All I'll Ever Need

by Harry Kraus

  He led Ron Marsh on a tour of his facility, and they stood in the waiting room to talk over a possible relationship. Dr. Marsh stroked his graying beard. “This would be a huge gain for us. We’ve been struggling to solidify our family practice program. An outpost with this kind of patient volume could be big.”

  “I want the assurances that most of the care will remain in this community. I don’t want the patients to have to go to Carlisle or Brighton for X-rays or lab tests.”

  “Selling to us would bring more, not less, to this community. We could even consider running specialty clinics here several times a month so the people of Stoney Creek wouldn’t have to travel over the mountain.”

  “There is one issue. About my current physician employee, Dr. Claire McCall. I want to be sure she can continue to work here if she desires.”

  “She’s not currently boarded?”

  Jimmy shook his head. “She finished an internship in surgery, but interrupted her training to help care for her father.”

  “We staff our clinics with board-certified family physicians only.”

  “But what of your residents? Certainly you could use this location for training.”

  “I’m sure the residents would help, but they must be overseen by a board-certified attending.”

  “Perhaps Claire could continue to work here as a part of additional training?”

  “We don’t have a current opening for any new residents. Perhaps next July.” He paused, his hand still on his beard. “Didn’t I hear that Dr. McCall diagnosed her father with Huntington’s disease?”

  “It’s true. She is quite a smart young lady.”

  “And what of her status? Is she carrying the gene?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know. Her mother mentioned her being tested, but I wasn’t informed of the result.”

  “And you are comfortable with her taking care of so many patients? Can’t Huntington’s disease affect cognitive function?”

  “I don’t see how that has relevance here. Claire is not showing any signs of Huntington’s.”

  “But investing so much training in an individual whose practice may be curtailed in a few years — well, it might be unfair to deny another capable candidate.”

  “Claire is the best resident doctor I’ve seen. Period. HD or not.”

  Dr. Marsh shrugged. “Well, we don’t have any positions open now, anyway.”

  John took the day off, and he and Claire spent the day house hunting around Stoney Creek and Fisher’s Retreat. Everything was either too big or too old. After they visited yet another fixer-upper, discouragement settled in. “I can’t believe this market,” she said.

  John chuckled. “Let’s stop at the café for a malt. Maybe Mr. Knitter knows of something coming up for sale.” Mr. Knitter ran the Fisher’s Café, and if anyone had his finger on the community pulse, it was him.

  Claire smiled. John touched her shoulder. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I was just thinking how wonderful this is, doing something so normal with the man that I love.” She felt her eyes beginning to tear.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Just that I know this isn’t going to last. Our lifetime of love is going to be short.”

  “Shhh. Don’t think about that now. This should be the happiest time of our lives.”

  “It is, John.” She shook her head. “But maybe you don’t realize what it’s like to live with a constant reminder that my happiness will be curtailed.” She tapped the steering wheel. “Every time I see Wally, I remember. Anytime I happen to do something klutzy, even if it’s just stumbling on a sidewalk, I start to wonder, is this the beginning?”

  “All the more reason to strive to make each day glorious.” He touched her cheek with the back of his hand.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “I love you.”

  “I’m trying to drive,” she said. “Don’t make me cry.”

  Twenty minutes later, with malts in hand, Claire drove toward home. She glanced sideways at the man she loved. “How long will you be able to stay?”

  “I need to see a client in Richmond tomorrow. I can drive back tomorrow night if you need me.”

  She shook her head. “Why don’t you stay in Brighton? I want to come up for the weekend anyway. I need to visit a florist and get back to the bridal shop.”

  “What about Della? Will she stay alone?”

  “I think so. The sheriff ’s department has promised to keep watch. Besides,” she added, “I think a little time apart will be good for Mom and me.”

  Claire slowed as she approached the Stoney Creek Family Practice Clinic. “That’s Dr. Jenkins’s car.” She pulled into the parking lot. “I want to see what he’s up to.”

  A minute later, she entered the front waiting room to see Jimmy Jenkins and Ron Marsh, a physician she knew from her days at Brighton University. She nodded a greeting. “Dr. Jenkins, Dr. Marsh,” she said. “What brings you to Stoney Creek?”

  He traded glances with Dr. Jenkins. “Just checking out a little business opportunity for the university.”

  She looked at Dr. Jenkins. “You’re thinking of selling the practice to the university?”

  Looking uncomfortable, he said, “What would you think of that?”

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea. It’s win-win. You get to sell the practice, and the university gets a training site for residents and a secure referral to Brighton anytime we see anything complex.”

  Dr. Marsh nodded. “That’s the way we see it. Shall I get our attorneys to draw up an agreement?”

  “Not so fast,” Jimmy responded. “Without an assurance that Dr. McCall will have a position in residency to train here, I’m afraid we don’t have a deal.”

  “But you said — ”

  “Forget what I said,” Jimmy interrupted. “Dr. McCall was willing to help me out of a jam. I’m not going to leave her in the cold.”

