Good Medicine

by Bobby Hutchinson

  “They’re fine here,” he told her. “You go ahead, we’ll bring them up for you. You’re living at the back of the medical center, right?”

  “I am. Thank you so much.” Carrying her medical bag and her purse, Jordan climbed out of the boat and walked slowly down the long pier and up the dirt road. A large sign nailed to a building read, Welcome to Ahousaht. Jordan looked around for Christina. The nursing supervisor had said she’d meet her, but she wasn’t there.

  Two small boys on bikes came ripping past. One of them did an elaborate wheelie for her benefit and then hopped off the bike. He was wearing a billed cap backward over unruly black hair, and he gave Jordan an enchanting, gap-toothed grin. His face was still round with baby fat.

  “Hi,” he said. “You’re our new doctor, right?”

  She smiled back at him and nodded. “And who are you, sir?”

  “I’m Eli Crow—Christina’s my mom. She told us to watch for you. She had to go see Auntie Elsie—she fell yesterday and hurt her foot, all the toes on the right foot are bruised.”

  “Hi, Eli.” Jordan set her bag down and shook hands with Eli. She remembered Christina saying that she was the single parent of an eight-year-old. “Who’s your friend?”

  “He’s Michael Nitsch. His mom is gonna make movies.”

  “Hi, Michael.” Jordan held out her hand to the other boy. “So are you going into the movie business, too, when you grow up?”

  “Nope. I’m gonna be a fireman.” Michael took his time shaking her hand. “Should we call you Mrs. Doctor?”

  “You can call me Doctor Jordan, how’s that? I’m pleased to meet you both. You came along at exactly the right moment, too. The last time I was here somebody met me, and now I’m sort of lost. Could you guys get me to the medical center? And maybe help me carry those grocery bags?”

  “Sure. We’re really, really strong.” One on each side of her, they hefted her plastic carryalls over their handlebars. Taking the job as guides seriously, they talked nonstop, pointing out the band office, the school and where they lived.

  They informed the smiling drivers of two pickup trucks and a man out chopping wood that they were taking Doc Jordan to her new house. They told Jordan that the man chopping wood had a wife with six fingers, and that she’d let Jordan see them if Eli asked her and said please. Jordan quickly declined the offer.

  “Maybe another time.”

  “Okay, whenever you like,” Eli replied expansively.

  Everyone called out a friendly hello. A woman pegging flowered sheets and diapers on a clothesline smiled and waved.

  “That’s Audrey. She’s got a new baby,” Michael confided.

  “Yeah, and her daddy went to live with his other wife,” Eli said with a nod. “Audrey won’t let him in the door now.”

  Fascinating. This had a motorcycle escort beat all to hell, and Jordan felt pretty much like an informed VIP by the time her young heroes had delivered her safely to the apartment. She gave each of them two dollars and their dark eyes lit up.

  “Thanks a lot, Doctor Jordan,” said Michael.

  “You need anything, just call us,” Eli added. They sped off on their bikes to spend their reward money.

  Jordan’s apartment was at the back of the medical center. Using the key she’d been given, she tried to open the door, only to find it was unlocked. Inside, it smelled of fresh paint, and Jordan had to smile.

  Christina had made good on her promise. The walls were a warm, light color somewhere between lemon and cream, and the apartment had improved drastically since Jordan had last seen it on her first visit.

  That day, these walls had been a nauseous institutional green.

  “Can you tell this was where the cops stayed overnight before they got their trailer?” Christina had groaned. “They must get this paint free from the government. I think a nice warm lamb’s wool shade for these walls, don’t you?”

  “What color’s lamb’s wool?”

  “I dunno.” Christina had shrugged and shot Jordan a wicked grin. “I’m just trying my damnedest to impress you. I saw it in a Martha Stewart magazine.”

  Jordan smiled now, remembering. There was an exuberance about Christina that made her irresistible, and obviously Eli had inherited it.

  The paint made the small area welcoming, but the place was still strange to her, and she was suddenly achingly homesick for the familiarity of the Kitsilano apartment she and Garry had shared.

