I get caught up in work that I find extremely interesting but also want to find the time to participate in basketball and hockey. Finding a balance would be important.
I have given a great deal of thought about the future path of my career. I strongly believe that I am an excellent candidate for medical school and am excited at the opportunity to be dedicated to medicine for my entire life.
Margo looked up and caught Trace watching her. He raised his brows.
“Wow,” she said.
Trace broke into a huge grin. “Really?”
“Yes.” She nodded emphatically. “This is excellent. It’s focused on you. It relates your experience to the qualities of a physician. It’s thoughtful and well written. I really like it. Great job, Trace.”
“Thanks.” He swept her up in a hug. “Thanks.” He looked down at her, his eyes intent.
Margo held her breath and then stumbled back out of his embrace. “One … One more thing done,” she stuttered. “What’s left? I guess your references. Have you decided who to ask? You’ll need three, I think, right?” Margo, stop talking, she chided herself silently.
Trace folded the papers and put them back in his coat pocket. “I was thinking of asking my master’s supervisor. He’s recommended me to students to tutor so he could cover that. The head of the Department of Math said he would write a reference, and I’ve had a few courses with him so he can comment on my marks. I wasn’t sure about the third one.”
“Have you done any medical research? Worked on stats for anyone?”
“Yes. I did some number crunching for a prof in immunology. Calculated the minimum population size needed and then analyzed the data after. Just basic chi-square and regression analysis. She was going to include my name on the paper, but I don’t know if it was ever published,” he said with a shrug.
“Either way, it would be perfect. Could you ask her?”
“I think so. She was pretty grateful for the help.”
“Excellent. Make sure you give them lots of time. It’s done electronically, but …”
“Yeah. I think it’s just a matter of giving them a link and then following up to make sure it was done.”
“And some guidance from you as to why you’ve chosen them. Don’t forget to thank them after.”
“Yes, Mom,” Trace said with a laugh.
Margo rolled her eyes. “Sounds like you’ve got it all under control. I really hope it works out for you.”
“Yeah, me too. Thanks for all your help.”
“You’re welcome.” Margo looked around the room a little desperately. “Well, it looks like we’re done here. I promised Hattie I’d lock up and then drop the key off at her place on my way home. Do you need a ride?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m going to head out for a brew. It’s a business brew. A couple of buddies have an idea for a start-up and asked if I could look over the numbers for them.”
“Wouldn’t they need an accountant for that?” she asked.
“Depends how many beers they’ve had.”
Margo laughed, and Trace watched her with a smile.
They put on their coats and headed outside.
“Did you see the message about Friday?” Trace asked. “Jess is driving, and we can pick you up at three. That work for you?”
Margo’s stomach churned with second thoughts. “Are you sure I won’t be in the way? It sounded like a full house, and I wondered if you still wanted me to go?”
“Yes, I definitely do.” Trace stepped closer. She could feel his warm breath in the cold air. “I’d like you to come. It’ll be fun. And I’ll get a chance to thank you for helping me with the application.” He leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.
He tasted sweet, and her heart swirled in her chest.
“Three o’clock. Friday. Okay?”
She nodded and sighed. Friday. Fun.
Then heartache.
She’d pencil that in.
Chapter 17
Margo shook her head at the shiny gray jeep stopped beside her at the light. The shiny gray jeep with no doors. She’d seen it in the summer, but with temperatures a few degrees above freezing, she’d want doors. He didn’t seem to mind. With a tuque pulled down over his ears, a multicolored scarf blowing in the wind, rosy cheeks, and his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel to the hard rock bass blaring from his speakers, the driver looked pretty content. He glanced over and smiled, and Margo couldn’t help smiling back. You had to love those free-spirited drivers of no-door, shiny gray Jeeps.
He accelerated when the light turned green, and Margo pulled away more sedately. She was meeting Chloe at a residential address and was a bit early.
