Jericho

by Ann McMan

  He stopped again and faced her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She gave him a small smile. “I always said I wanted her to marry a doctor.”

  FURTHER UP THE path, Maddie and Syd were startled when they heard George’s laughter ring out above the roar of the water. They looked at each other with baffled expressions before tightening their clasped hands and continuing on toward the river.

  ON FRIDAY MORNING, George set out early with his waders, rod, and tackle to walk the river bank behind the Inn and try his hand at a bit of cold water fishing. This part of the New River was well stocked with smallmouth bass, and Michael told him to be on the lookout for any natural springs along the banks because these tended to raise the water temperature a few degrees, and the sluggish fish were inclined to stack up in those warmer areas.

  He left the Inn shortly after eight in the morning, armed with a thermos of hot coffee and a bag lunch that Michael had graciously prepared, determined to enjoy five or six hours of solitude while his wife and daughter made their shopping trek to Roanoke.

  The day was beautiful—cold but clear, and the sun was blinding as it angled through the trees and reflected off the snow-covered riverbank. He walked and fished intermittently for about three hours before stopping to eat his lunch at a boat landing area, where there were a couple of battered picnic tables. The view here was breathtaking as the river widened and ran along next to a well-traveled secondary road. He guessed he was about two miles away from the Inn at this point, and resolved that after relaxing with his meal, he would slowly start making his way back.

  He hadn’t caught any fish yet, but he didn’t really mind. Just being outside in the cold but clear air and having the latitude to walk and explore at a leisurely pace was enough to make the outing worthwhile.

  These days, he spent far too many hours cooped up in a classroom. The opportunities for fieldwork were becoming few and far between. Budget cutbacks at the state level had seriously eaten into departmental funding for out-of-doors instruction. He thought, ironically, that if the same economic downturn had occurred five or six years earlier, his daughter would never have met Jeff Simon, a former intern of his, and she would never have ended up living in this backcountry region of Virginia. As sorry as he was for the circumstances and the heartbreak that had led her to her to accept a job posting in this remote area, he was finding it hard to regret her presence here. She seemed happier and more at peace with herself than he had seen her in years—at least, since graduating from college.

  His thoughts drifted back to the conversation he’d had with Janet last night after meeting Maddie Stevenson. It was impossible to deny that there was some kind of bond between Syd and Maddie. It radiated off both of their faces whenever they looked at each other. “Chemistry,” Jeff had called it, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. It irritated George more than a little bit to admit that Jeff might finally have hit on something to be right about.

  What would it mean for Syd if Jeff’s—and Janet’s—suspicions were accurate? Would she ever be able to come to terms with it? Would they?

  He looked out at the river. The water rolled by, making lazy and determined progress toward its ultimate union with the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers. It might slow down, but it never stopped. It might change size or direction, but it always got where it was supposed to be. It might fight its way around an obstacle, or it might simply wear it down but it always kept moving. It had all the time in the world to get where it was going.

  He thought about the Irresistible Force Paradox, and how frequently he used it as a teaching tool to illustrate Newton’s second law of the conservation of energy. The river was an irresistible force. The rocks that originally lined the banks of this gully were immovable objects. Yet the river prevailed, and the rocks moved.

  It would, therefore, be ineffective for him to wade out into the center of this river, raise his hands toward heaven, and command it to stop—to turn around—to go another way. Ineffective. And it would be equally ineffective for him to try and stop the irresistible force he now saw washing over his daughter.

  And in some way, he didn’t want to stop it. Because, sooner or later, everything ended up exactly where it was supposed to be.

  And she seemed . . . happy.

  When faced with an irresistible force, an immovable object moves. It really was that simple.

  After finishing his sliced duck and apple sandwich, he collected his tackle and began his slow journey back along the riverbank toward the Inn. The sun was well above the horizon and was shining down from directly overhead, illuminating eddies that hadn’t been visible earlier. About a mile from the Inn, he saw a spot that looked particularly promising and decided to cast a line out and try his luck one more time.

