“I don’t know what MacMurtry was up to, but the story’s true. Some guys say no way are they going to any weddings.”
SEALs believed in luck, mostly bad, and had a thousand sayings about the predictability of unpredictability and the necessity to guard against it. They trusted nothing to luck, and yet there was no denying that in the chaos of battle, sheer dumb luck was sometimes why one man survived and another man died.
It was only human to seek ways to assert control over a force so important and so whimsical. SEALs carefully noted coincidences, no matter how farfetched any causal relationship might seem. As a result, most SEALs had a pair of lucky socks or a little ritual they performed at the start of an operation. They habitually sought out some things and avoided others. No matter how irrational their quirkiness was, in the end, the sliver of confidence that the superstition gave them could make all the difference.
“Look at it this way,” Davy went on. “I was at Jax Graham’s wedding, and Do-Lord’s. Based on my experience,” he warned, “if you’re disinclined to marry, weddings might be something to be wary of.” His eyes still twinkled, but Garth could tell that even if Davy didn’t believe the superstitious nonsense, he didn’t completely discount it.
“Are all wedding guests susceptible,” Garth asked, thinking he knew someone else who had been a guest at SEAL nuptials, “or just SEALs?”
“The theory is, something about Jax’s wedding caused a mutation and now it attacks primarily SEALs. But come to think of it, it could be hitting women as hard as men. JJ went to two SEAL weddings, too. The first exposure didn’t take. But the second time? That did it. Her fate was SEALed.”
Garth grinned in acknowledgment of Davy’s pun while he pursued the implications. “Bronwyn has already been to one SEAL wedding.”
“True—which might double the odds against you.”
“Or it might double them in my favor. If there is a virus, I’ve already caught it. All I can do now is expose Bronwyn as many times as necessary.”
“Yep. You’ve got it bad all right.” Davy punched Garth on the arm. “Welcome to the club.”
Chapter 20
Around noon, the baby woke up from her nap in her new, gently used crib, and the adults stopped for a lunch. While the men went into town for takeout plates of barbecue, hush puppies, and coleslaw, Bronwyn popped Julia into her high chair. From JJ’s stash of baby clothes she selected a large bib for Julia and armed herself with a wet washcloth and a roll of paper towels.
“All right, Julia,” Bronwyn told the baby, wiping drool from the little chin. “We have orange stuff—pumpkin, green stuff—that would be peas, and something that claims to be chicken and dumplings. Do you believe anyone really made chicken and dumplings, then ground it up and poured it in a jar?”
Julia screwed up her face and rubbed her dandelion-fluff hair.
“No? Neither do I. Julia hated what I fed her for breakfast,” Bronwyn told JJ. “But I think she hated being held still more.”
“Didn’t go well, huh?”
“We both needed a bath afterward. What does that tell you?”
“Well, while you have another go at it, I think I’ll make iced tea.” JJ whipped some supersized tea bags from her tote and went to the sink to fill the kettle she had unearthed from a packing box earlier. “I brought tea because I knew you wouldn’t have the right kind. Where’s the sugar?”
Bronwyn twisted the cap from the jar of baby food. Julia opened her mouth in a four-toothed smile and happily slapped the high chair’s plastic tray. “You know what this is, don’t you?”
“Sugar,” JJ prompted, opening cabinets.
“You unpacked it.” Bronwyn dipped the spoon a quarter inch into the pumpkin. She’d learned this morning not to fill the spoon. Julia crowed and opened wide when she saw the spoon come toward her.
“The sugar’s not where I put it.” JJ opened a lower cabinet. “There it is, inside a pot. How did it get there?”
“Can I try feeding her?” JJ asked after she’d measured sugar into a pitcher and put the kettle on to boil. “I, um, might need the practice. David and I have decided to try to get pregnant.”
“I thought you wanted to wait awhile.”
“Who knows how long it will take? I know I want a child. I’ve decided I should get started.”