She pulled into the driveway of the massive two-story house and waved to Chloe who was arriving on foot. Chloe had her bleached-blond hair pulled back in her usual ponytail. She looked warm in a lime green jacket with a yellow scarf wrapped around her ears and neck. Chloe waved back and hurried over as Margo stepped out of her car.
Margo held out the tea she had picked up at the drive-thru. “Tea for you.”
“Oh, thank you. I love the walk to work, but the cold is starting to seep into my bones. This tea will hit the spot.” As they walked to the front door, Chloe cracked the tab and took a sip. “Mmmm … perfect. Thanks.” She pulled a key out of the oversized handbag she carried. “The owners have gone away for the week, so we can blitz the rest and get it done.” She slipped the key in the lock and pushed open the door. “Go ahead.”
Margo looked around at the walls of the front hallway as she slipped off her coat. “Good job here, Chloe. Much as I love color, you can’t go wrong with your basic Frost on Glass white.”
“I know. It always looks so fresh and clean,” Chloe said, slipping off her coat and hanging it on the banister. “I finished the bathrooms, living room, kitchen, and one bedroom. I prepped the walls for the master and the two other bedrooms, so it’s just the painting left.”
“Perfect. We should be able to get it done today and tomorrow. What color have they chosen?”
“White, white, and more white,” Chloe said.
Margo raised surprised brows. Sounded like the homeowners planned to sell. “Makes it easier.”
Chloe sipped her tea and nodded. “The bedrooms are all upstairs. I’ll show you.” She led the way up a curved staircase, down a hallway, and through a set of double doors to the master bedroom. The furniture, pushed to the center of the room, had been covered in plastic, and the curtains and rods had been taken down.
“Looks good. Let’s get started,” Margo said.
With the ease of a routine developed over working together for six months, Margo picked out a brush to do the edging. She pried the lid off the paint can, dipped a stir stick in, and swirled it around.
Chloe prepared a paint tray and slid a new sleeve on the roller brush. “You were quick at the Johnson place.”
“It wasn’t as big as this job. They added a family room and changed the study into a baby’s room. She’s expecting twins,” Margo said with a grin.
“No. Really? How does Neal feel about that?”
“Looks a bit shell-shocked,” Margo said. “But happy. They both seem really happy. I think they’ve lined up most of their relatives to help them in the first few weeks.”
“When’s she due?”
“Any day now. I was happy to finish up. I haven’t delivered a baby in a while, and I wasn’t keen to practice.”
“Do you miss it?” Chloe asked as she rolled the first coat on.
Margo shrugged. “Sometimes. Some parts. Some parts I don’t miss at all.”
“I’d miss it.”
Margo laughed. “How do you know?”
“How can you not? You’re a doctor. It’s not a regular Joe job. All that doctor knowledge floating in your head, going to waste. Doctor blood flowing through your veins. Don’t you feel like reaching out and helping someone every day?”
Margo looked over at her with surprise. “Abso
lutely. That’s why I’m here now. You need help. I’m helping.”
Chloe shook her head. “No, really. Like doing CPR at the library. Delivering a baby in a taxi. Removing someone’s appendix.”
Margo snorted. “Sounds very glamorous.”
“Yes. That’s it exactly. It’s so glamorous. How can you give that up?”
Margo focused on making the edge clean and straight. “It’s not all popcorn and cherry blossoms. Sometimes it’s heartbreaking and … hard.”
Chloe dipped the roller brush in the tray and rolled off the excess paint. “Sure it is. That’s why they call it M.D… . mucho difficulto. That’s why you get the big bucks.”
“What if it’s not worth the money? What if it’s too hard?”
“I suppose you need to suck it up, buttercup, as my mother would say. Life is hard. Doesn’t mean you give up. Look at me. I want a baby, and I thought I was all set. Life with Roger was breezing along. Life was good, and then, bam. He up and tells me that he doesn’t ever want kids. Not, I might not. Not, I’m a little scared of the little rugrats. Nope. It was a big emphatic NO. It was a deal breaker. Good-bye Roger. Was that difficult? Yes. Did I give up? No. I’m going to have a baby.”