  The bank was fairly steep, and the snow pack made it even more challenging, but he dropped his pack and readied his line—attaching a hefty lunker to make sure it dragged along the bottom once he dropped it near the eddy. It took several casts, but finally he got the position he wanted, and he watched the current draw his line toward the center of the whirlpool. In short order, he felt a hit on the line, then a more determined tug. He gingerly descended the bank toward the edge of the water as he slowly took the slack up out of his line. Suddenly, his pole jerked as the fish hit with a vengeance, causing his reel to whine as fishing line flew out across the water.

  “So much for lazy bass,” he muttered. “This sucker is flying.” He stepped into the water and waded out toward the eddy while he pulled back on his pole and wound up his line. The fish fought him, swimming downstream toward a small island that jutted out in the middle of the river.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled. “I’m not falling for that one.” He continued to wrestle with the fish, trying to keep his line away from some fallen tree limbs that protruded from the water near the leading edge of the tiny island. It was hopeless. The fish was apparently too big and too fast, and he couldn’t get a good enough purchase on the rocks to keep his line clear of the branches. In short order, it snagged, and he couldn’t reel it in any further. He had no choice but to take out his Cliff knife and cut the line, losing both the fish and his lunker.

  As he drew his knife out of the sheath attached to his belt, the fish apparently changed direction, and his line broke free—the reel singing as the poll jerked out of his hand. He lunged to catch it before the current swept it away, and his boot slipped on the rocks beneath the surface, and he fell forward into the cold water.

  He felt the knife blade slicing into his palm. He righted himself, stood up, and took a look at his hand. The cut was clean, but bleeding profusely and would certainly require stitches—probably a lot of them. Sighing, he retrieved his pole and waded back to the shore, trying to keep his palm submerged in the cold water until he reached his pack. He had only an oversized hand-towel to wrap his hand with, so he did the best he could—packing the cut first with snow to try and staunch the bleeding. It was going to be a long walk back to the Inn, and he wondered, as he climbed the bank, whether or not The Irresistible Force would be found in her clinic on the Friday after Thanksgiving.

  MADDIE MET MICHAEL and George at the door. The clinic was, in fact, closed, but she had been in her office most of the day, entering patient records into her EMR database. When Michael called her cell phone to tell her about George’s accident, she insisted that they come right over. There was no way she would consign Syd’s father to seek medical care at the ER in Wytheville, where he would likely have to wait several hours for attention.

  George looked embarrassed and apologetic as she let them into the clinic through the back door. She could see the blood already soaking through the fresh towel Michael had wrapped around his hand, and his pallor was too ashen to suit her. She directed them into an examination room, seated George, and elevated his forearm on a rolling tray table.

  “I can’t apologize enough to you for imposing like this on a holiday,” he began.

  Maddie waved him off. “Do
n’t be silly. I was nodding off over patient files. This is actually a nice break for me.” She smiled as she helped him out of his jacket. “Let’s unwrap this and see what we’ve got here.” She carefully unwound the blood-soaked towel and dabbed at the long cut with a sterile gauze pad. “Yep. It’s a beauty. The good news is that it looks like a nice, clean cut. Can you flex your fingers for me?” He did. “Good. It doesn’t look deep—just long. What kind of knife was it?”

  He winced as she continued to blot the cut. “A Cliff knife—about a five inch blade.”

  “Jagged edge?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” She looked up at Michael, who was still hovering in the doorway with a countenance paler than George’s. “Why don’t you head back to the Inn? I’ll run George back out after I get him stitched up. I was about to knock off for the day, anyway.”

  Michael met her gaze gratefully. “Really? I don’t mind waiting, if it’s out of your way—as long as I can wait someplace that’s not in here.” He looked at George with round eyes. “I’m not very good around blood or needles.”

