Perfectly Reasonable

by O'Connor, Linda

  Cheryl laughed and waved her away. “Just bring it back.”

  Margo grinned and headed down to room five. She knocked on the door and went in.

  An older gentleman, dressed in slacks and a plaid shirt, a cane by his side, turned to look at her.

  “Hi. I’m Margo MacMillan.” She closed the door behind her. “I’m the medical student working with Dr. West. He asked me to come and do a brief history and physical exam, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Yes, of course. It’s quite the rigmarole for a new hip.”

  Margo sat down in front of him. “Well, this is the last of it. The nurse mentioned that everything else is done.” She checked the papers she held. “Your surgery is scheduled for next week?”

  “Yes. June twenty-second. Hopefully, early in the morning.”

  “Did Dr. West explain the procedure to you?”

  He nodded. “Fred was in here earlier and went over the whole deal. Gave me more information than I wanted to know.”

  “We like to be thorough.” Margo went through the medical questions she needed to ask and learned that he was a widower living on his own. His wife, Rose, had passed away six months ago, and Margo felt the love as he chatted about how she had taken care of him. “You miss her,” she said quietly.

  “Every day.”

  “That must be hard. Do you have other family?”

  “I have a daughter, Anita. She’s been great. She lives in town with her husband and two sons. We’re close.” He hesitated. “I have a question, but how much of this do you pass on or write down?”

  “Everything we talk about is confidential.”

  Ernie nodded. “Could I ask you something off the record, so-to-speak? Fred’s a great doctor. I’m glad to have him. But he’s also a golfing buddy of mine, and I couldn’t ask him …” He shifted restlessly and looked at her with worried eyes. “This is a routine procedure, right? Wham, bam, I’m home again.”

  “Yes, absolutely. It’s Dr. West’s specialty. He’s very good. You don’t need to worry.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I’m not really worried about the surgery per se. But, there is something else.”

  Margo sat quietly, as emotion thickened his voice.

  He swallowed and continued, “When we were young, Rose and I had a baby. Out of wedlock.” He gave a crooked smile. “Times were different then. We wanted to get married, but her family would have nothing to do with it. Rose went away, had the baby, and it was never mentioned again. She knew it was a girl, but they didn’t let her see it. Damn near broke her heart.” He swallowed again and looked off in the distance. “Damn near broke mine.

  “I didn’t go away as her family had hoped, and we were married the following year. Best decision I ever made.” He adjusted his cane and held it with two hands. “Every year on the baby’s birthday, we set aside money in a special account, figuring eventually we’d donate it to a children’s charity. We never tried to find the child, never spoke of her. To our families, it was like she never existed, but for us, the heartache never went away.

  “After Rose died, I was on the computer.” He tilted his head. “Quite the invention, that computer. There’s a registry where you can look up all the details of an adoption. Finding the baby became the single most important thing for me to do.” Fierce determination spread over his features and his eyes filled.

  Margo started to speak, but he stopped her. “No, it’s okay. There’s a happy ending. I found her. They named her Gwen. She’s married and has a son, and they live about an hour away.” He wiped his eyes. “I see Rose in her.”

  Margo handed him a tissue. “It’s really lovely that you were able to connect.”

  “It is. I’m very grateful. I would never have been able to do it ten years ago.” Ernie shook his head and sighed. “But I haven’t told my daughter, Anita. It’s been a secret for so long. I don’t want to betray my wife, and yet, I feel Anita should know.” He looked at Margo. “I’m also selfish – I want more time with Gwen. I don’t want to die just yet.”

  “Oh no, don’t worry about that, Mr. Pearce. This procedure is very common. With a little bit of physio, you’ll be up and about in no time.”

  Ernie closed his eyes briefly and his shoulders relaxed. “Thank you. When Fred went on about all the possible complications, that’s the only thing that stuck. The thought of death brings urgency to things I never considered urgent. I could put off the surgery or tell Anita now, but I’d rather wait until she can meet Gwen.”

  Margo patted Ernie’s hand. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. You’ll have time for that and a lot more besides. You’ll be dancing at your grandson’s wedding.”

  Ernie laughed. “That’s grand. What a relief. Thank you very much.”

  Margo listened to his heart and lungs and filled out the paperwork. One week later, she reassured him again before they wheeled him into the operating room. She told him she would see him after the surgery.

  He died of a massive heart attack on the table before the medical team could save him. Margo was numb. That wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  Ernie didn’t see Gwen again.

  He didn’t say good-bye.

  He didn’t tell Anita she had a sister.

  And Margo had to live with the fact that her reassurance was gravely inappropriate.

  Margo straightened and rolled the paint on the wall, letting the rhythm and color soothe her. She completed half of another section before Trace returned with two plates and a plastic container.

  He pulled open the lid and inhaled. “Mmmm. Apple muffins. Would you like one?”

  Margo shook her head. “Maybe in a few minutes. I’d like to get the first coat on.” And the nausea settled.

