by Score, Lucy
“Call me Trish. I planned to start with pleasantries, but I’ve got a walk-in. If you’re up for observing, we can dive in from there.”
“Fine by me.”
Mack left her bag, keys, and phone in her office and followed her back into the waiting room.
“Hey there, Colleen. How’s our little guy today?” Trish asked.
“Fever again. And that means he’s back to not sleeping,” the mom answered.
“And that means you aren’t either, poor thing. Come on back, and we’ll see what we can do.”
Mack followed them into the exam room and closed the door. She arranged herself in the corner like a resident on rounds and tried to look non-threatening.
Trish made quick work of the physical exam while the boy seemed determined to burrow back into his mother’s flesh. The mother looked worn out to the point of giving up.
“Looks like Tommy’s got that rhinovirus that’s going around,” Trish announced.
“Nothing serious. Okay,” Colleen said, nodding. “Does it make me a horrible mother that I really wished for some kind of magic cold medicine to give him that would make him sleep through the night?”
Trish’s laugh was one hard-hitting “Ha!” She shook her head, curls shaking. “Honey, that makes you normal.”
Relief that you weren’t a bad person was sometimes as much of a balm as actual medicine. Mack knew that from experience.
“Now, here’s my prescription for you. We just started to get you back into good health. Tommy here has been a challenge since you first found out you were pregnant with him. No offense, kiddo. I was a challenge to my parents, too. You can’t parent or work or wife or whatever other verbs you’ve got going on when you’re completely depleted.
“So. Fluids. Easily digestible meals for the little guy here. If he’s not better in another two or three days, call the office. Dr. Mack here will give you a script for antibiotics if she thinks this thing has turned bacterial. Okay?”
Mack gave what she hoped was an encouraging smile.
“Okay.” Colleen paused, bouncing Tommy on her hip. “What if he doesn’t help me?”
“Your husband? If he refuses to help raise the child he had a fifty-percent hand in creating, then you leave Daddy and Tommy for two nights and get yourself a hotel room. Two nights. Not one.”
Mack blinked. The country doctor was prescribing her patient to leave her husband.
“Anyone can function on one night of bad sleep,” Trish continued. “But you need him to feel the pain of chronic depletion. Two nights of him not sleeping will give him a whole new perspective on the last three years for you. And if it doesn’t, tell his mama on him. She’ll scare him straight.”
Colleen nodded, her face blank. “Hotel. His mother. Got it.”
“Good. Now go on and get your lollipop at the front desk. It’s all gonna be fine.”
Mack watched them.
“Is that typical? To get that involved in a patient’s personal life?” she asked, feeling uneasy. “I’m not qualified to give marital advice.”
The doctor’s guffaw could probably be heard a block away. “Welcome to small-town family medicine, Mack. You’ll figure it out. I have faith in you.”
“I have zero experience with patient relationships. Mine begin with most of them unconscious and end with me handing them off before they regain consciousness.”
“Good! Then this will be a good learning experience for you,” Trish said, patting her on the shoulder. “I’d hate for you to be bored. Just remember, we focus a lot on preventative care. We’re still saving lives, just in slower motion.”
This was a definite shift in gears. Mack was used to slapping on metaphorical bandages and leaving the details up to the hospital. Now, she’d be in charge of the details.
“Let’s get to that tour,” Trish suggested.
The tour was short. Two offices. Two exam rooms. A room with X-ray and ultrasound tech. A sunny kitchen/break room with a new fridge and an old table. There was the supply closet that housed both medical paraphernalia and office supplies. Employees parked in the back. Mack’s office was Trish’s office.
“Want me to clear out any of this personal crap?” the doctor asked, making a sweeping gesture at the bookcase in the corner that sagged under the weight of photos of the Dunnigans’ wedding day, framed certificates, and an intriguing number of bobbleheads.
Mack shook her head. “No, it’s fine. You’re coming back. I don’t need to personalize anything.”