  “Go on back to the Inn, Michael,” George said as Maddie prepared a basin of warm water and antiseptic solution to soak the cut in before stitching it closed. “You’ve already gone beyond the call of duty by running me over here.” He looked up at Maddie. “I don’t think Maddie would offer if it was really an imposition.”

  Maddie lifted his arm and carefully submerged his right hand in the pan of warm water. “Nope. I wouldn’t. You’re just lucky it’s not my bowling night.” She opened a drawer and withdrew an assortment of paper-wrapped needles, gauze pads, and a large syringe.

  Michael winced as she started pulling on a pair of latex surgical gloves.

  “In that case, I think I’ll head on.” He took a step toward the back door. “If Janet and Syd get back before you’re finished here, I’ll tell them what happened. I’ll have a big Scotch ready for you, George.” He waved as he retreated down the hallway.

  Maddie heard the door to the parking lot open and close. She sat down on a rolling stool and prepared her items.

  “So. Whattaya think, Doc? Ten stitches?” George asked.

  Maddie lifted his hand from the basin and rested it on a bed of dry, sterile towels. “Nah. You’re an overachiever. This is going to take at least fifteen or twenty.”

  His eyes grew wide. “Really?”

  She smiled. “Really. But don’t worry. When I took Home Ec, I got an A in sewing.”

  He laughed. “That’s comforting. I should’ve brought my new pants along, they need hemmed.”

  She smiled as she placed sterile towels around the wound opening. She picked up the syringe and a small vial. “Do you have any allergies to medications that you’re aware of?” He shook his head, and she filled the syringe. “Okay. Now for the not-so-fun part. I have to inject this into the cut so we can deaden the area.” She met his eyes. “It’s going to sting like crazy, so I apologize in advance. Are you ready?”

  He nodded.

  Maddie injected the lidocaine into several locations inside and along the wound opening, working as quickly as possible. George flinched and gritted his teeth, but he remained perfectly still until she finished.

  She withdrew the syringe and patted his arm. “Nice job. That’s the worst. It should start feeling numb in about a minute.” She opened up several of the paper packets and threaded a small, wedge-shaped needle. “How did this happen?”

  He grimaced. “I was fishing about a mile from the Inn, and had just snagged a big one.” He laughed. “At least, I think it was a big one. It drug me with it right out into the water. My line got tangled on some fallen limbs, and as I was getting my knife out to cut it loose, the fish got free and pulled the rod out of my hand. I slipped and fell into the water, trying to grab onto it—that’s how I ended up with the cut.” He paused. “I feel like an idiot—a novice.” He sighed. “Janet’s going to kill me.”

  Maddie looked at him. “Want me to fix you up with an extra impressive bandage to ratchet-up the sympathy quotient?”

  His jaw dropped. “You’d do that for me?”

  “Of course I would.”

  He sat back with a smug expression. “I knew I liked you.”

  In that moment, Maddie was caught by how much he looked like Syd. He had the same, mischief-filled green eyes, and the same childlike, snub nose. She laughed and gently tapped along the palm of his hand. “Do you feel this? Do you feel any pain or sensation along here at all?”

  He shook his head. She set about methodically closing the wound with a series of tiny, perfect stitches and tying knot after knot with her hooked needle and a short pair of tweezers.

  He watched her with fascination. “That’s amazing. What do you call that knot?”

  “This is what we call a mattress stitch. It’s generally the most common type used on palms or soles of feet. It’s faster and easier because you don’t have to bury the knots.”

  “Do you miss working in an ER?”

  “I still keep one toe in that pool by working a weekend a month at the hospital in Wytheville. But the truth is, I don’t miss it nearly as much as I thought I would.” She tied off another knot and picked up more silk thread. “It’s nice to finally experience what it’s like to have a life away from the office.”

  “I gather you didn’t have much of a social life in Philadelphia?”

  She gave him a small smile. “Not really. No.”

  “Well, at the risk of offending you, I guess that explains why someone as beautiful and as charming as you is still single.”

