03_The Doctor's Perfect Match

by Irene Hannon

  “No problem. Chester gets out this way at least once a week. He’ll pick it up on his next trip.” Edith planted her hands on her ample hips and surveyed the gazebo. “Looks mighty fine. I imagine Henry will be pleased.”

  Throughout this exchange, Marci had remained quiet. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest, and she was frowning.

  Not good.

  “If you want to leave with your brother, it’s okay,” Christopher said, lowering his voice for her ears only.

  She looked at him, clearly torn. “Can you finish this alone?”

  “It would be easier with another pair of hands. Besides, I have some things I wanted to discuss with you about Caring Connections.”

  She shot the cleanup trio another glance. “Look, in case you haven’t realized it yet, Edith has a penchant for matchmaking.”

  His lips quirked into a smile. “Yeah. I figured that out.”

  “The thing is, I don’t want to encourage her. Or my brother. It makes no sense for a lot of reasons. Not the least of which is my imminent departure.”

  “I’d like to talk to you about that, too.”

  Before she could respond, Edith called out to them. “We’re off. Be sure to get that trim on straight, Christopher.”

  “I will. Thanks for all your help. You, too, Chester, J.C.”

  There were a flurry of goodbyes, followed by the cough of a truck engine as it turned over and the crunch of tires on oyster shells. Then silence descended, save for the rhythmic pounding of the surf.

  Based on Marci’s silence, Christopher assumed she was still processing his last comment. He hadn’t planned to bring up the subject of her departure today. But in light of the way she’d been avoiding him, it might be his best opportunity to put out some feelers about her interest in the director job.

  And in him.

  Snagging a piece of trim, he climbed the ladder. “Let’s finish this up before we lose the good light.”

  Without a word, Marci ascended the other ladder, grasped the trim and held it in place while Christopher secured it.

  For the next fifteen minutes, their communication was confined to simple phrases like “A little more to the right” and “Raise it an inch on your side.” She didn’t ask him to explain his comment; he didn’t offer to.

  After the last screw was firmly seated in the wood, Christopher put Henry’s ladder in the toolshed and leaned Chester’s against the railing of the back porch. Then he joined Marci, who had moved off to examine the gazebo from across the yard.

  The step-up structure was simple in design, the only ornamentation the lattice panels above each opening and a picketed railing. Constructed of natural wood, it had the raw look of fresh-cut lumber. But Christopher knew it wouldn’t take long for the gazebo to acquire the driftwood-colored patina of its predecessor. Large enough to accommodate a café table or a pair of wicker rocking chairs, it would be a perfect place for Henry to recuperate—and remember.

  “I can picture Henry sitting there with a mug of coffee in his hand, can’t you?”

  He smiled. “You must be reading my mind.”

  “What’s your best guess on when he might come home?”

  “He didn’t have a fever this morning when I stopped by. That’s a good sign. If he continues to progress, I’d say he could be back here by Thursday.”

  “Good. That will give me a chance to make sure all the help I lined up is working out okay before I leave.”

  He gestured toward the gazebo. “How about we sit for a minute? Might as well enjoy the fruits of our labors.”

  After a brief hesitation, she acquiesced with a dip of her head. “Okay.”

  Crossing the lawn, she sat on the elevated floor at the entrance, as close as possible to the upright post on one side.

  He joined her in the ample space she’d left for him. Stretching out his legs, he crossed his ankles and leaned back on his palms. The lush green grass and colorful, well-tended flower beds inside the white picket fence provided a striking contrast to the golden sand and sparkling sea beyond.

  “Henry has a nice spot here.”

  Marci gazed out over the water, her expression pensive. “Too bad Patricia can’t appreciate that. And how much it means to Henry.” She clasped her hands around one knee and looked over at him. “You know, after visiting him at that assisted-living facility, I can’t imagine anyone wanting to end their days in a place like that. I’m glad your plan will give older folks another option.”

  “At this point, it’s your plan as much as it is mine.”

  She shook her head. “No, it was your idea. But I’m glad I could help give it life.”

  Christopher’s heart began to hammer, and he took the plunge. “I’d like for you to do more than that.”

  She gave him a wary look. “What do you mean?”

  “You saw my note about the program deserving a full-time director?”

  “Yes.”

  “With your social-work degree, organizational skills and empathy for the elderly, you’d be perfect for the job.”

  Several beats of silence ticked by. “You mean until you find a permanent director?”

  “No. I think you’d be a good permanent director.”

  “I’d have to move here.”

  “I know. And I can appreciate what that means. You’d have to disrupt your whole life in Chicago. Leave behind everything you know. But you’ll be looking for a job anyway. And your brother lives here now, so it wouldn’t be as if—”

  His phone began to vibrate, and he stifled a groan. Talk about bad timing. He supposed he could ignore it, but his years of medical training had hardwired him to respond to every call.

  Pulling the phone off his belt, he checked the caller ID. “It’s my exchange. I need to take this.”

  “No problem.”

  He pressed the Talk button. “Christopher Morgan. Hold a moment, please.” Tapping Mute, he rose. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we grab some sandwiches in town and talk about this? It’s past dinnertime. Think about it while I take care of this call, okay?”

