“He will, but you also broke the law. And, unfortunately, an older couple was in the ER awaiting treatment of the husband. They saw you with your pistol and reported it to the police and to this office. The police were willing to ignore your possession of the gun, given the outcome of the incident. I met with the people who made the complaint and finally convinced them to drop the matter, providing I counseled you and suspended you for two days.”
“That’s—”
“I discussed this with Dr. Crenshaw, your supervisor in the ER, and he’s arranged for someone else to cover your shifts. You’ll be off for two days, but they’ll be treated as additional vacation, so you’ll still be paid. I look forward to seeing you back here . . . ” He looked at the calendar on his desk. “I’ll see you on Thursday. Please check in with this office before you go on duty.”
Sarah wasn’t sure how to react, but as they both rose and Archer extended his hand to her, his parting words effectively silenced any further arguments she might have. “Oh, and although I didn’t mention this to the couple who complained, I suggest you continue with the application process for your carry permit. But don’t bring the pistol to work, even when it’s legal for you to have it with you.”
* * *
Sarah was in her car, almost home, when her cell phone rang. Had something come up in the ER that made them put out an “all hands on deck” call? Did Chuck Crenshaw want to talk with her about her suspension? Could he be calling to tell her not to bother coming back? Stop imagining things, Sarah, and answer the call.
“Dr. Gordon.”
“Sarah, this is Brad Selleck. I couldn’t remember what time your tour of duty started. Can you talk?”
“Sure.” Actually, I have lots of time. “Is something wrong with Prince?”
“Not at all. As I told you earlier today, he’s healing quite well.”
“When will you want to take out the stitches?” Sarah asked.
“You didn’t notice because of the dressing covering the wound, but I used subcuticular sutures to close the incision I made when I explored the wound. There’s nothing on the surface for him to scratch and no sutures to remove. I was calling to see if you’d like to bring him home tomorrow.”
“As it happens, I’m off tomorrow. Why don’t I come over sometime around mid-morning? We can visit a bit, and then I’ll take Prince home.” Home to where he came from—home to Hunter Gordon—because I don’t know if I can take care of him anymore.
When Sarah ended the call, she thought back to her first encounter with Brad Selleck. Certainly she’d felt gratitude for the work he’d done to treat Prince, but there was more to it than that. Brad caused her to have feelings, feelings she hadn’t experienced since Harry’s death. She struggled to put her finger on exactly what was causing those feelings . . . and what they represented.
When she was with him, Sarah felt comfortable. That was the simplest way to put it. Sure, there was some physical attraction as well. She couldn’t deny it. But the way she felt around Brad was the key. Could it be . . . ? No. She wasn’t ready to name this feeling, to call it by the “L” word. But she definitely was ready to explore it further.
Maybe her survivor guilt was lessening. Perhaps the dark night that had engulfed Sarah since her husband and daughter were killed was lifting. Or maybe this was the message she’d been seeking, one that said, “It’s okay to live again. Harry would want you to. And, by the way, do you see the person I’ve prepared to step into your life?”
* * *
Kyle Andrews leaned back in his chair and resisted the temptation to ease his belt out a notch. Dinner with Steve Farber had been relaxing, as well as delicious. Now, as he sat at the pastor’s dining room table with a cup of coffee and the crumbs from a piece of homemade pie in front of him, Kyle wondered if they were going to take up their conversation where they’d left it.
“Thinking about what we were talking about earlier?” Farber asked.
“You certainly know how to make a person examine his motives,” Kyle said. “Surely they don’t teach counseling like this in seminary.”
“They teach some, but not like this,” the pastor said. “I have to confess that I’ve learned more about counseling by observing and talking with my congregation than I did from books and lectures in the seminary. It’s strange. Once you look at it closely, the human condition never really changes much. For instance, your feelings toward Sarah Gordon aren’t much different than those described in the book of Second Samuel. Like King David, you saw a beautiful woman who appeared to be in love with someone else, so your own feelings toward her increased.”
“You’re talking about the story of David and Bathsheba,” Kyle said. “Well, I hope I don’t let my yearnings make me go as far as he did.”
Farber emptied his coffee cup before he spoke. Then he very deliberately put it down on the saucer, pushed away the dishes, and said, “I hope so, too.”
* * *
It was dark, although not late enough for Dr. Gordon to be home. Nevertheless, his route took him by the house and, as was his habit, he slowed so he could look at it. A light shone through the front window as usual. She undoubtedly had the lamp on a timer, something homeowners often did to give the appearance someone was home.
There was no car at the curb, nor was one visible in the driveway. When Dr. Gordon came home, she used the garage now. That, among other things, was a change he’d noticed since he began what he liked to think of as his campaign of terror.
He was about to speed up when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Had someone or something moved past the living room window? He thought he knew her schedule, and right now Sarah Gordon should be on duty in the hospital emergency room. Was she ill? Had there been some change?
At first, he thought about driving on by. Before, he’d always thought out his moves well in advance. He didn’t like the idea of doing something spontaneously. That was one of the things that could easily compromise an otherwise well-thought-out plan. On the other hand, perhaps fate was handing him an opportunity he should seize. His hand patted the Beretta in his waistband. Maybe this would be the day.
