Never Too Late

by Ana Balen

  I looked at my knees and a baby pink comforter that was over them came in focus.

  “Shit,” I whispered in a broken voice.

  “Sophie?” Michelle called my name, but I couldn’t answer her.

  I was never going to have any of it back. I was never going to listen to her telling about the good old days, or admitting of the trouble she and Mrs. McConnell were in since those two were always in some kind of trouble. I was never going to feel her yanking my head to her face and peppering my forehead with kisses. I was never going to listen to her while she lectured me on how I should live my life and not lose myself in work.

  I was never going to have her back.

  And then my eyes fell to that picture. The one from the hall.

  The one of my parents. And right next to it, on the top of the dresser stood one of her. In it, she was looking up, a big smile on her face, her hands under her chin. She was younger in it, around fifty years old. It was a few years before I came to live with her and she was carefree because all that was hers was living and breathing and it was her turn to have fun. After I came to live in Hopeful, she was still having fun, but there were shadows that she couldn’t hide in her eyes.

  Still, she was the most exquisite woman that I knew.

  And I would never have her back.

  “Fuck,” I gasped.

  “Sophie.” I could vaguely hear Michelle calling my name but I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

  I pulled my knees up and hugged my legs with my arms. My forehead hit the top of my knees and I broke down.

  I gave in to the grief and I cried for her.

  I cried for Evelyn Moore and all I lost when I lost her three days ago.

  2

  Sophie

  “So you can understand how this concerns me,” Mrs. McConnell gave a slight nod in my direction, clearly satisfied that I listened to her half an hour explanation of why she needed to see me, immediately.

  We were in my new office.

  It was three weeks after the funeral.

  Three weeks full of panicked phone calls from Michelle and Dr. Amos, Nathaniel (those I ignored, so I didn’t know if they were panicked or just him being his normal self and demanding I forgave him for his “slip-up”), and satisfied ones from Dr. Ashley, Director of Denver Health, in which she promised everything under the sun if I would just sign on the dotted line.

  After crying in my old bedroom while vaguely listening to Michelle calling my name over and over, I apologized and before she could say a word, I hung up.

  I wandered to the house, my grandmother’s words of how I should start living ringing in my ears. After two days of hearing them, I realized she was right. There was more to life than burying yourself in work and chasing that high that next big surgery gets you.

  Besides, I may have lost her, but she left me something. Something that no one, not even him, could ever take from me. The fact that he was no longer living in Hopeful was a big plus.

  And it was time for me to leave Seattle, lighten up my load, and claim it.

  It was time for me to come back home.

  That day, I called my attorney, who then put a word out I was looking for a hospital in the Denver area. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours later that I received a call from Dr. Ashley. I couldn’t just give up my profession completely, I would go crazy if I did.

  “As you can see, we’re one of the best hospitals in the US. Our cardiac department is one of the best in the world,” he said while strolling down the hallway like we were in a park, enjoying a nice day and a cup of coffee and not getting in the way of nurses.

  I looked at him, trying to get a feel for what kind of a man he was.

  Sure, he had all the right credentials and was one of the youngest chiefs of surgery that I knew of, but in the end, that didn’t mean anything if he wasn’t someone I could work with.

  He was tall, had wide shoulders, strong arms, and a flat stomach.

  He shaved his head. I couldn’t figure out if it was a fashion choice or if he started losing his hair and he shaved it off so as not to be ridiculed on his receding hairline. Unfortunately, that was something that happened often in our line of work.

  Men were valued by the number of nurses they seduced and their hair. It was strange, but nevertheless, true.

  And he wore black trousers that outlined his quadriceps nicely with every step he made.

  Still, all of that didn’t mean shit when it came to medicine.

  I was still undecided and was about to share that with him, when I focused more on what he was doing than what he looked like.

  Since we stepped on the floor, he didn’t once look at me. Instead, his blue eyes tracked all the monitors we strolled past and even though his hands were in his pockets and he was strolling down the hall, he never once made a nurse go around him. Instead, he shifted ever so slightly so they didn’t have to veer off their path to the room or wherever there were going to. He also made contact with each of them, but not in the I know what you look like naked kind of way or with the promise of it. But no, he gave each and every one of them a slight nod of his head, like he was checking everything was under control.

  It was that, that cemented it for me. One more meeting later and it was decided. I would work on some cases, not as a regular attending, and a few days later I got the privileges.

  I resigned in Seattle to Amos’s despair, but he granted me privileges whenever I needed them or decided a case was interesting enough for me to come back. Which basically meant I worked in two hospitals, but only one was paying me on a regular basis.

  I also jumped at the opportunity to work three days a week as a town’s doctor. My predecessor was retiring, and the council was looking for a replacement. Hopeful wasn’t a big city and the hours wouldn’t be that long, so they wouldn’t eat up all the free time I carved for myself.

  In the last three weeks, I lost everything and my life was turned upside down, but I was also strangely at peace with all of it. Sure, I still cried, and the pain of losing my grandmother didn’t dull in the slightest. It was still as sharp as a butcher’s knife, but I was learning to live with it. I cried in the evenings when there was nothing to do except be, but I made a promise to her and to me that I wouldn’t give in to the grief as I did that morning ever again. I would feel what I needed to feel, then take a deep breath and my next step.

