by Robyn Carr
“It was a circus,” she said, spearing some of her salad. “Try to imagine feeding ten on an easy day. Not only were there occasionally friends to add to the lot, but there were aunts, uncles and cousins, mostly from Oregon and some from California. It’s a big family. My mother doesn’t own a platter or bowl that won’t hold enough food for an army. Towels were washed daily, there were so many. By the time we could spell cat or dog, we were taking out trash, helping in the garden, picking pears, doing kitchen chores and learning to operate the washer and dryer. If you can drive a tractor, you can wash clothes. The week was divided—two kids per day got the washer and dryer. If you didn’t perform laundry on your day, you were outta luck. We bartered to throw a favorite pair of jeans in with someone else’s load. My dad used to say we learned to dance by waiting for a turn in the bathroom. No one had their own room, and we were pretty exited if there were only two sharing a room. Oh, by the time some of us left for school or work or the military, the younger ones had their own rooms for a few years, the spoiled brats. It was crazy.”
“Good crazy?” he asked.
“Depends on your perspective. There were feuds and fights sometimes. We lived in a big old farmhouse, and there was barely a quiet corner to study in, but if we didn’t get A’s, we were toast. My parents were very strict. They had to be. But my mom—she was amazing. Is amazing. She tried to find special one-on-one time for each of us. There were too many of us to have a lot of that. My folks worked to the bone every day, so when it came time for games, recitals, concerts, plays and all that stuff, they were spread pretty thin—they couldn’t show up for everything. My dad got up at four every morning and put in fourteen-hour days. My mom ran a farmhouse and garden and eight kids, and she was out of bed to give my dad breakfast every morning and had a solid dinner on the table every night. We were all at Mass every Sunday morning. That was non-negotiable. Since the pope had everything to do with them having eight kids, we were, by God, spilling out prayers every Sunday.”
She saw that he was looking at her in sheer wonder. She smiled at him. “Your burrito will get cold.”
“I’m fascinated. I have one sister and a widowed, overprotective, possessive mother. My sister, Nancy, and I refer to her as The Mother. When I moved to Thunder Point, leaving my mother to focus on my sister rather than her poor, widowed son, my sister threatened to sue me.”
Peyton laughed.
“When a person grows up in a big family, does that make one want a big family?” he asked, finally diving into that burrito.
“Are you kidding? All I wanted was my own room! And travel, freedom and independence. When I was a teenager, if I got a new sweater or great pair of boots—bought by me, of course, from babysitting money—I had to hide them or I’d see them on a sister! They’re scavengers!” She played with her salad and thought briefly of Ted’s kids. They hadn’t been terribly different except for two things she had come to view as important—remorse and reciprocation. Ted’s kids, unlike her sisters, were proprietary. They had a sense of entitlement.
“But I will say this—being raised on a large working farm in a big family, there’s no opportunity to develop laziness or become self-centered. And my parents couldn’t have chaos—the whole operation would collapse. So there was a real low tolerance for irresponsible, rude or selfish behavior. You’re mad at your brother? Get over it! You don’t love your sister today? Act like you love her! I mean, we were human—there were issues all the time. We really were regular kids. But we learned to keep it under the radar. My parents weren’t inclined to look the other way when someone was mean or spiteful or, God forbid, disrespectful. The Basque are a passionate people, but respect for family is high on the list of requirements. If you want to live,” she added with a grin. “And yet,” she said somberly, reflecting again on Ted’s kids, “my father rarely raised his voice. In anger, that is. When my uncles were around or when the family worked or celebrated together, you could hear my father’s voice booming from acres away. And my mother had a Mother Superior voice that brooked no argument, but I can count on one hand the number of times I heard her yell.”
“You’re close to your family,” he said.
“I couldn’t wait to get off the farm. And now, when exhaustion or indecision or disappointment consumes me, I run to the farm.”
“Because it’s peaceful?” Scott asked.
