Flirting with Forever

by Jennifer Bernard

  That had more or less been her plan, but now that she’d seen one old friend, she couldn’t possibly miss seeing everyone else. Jessica, Kate Robinson, Zoe… “What about Maya? Is she still here?”

  “Girl, you are way out of the loop. Maya’s the police chief now.”

  Chrissie’s mouth dropped open. Wow, she really had missed a lot. But then a yawn took over, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “We…definitely…have to…catch up.”

  “Get out of here. Get some sleep. Sticky buns in the morning.”

  “You’re on.”

  She took Shuri’s leash and turned to go.

  “And Chrissie,” Toni called after her. “Welcome back to Lost Harbor.”

  Chrissie was surprised to find that her answering smile was completely genuine. “It’s good to be back.”

  Amazingly enough…it was.

  So far.

  Of course, the hardest part would be seeing Yatesville again. But there was no rush for that. It wasn’t going anywhere, unless it fell into the bay as Dr. Cheekbones had suggested.

  Five

  Ian had rented a furnished house in the neighborhood surrounding the Misty Bay Regional Hospital, close enough so he could walk to work—if he wore cleats and a balaclava to fend off the March wind. It was also walking distance to the heart of the little downtown. That way Bo wouldn’t have to borrow the Mercedes every time he wanted to go somewhere.

  But apparently Bo had no intention of burning fossil fuels in that manner. “I brought my skateboard,” he informed Ian. “It’s more ecological.”

  “Fine. Just wear a helmet.”

  At Bo’s appalled expression, he glared at the boy. “Do you want me to go into gory detail about what could happen to your brain if you crash? I have a thick file of the brain injuries in teenagers I’ve treated.”

  “You’re so morbid. I haven’t crashed my skateboard since I was seven.”

  “I don’t care. Helmets are required or I’ll put you on a plane back to Seattle.”

  Bo burst out laughing. “That’s exactly what Mom’s been saying every time she wants me to do something, except she’d say ‘I’ll put you on a plane to Alaska.’ Then finally she did it and it’s the best thing ever. Kind of a useless threat.”

  “Okay, well…” Bo always managed to argue circles around Ian. He wasn’t exactly sure how. “What’s something you don’t want to do? I’ll use that instead.”

  “You want me to tell you what to threaten me with? Sorry, Uncle Brain. I guess you’ll have to figure that out for yourself.”

  His smug expression as he slumped on the living room couch, unlaced boots propped on the coffee table, got under Ian’s skin.

  “All right, then. There’s one logical outcome. The first time I see you skateboarding without a helmet, I’ll take away the skateboard.”

  Bo’s look of instant outrage was all the proof he needed that he’d hit a bulls-eye. “Then how would I get anywhere? My skateboard reduces my carbon footprint.”

  “You can walk. Or you can wear a helmet. Or you can always just hope there’s room in my surgical schedule.”

  Bo made a “ha ha” kind of face, but seemed to accept the situation.

  “While I’m at it, I also draw the line at motorcycles and trampolines,” Ian told him.

  “What?”

  “High risk of brain injury.”

  “I’m nineteen years old. I’m not a kid. You can’t make me not jump on a trampoline. Just like you can’t make me eat chicken livers if I don’t want to, or those nasty neck things.”

  Ian paused. Was that true? He didn’t know anything about dealing with teenagers. But he should learn, shouldn’t he? If things went according to his plan, he’d be married before long, possibly to a woman who wanted children.

  For instance, Helene Blaise. According to the profile the matchmaker had sent him a few days ago, she wanted a family. Helene seemed perfect for him in every detail. She was a scientist—a botanist who worked for the Forest Service. She played in a string quartet and liked quiet evenings at home. She was so perfect for him that he hadn’t set up a date yet because he didn’t want to blow it.

  He lifted his eyebrows at Bo. “But you’re living rent-free in this house. Doesn’t that count for something?”

  Bo shrugged as he looked around the pleasant room with its view of snow-burdened spruce trees. “It’s pretty sweet here. Fine, I won’t jump on any trampolines. They make me seasick anyway.”

  “And motorcycles? Think of the carbon footprint.”