  But not homesick for Garry. She shivered. Over the past few weeks she’d had to alert security at St. Joe’s, and she’d called the police and threatened to get a restraining order when he had turned up at the door of the motel one night.

  Cancel, cancel. No more depressing thoughts. So she had no idea how to make a fire in the iron cookstove. She’d learn. The hot plate she’d ordered in Tofino wouldn’t be delivered for a couple days, but she’d brought a lot of cereal and apples. It wouldn’t do any harm to fast a little.

  She walked around, taking stock of her new home. It was clean, sparsely furnished but adequate, with mismatched furniture and an odd but generous assortment of dishes in the kitchen area. A distinctive and colorful native painting hung on one wall, and someone had obviously hand-carved the two beautiful wooden bowls on the counter.

  She opened the door wide to get rid of the smell of paint, hung up her jacket on a wooden peg and began unloading the groceries. When Billy arrived with her suitcases, she’d unpack and add her own small touches to the decor, like the soft turquoise silk shawl her brother Toby had sent for her birthday.

  She’d use that as a table cover. And she had an old black-and-white photo of her and Toby when they were little to put on the bedside table. One of her mother, as well.

  It would soon feel like home, she reassured herself. This wasn’t the same as when she was a child, shuffled from one home to the next, sharing bedrooms and sometimes even beds with other foster kids.

  This apartment was hers alone. It had been her choice to come here, and she’d do her best to turn this little place into a sanctuary.

  FROM A WINDOW in the band office, Silas watched the new doctor walk past with Eli and Michael. He’d honored his promise to Christina; although he was a member of the council, he’d deliberately been absent for the initial meeting with the doctor. Instead, he’d hiked up island to visit an elderly couple recovering from a severe bout of the flu, but he couldn’t deny he was curious. Ahousaht was a small, close-knit community. The addition of someone from Away always had repercussions.

  Jordan Burke was tall, maybe five-nine or ten—or maybe she only looked that tall because she was long-legged and very slender. Her thick chestnut hair, down past her shoulder blades and silky straight, was parted in the middle and tied simply at the base of her neck with a blue scarf. She was wearing faded jeans, brown boots and a hooded blue sweatshirt. She carried a navy rain jacket slung over one long, slim arm.

  Eli and Michael were hoisting her grocery bags and talking a mile a minute, and he saw her smile at them. Her smile transformed her narrow face with its aristocratic long nose and full lips from almost plain to—he thought pretty and then changed his mind to beautiful. But only when she smiled.

  She looked foreign. Pale, exotic, fragile. Silas made a dismissive sound in his throat and turned away from the window.

  She wouldn’t last long. He’d bet the council would be hiring another doctor within six weeks. Strength and endurance were essential in this wild, remote location. Fragile flowers didn’t thrive in Ahousaht.

  JORDAN HAD JUST FINISHED hanging her jacket in the small closet and was assessing how much space the drawers of the rickety chest gave her when she heard a knock at the door. She hurried to open it, hoping it was Billy with her suitcases, but Christina stood there, navy shirt accentuating the dramatic angles of her high cheekbones.

  “Welcome, Jordan,” she said with a wide smile. She handed her a bouquet of wild roses in a glass canning jar.

  “Hey, Christina, thank you so much. Come i
n. I met your adorable son and his friend. Thanks for sending them to escort me from the boat.”

  Jordan put the flowers in the middle of the table.

  “I wanted to be there myself, but there was a minor emergency. Did the boys give you the rundown on the entire population?”

  “Only their immediate families and everyone we passed. I can’t wait to pump them for more.”

  “They’re nosy little demons. I just hope they never find out about blackmail.”

  Jordan waved an arm at the walls. “Thanks for the paint job, I love the color.”

  “Lambskin duvet, just like I promised.” Christina glanced at the grocery bags. “I hope you didn’t make lunch yet. Mom wondered if you’d like to come and eat with us?”

  Jordan glanced at her watch, suddenly aware that it was past noon and nerves had kept her from having anything but coffee that morning.