That made her laugh. “You have no idea how many things can disrupt a farm or a ranch. Agricultural problems, pests, drought, floods, freezes. Issues with the stock— My brother manages the sheep on the other side of the property, and they’re kind of delicate. Breeding, sheering and lambing are major events. No, a farm isn’t necessarily peaceful—there’s always something. A lot like emergency medicine, it takes a steady hand. And to be a good farmer, you have to be at peace with nature, with the land, and you have to have profound faith. I don’t go back there for a peaceful rest,” she said with a laugh. “The second my dad sees me, he says, ‘Get her a basket. She must be here to pick pears, gather eggs or thin the garden.’ But then, I’ll eat like I haven’t eaten in months and months. Tapas and marmitako and chowder el punto—fresh and hearty. All washed down with a crisp, white Txacoli—a fruity white wine. White because the Basque have been fishermen for many generations and most traditional Basque food is from the sea. Or lamb—lots of lamb. For the red beans and braised meat, Rioja, the Spanish red. The Basque know how to handle a grape. My uncle Sal has a vineyard—he’s a genius with a grape! And then we always have a dense, thick bread to soak up the beefy sauce.” Her eyes closed as she nearly smelled the beans, potatoes, lamb stews, chowder. “I don’t think my mother has opened a can in her life.”
She slowly opened her eyes and found, once again, she had Scott’s full attention. She noticed, not for the first time, that he could listen with his eyes. There was nothing remarkable about the shape or color, but the way he looked at people caused everyone to trust him. She trusted him.
“I think I drooled right there,” he said.
She laughed. “If you turn out to be my friend, maybe I’ll take you to the farm someday.”
He took a bite of his burrito before responding. “I envy you, Peyton. Not many people enjoy that richness of tradition, the specialty of it, the uniqueness. I’m just white bread—a mixture of about ten different cultures that no one clung to and have become so watered down by now there’s probably not a single family recipe in the family. Tell me something—did your brothers and sisters marry in the Basque community?”
She shook her head. “Only two. George, a committed Basque sheep herder, found himself a Basque wife, but she’s not an old-world domestic. They have two children, and she’s a physical therapist who drives all the way to Oregon City four days a week where she’s the director of a therapy facility. She can throw together a hell of a lamb stew, though,” she said, laughing. “And Adele, baby sister, was determined not to marry in the culture, and then she accidentally fell for a restaurateur from San Francisco. Now, that’s where you want to eat if you like Basque cuisine. They’re the ones due to have their first child soon. I will be there for that!”
“I would love to meet your family someday,” he said, his voice soft.
“I don’t think I have time for a lot of kids, but I want what my parents have. I don’t recall one single time they weren’t on the same team. My father never vetoed a decision made by my mother or vice versa. If Papa disciplined one of us, my mother upheld it to the letter. They were always the first up in the morning, and I woke to the sounds of them talking about things, planning the schedule, maybe arguing a little, getting everything straight before the start of the day. Same at night, their low voices in their bedroom.” She laughed. “And he still embarrasses her by grabbing her and kissing her in front of everyone. They’re over sixty and completely devoted to each other. They’re very good friends. They’re partners. I want that. I doubt I’ll ever find it, but I want it.”
* * *
Peyton was u
nlike any woman Scott had ever known. Smart, funny, wise and, oh, so beautiful. Exotic and sexy and just plain hot. She was so different from his wife. Serena had been a small pale blonde, petite except for her feet and sometimes frail-looking, even when she put on weight. Peyton was tall and sturdy and strong. Rosy-cheeked, tan skin and of robust health. And he couldn’t recall ever knowing a woman whose hair he wanted to stroke, to lie in, to bury his face in. And yet, she was completely unavailable to him.
“You seem to be sensible and well grounded,” he said. “I’m surprised you don’t have a partner.”
“Well,” she said slowly, as if trying to decide whether or not to share. “I was in a relationship. I’m afraid it was a bitter breakup and one of the reasons I needed a change. I don’t think I want to go back to Portland, where we had so many friends. Even though that was convenient for visiting my parents.”