  Maddie slipped as she attempted to snag the loose end of her thread, and nearly dropped the tweezers. She met his eyes. “That doesn’t offend me at all. I’m . . . flattered.” She nervously began to wonder where this conversation was headed.

  “Good. I think that you and my daughter are both pretty extraordinary women.” He paused. “I wish sometimes that she had taken her time before getting married. Janet and I worry that we pushed her into something that she wasn’t quite ready for.”

  Maddie wasn’t certain how to reply, so she kept silent and continued to work.

  “She’s a wonderful girl—so vibrant and sensitive. We’re both grateful that she ended up in a place so nurturing.” Maddie looked up to find his eyes fixed on her face. “And that she has found friends like Michael and David—and you.” Maddie felt a slow flush creep up her neck as George continued to gaze at her. “Her mother and I will worry less about her now that we know she has you to lean on.”

  She laid her implements down and sat back on her stool. “I—” she began, then stopped herself and tentatively patted his arm. “That should do it. Let’s get this bandaged up now.”

  She rolled away from him and tried to compose herself as she lifted a tube of ointment and some clean dressings from a drawer. She returned to the little worktable, and he was still regarding her with an earnest expression. She knew she had to say something—her silence was too compromising.

  She swabbed the cut with antiseptic ointment. “No one knows better than I how extraordinary your daughter is.” She met his eyes. “Her presence here has been like a gift to me. Michael and David feel the same way.”

  George nodded. “We worry about her because she’s been so isolated for the last few years. She lived in a fairly large city and attended a huge university, but she always seemed so alone . . . even though we knew she had friends.”

  Maddie carefully wrapped his hand with the sterile gauze. “That’s hard to imagine. She’s wonderful company.”

  “I think maybe you’re just good for her,” he said quietly.

  She looked at him again. “I hope so.”

  “She needs friends right now. It’s a confusing time for her.”

  “You mean, with the divorce?”

  He nodded. “That—and other things. She has so much uncertainty ahead of her. We want her to be able to make good decisions.”

  Maddie regarded him soberly. �
��I want that for her, too.”

  “I know you do, Maddie.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  He shifted on his chair. “Anyway, Janet and I are just grateful that she found someone like you to confide in. We’ll worry a lot less about her when we leave for home tomorrow.”

  Maddie finished wrapping his hand. “There you go. What do you think? Impressive enough?”

  He held it up and rotated around. The bandage was large and puffy and looped up around his wrist. “Oh, yeah. This looks like it’s concealing something really nasty.” He smiled at her. “I owe you one. This ought to get me out of the dog house at light speed.” He continued to admire her handiwork. “By the way. How many stitches did you make?”

  “Sixteen. Not too shabby.” She cleared away the rest of her supplies and stood up. “Ready to head back to the Inn and sit down with that big glass of Scotch Michael promised you? I think he’s mortified enough to crack open one of the single malts.”

  He stood up, too, and fished his wallet out of his jacket pocket. “I have my insurance card in here. Can you help me dig it out?”

  She stopped him. “Don’t bother, please. I hereby gift you with the coveted family discount.”

  “Which is?”

  “On the house.”

  “I can’t do that. It’s bad enough that I made you work on your day off. At least let the State of Maryland pay you for your trouble.”

  “It was no trouble.” She held out his jacket for him. She gazed at him determined. “You don’t want to make me mad, do you?”

  He met her level gaze. “No, ma’am, I sure don’t.” Sighing, he put his wallet away, and then shrugged into his coat. “Will you at least let me buy you a drink?”

  She smiled. “I might consider that.”

  His smug expression returned. “I definitely like you, Dr. Stevenson.”

  LATER THAT EVENING, Maddie was sitting in her father’s study, reading dog-eared back issues of the JAMA and drinking Earl Grey tea when her cell phone rang. She absently picked it up off the table next to her chair and opened it without looking at its display.