by T. I. Lowe
All three leaned over the railing, like that would actually get them close enough to see more clearly. Sophia knew they looked like a bunch of nosy rubberneckers, but she kept leaning until a loud boom ricocheted from the neighboring house. Three sets of feet cleared the deck as squealing burst from each of the women.
“What was that?” Sophia whisper-yelled, ducking down behind the deck railing and clutching her pounding chest.
“See!” Opal crouched beside her. “I told you something’s not right with him.”
“How do you even know it’s a him?” Sophia narrowed her eyes and glanced over to find Josie settling back into her chair, obviously the only sane one out of the bunch. She stood and followed suit.
“I already told you. It’s two guys and I saw them hauling in things last night. One of which was a long box.” Opal stretched her arms as wide as they would go while her eyes bugged out. “I’m pretty sure it may have been a coffin.”
Josie snorted again. “Get up from there, silly, and knock it off.”
Opal stood and dusted the sand off her brightly colored shorts. “I’m serious. That house has been sitting there vacant since Mrs. Clark vanished last year—” Her eyes rounded again. “Oooh! The neighbor did it!”
“With the candlestick in the dining room!” Josie interjected with a thick coating of sarcasm.
“I have the weirdest friends,” Sophia muttered, propping her cheek on the palm of her hand and slouching against the side of the chair.
Josie disregarded the jab and said to Opal, “You know Mrs. Clark went to live with her sister in Florida.”
“So they say . . .” Opal’s words trailed off as she jabbed a finger toward the house. “She could have been holed up in the basement all this time.”
“Your husband oversaw the renovations to the house just last month. To be sure, Linc would have noticed an old lady tied up somewhere.” Josie rolled her eyes and picked up a cookie from the plate. She gave it a cautious sniff. “You didn’t bake these, did you, Opal?”
“You know Linc doesn’t let me near the oven. Momma made them.” Opal drummed her fingertips against the table while eyeing next door. Suddenly she jolted in such a spastic manner that it caught Sophia’s waning attention. “The curtain moved again!”
Sophia blinked slowly at her friend before moving her sights over to next door. All she could see were shadows moving past the windows. They appeared to be drifting about in no particular direction. Much the same way she was doing as of late.
“I think we need to go over there and check things out.”
“We’re doing no such thing,” Josie ordered while swiping two more cookies and handing one to Sophia. “Seriously, Opal, that’s enough. You keep on and I’m calling Linc to come get ahold of you.”
Sophia sniffed the cookie out of habit since it came from Opal, finding only the delicious aromas of vanilla and chocolate chips. She took a bite and chewed absently, realizing her sluggish attention was missing something. From Opal’s outlandish behavior over the new neighbor and Josie’s snorting responses to it all, clearly she wasn’t catching on to whatever was happening. But she didn’t care enough to try figuring it out.
2
The smell of fresh paint mixed with a lemony scent the cleaning crew had left in their wake had been welcoming the prior evening. But after pulling an all-nighter and sorting through moving boxes until the sun showed up, Weston Sawyer was over it. Squinting his tired eyes at his watch and finding it past noon, the only scent he wanted assailing his senses was coffee. Stat.
“Looks like the neighborhood watch is already on to you,” Seth mumbled as he peered out the kitchen window of Wes’s new home.
Wes rummaged through the third box marked kitchen, hoping to unearth the coffeemaker. If his search came up empty once more, he was heading out the door to find some form of caffeine. “Why’s that?”
“There are three women sitting on the deck next door watching us. Been there for a while now.”