  Without waiting for her to respond, he moved across the yard. Giving her the opportunity to think up an excuse to cut their evening short. Or refuse the job outright.

  But he hoped she wouldn’t do that. Because if she did, she’d be nixing their relationship before it even had a chance to take root.

  And that was a possibility he wasn’t willing to consider.

  From her perch at the edge of Henry’s gazebo, Marci sent a silent prayer of thanks heavenward for the interruption. She needed a few minutes to think.

  Putting personal feelings aside, the job did appeal to her. As she’d discovered over the past few weeks, she did have an affinity for older folks. Helping people like Henry retain their independence would be satisfying, rewarding work.

  As for Christopher’s comment about giving up her life in Chicago, that would be no sacrifice. She had few fond memories of the Windy City.

  But even if she took the job, even if they found a way to bridge the differences between them, she had very little confidence he’d be able to overlook the past she hadn’t yet shared with him. And before she agreed to stay, they’d have to clear that hurdle.

  There was no way was she ready to discuss that tonight, however.

  Ending the call, Christopher rejoined her. “So how about some dinner? The ’Sconset Café has great sandwiches. We could grab a couple and enjoy them on the beach while we talk.”

  “I need some time to think about your suggestion, Christopher.”

  “Okay.” He grinned. “But you also have to eat. At least join me for a bite. We deserve it after all our hard work this afternoon. And I promise not to push about the job. Tonight, anyway.”

  She hesitated. Dinner on the beach with the handsome man smiling down at her sounded wonderful.

  “Don’t overthink it, Marci. It’s just sandwiches.”

  Giving in to the prodding of her heart, she capitulated. What harm could th
ere be in a casual dinner? “Okay.”

  “Great. Let me grab a beach towel.”

  Sixty seconds later, they were strolling down the narrow lane toward the center of the tiny village. Honoring his promise, he didn’t bring up the job again. Instead, he kept the conversation light. Once they arrived at the small restaurant, already packed for the evening meal, they worked their way through the crowd and placed their order with the hostess.

  “You must be a regular.” Marci squeezed through the throng of customers as he ushered her back toward the deck in front.

  He grinned. “I’m a typical bachelor, I guess. Cooking isn’t my thing. I come here three or four nights a week.” He pushed the door open and they stepped outside to wait for their order to be called.

  “I can tell. You seem to be on a first-name basis with everyone who works here.”

  “That’s not hard in a town the size of ’Sconset. It doesn’t take long to distinguish the year-rounders from the day-trippers and summer people. And ninety-eight percent of the people here fall into the latter two categories.” He gestured around at the diners enjoying their meal on the other side of the deck. “I don’t recognize any—”

  When he stopped abruptly, Marci looked up at him. His complexion had gone pale, and his features had grown taut.

  Alarmed, she turned to follow the direction of his gaze. A woman in her late fifties or early sixties, seated at a table for two on the other side of the deck, was staring at him. As Marci watched, she spoke to her gray-haired companion, whose back was to them. He shifted toward them, and the icy look he aimed at Christopher sent a shiver down her spine, despite the balmy weather.

  She turned back to him. “What’s wrong, Christopher?”

  Instead of answering, he took her arm and guided her back inside. Her apprehension escalated at the tremors in his fingers.

  “Let’s see if our food is ready.”

  Leaving her inside the door, he strode to the counter and spoke to the hostess. She disappeared into the kitchen, and rather than rejoin her as he waited, Christopher remained where he was. Although Marci couldn’t see his face, the tense line of his broad shoulders and his stiff stance communicated distress with a capital D.

  What was going on?

  A couple of minutes later, the hostess reappeared with two packages wrapped in white paper. She slid them into a large bag, added cans of soda and cellophane-wrapped utensils and handed the bag to Christopher.

  When he turned back toward her, the shock had disappeared from his face. But in its place were pain and distress.

  As he rejoined her, he spoke before she could voice her concern.

  “Let’s head for the beach.”

  Taking her arm, he led her across the elevated wooden platform and down the steps. Christopher never looked back at the two people who’d given him such a venomous perusal. But Marci glanced toward the deck as they passed. They were still watching Christopher, and she had no problem reading the emotion in their eyes.

  Hate.

  Why in the world would anyone hate such a kind, caring, decent man?

  Christopher didn’t offer any explanation. Nor did he speak again until they reached the sand.

  “How about we go down that way and avoid some of the crowd?” He gestured toward the right, where the deserted beach stretched as far as the eye could see.

  “Sure.”

  They trudged through the deep sand in silence. After about fifty yards he stopped, unrolled the towel he’d tucked under his arm and spread it out. They both sat, and he retrieved the sodas from the bag. But when he tried to open one of the cans, his fingers were shaking so badly she leaned over and took it from him.

  “Let me.”

  Popping the tab, she handed it back and opened the other for herself.

  He started to reach into the bag for their sandwiches, but she laid a hand on his arm. “Let’s sit for a few minutes, okay? I have a feeling you’re not in the mood to eat just now.”

  In truth, neither was she. She’d never seen Christopher rattled before, and it unnerved her.