  Which brought me to now.

  Staring into Mrs. McConnell’s smug face.

  God, I loved that woman.

  “Well…” I said, tilting my head and taking her hands into mine, pretending to get a closer look. They were cold, the skin frail, which was of some concern, but remembering her age, the bad circulation was not that much of a concern. It was just that she knew I dedicated my life’s work to the mechanisms of a heart and lungs, so she took advantage and knew all the right things to say that would get her my immediate attention. But after a half an hour of interrogation, she settled on something that almost made me laugh.

  She was done with waiting for me to come to her.

  I knew I should have come to see her, she even said she needed to talk to me, to tell me something, but I was so tired. I was tired of everything, and I was sure she would approve of my decision of staying away when she heard all my decisions.

  Yes, the last three weeks were a whirlwind, but still, the fact I didn’t go to see a woman who helped raise me, was poking in my mind. I knew I had to do it soon.

  I just wasn’t ready.

  And now, a month later, she lost her patience.

  “I wouldn’t say that a runny nose and the need to have a nap in the afternoon is something to worry about, Mrs. McConnell.” I swiped my thumbs over the wrinkly, soft skin of her hands. Seeing her this close, having her in front of me, talking to me, just reinforced the fact, I missed this woman as much as I did my grandmother. “I’ll give you a vitamin shot.” I stood from where I was leaning on my desk, rounded it, and picked up my phone to call the nurse in. “And you’ll
feel much better.”

  Mrs. McConnell gave me a slight satisfied smile, but then it slipped away. She looked behind her to the door and when she looked back forward, she started wringing her hands in her lap. “Sophie, my dear, you should know…” She didn’t get to finish what she was about to say.

  That was because the loud sound of the door crashing to the wall next to it boomed her to silence. The enraged man standing in them was what kept her that way and rooted me to the spot where I stood.

  “What the fuck are you still doing here?” he growled, barely moving his lips, his jaw was so tense.

  I was too shocked to answer him. Too shocked to even move.

  Because there he was.

  It was almost as if time stopped. Everything was in slow motion.

  Tall.

  Dirty blonde hair, cropped short at the sides, longer on top, sticking in all directions like he just got out of bed, except that one strand that kept falling in his eye.

  God, I loved it when it did. It gave me an excuse to touch his face, to touch him whenever it did, so that I could move it.

  Strong, almost square jaw, that I was surprised it didn’t shatter with how hard he was grinding his teeth. There was a new addition to him. A short beard. The kind that scratches just right. And yes, even at a glance, I absolutely knew that. Just as I knew that his brown eyes had a dark blue circle on the outer edges of his irises. The same eyes that were rimmed with thick, short eyelashes.

  He was even more handsome than I remembered.

  And I remembered everything about him.

  I also remembered the fact he moved gracefully, almost fluidly, no matter his height and muscled figure. A fact that was proved right when he stepped into my office and raised his arm my way. And the faded jeans that stretched over his thighs as he took his steps told me he was even more muscular now.

  I just hoped he didn’t become one of those overly muscled men, as more and more seemed to jump out from every corner.

  Yes, oh yes.

  I remembered.

  I watched as his mouth opened and I remembered his fuller bottom lip and how good it felt to nibble on it.

  How sweet they tasted.

  Or how harsh they could be spitting out the words that were meant to hurt or shatter me, just like he was doing now.

  “You should have left by now.” The voice I could still hear in my dreams, whispering sweet nothings in my ear was nowhere near now. “Why are you still here?”

  It was a question I thought I knew the answer to.

  But looking at Dylan, having all my memories of him, of us, rushing in, I was questioning it.

  Were they just lies I told myself just so I could sleep easier?

  Have I turned my life upside down because I was hurting and needed to feel safe?

  Feel that I had something of my own?

  Somewhere to belong?

  With shaking hands, I tried to hold myself up. I clutched the desk that was in front of me, my knuckles turning white, I didn’t want him to see how much he rattled me.

  I opened my mouth to say something.

  What?

  I had no idea, but it didn’t matter anyway, he got there before me. His whole body sagged, his brown eyes filled with sorrow, his face got that tender look he once wore whenever he looked at me. And in a voice that seemed like it was dragged from inside his chest, he almost rasped, “I gave you enough time, Sophie. I thought you would do what you’re so good at. But it doesn’t matter, it’s time for you to leave.”

  He didn’t give me a chance to answer him. The moment I opened my mouth, he lost all the softness of his appearance and he jabbed a finger my way, his face once again enraged and he muttered angrily, “You better get out of this town. I can’t stand the look of you.”

  He then, in a complete one-eighty, turned to Mrs. McConnell and said in a soft tone, “I’ll take you home when you’re ready. Just come on out, I’ll be in my truck.”

  And without even glancing my way, same as he did seventeen years ago, he turned around and walked out, leaving me behind.

  Shattered.