  Dr. Marsh stroked his chin with his hand and seemed to be studying Claire. Then he shrugged and stepped toward the door. “You’ve been trying to sell this practice for a long time, Dr. Jenkins. You’re willing to walk away from this deal for the sake of this one doctor?”

  Jimmy looked at Claire. “For her, yes.”

  Dr. Marsh’s expression remained sober. “We’ve made promises to other students. We don’t have approval for additional spots.”

  Jimmy folded his hands in front of his chest. “No spot for Dr. McCall, no deal.”

  Dr. Marsh spoke to Claire. “He trusts you with his patients, when he wouldn’t sell to me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He smiled and turned to leave. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  She stood with Jimmy to watch Dr. Marsh cross the parking lot to his car. Jimmy chuckled. “He’ll come around.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Dr. Jenkins. For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

  That evening, John ate dinner with Della and Claire. The conversation was okay, but Claire noticed that Della seemed quiet. She was sure that her mother was still annoyed over their talk about Wally.

  That night, Claire lay awake willing herself not to think about Tyler loose and plotting his revenge. Of course, trying not to think about Tyler was a defeat in itself. At midnight, she prayed and acknowledged God’s control. Trust, she’d learned, was not a state of arrival from which she couldn’t topple. Trust was learned. Relearned. And relearned again through a thousand hardships.

  Friday, she followed John into Brighton. While he went on to Richmond to help a cardiology practice adjust to their new e-patient software, Claire made a down payment on a wedding dress, hired a florist, and looked at two different photographer’s portfolios. By the end of the day, she realized that her mother would need a small miracle not to go into debt over the wedding.

  Friday evening, John and Claire rented a DVD and stayed up late eating popcorn at his apartment. In between handfuls, John asked, “What do you think about having children?”

 
Claire sighed. She loved children. She’d always dreamed that after establishing her career in medicine she’d have a family. But then came HD and the realization that the misery that was her father’s would be hers, and each of her children would carry a coin-flip of a chance of ending up with the same fate. “John, you know.”

  “You always talked of having a family. Have your test results changed anything?”

  Claire searched his eyes. “I would love to bear your children, you know that.”

  “But.”

  He understood. Their initial joy could turn into added responsibility for John if he ended up caring for a wife and one or more children with HD.

  “I think about it all the time,” he said. “I’d like to have a family.”

  “But what if our children have Huntington’s?”

  “What if they don’t?”

  Claire shrugged. “Equal odds.”

  “Your life has been worth living, even if it ended today. You’ve enriched thousands of people’s lives, Claire. You’ve changed this whole town by dispelling the myth of the Stoney Creek curse.” He paused. “Most of all, you’ve made me a very happy man.”

  “This means I should bear children?”

  “This means that just because someone is destined to suffer from a disease later in life, it doesn’t mean that the life wasn’t worth living. Maybe God has a plan for the future that includes children.”

  “I’m afraid for you. Sometimes, in subsequent generations, the onset for Huntington’s can be earlier.”

  “Jesus lived and died before the mean age for onset for Huntington’s.”

  “Your point?”

  “That God may have a plan for someone who doesn’t have a long life.”

  “I don’t want you to be burdened with too much. What if you end up taking care of me and a child with HD?”

  “If that happens, I’ll deal with it when the time comes.” He took her hands. “If we are going to have children, we shouldn’t wait a long time. If we have them soon, you’ll be able to be a mother for a long time.”

  She smiled. “I want you to be sure.”

  “Let’s elope.”

  “Believe me, after today at the Bridal Gallery, I’m tempted.”

  The next evening, with Claire on her way back to Stoney Creek, John went to cheer on his work teammates in a post-season softball tournament. It was hard for him to sit on the sidelines, but his recent femur fracture had sidelined him for the season.

  John sat on the top row of a small set of metal bleachers and inhaled the warm scent of freshly mown grass. In spite of the late hour, the field was noon-day bright with illumination from the stadium lights. His team wore blue jerseys embroidered with the initials “M.R.S.” for Medical Records Solutions, the parent company that produced the e-patient software he represented. He unwrapped a chili dog and dreamed of the future, watching his son play Little League on a night made for baseball.

  He looked up as Ami Grandle waved and excused her way through the crowd to sit at his side. “Hi,” she said, smiling. She wore an M.R.S. baseball cap and a pair of too-short shorts.

  “Hi, Ami.” He looked at the field where his team was up four to two.

  “Missed you the last few days. You didn’t come in.”

  “I took a day off, then I was in Richmond,” he said, staring straight ahead. “The Henrico doctor’s cardiology group is converting to our software.” He turned his attention to a small order of french fries he had purchased at the snack bar.

  Ami scooted closer and stole a fry.

  “Oh,” he said, holding them out to her. “Have some.”

  She responded by moving even closer and smiling as she helped herself. “I love softball. Did you play on the team?”

  “Shortstop.” He pointed onto the field to the left of the pitcher. “Right there, where Bob Estes is playing.”