“I’m sorry, Peyton. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay,” she said with a shrug. “I should’ve known. I’m not usually naive. There were so many warning signs that we weren’t compatible, and I somehow managed to ignore them all. But let’s not go there. I take all the blame—I wasn’t paying attention. Or something.” She flushed a little, laughed in embarrassment and lifted her glass. “Gotta love a little beer. I didn’t mean to say even that much.”
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he said. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”
“What’s your excuse?” she asked pointedly. “Your wife’s been gone awhile now.”
“Well, my lunch counter shrink, Gina, said that even though I might want to move on, it was obvious I wasn’t ready.”
“Oh?”
“I took Gina out a couple of times before she and Mac were engaged. According to her, I talked about my deceased wife the whole time. Through two dinners.”
“Oh,” she said. “Yeah, I suppose a little bit of that goes a long way if you’re trying to date someone.”
“So I’m told...”
“Well, you’ve hardly said a word to me. If fact, you were so quiet about her that I thought you were married, not widowed.”
“I didn’t intend that, either,” he said.
“Well, knock yourself out. Tell me all about her. You’re not going to damage our relationship.”
He thought about it and realized the urge to talk about Serena was not as strong. Not that he didn’t think about her. He did. He just didn’t feel a burning need to tell Peyton all the details. But he didn’t want to seem rude. “We were together a long time,” he said. “We started dating in high school. We were each other’s first loves. She was with me all through college and med school and residency. We’d waited a long time to start a family, both of us working. She was a CPA who worked with a big firm. We planned that she would one day manage my practice. So, finally we had Will, and it was so effortless, we decided to do it again right away. She died right after Jenny’s birth. An autopsy revealed SAH.”
“Subarachnoid hemorrhage.”
“Rare, but not unheard of. It must have been an aneurysm lying in wait, and no one knew.”
“I’m so very sorry, Scott,” Peyton said.
“Thank you. I think I’ve gotten my life together pretty well since then. A couple of years ago I did a study of areas in the Pacific Northwest that were underserved, visited about twenty small towns, two little kids along for the ride. Serena and I loved California—I studied at Stanford. We never talked about small towns, but here I was a single father and I had to decide where to raise my kids because I couldn’t possibly know if I’d ever again meet a woman I was that compatible with. We could finish each other’s sentences. But Thunder Point, with no doctor’s office or clinic, reminded me of a small Astoria, a pretty town, a place where I could work and keep tabs on two kids. I think it was a good choice.” Then he smiled and added, “But it’s not going to make me rich.”
She tilted her head. “How fond are you of riches?”
“Not that much. I’m fond of having enough. Do you know if you go to any of the local farmer’s markets around here you’re going to get the most amazing fruits and vegetables? At harvest it’s mind-blowing.” Then he laughed at himself. “Listen to me brag about that to a farmer’s daughter! And if you get friendly with some of the fishermen and crabbers, they’ll hold back some catch after they’ve been to fisheries and markets along the coast. I stitched up a fisherman’s hand not too long ago, and I’m still getting fish.” He grinned. “Devon had to put her head between her knees while I put in the stitches.”
“She’s a fainter?” Peyton asked with a smile.
“She didn’t go down, but she’s not the right person to hold a bloody hand for you while you sew.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“So, have you been to Astoria?”
“I have, and I love it there. I think you’re right—Thunder Point is like a little Astoria. Pretty. Not as rich, though.”
“Far from rich. These people are simple, hardworking folks. There’s some wealth around, but it doesn’t stand out. I think Cliff from Cliffhanger’s is pretty well fixed, and there might be a few others, but mostly middle class or struggling to get to middle class.”
“Will your kids get everything they need here?” Peyton asked.
“I believe they will. Education is a priority in this town. Lots of Thunder Point kids get scholarships and not just athletic scholarships. The teachers are dedicated and talented. It’s friendly. Crime is almost nonexistent. And now there’s good medical care.”