No harm in checking. He parked a block farther down the street, made certain the pistol was securely under his belt and his shirt tail covered it, then walked casually back toward Gordon’s house like a man out for an after-dinner stroll. When he was almost past her home, he quickly looked around, then darted down beside the house and flattened himself against it. He was near one of the windows in the living room, and he could hear her voice coming clearly from inside.
She was on the phone with someone named Connie.
“Yes, Connie. I’m going to be okay, but I appreciate your call. Are things going smoothly in the ER?”
She was silent as she listened, then she said, “Well, I’ll only be off tonight and tomorrow night. I’ll see you again on Thursday.”
She’ll be home again tomorrow night. That would give him time to fine-tune his plan. He crept away from the house before anyone could see him. “Enjoy tonight,” he muttered. “I wanted you to suffer like we all suffered. But now I think it’s time to end it. Tomorrow night, you die.”
24
Sarah stood before the open door of her closet and debated what to wear today. Don’t make a big thing of this. You’re just going to pick up Prince from the vet’s. But this trip would also mean seeing Dr. Brad Selleck, and she wanted to look nice. She still wasn’t certain why. This was a new sensation for her. Could she be turning the corner, thinking about moving on with her life? Was the widow ready to enter society again?
Sarah carefully counted the months since Harry’s death—almost nine. Everything she’d heard, everything she’d read, said she shouldn’t make any important decisions until at least a year had gone by since her loss. Sarah knew her emotions were still subject to rapid changes, triggered by things as simple as hearing a song she and Harry used to like or seeing a child that reminded her of Jenny. Her feelings were settling d
own with the passage of time, but they were still unpredictable enough that she knew she had to move cautiously.
But what if she decided not to move forward right now? What if she didn’t start dating again? Would that door close? Would it remain shut for who knew how long—perhaps forever? Could this be her one chance?
If she were going to start dating someone, there were three men—all of whom were members of her church—who’d expressed an interest in her one way or another. There was Kyle, whom she’d known the longest. Since Harry’s death, Kyle had shown himself to be someone she could depend on. In the midst of the stress that accompanied her tormentor’s actions, it was Kyle to whom she turned. She’d noticed lately that he seemed to want to be more than a friend, but that was the way she thought of Kyle—as a friend, but not as a potential husband.
What about Bill Larson? He’d definitely shown more than just a professional interest in her case, and in her. He was divorced, probably because of the alcoholism that seemed to be common knowledge in the community. As best Sarah could tell, Larson was winning the fight against his addiction, but she wasn’t sure whether he was trying to reestablish a connection with his former wife. She was no psychiatrist, but Sarah figured Larson’s attraction to her, if indeed there were one, was something like a rebound phenomenon.
That left Brad Selleck. She’d only met the man recently, yet there’d been an indefinable attraction, almost an electric tingle when she was around him. More than that, she felt comfortable in his presence. There was something about Brad, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, that made her want to see more of him. Well, it couldn’t hurt to explore the relationship. And, frankly, she was looking forward to seeing him again.
With one last look into her closet, Sarah pulled out a skirt and blouse and tossed them onto her bed. After all, it’s not the clothes, but the person wearing them that’s important. But then she put back that outfit and selected another. This is ridiculous. You’re acting like a teenager going on her first date.
Sarah was rescued from the throes of indecision by the ring of her cell phone. She retrieved it from the charging cable at her bedside and answered the call.
“Hey, how are things going?”
The caller didn’t identify himself, but Sarah had no problem recognizing the voice of Harry’s father, Hunter Gordon. She’d planned to phone him anyway, but he’d beaten her to it. “Hunter, I’m so glad you called,” she said.
“Is everything okay with you? And how’s that dog?”
“I’m doing well, and they tell me that Prince is recovering nicely. Matter of fact, I’m going to pick him up today and was planning to bring him to the farm so he could convalesce there.”
“I’ll be glad to see you, and I’ll take care of Prince if you want me to, but I hope you’ll take him back as soon as he no longer needs any post-op care.”
“I . . . You know dogs, Hunter. Tell me truthfully. Prince was shot while in my yard. He’d been guarding me. Do you think he’ll be hesitant to be back here, to be around me? I mean, is it likely that Prince will blame me for his getting shot?”
“You haven’t had a dog before, have you?” Hunter asked.
“Not really. But I’ve been around them some. We seem to get along.”
“None of us really knows what goes through a dog’s mind, but I don’t think there’s any chance Prince can connect the dots and associate you and your place with the fact that somebody shot him,” her father-in-law said. “My guess is that he’ll be glad to see you and happy to be back in what he probably already considers his new home.”
“So you don’t think he’ll associate getting shot with me and this location?”
“It’s more likely that Prince will be sorry he hasn’t been there to fulfill his function as a guard dog.” She heard the sound of Hunter’s deep breath before his next words. “Tell you what. Why don’t you go ahead and bring Prince home with you? What time do you have to go to work this afternoon?”
“I . . . I’ll be off for the next couple of days.” No need to tell him why. That was a bit embarrassing.