  “Motorcycles have great gas mileage, Uncle Ian. You should get one. The girls love ’em.” He winked one dark-rimmed eye. “I bet Chrissie wouldn’t mind seeing you ride up on a Harley.”

  “I’m not getting a motorcycle. I’m not trying to impress Chrissie.” Saying her name brought her to life in his mind—those sparkling blue eyes and the air of devil-may-care adventure that clung to her. No, that was putting it too kindly. Chaos surrounded her. That was it. Messiness and chaos.

  “Well, you did impress her. I could tell. It’s a good thing I got her number for you.”

  Perceiving that this conversation was headed in a direction he didn’t want, Ian backed out of the living room and went to the kitchen to make some dinner. “Dinner in half an hour,” he called to his nephew. He took out a package of pasta and a jar of Kalamata olives.

  “What are we having?”

  “If you mention Chrissie again? Chicken livers.”

  A hoot came from the living room, and Bo came bounding in. “More jokes, Uncle Ian! I’m a good influence on you.”

  “It’s supposed to be the other way around,” Ian grumbled.

  “Many have tried. Many have failed.” Bo popped an olive into his mouth and danced out of the kitchen. “But good luck with that.”

  At the Misty Bay Regional Hospital, Ian changed into the white coat he wore when seeing patients. Immediately he felt more at ease. This was his natural habitat, a place where order and reason reigned. When he asked a nurse to do something, that nurse did exactly what he said. So did the lab technicians, the orderlies, and even the other doctors. Everyone here respected his skills, his expertise, and his experience.

  They didn’t question him the way Bo did or tease him the way Chrissie had. It was so much more relaxing, even though the work itself could be tremendously stressful. It took a certain set of skills to become a neurosurgeon. Attention to detail ranked high on the list, as did flexibility. He’d had more elective surgeries bumped due to emergencies than he could count.

  But at this hospital he rarely performed surgeries. Most neurological patients went to Anchorage, where there were several well-equipped hospitals. Here he functioned more as a physician specializing in the nervous system and spinal issues.

  One of the patients who had just been referred to him was a fisherman called Old Crow. His real name, according to hospital records, was Dakota Swanson. He was seventy-two years old and in excellent physical shape aside from some worrying liver function readings.

  But for the past few months he’d been experiencing stabbing pain in his facial muscles. Ian knew that it took a lot to get someone like Old Crow into a hospital, so the chances were his problem had been going on even longer than he would admit.

  Bethany—Dr. Morrison—was already in the exam room, chatting with Old Crow as she listened to his heart. With her heart-shaped face and gentle bedside manner, he’d always liked her—purely professionally speaking, however. At one point it had seemed that she was interested in him, but then he and Gretel, her sister, had hit it off and…well, he had no idea what had happened after that. But somehow Bethany and a local firefighter, Nate Prudhoe, had fallen in love and recently gotten married.

  She looked so happy that she seemed to glow even while doing something as mundane as asking Old Crow how long his episodes of pain usually lasted.

  “Dr. Finnegan, welcome back to Lost Harbor.” She directed a lovely smile at him. No doubt, Nate was a lucky man. “H
ow was your drive?”

  “Interesting.”

  Since he usually only answered that question with a simple “fine,” that got her attention. “Really? How so? Icy roads? Moose?”

  “We picked up a hitchhiker. She was…interesting.”

  Bethany and Old Crow exchanged a glance. “Now that sounds like a story,” the fisherman said.

  “No doubt, but I’m more interested in this pain you’ve been experiencing. Can you show me where you feel it?”

  Old Crow waved at the lower part of his face. “I went to a dentist first. Thought I needed another tooth pulled. He yanked it, but the pain didn’t stop. I was at Gretel’s for my morning brew and she’s the one who told me to come see Dr. Morrison here.”

  The mention of Gretel made Ian smile. Even though he’d put his brief crush behind him, she still held a unique place in his heart. She was so lighthearted, so whimsical and kind—but also too young for him and too carefree.