“And what about a second wife for the town doctor?” she asked with a lift of one brow.
“Well, I’ll be honest—I’d like that. I liked being half of a couple. But that looks pretty doubtful. There aren’t many single women hanging around, and I’m kept a little too busy for the hunt. But that’s all right, I guess. I like my life and I’m needed here. I think from the first day I chose pre-med, I wanted to be needed. I wanted to have the thing that helped.”
“Hmm. Maybe you wanted to be admired,” she suggested.
“Maybe. What did the last doctor you worked for want? What drove him?”
She didn’t even have to think about it. “To be the best. Best in the world. Universe. He created an image he had to uphold. He talked about it a lot—his image. He wanted to be the difference between life and death.”
“Well, I don’t want that. I’d prefer my patients not be near death. I just want to put in some good stitches, prescribe the right medicine, give sound advice. If someone wants to admire me for that, I’ll take it. I’m pretty uncomplicated. I’m a simple guy. That’s probably why I’m here. I’m hoping I’m the right guy for the job.”
* * *
Peyton would have named Scott the best guy for any job. She liked him so much. On her drive home she tried to remember feeling that way about Ted—liking him. What was clear in her memory—she had been dazzled by him. The way he practiced, the success he had with his patients, it was simply phenomenal. It was almost like the crush she’d had on a charismatic chemistry professor in college—the coeds followed him like puppies, he was so commanding and sexy. And Ted was so goddamn handsome it was surprising he didn’t cause heart attacks. When he’d looked at her, she began to melt right down to her lady parts! It had been very hard for her to maintain her professionalism in his presence during those first, early days of working in his office. She believed she had, but it had been a challenge. He seemed to walk about six inches off the floor. Ted hadn’t made her warm, he’d made her sizzle!
Ironically, sex hadn’t been a big deal with them. Ted wasn’t as sexually driven as she was, not by a stretch. He’d been kind and accommodating, and she’d had no complaints. Their sex life had been...adequate. But because Ted was so masterful in every other way, she’d assumed it was her. Lacking in some way.
Ted had caused her to feel oddly off-balance, though it was sometimes very subtle. Being off-balance had her struggling to make sure everything was all righ
t with him, with her, with them. She’d filled his periods of silence with questions, ignored his small tantrums, recognized the need to reinforce his confidence in her. And he’d rewarded her with material things. Throw three kids and a demanding ex-wife into the mix, and the result was Peyton’s loss of confidence and erosion of her self-esteem, but a collection of a few nice baubles.
She had been extremely attracted to Ted, but she didn’t think she liked him much. And she had been stunned to come to the conclusion he didn’t like her that much. At some point, she’d realized Ted liked himself better than anyone else. She hadn’t quite trusted him. “I think we should make a clean break, Peyton. You haven’t loved me for a long time.”
Oh, God, she thought. Ted had been right. She’d felt her love for him seeping away like a slow leak for so long. She’d kept trying to stick her finger in the dam, to build a partnership between them, to save the kids before it was too late, but it kept leaking, leaking, leaking until there was almost nothing left. They hadn’t had sex for months before she left. They’d barely had a cordial conversation. He was right—she’d frozen him out, and Ted needed to be adored, admired, loved.
No wonder. No wonder all of it.
In Scott’s small clinic she felt competent. Trusted. In balance. She didn’t sense a hidden agenda and wasn’t afraid of an emotional collapse. This was a complete accident—this town, this job—but as it turned out, this was going to be a good place to get leveled out and remember exactly who she was and what she wanted from life.
Still, she was going home to her little duplex after her lovely dinner with Scott and planned to do some damage to a gallon of Ben & Jerry’s.
* * *
Carrie’s deli wasn’t open on Sundays. Sometimes she did a little cooking at home, if the spirit moved her, but she usually tried to observe a day of rest. On this particular Sunday, she decided to take her little beach-mobile across the beach to Cooper’s to get their food order for the week. She had called ahead, and Rawley was working because the baby was still new and Cooper was spending less time at the bar.