  Bob scanned the crowd just as John pointed.

  “Oooh,” Ami said, taking his arm in her hands and moving even closer.

  John looked over. “Ami,” he said, pulling away. “I’m engaged. You know that.”

  She leaned into his cheek and whispered. “Oh, I know, but Bob Estes was looking at me.”

  He scooted away.

  “Just play along,” she said. “Bob has been hitting on me at work. If he sees me with you, maybe he’ll leave me alone.”

  “I don’t want there to be rumors at work, Ami.”

  She pushed out her lower lip. “I don’t care what others say,” she pouted. “Just this once,” she said, slipping her arm around him and stealing another fry. “Bob’s been such a jerk.”

  John felt her T-shirt graze his arm. Caution lights fired. He needed to get away before he started enjoying this. He stood up abruptly. “I need something to drink.”

  She smiled sweetly. “I’ll take diet.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday morning found Claire back in the saddle and happy with the workload to keep her occupied. She walked back into an exam room to see Sarah Payne. “Your strep test is negative. I want you to drink plenty of fluids. You should be better in a day or two.”

  “I need an antibiotic.”

  Claire sat on a rolling stool and looked at her patient. Sarah was forty-two, the mother of three teenagers and the manager of her own printing business. “I know you feel bad, but it’s from a virus. I’ve seen two other cases already this morning.”

  “My husband got a Z-pack when he had sinus problems.”

  “That was different. That was due to a bacterial infection. Viruses don’t respond to antibiotics.”

  “So I just have to suffer?”

  “Take Tylenol. Get plenty of rest.”

  She sighed. “I’ve got a business to run.”

  Claire nodded. “I’m sorry.”

  Sarah slipped off of the exam table, straightened the wrinkles in her designer dress, and huffed.

  “Overprescription of antibiotics is a problem,” Claire reminded her. “It creates infections resistant to medication.”

  Sarah waved her hand and exited the room without a reply. Claire clenched her teeth. People could be so unappreciative.

  Claire walked back down the hall to find Jimmy Jenkins in her office. He was dressed in blue coveralls and a T-shirt, his attire when he came to do office maintenance or yard work. “Morning, Claire.”

  She smiled and laid a chart on the desk. “Mowing day?”

  “Yep. How’s the staff?”

  “Okay, I think. Lucy refuses to put anyone in the first exam room, but on the whole, I think the crew is holding up.”

  “Any new word on the investigation?”

  “Randy Jensen came over and briefed the staff before we started this morning. Their best guess has this Tyler Crutchfield a long, long way away from Stoney Creek by now. While this guy was incarcerated, they were able to link him by DNA evidence to several assaults out west in the Denver area.”

  “So that’s why he was living under the name Cyrus Hensley.”

  “Exactly.”

  Jimmy stroked his chin. “I think it would help the staff to talk with a counselor, someone who could anticipate the post-traumatic stress issues.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “A group session or two. Let the girls talk about their fears.” He looked at Claire. “You too.”

  Claire wrinkled her forehead.

  “I made a number of referrals to a counselor in Brighton, a Joanne Phillips. She seems to have a great reputation,” Jimmy added. “I could ask her to come down.”

  Claire shook her head. “I’d be more comfortable with someone else.”

  “You know Joanne?”

  Claire took a deep breath and glanced at the open door to her office. She lowered her voice. “I’ve been seeing Joanne myself already. I wanted to work through some issues after the assault.”

  He nodded. “I didn’t know.” He hesitated before adding, “I think that’s great, though.”

  Claire sat in a chair.
“I don’t know. We haven’t really clicked. She seems determined to make me deal with old pain.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I wonder if she’s really listening to me, or just pushing her agenda.”

  Jimmy sat on the edge of the desk. “Dealing with the pain in our past isn’t fun, Claire. But the best counselors are the ones who take us through the pain.”

  “Maybe that’s what I don’t like.” She hesitated. “But still, I don’t think I want to be seeing her alone and again in a group. It could get too mixed up for me.”

  “I understand. Maybe I’ll make a few calls. See who else I can find.”

  “Sure.”

  He held out his hand and helped her to her feet. “I’d better get working,” he said with a wink.

  Claire moved to the desk, where she dictated the visit with Sarah Payne. As she finished, Jimmy appeared again in the doorway.

  “Have you done something with the mower? It’s not in the shed.”

  She shook her head. “It was locked?”

  He nodded.

  She stood as a growing alarm tightened her gut. “There are only three sets of keys for the shed. Yours, mine, and the key I put under a stone at the corner of the shed.”

  “Who knew about that?”

  “Only me and . . .” Her voice halted.

  “What is it?”

  She raised her hand to her mouth.

  “Talk to me, Claire.”

  “Did you mow our grass?”

  “Mow your grass? What are you talking about?”

  “When we went to Brighton, right after Tyler Crutchfield escaped from prison. When we returned, someone had mowed the yard. We thought it was you.” She locked eyes with Jimmy. “Tell me you mowed the grass.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”