  I spent the rest of the day in a daze, thankful there weren’t any patients that came by and needed a doctor, only loads of paperwork to do.

  My predecessor wasn’t big on paperwork, or that was what Christine, my new nurse, told me.

  I was grateful for that. It gave me an excuse to keep my head down and bite my lips so the tears wouldn’t come and no one could see me do it.

  When it was time to go home, I practically ran out of the office, ignoring my new co-worker and maybe in another life, the one where I was strong enough to do what I thought would end up doing, and stayed in Hopeful to try to live my life. But, after the way Dylan treated me and demanded me to go away, it was no longer a possibility.

  I barely shut the door of my grandmother’s house behind me before the first whimper broke through.

  On the first sob, I threw my bag and coat on the hallway floor.

  With my phone in my shaking hand, I dialed the number just as the first burning tear scorched its way down my cheek.

  And when I heard her picking up my call, my voice broke on her name, before I collapsed on the floor in tears.

  And all the way through, Tessa cooed in my ear while I told the tale of Dylan in broken sentences.

  Something I hadn’t shared with anyone before.

  3

  Past

  “It’s not as horrible as you thought it was, is it?” A smug voice came from behind me.

  I was watching a girl touching the well, muttering her wish to its depths. I never believed in the town’s lore about that well making the wishes come true, but it was entertaining to watch all the people who did. People from all over Colorado, and sometimes from other states, came to Hopeful just to make their wish near that well. I gave one more look at the girl and turned around and smiled at my grandmother and Mrs. McConnell.

  They were standing side by side, two polar opposites. Where my grandmother had warm brown hair that came all the way down to her waist, just a touch of mascara on her eyelashes and a blush from the harsh winter on her cheeks, the touch of the cold as she called it. She was wearing her mint green sweater that fell off her shoulder as soon as she would move, a white tank top under it, and blue jeans that had a rip on its knee under her gray coat. On her head, she had a green knit cap.

  Mrs. McConnell had blonde hair cut into a bob, full makeup on, and she had a sweater dress on that fell just under her knees. And she had killer high-heeled boots on. I would never say it out loud, but I would hunt and kill for those boots. But the coat. I would consider giving my firstborn up, just to get my hands on the faux-fur that was gracing her shoulders.

  Damn, but Mrs. McConnell knew how to dress.

  At first glance, they weren’t the type of people who you would peg to be friends. But those two were thick as thieves. Always there for each other, no matter what.

  “I never said it was horrible,” I said through a smile.

  “Not by using words,” my grandmother stepped up next to me and took my elbow in her hands, she started walking, looking forward and pulled me slightly with her, steering me toward a walkway. “But everything about you screamed it, darling.”

  Before I had a chance to try and come up with a lie, she patted my arm. She always did that to get my undivided attention. “I understand why, Sophie. I even hated it for you. You were never supposed to end up living here.”

  I didn’t say anything because she was right. Hopeful was supposed to be a town where I would come for visits and enjoy my brief stay. Then, I would go back to Denver to live my life. Instead, that was taken away and a new reality was shoved down my throat the night my parents died.

  God, I remembered how much I detested it. I couldn’t stand Hopeful or its people, especially during a time like this, Christmastime. The whole town dived right into it and everything revolved around the decorating ceremony. People all over Colorado came here to be a part of it.
But over time, it became home. A beautiful one. One I loved more than anything now.

  I leaned my head on her shoulder and inhaled her scent, vanilla. Home. Love. “But you made it my home, and I love it now.” It took me a long time to admit that.

  “Is that why you still didn’t tell me about Boston?”

  I stumbled as my head shot up and I looked at her. She didn’t look back at me. She kept strolling and nodding her head to people, giving them a small smile. A proud one. The only sign that she asked something so shocking was her pulling me more into her side.

  “I…” I started but didn’t finish. I didn’t know how. How did she even know about it? Three months ago, I got my acceptance letter for med school. Not any med school. Harvard Medicine. And while I was originally over the moon, as the months went by, I realized I would need to move to Boston, which meant, move farther away from Hopeful, from my grandmother. It was one thing to live in Denver and go to college there. I could come home for a visit practically whenever I wanted to. But, moving to Boston, for at least four years, was more difficult.

  “Does this silence and the fact that you didn’t tell me about med school have anything to do with your decision to move home this last semester?” She continued to look forward, not looking at me.

  “I just wanted to come home for a while. I have enough credits to graduate early, but since I’m planning to go to med school, that wouldn’t be smart. I need to stay on top of everything and need to dedicate my time to research,” I whispered. “And I missed you, I wanted to be close to you. I don’t even know if I will go.”

  That stopped her in her tracks and she turned to me, a stern look in her eyes.

  Uh oh, whenever she’s got that look, I knew I was in trouble and there was nothing left to do, but do what she said. She was pretty laid back, but whenever she meant business, she would pull the look she was sporting right then and her word would be law.

  “Now, you listen to me, Sophie Moore, you are going to that school. Since you were a kid, you talked about becoming a doctor, and I may not know much, but I know you worked yourself ragged to get into it. So, fuck yes, you’re going.”