“I’ll come by late this afternoon, then. We can have dinner together, my treat, and discuss where we go from here with Prince.”
“Sounds okay,” Sarah said. “But instead of going out, let me cook for you.”
“I won’t argue. There’s nothing I’d like better than visiting with you over a home-cooked meal,” he said. “I’ll see you later today.”
After the call ended, Sarah sat on the edge of the bed and thought about what Hunter just said. Maybe she’d been beating herself up for nothing. Perhaps Prince would be happy to be back with her. Well, in a few hours she’d know.
Meanwhile, Sarah wanted to seek the counsel of someone who might shed some light on the problem with which she was currently wrestling.
* * *
Steve Farber looked around the crowded Starbucks coffee house and finally spotted Sarah Gordon at a table for two in the corner. He signaled that he’d seen her, then gave his order at the counter. In a few moments, he was seated across from her, blowing across his grande Caffé Americano to hasten the cooling process.
“Thank you for coming,” she said.
“Happy to do it.” He looked around. “Would you like to see if one of the tables outside would give us more privacy, or is this okay with you?”
Sarah shook her head. “I’d prefer not to sit outside.”
“Weather?” he asked. “It is a bit windy.”
“No, I just feel too much like a target,” she said, gazing into her coffee cup.
So, she was still worried about the stalker. Well, maybe that would soon end. “So, what’s on your mind?”
Sarah stared into her cup. “Harry’s been gone for almost nine months now. I’ve been warned against making any major decisions during this first year after his death.”
The pastor nodded. He was familiar with this bit of conventional wisdom. He’d received that same advice from numerous friends after his own wife died. Like most such advice, he’d found that it held true in some instances, not in others. Everyone had to decide the best timetable for them.
“What makes you ask?” the pastor said.
“Let me say up front that I haven’t been looking to replace Harry. Even if I marry again, the man won’t be a substitute for the person I lost. But recently I’ve met someone in whom I’m interested.”
The pastor sipped his Caffé Americano, both to enjoy the coffee and to buy time before he responded. He leaned closer to Sarah. “Is this someone you know fairly well? Or someone you’ve been thrown together with in some sort of situation?”
She surprised him with her answer. “Actually, I just met him less than a week ago.”
Farber’s raised eyebrows must have caught Sarah’s attention. She hurried on. “I know. It’s crazy. But I liked him the first time I met him. I felt at ease with him. And, strange as it sounds, I wondered if God was directing me to him.”
Is there an epidemic of this sort of thing? “Sarah, I’m sure you’re familiar with the ‘rebound’ phenomenon. It’s not confined to men and women who latch onto someone quickly after a relationship breaks up. It happens to people who are widowed, or those whose fiancé dies. Are you certain this isn’t what’s happening?”
“I guess it could be, but somehow I don’t think this is a rebound. And if it were, there are two men whom I know better than this man, men who have shown definite signs they’re interested in me. I think I’d be drawn to one of them.”
Interesting. I wonder if she’s talking about Kyle Andrews and Bill Larson. “So, your question is what?”
“I wonder if it would be okay to date him. I don’t mean to get serious. I’m not ready to remarry. But I really want someone to talk with, to sit down to an occasional meal with, to . . . to share with.” She looked up at the pastor and her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “I was hoping you could give me some advice. And I guess the real question in my mind is should I wait
longer? And if it’s too soon, how long should I wait?”
Farber put down the Starbucks cup he’d been holding and folded his hands on the table. “Let’s look at it this way. How long were you and Harry married?”
“Almost four years.”
“And were you happy?”
“Very much so. Oh, there were times when I wanted to shake him until he rattled, because he frustrated me. And I’m sure the reverse was true. But those instances were rare. Yes, I believe we were happy in our marriage.”
“Do you think Harry would want you to be happy again?”
Sarah was silent for a moment. “You’re the second person who’s asked me that. And, yes, I’m certain he would.”
“Then all the other questions become moot. If God’s presented you with a gift in the form of a man you like, someone with whom you can share, someone to talk with—take the gift. See where it goes. And never mind what the calendar says.”
* * *
All the way to the Ashton Veterinary Clinic, Sarah replayed her conversation with Steve Farber. If Harry would want her to be happy, then by all means she should take the opportunity for happiness when it was presented. Her own feelings, after Harry’s death, of course, were a mixture of grief for loss—both his and hers—and guilt that she was left behind. Sarah recognized that since that time she’d lived each day with an overtone affecting all her actions and feelings, one that said, “He’s gone. I’m here, but I shouldn’t enjoy it, because he can’t.”
She knew about survivor guilt. She’d counseled people about it. But she had tried to ignore her own. And what would Harry have to say about that? When she had tough decisions to make, difficult things to do, she’d thought about Harry’s voice, saying, “Go ahead, Sarah. You can do it. You’re strong.”
But this time, she heard a different message. Just as clearly as if he were speaking in her ear, Harry said, “Just because I’m gone is no reason for you to roll over and die. God has given you this day—enjoy it.”
I will, Harry. I will.
Medical Judgment Page 23