“Still. Feel free to slap up some pictures or at least order a new desk chair. This one can be temperamental if you’re not used to it.” To demonstrate, she flopped down and leaned back. The entire seat assembly bucked backward.
Mack reached out to catch her.
“Don’t worry,” Trish snickered. “Hasn’t thrown me yet. I’m a professional. But don’t let it sneak up on you. Catch you unawares.”
* * *
Lunch was Trish’s treat. She devoured half an order of spring rolls and the lunchtime cheesesteak special. “I can feel your nutritional judgment,” she said, washing a bite of cheesesteak down with a gulp of raspberry iced tea. “But I’m about to embark on a four-month world tour with my opinionated, vegetarian wife. I’ll be lucky to sneak a cheeseburger once a month.”
Mack smiled. There was something so normal about the doctor.
“Well, while you’re off sneaking fast food runs, are there any areas you need me to concentrate on in your practice?”
“I just want to know that my patients, my friends, my neighbors are in the best possible hands.”
Medically speaking, they would be. But if they were all looking for a life coach, they were up shit’s creek.
“I’ll do my best,” she promised.
“All anyone can ask. We’re a small, independent practice. Practically unheard of these days. But we make it work. Insurance billing is always a bitch. But we’ve got people on staff. If you run into any issues, put Freida on it. She’s terrifying. And Russell Robinson, your counterpart, is a truly excellent practitioner. A little hoity-toity for small town, but we love him for it. If you have any questions, go to him. He’ll be in the office this afternoon.”
“What are you doing with the other two months of your sabbatical?”
“Recovering. Want a spring roll?”
9
While Trish took care of a sprained wrist follow-up and a case of pink eye, Mack sat behind the front desk crammed in between Tuesday and Freida so they could take turns explaining the office database.
“So, here’s where you update the patient visit notes,” Tuesday said, pointing at the laptop screen with a fingernail the color of sparkling sand.
“Do not, repeat, do not write anything you don’t want the patient to read because these notes are uploaded directly to their patient portal,” Freida said, her sweeping hand gesture nearly catching Mack in the right boob.
“Tell her about Mrs. Moretta,” Tuesday insisted, bouncing in her seat.
Mack’s interest piqued. She happened to know a Moretta or two in this town.
Freida’s eye-roll was extravagant and entertaining. “Mrs. Moretta, bless her heart, is a bit…”
“She likes things her way,” Tuesday filled in generously. A nice cheerleader.
“She does not like to be told to lay off the box wine and ice cream.” Freida was less generous and perhaps more realistic.
They were definitely talking about Aldo’s mother, not the man’s wife, Mack decided.
“Anyway, Mrs. Moretta’s numbers were high. Cholesterol, sugar, weight. Dr. D. tried to gently encourage her to consider some healthier options,” Freida said.
Tuesday wrinkled her cute little nose. “And Mrs. Moretta was uncomfortable with the suggestion and tried to explain—”
“At the top of her lungs,” Freida added.
“In an enthusiastic manner—”
“The walls shook. Children cried.”
“So Mrs. Moretta go
es home, and we had just rolled out the new patient portal,” Tuesday continued, obviously enjoying Freida’s commentary.
“An hour later, we’re locking up, ready to head home for the day and the phone rings. Guess who it is?” Freida demanded, stabbing Mack in the shoulder with a very pointy finger.
“Mrs. Moretta?”
“Yep. And she just read Dr. D’s patient notes.”
Mack hid her smile. “And what did the patient notes say?”
“That the patient was belligerently determined to make poor nutritional choices.”
“Mrs. Moretta took offense to the wording.”
“She told Dr. D. to kiss her double-wide ass.”
The laugh sputtered out of Mack, and she was grateful that the waiting room was empty.
“So, Dr. D. had to call Mrs. D. and ask her to reschedule their dinner reservations so she could go apologize to Mrs. Moretta.”