Neither she nor Bronwyn had ever been particularly focused on a desire for babies, which made Bronwyn ask, “Does the timing have something to do with your grandfather’s heart condition?”
“I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t really want a child, but yes, Lucas would be so happy to see a great-grandchild… he wants to know the family is continuing on.”
“Are you afraid if you wait, he might not live to see it? Last night, you said he was about the same. Have you noticed a change?”
“No. It’s just a feeling I have.”
Bronwyn dipped the spoon in the mushed-up peas and scraped it carefully on the rim of the jar before carrying it to Julia’s mouth—another bit of baby technique she’d picked up. “When a patient’s family tells me they ‘have a feeling,’” she acknowledged thoughtfully, “I always listen. I’m glad you’re not ignoring it.” She looked up to see JJ’s emerald eyes darken. “What?”
“What about your feelings?”
“JJ.” Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “Are we back on Troy again? I’m not ignor—”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about how you’ve tried to ignore who you are. You’re a healer. When I saw you in that green dress Mary Cole put you in for my wedding, I realized you hadn’t lost your talent. When you decided to come here, well, I thought you were going to let that part of you come out now.”
“You mean that twaddle I used to spout when we were in college?” Bronwyn had never told anyone but JJ how and why she believed she had to be a doctor at such a young age—or why her parents had been aghast. “JJ, I was a kid, full of transcendental idealism, seeing things that weren’t there.”
“I liked that about you.”
JJ’s wistful, almost shy admission deeply surprised Bronwyn. Practical, forceful, worldly JJ had admired qualities most people considered airy-fairy at best—at worst, deluded? Good Lord. The spoonful of chicken and dumpling she was transporting halted. “I got over it. I’m a doctor now.”
“You’re the same person you were.”
“Yes, but I see things differently now. I just have a heightened ability to see patterns and to form a gestalt, that’s all. I can make a total picture out of a thousand details which most people would think were unrelated. Since I do it without conscious thought, I’m not always able to put what I perceive into words—so I call it a feeling, an intuition. But it’s normal, JJ. Everybody has some degree of it. It’s no big deal.”
The teakettle whistled. JJ turned away to take it off the heat. She twisted the burner knob to off with an impatient click. “Okay. I’ll drop the subject for now. But just for the record, I think you’re completely normal—you always were. And I don’t think denying and minimizing your gift serves you well. Willfully ignoring the truth about yourself will come back to bite you.”
***
“Let’s go out on the screened porch to eat,” Bronwyn suggested when Garth and Davy returned with white takeout bags redolent of vinegar and smoky roast pork.
They spread out a quilt for Julia, piled toys around her, and then arranged themselves in a circle on the boards of the porch floor. It had once been painted gray, but now, the only paint to be seen was a strip extending a couple of feet from the house walls where sun and rain never reached. Bare wood showed through on most of the planks.
He ought to point out the need for paint, Garth thought. Under the guise of helpfulness, he’d been calling attention to the house’s deficiencies all morning. The more trouble Bronwyn saw with this house, the more attractive any alternative he offered would appear.
<
br /> But he didn’t.
For now, it felt like he and Bronwyn were a couple, united in making the best of things and succeeding. The shabbiness of the house demanded informality and contributed to lighthearted spontaneity. This simple ease was what he had longed for—only now did he realize how much. He wouldn’t suggest that anything about their little picnic was less than perfect. Anyway, the porch would still be here tomorrow.
Garth passed around the grease-dotted bag containing the long, super crunchy cylinders of baked-then-fried corn bread called corn sticks. Next, he pulled out a white plastic quart container. Far more casually than he felt, he said, “Try these, everybody.”
Bronwyn removed the container top and looked at the dark, gray-green leaves. The pungent smell knocked her head back, but then her eyes lit up. “Collards? Oh, yes!” She spooned some of the limp, gelatinous-looking mess onto her plate.