Margo looked over. “Really?”
“Absolutely. They may have to squirt the little swimmers in with a turkey baster, but it’s going to happen. You can’t always stick with white paint, you know? Sure it’s safe and reliable. But sometimes you need to throw a little color in the mix.”
Margo dipped her brush in the white paint. Good advice, but she liked safe and reliable. Painting was easy. If you messed up, chose the wrong color, painted outside the lines, you painted over it. No fuss. No guilt.
Medicine was different. It never seemed to be white. It was a stormy gray, oil on acrylic, can’t reach behind the toilet, splotch on a new hardwood floor, kind of job.
Her shoulders sagged. But Chloe may be right. She needed color. She just wasn’t sure how much.
Chapter 18
A black Suburban. Margo should’ve guessed. Jess ‘flawless skin, not an ounce of spare fat, smoky eyes,’ Preston drove a honking big black Suburban. Cause that’s what you needed to get to your mega mansion ski chalet every weekend. She probably had a matching ski ensemble and was comfortable in a thong. Who was comfortable in a thong? People like her, that’s who.
Margo sat in the back of the Suburban, sharing the seat with snowboarding boots, helmets, suitcases, and her sleeping bag. That was embarrassing. Did ya bring a tent, too? Trace had teased her.
What? She did laundry. She knew it was a hassle washing all the sheets after the guests left. She thought a sleeping bag was a good idea.
Well, apparently not. Jess looked down her nose. A silk duvet and 800 thread count sheets weren’t good enough? By all means, bring your sleeping bag. Lots of room in the Suburban. They threw the sleeping bag in, and she crawled in beside it for the ride.
Only three hours. Seemed really short when she thought about it on Wednesday. But half an hour into it, and she’d already had enough of the ‘isn’t the air up here in our social stratosphere so much cleaner’ banter between the Hustler and Dick Trace in the front.
Daniel was driving the other two in their party of six. He had a sporty Jeep. With doors. How come she wasn’t in the sporty Jeep with doors? How did she end up riding in the suburbs with the luggage?
Margo sighed and checked her watch again. Thirty-two minutes down. Only one hundred and forty-eight minutes to go.
Trace twisted in his seat with an expectant look.
She would not blush. She was not the town idiot. Smart people daydreamed. “Sorry?” she asked.
“I said that Jess is applying to medicine this year, too.”
“Oh, wow. Good luck, Jess.” Really? Hoping to steer people to the correct facial cream?
“Thanks. I’m interested in neurosurgery,” Jess said, looking at her in the rearview mirror.
Of course.
“I was telling her how much you helped me with my application, that you could make a business of it,” Trace said with an encouraging smile.
Margo smiled weakly. One hundred and forty-two minutes.
“Oh, actually the dean of medicine is a really good friend of Daddy’s. He said he would give me a few pointers,” Jess said.
Of course. Because that’s the norm for thong-wearing beauties who drive black Suburbans.
Margo looked out the window and watched the snowflakes fall as they chewed up the miles.
At least she and Chloe had finished the painting. She would have felt worse if she’d left Chloe to clean up, for this. But they had been done and out the door by lunch, and she’d had plenty of time to pack. Lots of time to dig out her sleeping bag. Thank goodness for that.
Jess and Trace laughed in the front seat, and she frowned.
Why was she here? She rubbed her stomach as the burning pain flared. Why did he invite her? He’s obviously pretty tight with Miss Hand Cream for All. They laughed again. All she got was the ‘make me sound good on paper’ conversation and the ‘why aren’t you in medicine?’ stink eye. How come Suburbababy got all the flirty eyes and sexy chuckles?
She sighed. One hundred and thirty-eight minutes.
“Not enough air back there for ya?” Trace asked as he twisted to look at her.
“What?” Margo asked.
“All that heavy sighing. Sounds like you’re having an asthma attack.” He laughed. “Good thing there’s a doctor here.”