“With a box of Chardonnay.”
“Only polite patient notes in the file. Got it,” Mack said. She was getting itchy to do something. The patient database was as straightforward as it could get. She was ready to jump in.
Tuesday scrolled through another patient file where a note caught Mack’s eye.
“Hang on, why do you have the work schedule of this patient’s next-door neighbor in the file?” Mack asked. They also had out-of-state adult children listed with occupations. There was another notation of the woman’s favorite cookie.
Freida and Tuesday shared a knowing look. “The better we know our patients, the higher the level of care we can provide,” Freida said with a sweeping gesture as if addressing a crowd.
“Perhaps it’s not the way everyone does medicine, or should I say business,” a man’s voice carrying an obvious opinion interrupted them.
Dr. Russell Robinson was a lean, well-dressed man with dark skin, close-cropped hair, and a beauty mark-like mole on his right cheek. He wore a jaunty bowtie under his white coat and a frown.
“Dr. O’Neil.” He offered his hand across the desk to Mack.
Apparently, it wasn’t a pleasure to meet her.
“Dr. Robinson.” She returned his firm handshake.
“Dr. Robinson is a semi-retired cardiac specialist,” Freida explained. “He usually works Thursdays, Fridays, and every other Saturday. But he agreed to help out extra this week and next while you get your feet wet.”
“My wife is a political consultant in DC,” he said, pride tinging his tone. “We divide our time between here and the city. I’m assuming you’ll make an actual effort here so my presence won’t be required full-time.”
It wasn’t a question.
“You don’t get into medicine to half-ass care,” Mack said firmly.
“No. But some get into medicine to play God,” he mused.
“Some. Others beat around the bush instead of getting to the point.” Mack had done what was necessary to survive her childhood, but as an adult, she didn’t tiptoe. If there was a problem, she walked right up to it and dealt with it.
Tuesday giggled nervously behind her.
“We don’t do assembly line care here, Dr. O’Neil. Patients come first. We’re about quality of life. So if you don’t think you’ll be able to care about our patients beyond writing a prescription or slapping on a bandage, I suggest you save us all some time and go back to emergency medicine.”
“I’m here to learn how family practice works,” she said coolly. “Dr. Dunnigan seems to feel that I’m capable of providing the required level of care. So if you have concerns over my abilities, I suggest you raise them with her.”
“I have. Now I’m raising them with you. Do your job well, and we won’t have any problems.”
The man was succinct.
“Fair enough,” she said.
He turned to Tuesday and Freida, his expression warming considerably. “Ladies. It’s nice to see you, as always.”
“Hi, Dr. Robinson,” Tuesday greeted him cheerfully.
“I’ll be in my office until my next appointment if you need anything,” he said. He shot Mack one last warning look before disappearing down the hall.
“Sorry about that. Dr. Robinson is a little protective of the practice and our patients,” Freida said. “I’m sure he’ll warm up to you in no time.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Mack said.
* * *
“Well, this is it,” Trish sighed, locking the back door behind her.
She looked fondly at the building and patted the window in a silent goodbye.
It wasn’t too late, Mack thought foolishly.
Maybe Trish would have second thoughts and decide to stay in Benevolence. Mack could pick up rotations in the county hospital’s emergency department or say screw it and repack her barely unpacked boxes and high-tail it for the next high-adrenaline job placement.
But then Trish was smiling and holding out the keys.
Mack hesitated for the briefest of seconds, then took the key ring.
“Safe travels,” she said to her soon-to-be absentee boss. “Your practice and your patients are in good hands.”
Mack was confident in the medicine part. She was an excellent doctor. She just wasn’t sure what kind of bedside manner she could muster. Or if it would meet the judgmental Dr. Robinson’s exacting standards.
“Don’t worry about Russ,” Trish said, as if reading her mind. “He’ll warm up when he realizes you’re not here to hit quotas and sell kidneys on the black market.”
