by Marie Force
“You’re going to pay for this, Caldwell.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Quinn.”
Georgie fumed for another ten minutes, long enough to lose track of the number of twists and turns he took before bringing the car to a stop.
“Stay here.” He got out and shut the door.
Georgie stewed in the hot car for several minutes until he came back for her.
“Right this way, madam.”
“This is not funny, Nathan. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but whatever it is—”
“Georgie,” he whispered. “You need to shut up.”
“You’re really going to talk to me like that, not even thirty minutes after we got engaged?”
The sound of snickering got her attention.
“Are there other people here?”
“A few.”
“I’m going to shoot you with your own gun.”
The snickering escalated to rippling laughter. Georgie’s heart beat fast as she realized there were a lot of people listening to them. What the hell?
“Sit,” Nathan directed.
With a huff, she did as she was told.
He untied the bandanna, took it off, and sat down next to her.
Georgie squinted against the sudden blast of light and blinked the senior center parking lot into focus. A stage had been erected outside the front door, which was covered by a black cloth. The dirty old men stood to the side of the stage wearing ties and satisfied smiles. Good Gus winked at her from his wheelchair. Behind them, Barbara sat with all the regulars.
Georgie turned around from the front row to find at least fifty other people, which, of course, was why Nathan had told her to shut up. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. Georgie gasped when she discovered her sister Ali and her family sitting in the next row. Tess, Ben on crutches, Cat, and Ian with Rosie on his shoulders were in the back with the rest of the Caldwell family. Bernie blew her a kiss.
“Congratulations,” Ali whispered, her eyes bright with excitement. “I told you he was the one.”
With a smile for her sister, she turned back to Nathan. “What’s going on?”
He took her hand. “Listen.”
“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Mayor Sam Watson, and I’m pleased to welcome you to the Newport Senior Center. Before we get to the reason we’re here, I’d like to congratulate Detective Caldwell and Georgie Quinn on their very recent engagement.”
Nathan grinned at her as the crowd responded with enthusiastic applause.
“Just friends, my ass,” Bad Gus said to laughter from the other seniors.
“Now, without further ado, I’ll let Bill Bradley tell you what’s going on, Georgie.”
“I’d appreciate that,” she said to more laughter.
Bill bounded up the stairs and shook hands with the mayor.
“Good afternoon and thank you all for being here today.” Bill gestured to the rows of seniors. “On behalf of the many people who have benefited from the senior center, it’s my pleasure to welcome you and to congratulate Georgie and Nathan on their engagement.” He led a round of applause.
“When I retired ten years ago, my greatest worry—and my wife’s greatest worry—was that I’d be hanging around the house all day with nothing to do. But thanks to Nancy Quinn and the program here, I’ve found plenty to do. I’ve also found some of the best friends I’ve ever had in my life, as well as a sense of community and purpose. In short, I’ve found a second family. We’re here today to honor Nancy and her years of service to Newport’s senior population.”
“Oh,” Georgie said softly as her eyes filled.
Nathan squeezed her hand.
“Nancy saw a need and did something about it. Every one of us, and many who came before us, has benefited from her devotion and her commitment. Her death was a tremendous blow to those of us who loved her and called her our friend. As we mourned Nancy, we also feared the loss of a program we had come to rely upon as a vital part of our daily lives. But thanks to Nancy’s daughter Georgie, the program not only survived, it thrived. Georgie sacrificed her own career in Atlanta to give us a few critical months until Barbara arrived to rescue her. Georgie, we know we drove you to drink at times, but we’re eternally grateful for everything you did for us.”
Georgie was stunned and embarrassed when the entire crowd stood up to cheer.
After everyone returned to their seats, Bill called Walter and Bad Gus to the stage.
“By unanimous approval of the City Council, which declared today Nancy Bryant Quinn Day in the City of Newport, it is my honor and privilege to dedicate the Nancy Bryant Quinn Senior Center. Boys?”