Garth’s diaphragm relaxed. Bringing collard greens had been a calculated risk, but it had paid off. Davy had been against Garth’s addition to the meal. On the inside, Garth’s heart warmed with pride. He not only had provided food for his love, but he had guessed right and given her a treat.
Coming back with the forgotten forks, JJ exclaimed, “Are those collards I smell? Yum! Pass them here.”
“The barbecue is good, but I chose this barbecue stand because they serve collards in addition to coleslaw.” Feeling like a good host indeed, Garth waxed expansive. “I couldn’t believe how good collards were the first time I tried them.”
JJ stopped piling the greens on her paper plate to look at him. “You’d never had collards before you came here?”
“I’d never heard of them. I’m from Colorado. But I’m a convert now.”
Davy snorted.
“I keep telling you, David, you’ve never tasted any that were cooked right.” JJ’s wifely tone amused Garth. “Collards prepared ‘healthy’ aren’t fit to eat. They need to be cooked with seasoning meat, and cooked until they are limp and lose their color. They might not be as nutritious this way, but I’ve always been of the opinion that food you won’t eat has no nutrition at all.”
Bronwyn forked up a bite.“Oh, you’re right, Garth! These are delicious! But,” she added kindly, “it is an acquired taste, Davy.”
“When did you acquire it?” Garth wanted to know. “You’re not from the South.”
“No, I’m from Pennsylvania, but I went to college here. University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. JJ and I were roommates. JJ taught me to eat collards and other Southern food.”
Garth stared at Bronwyn in surprise. “Roommates? You two don’t look—”
Bronwyn held up a staying hand. “Do. Not. Say. It.”
Impossible. Bronwyn must have started college when she was nine! “But you look too—”
Bronwyn waved a chiding finger. “I’m warning you. Anything you say will insult somebody. JJ and I are the same age.”
“Do you still get a lot of grief about looking so young?” JJ grinned, apparently unconcerned by the implication that she looked a lot older than Bronwyn. “In fact,” JJ told the men, “she’s three months older than I am, but I used to have to buy all the liquor while she hid in the car. Otherwise, there was just too much explaining to do.”
Bronwyn bit off the end of a golden corn stick and chewed contemplatively. “It’s not as bad as it used to be. No one has refused me entrance to a lab or a post-mortem in quite a while. But I still can’t order a drink without having my license handy.” She sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. “And even with my hospital badge, I have to keep my license on me to prove to patients I am who I say I am and not a kid pulling a practical joke.”
Despite Bronwyn’s humorous acceptance, Garth thought it must bug her that other doctors didn’t have to do anything—they got respect the instant they walked into a room—while she met with suspicion as soon as she introduced herself. No wonder she was upset by the questions that living in a haunted house would engender.
“And now I have to start all over again,” Bronwyn continued. “I’m just hoping at smaller hospitals, word will get around quicker.”
“So when do you start your locum tenens work?” JJ asked.
“What’s ‘locum tenens’?” Garth wanted to know.
“Essentially, it’s work for a medical staffing agency, rather than a hospital. You go where they send you. Obviously, they’re going to send you places that have a hard time getting or keeping doctors. They’ll be sending me to several local hospitals—a shift here, a shift there. The good news is that if you go where doctors are in short supply, the pay is much better.”
“I thought you said you were opening an office in this house.”
“I intend to. It will be a while before the practice is built up to a level that will support me, though. In the meantime, I have med-school debt to pay off.”
Garth saw just the chance he needed to drive a wedge between Bronwyn and her plans to live here permanently. “But if you’re going to have to rehab a house before you can open and, once you’re up and running, still have to work another job, wouldn’t a job in a city hospital make more sense than coming to the backside of nowhere? At least in a city, you can have a life. Here, you have to drive thirty miles to get to a supermarket. The barbecue is great, but Sessoms’ Corner doesn’t have a lot else going for it, unless you’re into hunting and fishing, and I’m betting you’re not.”
JJ glared at him. He probably hadn’t been subtle enough, but he was honestly appalled that Bronwyn had taken on so much hardship to achieve so little. “Do you remember meeting Mary Cole Sessoms at my wedding?” JJ asked.