  But something tugged at him—a similarity. Someone else reminded him of Gretel. Someone he’d met recently…

  Sweet Jesus. Chrissie. She was the one who reminded him of Gretel. Just a little. Just enough to explain why she kept resurfacing in his thoughts.

  He cleared his throat as he examined the intake notes. “I’m very glad Dr. Morrison called me in.”

  “Are you an expensive doctor? A specialist, that’s pricey, right?”

  Bethany chimed in. “We’re pretty good at working that sort of thing out, Old Crow. The most important thing is to figure out what’s going on. It’s no fun dealing with intermittent pain.”

  “It’s a damn inconvenience, specially out on the water. I nearly rammed my boat into the breakwater the other day. The pain came right in my jaw like an iron spike. Say, you like king crab?”

  “I love it,” Ian said absently as he gently palpated the area Old Crow had pointed out. He detected no swelling.

  “I’ll bring you some next time. If you can fix me, you got king crab for life.”

  “I guess doctoring in Alaska has its benefits.”

  Bethany smiled at that.

  Ian asked a few more questions about how long the episodes had been going on, how frequently they hit, how long they lasted. Under questioning, it appeared that they were becoming more frequent and lasting longer.

  Several possibilities popped into his head. Tempero-mandibular joint pathology, sinus pathology, tumor, trigeminal neuralgia. His money was on the neuralgia, but he couldn’t diagnose that clinically.

  “I’d like you to get a head MRI,” Ian told him finally. “We need to rule a few things out.”

  “A what now?”

  “It’s an extremely detailed image of your brain. We can do it right here at the hospital.”

  “My brain! You won’t see much in there besides fish stories and the ghosts of all the brain cells I’ve killed off at the Olde Salt. No, thank you.” He shook his head firmly.

  “It’s the best way to get to the bottom of this pain. The MRI doesn’t hurt at all. You just have to lie still. It takes about twenty minutes, then you can…” He cast around for what would appeal to Old Crow. “You’ll be back at the Olde Salt before you know it.”

  The old fisherman eyed him warily.

  “Good. Then it’s settled. Maybe I’ll even join you at the Olde Salt. I’ve never been inside it, though I dropped off my hitchhiker there.”

  “You’ve never been inside the Olde Salt? You’re missing out.” Bethany typed the order for the MRI into her hospital-issued iPad. “That’s where all the best rumors spread.”

  “I don’t pay attention to rumors.” Ian paused, rethinking that. “Although I’d be curious what you know about that abandoned lighthouse, Mr. Swanson.”

  Old Crow’s gaze swept sharply toward Ian, then he blinked, as if the sudden movement had made him dizzy. “What do you want to know? Hold up. Your hitchhiker. Was it Chrissie Yates?”

  “Indeed it was.” Ian smiled. Whatever else was going on with Old Crow, his memory seemed fine.

  “So she’s back,” the old man mused. “I knew she’d come back some day.”

  “Who’s Chrissie Yates?” Bethany looked wild with curiosity. “I’ve never heard that name.”

  “No reason why you would have. She left here when she was oh, seventeen or so. Ohlson Yates’ granddaughter. I don’t know how she lasted that long. He was one tough boot, that man. He was some kind of genius, or so they say. He invented cheese in a spray can.”

  Bethany choked on a laugh. “He has a lot to answer for in the cholesterol level department.”

  “Chrissie was smart too. She won a national prize in middle school. Something she wrote, an epic poem, as I recall. She performed it on the radio. We listened to it on my boat. It had us so wrapped up we missed a school of dolphin.”

  Oddly, it didn’t surprise Ian to learn that Chrissie was extremely smart. Too bad that quality was paired with so much messiness.

  Bethany’s pager beeped, making them all jump. Old Crow really was a good storyteller, he realized. He and Bethany had both been hanging on his every word.

  Bethany glanced at her pager. “Emergency,” she told Ian tensely. “A car slid off the road, possible head injuries. They want you too.” She turned to Old Crow. “I’m going to call you personally about that MRI.”

  Ian was already hurrying toward the door. “Good to meet you, Mr. Swanson. I’ll call you once I’ve examined your scan.”

  “Okay then. If you can’t get me, you know where to find me. Just come out to the Olde Salt.”