“Aha!” Wes held up the coffeemaker’s carafe as if it were a grand prize. At the moment, it certainly was, to him. He yanked the machine part out next and walked it over to the counter to put it to work. He glanced out the window as he filled the pot with water and spotted his audience. A blonde sat chowing down on cookies while another woman in a giant sun hat looked to be melting into her chair from slumping down so much. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the wild one with her hands flailing around. “The redhead is my new neighbor, Opal Cole. Her husband remodeled the house and the doctor’s office for me.” Wes surveyed the space and was quite impressed with the clean lines of the kitchen. The white marble countertops with subtle veining weren’t like anything he’d ever had in a home. Taking in the espresso wood floors and the crisp gray walls, he concluded nothing was, for that matter. Lincoln Cole nailed it.
“Oh.” Seth kept looking out the window. “She dropped those cookies off earlier, right?”
“Yes. She promised she didn’t bake them. Whatever that means.” Wes scooped the ground coffee into the filter and inhaled deeply of the robust scent. “They’ll go good with some coffee. I hope between the sugar and the caffeine, we can muster enough energy to set up a few rooms before I have to take you to the airport.” He glanced at his brother out of the corner of his eye. It was like looking in the mirror, but his brother’s image reflected an untarnished spirit that Wes’s never would. “Sure wish you could stay longer than just one day.”
Seth turned away from the window and grabbed up another box. “I drove that stinking moving van all the way here and helped you unload it for a better part of the night. I call my brotherly duties done.” Seth’s teasing smirk vanished as he stumbled and dropped the box, sending an explosive clanging ringing out.
“Man, if you messed up my pots . . .” Wes moved over to work the tape off the lid so he could inspect them.
Seth let out an obnoxious snort. “You’re so particular over everything, old man. They’re just pots and pans.”
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to take care of my belongings.” Wes’s words choked off as soon as he realized what he’d said. He’d failed at taking care of what belonged to him when it had mattered the most. Without inspecting the contents of the box, he straightened and walked back to the coffeemaker. His eyes fixed on the ribbon of rich-brown liquid filling the pot as he gripped the back of his neck with both hands.
“I hope you give this fresh start a real chance, Wes.” Seth moved behind him and clamped him on the shoulder. “You know it’s time. You deserve to be happy again.”
Finalizing the sale of the house that held too many broken dreams and walking away from the successful practice he’d helped to build from the ground up in Alabama was supposed to be the ending of a long, difficult chapter.
Signing the paperwork to purchase the beach house and small medical practice in Sunset Cove was supposed to be the beginning of a new, calmer chapter.
Thus far, Wes found himself trapped in the tragic-twist part of the story. He wasn’t sure he’d ever figure out how to give a new chapter any real hope.
Seth squeezed his shoulder. “You hear me, man?”
Wes dropped his hands away from his neck and worked on filling two mugs with coffee. “I already had happiness once.” He lifted one of the mugs and breathed in the scent before taking a sip, as the what-ifs began a worn-out mantra. “I’m not here looking for that. I just want some peace and quiet.”
Seth reached over and took the other mug. “It’s been well over three years—”
“Yet it feels like just yesterday.” Shaking his head, Wes moved over to the spacious breakfast nook surrounded by bay windows and plopped down in a chair that faced the ocean. The table set, with a custom-built bench seat along the back and chairs on the other three sides, was stark white and chunky. Clean-cut, yet comfortable. It was new, just like all of the furniture pieces. His old furniture, along with the rest of the material belongings from his last chapter, was left behind in sto
rage.
Too bad he couldn’t do the same thing with his memories.
•••
He read the nameplate on the office door for probably the hundredth time. Weston Sawyer, MD. It was his name, yet he was unconvinced it should be gracing the new door. He opened it and motioned for the older gentleman with white Einstein hair and a woolly mustache to enter.
“Are you sure you’re ready to step down from this?” Wes had spent a majority of the first three days at Carolina Pediatrics fielding questions on why Doc Nelson wasn’t there. Most folks wanted to know if it was possible for Wes to call him up for a second opinion. “Seems the town isn’t ready.”
Doc settled in the chair in front of Wes’s desk and folded his hands over his belly that was becoming slightly paunchy. “Kid, I’ve got one foot in the grave and the other on a slippery banana peel. I ain’t ready to slide on in just yet. Got some fishing to get in first, and staying here won’t give me the time to do it.”