  “Thanks, Christina. I’d love to, but I’m waiting for Billy to bring my suitcases. He should be here any minute. Can you wait?”

  “Sure. No rush. Mom’s serving stew, it’ll keep.”

  “Please, sit.” Jordan gestured at the brown tweed couch. “Do you want to call her? I have my cell phone—”

  Christina grinned and shook her head. “Mom’s pretty easygoing. She’ll expect us when we get there.”

  Jordan sank into a stuffed armchair across from the couch and then gave a startled squeak when her bottom almost hit the floor. The springs were gone.

  “Oops.” Christina put a hand over her mouth and giggled. After a moment of stunned silence, Jordan began to laugh too, and then she couldn’t stop. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she pressed her fists against her mouth, willing herself to regain control, losing it more with each passing moment.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHRISTINA GOT UP after a moment and knelt in front of Jordan.

  “Let it come,” she said in her soft, slow voice. “Let it out, it needs to escape now.” She laid a small hand gently on Jordan’s head and stroked her hair.

  Ashamed, but too far out of control to do anything about it, Jordan wailed, gulping out strange guttural noises.

  “That’s the way,” Christina encouraged her. “Let ’er out.”

  It took what felt like forever before Jordan regained control.

  Christina went to the bathroom for a tissue, then pressed it into Jordan’s hand.

  “Oh, dammit, I’m so sorry,” Jordan said when she could speak again. “What an idiot, having a meltdown like that.” She blew her nose hard and tried for a smile. “And I’m supposed to be the doctor. It’s enough to scare you, huh?”

  Christina shook her head. “You’re a woman first. Women need to cry, it keeps us healthy.”

  A knock at the door signaled the arrival of the suitcases.

  “Oh, no, I’m a wreck.” Jordan hated the idea of anyone else witnessing her breakdown.

  “Go in the bathroom and run some cool water. I’ll tell Billy to put the suitcases in the bedroom, okay?”

  “Thanks.” Jordan hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. She was shaking.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she whispered to her bleary image in the mirror over the sink. “You’ll need to go back on medication if you keep this up.”

  She washed her face and held a cold washcloth over her swollen eyes. She could hear Christina’s calm voice directing Billy, and then the sound of the door closing behind him. Grateful that she’d already put the small cache of cosmetics she carried in her purse on the shelf above the sink, Jordan used eye drops and touches of concealer, then an eyelash curler. A critical glance told her that no one with normal eyesight would be fooled; her cheeks were flushed, her eyes still bloodshot, her face puffy.

  She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door.

  Christina studied her. “Well, it looks like you either have one hell of a hangover or you’ve been on a major crying jag,” she said.

  “Let’s be optimistic and think hangover.”

  Christina grinned. “Okay, let’s go eat. Food fixes damned near anything. I’m starving.”

  “Me, too.” That in itself was amazing. Jordan’s appetite had been on sabbatical for weeks, but at this moment she was voraciously hungry.

  “That’s gonna make my mother one happy woman. She loves feeding people. It’s a wonder I’m not three hundred pounds.” Christina waited while Jordan locked the door, and then they set off down the gravel road.

  The wind was up—it smelled of the sea—and it cooled Jordan’s burning cheeks and smarting eyes.

  “Where’d you train, Christina?” She liked the other woman a lot. She’d only ever had a handful of women friends, and she’d lost touch with them since marrying Garry. He’d taken all her attention.

  “Edmonton, nine years ago,” Christina said. “I followed my high school sweetheart there. David got a job in the oil fields and I enrolled in nursing. But he was killed when a generator blew up. I was two months from graduating and four months pregnant. We were getting married the day after graduation.”

  Lordy. All of a sudden, Jordan’s life didn’t seem so desperate.

  Christina was matter-of-fact about it all. “I got my degree and came back here so Eli could grow up with family and friends.”

  Family. Friends. The words left a hollow space in Jordan’s heart. She’d grown up in foster homes, struggling to make top grades, too busy to have time for friendship. And then somewhere along the line, she’d learned not to trust other women. And yet here was a woman, on an island in what at this moment felt like the outer edge of the known world, who made Jordan think friendship was not only possible, but likely.