  It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. It was the last place he’d seen Chrissie, after all. He could ask how Prince Valiant was doing. Maybe she would flirt with him again. He thought about that possibility and realized that he’d like it if she did.

  Six

  A week later, Chrissie still hadn’t made it out to Yatesville.

  “Okay, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Sitting on a glider on her porch, Toni propped her Converse sneakers on the railing and rested a cup of hot cocoa on her chest. “I thought you were going to drive out there today.”

  “I just got Prince Valiant back,” Chrissie said defensively.

  “Yes, three days ago.”

  “I had to meet with the lawyer handling the estate.”

  “Drinks with Kate Robinson, in other words.”

  “We combined business with beverages. What’s your point?” Catching up with Kate, who used to spend summers in Lost Harbor, had turned into a late-night gossip fest. Last spring, Kate had gotten together with the fire chief and was now Lost Harbor’s newest legal eagle.

  Kate had told her that Ohlson had hired her to handle his will after his original lawyer had died.

  “Was he of sound mind?” Chrissie had asked.

  “I saw no red flags. He didn’t need any changes, except he wanted to set aside some funds to keep the property plowed for six months after his death.”

  Chrissie’s heart had twisted. That was a thoughtful touch. “Did he mention why he left it all to me? That’s the part that has me confused.”

  Kate had scanned her notes, her sleek black hair shining under the lights at the Nightly Catch’s cocktail bar. “I didn’t ask that. He didn’t say. Sorry.”

  Chrissie startled as Toni snapped her fingers to get her attention. “Hey, you. House guest.”

  “Yes. Sorry, I was thinking about Yatesville.”

  “Which you seem to be avoiding. I mean, I don’t mind. You’ve cleaned my entire cabin.”

  “It’s really more of a shack, you know. It took about ten minutes to clean. You should try it more often.”

  Toni raised an eyebrow at her. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call it a shack? You’re not a very polite guest.”

  “How about I make up for it by buying you an actual stove with functioning burners?” Chrissie wriggled her toes, which were in their accustomed spot under Shuri’s belly. That was her dog’s favorite place to flop down for a nap�
��right on top of her feet.

  Toni waved off that suggestion. “It would be wasted on me. You’ve done more cooking since you’ve been here than I have the past six years. You’ve also taken Shuri for eighty bajillion walks.”

  “It’s nice showing off my hometown.”

  “I get it. But Lost Harbor’s not that big. And she’s a dog. She’s not interested in picturesque scenes of hardworking harbor folk. Seriously, Chrissie, what gives? You’re procrastinating. Why?”

  Chrissie huffed out a breath. “I don’t know. I’m…it’s been such a long time. I’m not sure what shape it’s going to be in. I’m a little nervous.”

  “You used to be the ballsiest girl I knew. I mean, aside from me.”

  “I guess I’m not that girl anymore. I’m more of a ‘why face things you can keep avoiding’ kind of woman now.” She said it lightly, hoping Toni would accept her flippant answer.

  Toni narrowed her eyes at her and rocked the glider. “You can’t put it off forever.”

  Luckily, the sound of footsteps on the planks of the boardwalk interrupted them. Chrissie peered at the two women coming toward them. “Is that…oh my God. Jessica! Maya!” Jumping to her feet, she dumped poor Shuri onto the floor of the porch. Her two old friends waved at her with big grins.

  “The rumors are true!” Jessica called.

  Maya’s smile was a little more circumspect—which was easily explained by the fact that she was now the police chief and had serious responsibilities. Maya’s eyes, the rich color of fine brandy, shone with welcome as the two of them climbed the steps onto the porch. Jessica, always the most exuberant one, was lit up like a Christmas tree, all joy and delight.

  “Oh my God oh my God,” she kept saying. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wondered where you were and what you were doing!”

  “Oh, same old same old,” Chrissie joked as Jessica reached the top of the stairs. She stood up and Jessica flung her arms around her in a hard hug. Her auburn hair flowed over her shoulders from under a white knit pom-pom hat. Jessica had always been the most optimistic, joyful, crystal-consulting, astrological-chart-believing person Chrissie knew.