  He bit into one. “Delicious,” he murmured. “Okay, where were we? Why do I want to be a doctor? Let’s see, not for the money.” He broke off a piece of the muffin and popped it in his mouth. “I have my doubts about the whole ‘helping people’ thing. And not because my grandfather told me I should.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It’s a long haul and a way of life. You’d better be passionate about it and not be doing it to please someone else.”

  “Right.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Doctors have a lot of power. Look how a few words made a difference to my grandfather.”

  She winced. “You can’t become a doctor so you can wield power like a … big stick.”

  He smiled and waved his hand in the air. “I was thinking more like a magic wand.”

  She snorted. “It’s the wizard, not the wand. Doctors strive to minimize the power. The whole patient–centered interaction is about giving patients choices and putting informed decision-making in their hands.”

  “Okay. Okay. Jeez. You’d think I said I wanted to get my hands on drugs.”

  “Oh my God. Don’t even joke about that.”

  He chuckled. “Those admissions people don’t have a sense of humor?”

  “None,” she said emphatically.

  “Okay. How about I want to score with the nurses?”

  “I don’t think you’d need a medical degree for that,” she said wryly. She eyed the sculpted muscles of his broad chest and the bulge of his thighs through the track pants he wore. Between that and the shimmer of laughter in his gorgeous blue eyes, he was pretty much irresistible.

  He grinned. “Get a big line of credit?”

  “Can’t tell you how much fun debt is.” She set the roller down and picked up the brush.

  “I want to be able to say ‘Get me that bedpan STAT,’ and people will rush to do it.”

  She laughed. “They’ll be hitting you over the head with it.”

  “How about … it’s all I ever wanted. Ever since infancy, I’ve dreamed of becoming a doctor. In fact, my first word was ‘stethoscope.’”

  “And right on the heels of that was ‘big fat liar.’”

  He laughed and took a sip of coffee. “All kidding aside, the one thing that does interest me is medical res
earch. The number of studies with flawed statistical analysis is astounding. And appalling, actually. I think I could make a difference there.” He finished the last of the muffin and wiped his hands on his pants. “Plus, I find the human body fascinating.”

  Margo gave him a sharp look to see if he was joking. She flushed at the hunger in his eyes. He was going to have to tone that down, she thought with a shiver. “That’s good,” she said. “Those answers are perfectly reasonable. And you almost sounded sincere.”

  “Thank you.” He looked pleased. “I was. Although I find some bodies more fascinating than others …”

  “So close,” she murmured, shaking her head, “and yet, so far.”

  His eyes twinkled. “What’s next?”

  Chapter 6

  Margo moved over to the archway at the door of the condo. She carefully filled in the area around the light switch where the roller couldn’t reach and angled the brush to paint around the door. “What other skills do you have?”

  Silence.

  She glanced over at him. “What else are you good at?”

  “Weeeelll,” he said with a wide grin.

  Margo turned back to her painting. A ripple of awareness ran through her at the picture that created in her head. “Uh-uh,” she acknowledged, when she found her voice. “We’re looking for skills you can write on your resume.”

  “I know CPR. I’ve even used it once.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes. Resuscitating a dog.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him.

  “What? It was a tense situation,” he said.

  “I’m sure it was, but you’ll need a little more. What else have you got?”

  “Let me get my application.” He disappeared down the hall, and when he returned carrying his laptop, he had changed into jeans and a long-sleeved navy sweater. She tried not to stare at his very fine ass. The sweater hugged his broad shoulders and made his eyes look bluer. And what was it about a guy in bare feet that she found so sexy?

  He set his laptop on the counter and opened it. “Okay, let’s see. Small animal rescue,” he read and looked over hopefully.

  “That’s good. Be better if you were applying to be a veterinarian, but still, it shows compassion. What did you do?”

  He rubbed his chin. “I, ah, mostly scooped chipmunks and mice out of our pool.”

  “Eww.”

  “I know. They’re not very good swimmers.”

  Margo shook her head. “What else?”

  “I worked as a volunteer firefighter.”

  “That’s impressive.” She looked over. “For people, right?”

  “Technically, yes. Although we lived quite far from the fire station, so by the time I got there, the pumper truck had usually left.”

  “Did you join them?”

  He looked sheepish. “It wasn’t usually necessary. But I always helped with the post-call maintenance – cleaning the truck, putting away the hoses – that kind of thing.”

  “What else?”

  “I volunteered at the hospital.”

  “Excellent. Shows that you’ve tried to understand what medicine is all about. What did you do there?”

  “Mostly worked in the gift shop.” He shrugged. “They needed some muscle to organize their stock.”

  “Any patient interaction at all?”

  “Not unless they came in to buy something.”

  She grimaced.

  “Last year, I organized and led a group called the Venn Diagrams at school.”

  She was afraid to ask.

  “They were trying to remove the vending machine from the graduate student lounge, and we successfully petitioned against it. I’m happy to say our access to Coke and Crunchie bars went uninterrupted.”

  She groaned. “Trace, that’s terrible.”

  “What? Leadership skills,” he pointed out.

  “For a cause against good health. You’re aiming to be a health promoter.”

  “The grad students were very happy. Whatever happened to ‘everything in moderation is okay?’”