“Don’t you worry about Dr. Robinson or me or anything. We’ve got it covered,” Mack promised.
“I know you do. And I think you’re really going to end up enjoying Benevolence, Mackenzie.”
Visions of the shirtless firefighter in her backyard flooded her mind. Mack felt her cheeks flush.
“I’m sure it will be a memorable six months.”
10
Mack headed toward home with her windows down and the radio up. She would start officially on Monday and had a fluttering of nerves over the prospect. It would be good. She would be good. Dr. Robinson’s snooty reception had actually made her feel more comfortable. In her experience, every job came with its peacocking naysayers. She’d proven herself on more dangerous battlefields against tougher critics.
She’d rise to the challenge and show Robinson what she was capable of.
Mack punched the sun visor back up when she made the turn onto a tree-lined street and started thinking about dinner. And her backyard neighbor.
She’d been surprised every time his blue eyes popped into her mind during the day. A distracted doctor was a malpractice suit waiting to happen. So she’d efficiently boxed him up and set him out of her mind.
Getting involved with Linc would be a stupid move. No matter how attractive he was. Or interesting. Or heroic. Okay, so maybe she’d joined the nurses in their internal swooning over Linc saving a man and his flowers.
But.
She’d had enough casual relationships carved into her metaphorical bedpost that it was one of the areas she’d vowed to change during the next six months. No flings with sexy hotshots. A six-month cooling-off period would do her good.
Help her decide what was next. What was the smart move?
A figure appeared from the mouth of the lakeside trail at a gallop. Thick dark hair. Sweaty, tattooed torso. Prosthetic leg.
Mack brought her SUV to a stop, leaned out of her window, and whistled.
The runner held up a hand and then pointed to the gold ring on his finger. “Thanks. Married.”
“All the good ones are,” she called back.
He stopped mid-stride and turned to face her.
“Son of a—"
She was out of the SUV and in the sweaty, beefy arms of Aldo Moretta in two seconds flat.
“Doctor Dreamy!” he said, spinning her around in the air before dragging her in for a spine-cracking bear hug.
Joy, fast and fierce, flowed between them.
She’d been there for him on the worst day of h
is life. Something neither of them ever forgot.
“You said you wouldn’t get here until next week,” he said, crushing her against his chest, her feet still dangling above the pavement.
“Dr. Dunnigan moved up her timeline, so here I am.” She didn’t bother letting him know she’d been in town for a few days. She hadn’t wanted to impose. Had wanted to settle into the rental and routine before she called up her old friend.
“Here you are,” Aldo repeated, beaming down at her.
He had the dark hair and olive complexion of his Italian heritage coupled with the build of a Clydesdale. Everything about him screamed energy, vitality, happiness.
His amputation had barely put a hitch in his stride. His wife, the lovely Latina Gloria, had quite a bit to do with that.
“How’s the hardware holding up?” she asked.
He set her neatly on her feet and danced a jig. “Pretty damn good. It keeps up with me.”
“That says something.” Mack shook her head, her face aching from the smile. “It’s so good to see you.”
He yanked her in for another hard hug. “Back at you. I’m really glad this substitution for Doc Dunnigan worked out.”
“Me, too.” And right now, she was sincerely happy.
A horn tooted behind them. “You got yourself a new lady, Moretta?” A skinny guy in a dirty ball cap was leaning the whole way out of the driver’s side window of a pickup truck that sounded like its spark plugs were rattling loose.
“Mind your business, Carl!” Aldo yelled back good-naturedly. “This isn’t a lady. This is the doc who saved my life.”
“Well, don’t that just beat all. Wait’ll I tell the wife!”
“Try not to impregnate her while you tell her,” Aldo said.
Carl grinned and flipped him the bird.
“Nice to meet you, doc!” He gave another jaunty toot of the horn and then puttered off toward downtown.
“Everyone sure is friendly here,” Mack observed wryly.