  They left the road and headed up a slight hill to a wooden frame house indistinguishable from every other they’d passed. Each had a stack of firewood outside, and many of the yards were cluttered with discarded bathtubs, broken high chairs, rusted motors, old tires—even bed frames.

  Some had electrical lines leading to them, but many didn’t. The one Christina headed for was tidy and well kept. The pile of firewood was neatly stacked, and wooden tubs of flowers flanked the walkway. Christina led Jordan up the sturdy stairs and opened the front door.

  “Mom, hey, we’re here!”

  Mouthwatering cooking smells greeted them, along with Elvis singing gospel on a boom box. A plump, very pretty woman hurried down the hall to greet them, wiping her hands on a striped apron tied around her ample waist. She was smiling, and her dark eyes were almost buried in her round apple cheeks.

  “About time. I was about to send out a scouting party.”

  “This is Jordan Burke, Ma. Jordan, my mother, Rose Marie Crow.”

  Rose Marie took both of Jordan’s hands in a warm, welcoming clasp.

  “You’re a pretty one,” she commented. “But way too skinny, we’ll have to feed you up, eh?”

  Jordan’s smile took effort. Her skin felt shrunken from crying, and she was suddenly shy. “It smells wonderful in here,” she managed to say. “Thank you so much for inviting me.”

  “We’re not fancy, come and sit in the kitchen and I’ll serve the stew. Christina, Eli came by and said he’s eating at Michael’s house. Wanda’s making them KD.”

  “Kraft Dinner,” Christina interpreted. “They’d live on the stuff if we let them.”

  Rose Marie led the two women to the large kitchen at the back of the house. Sliding doors opened on to a deck, where the yard below was mostly garden. Green plants in a variety of pots lined the deep windowsills.

  The kitchen was warm and inviting, counters lined with baskets of food and a wood-burning cookstove in the corner like the one in Jordan’s apartment. Except this one sent out waves of warmth. Its gleaming surface was crowded with pots, and a large, sturdy basket beside the stove held a good supply of firewood.

  Rose Marie deftly lifted the lid with an iron utensil and thrust another log into the firebox, slamming the lid back in place. The big square wooden table in the middle of the room was set for four
with sea-green place mats and colorful Fiestaware.

  Christina indicated a chair, and Jordan sat.

  “Where’s Grandmother, Mom?”

  “She went back home to get something but told us not to wait for her.”

  Rose Marie began filling huge bowls with stew. Slicing up a loaf of freshly baked bread, Christina filled a wooden platter, and set it on the table along with a wooden bowl of glistening salad greens.

  “Dig in,” Rose Marie ordered, taking her place beside Christina.

  Jordan, suddenly ravenous, did as she was told. Her first bite confirmed that Rose Marie was an exceptional cook who knew her way around a seafood stew.

  “This is sooo good,” she sighed.

  Just as Jordan was sampling the crusty bread—irresistibly still warm—the deck door slid open and a short, very old woman with long black braids came in. Almost as wide as she was tall, she moved with an assured dignity and grace that belied her years.

  Christina got up and gave her a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Hey, Grandmother Alice, this is Jordan Burke, the new doctor. Jordan, this is Alice Sam.”

  “How do you do.” Alice set down the plastic bag she was carrying and came over to take Jordan’s hand. Her gaze seemed to penetrate beneath the skin. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jordan Burke.”

  “And you, Mrs. Sam.”

  “Grandmother, everyone calls me Grandmother.”

  “Sit,” Rose Marie ordered. “I’ll get you some stew. Help yourself to salad and bread.”

  While Elvis sang “Amazing Grace,” they ate the food, simple and delicious.

  After a long silence, the women began to discuss the weather and the garden and someone’s new baby. Jordan didn’t feel excluded, but rather, relived they didn’t make her the focus of the gathering.

  She sensed they were giving her a chance to get to know them, to feel at home with them—and to recover from whatever had made her eyes red and bloodshot.