Margo stifled a sigh. And forced a smile. Should have packed inhalers with the sleeping bag.
They made it to the chalet. Glorious three-story, six-bedroom Tudor on the side of the mountain. Lit up like a Christmas tree, all neatly shoveled, and hot chili waiting on the oven. The smell of warm garlic bread filled the air.
Suburban people weren’t all bad.
They unpacked the cars and threw their suitcases and duffel bags in the bedrooms. Margo snagged a room next to Daniel, one floor above and a long hallway away from the rooms Trace and Suburbababy chose. If they were going to be doing the horizontal rumba, she didn’t need to hear the bed-squeaking beat.
They scooped bowls of chili, added salad and warm garlic bread, and spread out on the main floor. Margo joined Daniel and Hannah at the giant antique wooden dining table. Trace and Matt sprawled on the leather sofa in front of the crackling fire. Suburbababy was still freshening up. A games table, and two recliners flanking a sturdy reading lamp, filled out the rest of the main floor.
There was easy chatter, with the occasional crack of the wood splitting in the fire, as they filled their stomachs and relaxed.
Margo learned Hannah was Jess’s roommate at school. Poor girl. She had invited Daniel. Mmmm.
“Anyone up for night boarding?” Trace asked.
Jess came down the stairs, elegant and glowing in a pink cashmere sweater and figure-hugging yoga pants. Not a hair out of place. No underwear lines. “I can’t, unfortunately. Last weekend I twisted my binding on a half pipe. I left my board at the shop, and I’ll have to pick it up tomorrow morning. But you go ahead. I’m going to settle in with a glass of wine and enjoy the fire.”
“I’m out, too. I’ll stay and keep Jess company,” Hannah added.
Not that she was a huge fan of night boarding, especially on the first ride of the season, but it came down to staying in the chalet with Suburbababy or getting out there and risking her neck on icy, unknown terrain. “I’m in,” said Margo.
Not surprising, all the boys were in. XY equals risk taking. She hadn’t forgotten everything from med school.
The temperature had fallen below freezing with the setting sun, so they layered up and laced on their boots.
“What are you doing?” Trace asked as he watched Matt spray his goggles.
“Anti-fog spray. It really works.”
“Really? I thought you were supposed to use toothpaste,” said Daniel.
“Isn’t that for a scuba mas
k?” Hannah asked.
“Put your goggles on in the chalet and don’t take them off in the gondola. That’s what works,” said Trace.
Matt shrugged. “I’ve heard using the hand drier in the bathroom works too, but I’ve always used the spray.”
“Sounds like you need new goggles,” Trace said, patting Matt on the back.
They walked out the front door and down a short path to the slope. They threw down their boards and strapped into the bindings.
Trace looked over at Margo. “You’re goofy-footed?” he asked with a grin.
Margo looked at the three of them. All regular. Figures. “Right-brain dominant,” she said.
They hopped with their feet strapped into their boards the few steps to the hill. The ride down was a quick ten minutes. The lower section was well lit and an easy run.
Margo brought up the rear. The conditions were a bit icy, but snow was falling. They’d have fresh powder in the morning. She shifted her weight to slow down and slid into the line for the gondola. Unstrapping her bindings, she carried her board onto the gondola with the others.
Trace traded insults with Matt with the ease of a long friendship. Daniel gave as good as he got as they bantered on the ride up. The gondola slowed and they hopped off and strapped on their boards.
They had time for three runs before the gondola shut down for the night. With the last run, they headed across the slope toward the chalet.
Margo leaned into the curve and listened to the scrape of her blade as she carved back and forth. She’d love to let go. Just fly. But she couldn’t see more than ten feet in front of her. She missed a bump and almost caught an edge on a rut. She’d had her share of face plants in the past, but tonight she decided to take it easy and stay upright. She swung into the landing of the chalet and smiled at Matt’s exuberant woohoo. He felt the rider’s high.
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