dr. Ella. I wasn’t meaning disrespect about your age. You don’t look as old as my dad. He’s only a year older than you and he’s, well, you look great, for an older person, girl. You know what I mean.”
Boyd noticed his son’s feet move beneath the chair as he witnessed a young man slowly backing out of an insult. It was entertaining.
“I do. Thank you for the compliment, and you’re forgiven. Can you hand me that tape over there? One more step and you can have your dad back. Sounds like you guys have some strategy to work out.”
Mason handed her the tape and plopped back down in the chair dramatically. Ella’s smile wasn’t strained or awkward like it was the first time they’d met. She’d either gotten some sleep or she was more comfortable around kids.
“Don’t shy away from the nerves. It’s a sign that we fluster you, and that’s flattering in and of itself.” She washed her hands and applied another pair of gloves.
Did her hands ever chap from all that scrubbing?
“See, guys have it all wrong with the casual and cool routine. Women like real and vulnerable. It’s attractive.”
“Even tray dropping?”
“Oh, especially tray dropping. That’s a complete breakdown of control.”
“Huh.” Mason nodded like he was listening to a seminar, and Boyd hid his smile.
“I guarantee she was on the bus thinking about you.”
“Serious?”
Ella nodded.
“You’re tall,” Mason said, his mind seeming to wander off, as it did, in a million directions.
“I am. Five nine.”
“My dad is tall.” Mason glanced at the doctor, who suddenly seemed uncomfortable. He had a way of putting things right on the table without regard for interpretation. Boyd loved that about this age. Before high school, kids were right on the edge of self-conscious, and it wouldn’t be long before he would change again. Lately Boyd tried to memorize every phase, but it was impossible.
“You’re pretty tall too. How old are you?” Ella finished taping his hand and changed the subject. It was well played.
“Thirteen. Just turned.”
“God help us all,” Boyd said as she snapped off her gloves again.
“Do you have any brothers?” Mason asked, and Boyd recognized his son’s move into twenty questions.
Ella shook her head. “A sister. Older. She lives back home in LA.”
“Huh, you’re from LA? How long have you lived here?”
“Almost two years.”
“Are you ready to go back to LA yet?”
Ella laughed. “Not yet. It’s nice here.”
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“Mase, I think that’s enough. I’ll bet Dr. Walters needs us to get out of here.”
“What? It’s not like we talk with doctors all the time, or females. We are like a den of dudes.” He laughed and shrugged his shoulders as if he was already comfortable with a stranger. “That’s what my Gran says when we’re all together and she’s the only girl.”
Boyd raised his eyebrows and questioned where all of this was coming from. Turning his hand, which no longer felt so itchy, he envied Mason’s ease, especially around the one woman Boyd had even bothered to notice in years. He doubted his son even realized he was talking with a girl right now, smiling and being himself without breaking a sweat. There was no way to show him that without getting an eye roll, but it was the truth.
“I mean, except Mom, but she’s… different,” Mason said.
Boyd could tell the good doctor was trying to figure out that last part. He couldn’t blame her.
“I’m an emergency room doctor. I worked at San Francisco General Hospital, and then I moved here,” Ella said quickly and efficiently as if she were reading from a cue card.
“Why?”
“I… wanted a break.”
“General Hospital like the soap opera?”
“How do you know about soap operas?” Boyd asked, standing from the bed now.
“Gran watches General Hospital. It’s awesome. Someone’s always crying or taking off their clothes. You wouldn’t believe what they show on TV.”
“Great. Are we done?” he asked, making a note to talk with his mom.
Ella nodded and the corners of her mouth quirked. Her mouth. Feelings Boyd had long forgotten rushed to the surface of his skin. Jesus, maybe his son’s adolescence was contagious. Thankfully, this was the last time he’d need to see Ella Walters.
“Okay, we’ve wasted enough of the doctor’s time. Let’s get home.”
“I’m an only child,” Mason said as they walked out.
“Oh, so lucky.” She walked with them, seeming more at ease and lighter again.
Boyd had watched people humor Mason throughout his childhood to varying degrees, but she was genuinely interested in talking with him.
“You think?” Mason said.
“I do. You’ll have to meet my sister sometime. Believe me, you’ll be grateful for the solitude.”
Mason laughed, and Boyd lost his focus one more time before moving his son
in front of him and closer to the front door. He’d seen Mason with his mom. Claire was good with him during the short periods of time she was around, but like Mason told the doctor, his Gran called them a den of dudes. Boyd’s father also had a saying: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” He and Mason were fine. Now that his one and only medical emergency had passed, things would be back to normal.
After quick goodbyes and practically tearing Mason out to his truck, Boyd changed the subject and offered to buy pizza for dinner. Single dudes could have all the takeout they wanted.
Chapter Six
Ella contemplated returning her sister’s call and the two text messages that followed, but she couldn’t muster up the strength. She knew that would sound awful to anyone who hadn’t met Becca, or Rebecca Walters-Blanchforth as she routinely introduced herself, complete with a noncommittal handshake. Ella and her sister were two years apart and back when she was Becca, they had a bit more in common but still nowhere near the sisterly bond represented in movies and television shows. Ella and Rebecca, an almost forty-year-old woman who at their last family event pondered over her second glass of wine, “Wouldn’t it be divine to own a little shop on Coronado to tinker with?” now had nothing in common.
There was no one to blame except their parents, of course, but Ella found blaming the dysfunction on her upbringing boring. There was nothing she could do about the lack of love and overabundance of spine-straight structure, so somewhere around twenty-five she chose to count herself as a survivor and move on with her own life. Time spent with her parents was limited and nonexistent during those lucky three hundred and however many days they were busy “living their second half.” Ella had hated the absence as a child, but as an adult, she coveted any distance from her mother and father.
Her parents, known to the world as Dr. and Mrs. Langston Walters, had a toxic relationship according to some online worksheet Ella found herself taking last December when her mother had called her a “callous deserter who was going nowhere fast,” after she’d purposely booked a double shift so she didn’t have to return home for Christmas. “Extremely Toxic,” the results had declared. As a rule, Ella avoided all things extremely anything since breaking free of San Francisco.