Wes sat in his chair, being mindful not to slouch. Doc had called him kid from day one, but at age thirty-seven nothing about him felt youthful anymore. “But—”
“You know where to find me if you need me. From what I’ve heard from Agnes, you’re doing just fine. No complaints so far, so that’s a good sign.”
“Well, if you’re not here to kick me out, to what do I owe this honor?” Wes steepled his fingers and tried not to hold his breath, knowing something was up.
“Agnes and I have talked it over, and well . . . we’ve decided it’s time for her to retire, too.” Doc nodded again, encouraging the fluff of hair to flicker about in his enthusiasm.
Wes sat up straighter. “But you said she’d be here to help with the transition.” He shook his head in disbelief as he rubbed his jaw. “I don’t have time to see after patients and run the office. Especially with having to deal with your outdated paper filing system. Your wife promised to stay on.”
Doc reached over and patted Wes’s arm. “Calm down, kid. Agnes is already searching for a new office manager. And she’s not cutting out on you until she trains whoever takes the position.”
Wes let out a long exhale as he stood, even though he really didn’t feel any better about it. “Okay. Got any more surprises you care to drop on me before I open the doors for the day?” He removed his suit jacket and replaced it with his white lab coat. After wrapping the stethoscope around his neck and straightening his tie, he moved over to the door and waited for Doc’s reply.
“Nah.” Doc smoothed his mustache, looking thoughtful. “But I’ll get back to you as soon as I do.” He slowly stood, his knees popping out a tune. “Kid, don’t worry about the mule; just load the wagon.”
“I’ll do my best, but you know how I am.” Wes chuckled quietly and accepted the fatherly hug the old man offered before exiting the office. Doc liked to call him out on his obsessive need to keep to a precise plan. Life had proven to him in the cruelest way that most things were out of his control, so he did his best to keep a firm thumb on anything he could control. Looking around the freshly painted blue hallway and then to the man beside him, he was beginning to doubt he had any control in his current situation.
“Do better than your best.” Doc waved over his shoulder and headed toward his wife’s office down the hall.
The first time Wes met Dr. Wallace Nelson was at a conference eleven years earlier. The spunky old man was the keynote speaker. As soon as he took his place behind the podium and began speaking in his rich, Southern vernacular, everyone in the place seemed enamored of him. Fact of the matter, the man knew his stuff when it came to pediatric health. He had just enough mix of old-school with cutting-edge science that it got the job done when it came to a sick patient in need of healing. Wes knew he was blessed to call the brilliant man his mentor, even though Doc always liked to bestow the quirkiest colloquialisms on him. Recalling some of the wise nonsense Doc had shared with him through the years, Wes gave in to a private chuckle and moved to the front of the office to get the day going.
The gamut of earaches, sinus infections, and wellness visits were like a calm breeze compared to his grueling days at Regional Pediatric Hematology/Oncology. That was a medical field that required a significant portion of a doctor’s soul, and after his personal life crumbled, Wes didn’t have any soul left to pour into it. The plan was to walk away from his medical career and allow the darkness of his loss to do its worst. He stayed buried in that desolate place for the better part of three years, until a phone call early last year from Doc left him with no choice but to honor a promise made long ago.
Wes pushed back the lingering thoughts he wished would stay in Alabama and focused on the next chart, which indicated the patient was suffering from a rash. Just as he turned to head to the exam room, the front door burst open, producing a frenzied mess of a woman with a toddler clinging to her.
The new open-area layout allowed the visitors in the waiting room a clear view of the reception area, and it also made it easy for Wes to watch as the distraught woman rushed toward him without pausing to check in. Several comments followed behind her from the adults in the waiting room.
“Hey!”
“You have to wait your turn!”
“My daughter is next!”