He did. She had been the sixtyish wedding coordinator, feminine and stylish but possessing the soul of a general.
At Garth’s nod, JJ continued. “Well, in addition to being a good friend, she’s a brilliant businessperson. Neither Mary Cole nor I would have allowed Bronwyn to sign a contract against her best interests. In exchange for her moving to Sessoms’ Corner to open a practice, she gets a house, rent free, large enough to house a medical practice downstairs and living quarters upstairs.
“The house needs work, but it’s structurally sound. If she stays five years, she will be deeded the house, free and clear. It will have to be up-fitted to medical office specs, but the community has gotten a federal grant which will pay for the clinical setup.”
“So you’re going to turn back the clock, be a country doctor, and live above your office? And this seems like a good idea to you?” Garth couldn’t keep the harsh tone out of his voice. Her plan was much more complete—and more complex—than he had thought. It meant she met even less than fifty percent of the criteria for success as a naval officer’s wife.
Bronwyn’s straight posture didn’t give an inch, but she got a sad, dignified look in her clear, russet eyes that made her look her real age. “Until Mary Cole showed me how to put together this whole plan, I was close to quitting medicine. All I could see was more years on the medical treadmill.”
If she was willing to quit medicine, maybe that was the answer. For sure, it would be easier than trying to meld two careers. “What’s ‘the medical treadmill’?”
“With all the high-tech advances, a medical practice is expensive to set up and run. Doctors have to see more and more patients just to keep up with overhead, which means they have less time to spend with each. These days, a doctor spends an average of eight minutes with a patient.”
“Eight minutes?” Garth couldn’t believe it.
“I’m trained in battlefield medicine, where it isn’t hard to tell what’s causing the bleeding,” Davy chuckled grimly, “but I can tell you that’s not long enough to spot a problem with nonspecific symptoms.”
“Right.” Bronwyn shook her head. “But when doctors take longer, they lose money. You want to know the real irony? Part of the overhead they are running so hard to keep u
p with is malpractice insurance premiums, which can cost hundreds of thousands annually. But studies have shown that the best way to avoid being sued is to take time to build relationships with patients. How’s that for a catch-22?”
Bronwyn pushed impatiently at a strand of hair that had worked its way from her ponytail. “It’s a treadmill, and doctors can’t get off. Expensive, unnecessary tests are substituted for sitting down and listening to patients. And passing out scrips for the drug du jour takes the place of counseling people about their conditions and how changes in lifestyle will make them better.”
He recalled what JJ had said earlier about no practice thriving in Sessoms’ Corner for thirty years. Out of the corner of his eye, Garth saw Davy frown and shake his head at him. He felt like a slug to be stepping on her dream, but reality was harsh. Nobody knew that better than him.
“Do you really think you can make it work where no one else has?”
“It isn’t true that no one else has succeeded,” Bronwyn objected. “Doctors all over the country are looking at ways to shift the paradigm. As for me…” Her lips moved in a crooked smile. She blew out a breath. “I can try.”
JJ covered her friend’s hand and offered her a reassuring smile. “High overhead is what drives the assembly-line model, so the first step is to lower overhead. Seeing patients downstairs, living upstairs makes sense. In the era in which this house was built, it was the way many doctors lived.”
Bronwyn leveled a determined look at Garth. “Back in those days, practicing medicine wasn’t considered a way to get rich, and what I’m proposing won’t make me rich, either. But I’ll be doing the kind of medicine I believe in.”
Now he had the ammunition he needed. The reason men dropped out of SEAL training wasn’t that it was exhausting and painful. Their reason always boiled down to one thing: they didn’t think it was worth it. Bronwyn had already decided that what she called “the treadmill” wasn’t worth it. All he had to do was what he had seen trainers do a thousand times: keep her thinking about why running a practice out of this house wasn’t worth it, either.
SEALed Forever Page 15