  “Sure, if there’s a balance. Did you fight for anything healthy? Fruit in the lobby? Children’s breakfast programs?”

  “Seriously? No.” He threw his hands in the air. “Coke in the lounge was our one and only cause.” He sighed impatiently and closed his laptop with a snap. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”

  She waved the paintbrush at him. “You have some serious volunteering to do in the next four weeks.”

  “Should I book a trip to a third world country?” he said with a wince.

  “Some people do.” She grabbed a rag and dabbed at the paint on her hand. “But there are plenty of places here in Rivermede that could use your help.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And why exactly am I doing this?”

  “Because you need to show that you’re a people person. That you can interact and work with others, for starters. And that you can show compassion and be empathetic.”

  “Doesn’t sound like me.”

  She smiled. “You can learn. You’ve got four weeks. Luckily you’re bright and …” She raised an eyebrow at him. “… motivated?”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Caring and compassionate. That’s what I aspire to be,” he said dryly. “So what do I do?”

  “Pick something you enjoy. If you’re going to volunteer, you should be enthusiastic about it.”

  “Like what? What did you do?”

  “A few things. I donated a couple of my paintings to a charity, and they auctioned them off to raise money.”

  “How much did they go for?”

  She gave him an impatient glance and debated whether to tell him. “Five thousand,” she said reluctantly.

  His eyes widened. “Dollars?”

  She fluttered her eyes at him modestly. “People are more generous when the money is going to a charity.”

  “Wow.” He looked at her with respect in his eyes. “I don’t paint, so that’s not an option.”

  “Maybe not. But you’re good at math.”

  He nodded. “I used to study in the math hall, but it got annoying because the first and second-year students always came to me for help.”

  “Tutoring.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “That should be on your resume.”

  “Really? It probably added up to over ten hours a week. I had to put the brakes on it, so I could get my work done.”

  “Yes, definitely. Teaching is a huge part of medicine. Plus everyone learns differently, and you probably had to tailor how you taught to the student. Communication Skills 101. That’s good. Time management is another important skill. So don’t focus on why you stopped, but think about how you made it work. Like having scheduled time to tutor and set time to study. Plus bonus, people skills.”

  “Hat trick,” he said with a grin.

  “You might want to work on the empathy part, though. I volunteer at Breaking Bread. It’s a soup kitchen that offers hot dinners three hundred and sixty-five days a year. They’re always looking for help,” she hinted.

  He grimaced. “Do they like KD and tube steaks?”

  She laughed. “We do a little better than Kraft Dinner and hot dogs. But don’t worry, you won’t have to cook. There’s a whole team working together and plenty of other jobs.”

  “Okay, sounds reasonable. If you think I could help, I’m in.”

  She hid a smile. Progress? Him offering to help without considering what he could get out of it. That was encouraging.

  “I wonder if I should start by eating there. Really get into the empathy thing,” he added.

  And maybe not.

  Chapter 7

  Two walls down and two to go. Plus, the wall of windows would be quick with only a strip across the top needing paint. She had made good time and could afford a break for lunch. Margo set her brush down and arched her back, stretching stiff muscles. “I’d love one of those muffins now.”

&nb
sp; Trace indicated for her to sit and pushed the container of muffins closer. “Help yourself.”

  She grabbed her lunch and sat down on the bar stool beside him. “I brought a salad if you’d like to share.” She reached for a muffin and peeled the paper wrapper off.

  “Thanks. Mrs. Crombie sent over some pumpkin soup the other day. Would you like some with your salad?”

  “Sounds delicious.”

  Trace went into the kitchen and as she ate the muffin, she watched him pour the soup into a pot and heat it up. He ladled the steaming soup into two bowls, and her mouth watered. Could have been the warm scent of pumpkin and nutmeg filling the air, but his easy grace and relaxed movements did it, too. He may not cook, but he was smokin’ hot in the kitchen. He set the bowls down on the island.

  She wrapped her hands around the warm bowl, leaned over it, closed her eyes, and sniffed deeply. “Mmmm … thank you.”

  Trace looked at her with hungry eyes, and she faltered a moment, startled at the thought that he might be reading her mind. “My pleasure,” he said. “Here’s a spoon.” He held it out and when she reached for it, he leaned closer. “It’s good for spooning …”

  She raised startled eyes to his.

  “… soup,” he whispered. He chuckled as he walked around the island to join her, and Margo tried not to squirm in her seat.

  Feigning nonchalance, she put a portion of her salad on a plate for Trace. Time to change the subject. “I invited Mrs. Crombie to help out at Breaking Bread, too. She’s such a great cook.”

  Trace nodded. “She’d enjoy that. She misses cooking for a crowd, although I’m always happy to take any leftovers.”

  “She kept me well fed for the two weeks I worked on her condo.” Margo pulled her salad closer and picked up her fork. “She said you gave her my name. I was curious about that because we’d never met.” She would have remembered.

  “From my dad. You come highly recommended. He won’t let anyone else paint for him.”

  Margo blinked. His dad was a client? “Your last name is Pearce?”

  “No, that’s my maternal grandfather. My last name is Bennett. My dad is Brett Bennett.”