As she jogged past him, wearing a giant straw hat and designer sunglasses, something in the back of his mind registered her as familiar, but he dismissed the notion and hurried to catch up with her. “Ma’am, you need to check in at the front and—”
“It’s an emergency!” the petite woman yelled over her shoulder as she let herself into a vacant exam room, holding the little boy for dear life.
Wes entered the sea turtle room, where several of the green creatures swam along the back wall in the hand-painted ocean mural. He walked over and ran his hand over the child’s brown curls, hoping to coax him to look up. “What’s wrong, little man?” The only response he received was a tiny sob as the child clung closer to his mother, burying his face in the crook of her neck.
“He has a severe stomachache. Poor thing was rolling around on the floor in pain,” the mother answered, her voice remaining pitched high in panic.
“Has he been seen in this office before?”
The mother nodded, setting the large brim of the hat to bouncing up and down. A tangle of dark hair was haphazardly tucked underneath. “His name is Collin Prescott.”
Wes stuck his head out the door and beckoned the nurse to retrieve the child’s file. After washing his hands, he walked back over to the exam table. “Could you please set him down so I can have a look?”
The frantic woman did as he said, but she didn’t move out of his way. “He’s been like this since this morning. I thought . . . I thought it would pass, but it’s only gotten worse. Perhaps I should have gone straight to the emergency room instead of here. . . .” She kept rambling while Wes tried dodging around her.
“Ma’am, if you could step aside.” Wes was using his most soothing voice, but it wasn’t having the desired effect. He had an inclination that the toddler was more upset over his mother’s reaction than the actual bellyache. If she’d move out of his way, he’d be able to prove his theory. Wes gently nudged her aside so he had some access to the boy. Refraining from huffing his frustration, he began the examination by practically reaching over the petite woman’s head and shoulder.
Once the nurse brought in the file and he’d concluded the exam with a round of questions, he was confident the diagnosis was constipation. Clearly the mother didn’t agree. Her face began tingeing a vibrant pink, at least what he could see of it. “Mrs. Prescott, the lighting is dim enough in here that you can safely remove the sunglasses.”
She sucked her teeth. “It’s Sophia. And I’d rather leave them on, thank you very much. But there’s more to this than what you think. My son needs more tests. What about an X-ray or MRI?”
Wes tried explaining it to her again. “He has no fever and—”
“But he’s been clutching his left side
!”
He held up a hand. “And that’s a very good sign, considering his appendix is on the right side.”
“Doc Nelson wouldn’t be treating us like this!” she screeched while tugging at the neckline of her black T-shirt as if it were choking her.
It’s exactly what Wes felt like doing to her at the moment.
Clenching his fists and shoving them into the pockets of his lab coat, Wes barely held on to his bedside manners. “Mrs. Prescott, I’ve treated you in a professional—”
“I demand an X-ray!” She stomped her foot, sending the toddler into another round of sobs.
If she cuts me off one more time . . . “You know what? You’re right. Let’s do an X-ray.” Shaking his head, Wes led them to the room in the back, knowing exactly what the film would prove.
Once he’d captured two images, he ushered the mother and child to the waiting area. “I’ll call you back in a bit with the results.”
He left her there and went to apologize to the rash patient who’d been in the coral reef exam room for the better part of the last hour. There goes my plan for staying on schedule . . .
As he finished up with three other patients, trying to settle down the agitated mothers who had been impatiently waiting, Wes studied the films of Collin’s abdomen and found exactly what he knew would be there. He left his office and turned on the X-ray light box at the back of the reception area. It needed to be relocated now that the waiting area had a clear view of it. Somehow they’d overlooked that in the remodel.
“Mrs. Prescott?” he called and waved her over.
She held the boy close and hurried toward him. “Please call me Sophia. What did you find?” Maybe she’d run out of steam while waiting, but she was no longer screeching. Wes was surprised her natural voice was quite husky for such a small woman.