  As if reading her mind, he took a long swallow of his soda and looked over at her. “Sorry about that. I never expected to see those people again. It was a bit of a jolt.”

  “I could tell.” She ran a finger around the rim of her can, feeling her way. The last thing she wanted to do was butt into Christopher’s private business. She had secrets of her own, and she didn’t like people pushing her about them, either. “Do you want to tell me who they are?”

  He took a deep breath and turned his head toward the sea. The shadows were deepening as the day wound down, robbing the blue water of its sparkle.

  “They were part of a very dark chapter in my life. The chapter that led me to Nantucket.”

  She sifted some sand through her fingers. “I’ve been curious since we met about your reasons for coming.” She chose her words with care, like a soldier crossing a minefield. “I tried asking Henry a few discreet questions, but the most I ever got out of him was that you needed a change. I suspected there was more to the story.”

  “There is. But I hadn’t planned to get into it tonight.” He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “There has to be a reason for God’s timing on this, though. There always is.”

  She remained silent, giving him a chance to decide if he wanted to open his heart and share his story with her. She hoped he would. Because if he could find the courage to take her into his confidence about his past, maybe, just maybe, she could do the same.

  “It’s not what I’d call dinner conversation.” He studied her again. “And it’s not pretty.”

  “We can put off dinner for a little while.” She returned his searching look steadily.

  “Okay.” He set his soda in the sand beside him. Pulling up his legs, he rested his forearms on his knees and clasped his hands. Once more he fixed his attention on the horizon.

  “Those people are the parents of a woman I dated in Boston. Her name was Denise. I met her at a charity event when she lost her footing going down a step and sprained her ankle. I took a look at it and suggested she have it X-rayed, just to be safe. She was there with a girlfriend who offered to drive her to the E.R., so I helped her out to the car and wished her well.”

  He closed his eyes, and she watched his Adam’s apple bob. “Have you ever had a moment in your life that, in hindsight, you knew was a turning point? One where, if you could relive it, you’d make a different decision?”

  Clasping her hands into a tight ball in her lap, Marci confined her answer to a single word. “Yes.”

  “That’s what that night was like for me. If I had it to do over again, I would never have come forward to help.”

  “That would be out of character for you.”

  “Maybe. But my life after that would have been a lot less traumatic. And I wouldn’t be so cautious around women in distress. Or freaked out by tears.”

  Marci frowned. “I’ve gotten teary-eyed around you, and I haven’t noticed you freaking out.”

  “I did the first night, when I saw you crying in the restaurant. But after our paths began to cross, I sensed that tears aren’t your standard operating procedure.”

  “They were with Denise?”

  “Not at first.” He picked up his soda and took a long drink. “She was grateful for my help at the party, and the next day a huge cookie bouquet arrived at my office. I thought it was overkill, but sweet. Two days later she called and invited me to a symphony concert. She seemed nice enough, and since I love classical music, I accepted. We had a good time, and I reciprocated with an invitation to a movie.”

  His fingers flexed on the soda can, denting the side, and he set it back on the sand.

  “We went out quite a bit over the next month. But she became very possessive. She started calling me three or four times a day, and I began to feel smothered. I also began to pick up some weird vibes. So one night at dinner I told her I thought we needed to cool things off a lit
tle and move more slowly.

  “I couldn’t believe what happened next. She went to pieces right there in the restaurant. Started crying, pleading with me not to reject her, saying she’d do anything as long as I promised to keep seeing her. She was creating such a scene that we left before they even served our entrées. I tried to reason with her in the car on the way home, but I couldn’t get through. That’s when I realized she had some serious psychological issues.”

  When he fell silent, Marci was tempted to take his hand. But his rigid posture put her off. It was as if he’d withdrawn into himself, was reaching deep into a dark place in his soul.

  “After that night, I knew there was no future in the relationship. But she wouldn’t accept that. Then things got even worse. The phone calls increased, and she’d leave hysterical messages on my answering machine. She began sending me expensive gifts. And when I stopped responding, she started showing up at my condo. Just hanging around, waiting for me to come home from work.”

  Marci stared at his tense profile. “That’s scary.”

  “Tell me about it. I had no idea how to cope with her. I finally told her I was going to call the police unless she left me alone.”

  “What happened then?”

  He stared at the darkening sea. “She threatened to commit suicide if I cut her off.”

  Marci drew in a sharp breath. “That’s emotional blackmail.”

  “Yeah.” He wiped a hand down his face. “I’d met her parents. We’d had brunch at their house once. So I called to express my concern. They laid into me, too, accusing me of leading her on. And they refused to acknowledge she had any problems.” He shook his head. “It was a mess.”

  The lines in Christopher’s face, highlighted by the lengthening shadows cast by the setting sun, told Marci that “mess” didn’t begin to capture his obvious anguish and pain.

  “Did you see her again?”

  “Once. I met her at the Public Garden on my lunch hour one day. She worked near there as a receptionist at a real-estate office her father owned. I only did it because she sounded desperate, and I hoped I could convince her to seek professional help. But it was a mistake. She had another meltdown.”