Walter and Gus tugged the cloth off a new sign, which included a gold-leaf portrait of Nancy.
Staggered, Georgie stared at her mother’s likeness.
Nathan slid his arm around her shoulders.
“Georgie, honey,” Bill said, “I know we’re putting you on the spot, but if there’s anything you’d like to say . . .”
She glanced at Nathan.
He nodded with encouragement.
From behind her, Ali squeezed her shoulder.
Georgie stood and made her way to the stage. Each of her friends from the center hugged her as she went by.
On the stage, Bill greeted her with a hug and turned the microphone over to her.
As Georgie took a moment to compose herself, she looked out at the crowd, smiled at Ali, Tess, and Cat, and then glanced over at the Dumpster, remembering that first encounter with Nathan. A new, green recycling Dumpster sat next to it. Her eyes met his, and his smile told her he knew exactly what she was thinking.
“Well,” she finally said, “hasn’t this been quite a day?”
The crowd laughed and applauded in agreement.
She took a deep breath. “I want to thank everyone who had anything to do with this,” she said, gesturing to the sign. “It’s a wonderful and fitting tribute to my mother, and my sister and I are deeply grateful. I talked to my mom every day of my life, but I didn’t know her, really know her, until I worked here. For that priceless gift, I’m also grateful.”
After a pause to collect her thoughts, she continued. “I agreed to fill in until a new director was hired and made no secret of the fact that I was less than thrilled to be here. But like Bill, I, too, found a family here, and I love each and every one of you. I should also note that my roommates and I found our future husbands here—none of them seniors.”
As laughter rippled through the audience, Georgie concluded by saying, “I’m reminded of something Nathan once said about what he learned from a loss in his life. He said it so eloquently, and I hope I’m remembering it correctly. It was something like this: Life is short, love is sweet, regrets either make you or break you, and nothing lasts forever. Thanks to the time I spent here, I’m able to move forward with no regrets. My mother’s life was far too short, but today you’ve ensured that her legacy will live on forever. Thank you so much for that.”
The audience once again surged to their feet in applause.
Georgie started down the stairs.
Nathan met her at the bottom and lifted her into a hug.
Finally, she had found her way home.
Turn the page to read The Fall!
Author’s Note
This book was inspired by a ride into Newport, Rhode Island, one busy summer evening in 2006. A man driving a black Mercedes convertible was in traffic next to me, and on his Massachusetts license plate were his initials plus MD. I wondered where the handsome doctor could be going. The Fall is my answer to that question. As I developed the character of Ted, a pediatric oncologist, I realized I needed some day-in-the-life details to make his character more authentic. During an Internet search, I discovered a blog by Dr. Samuel Blackman, at the time a pediatric oncologist at Children’s Hospital Boston. The similarities between Sam’s story and the back story I had already given Ted were startling, to say the least. Sam generously allowed me to borrow anecdotes fr
om his blog that added so much to this story. For that as well as his friendship and support, I’m truly grateful.
Thank you Christina Camara, Julie Cupp, Paula Del Bonis-Platt and Lisa Ridder, who read the early drafts and provided invaluable feedback. To all the readers who have made my author journey so rewarding, I’m eternally indebted to you. Your friendship has been one of the great gifts in my life.
To Dan, Emily, Jake, Brandy, and Dad, I love you best of all.
xoxo
Marie
For all the families, like mine, that have been touched by cancer.
To whom much is given, much is expected.
Luke 12:48
Chapter One
Dr. Ted Duffy moved through the busy halls of Children’s Hospital Boston, keeping his eyes down to discourage anyone from stopping him to chat. He didn’t want any delays. These things needed to be done quickly, the way you would pull off a Band-Aid. His heart had been heavy since he received Joey Gaither’s test results. The last round of chemo hadn’t worked, and there was nothing left to try, no magic potion that would save the twelve-year-old who had become so much more than a patient to Ted in the four years since they had discovered the tumor in Joey’s fibula.
He had known, of course. Before the test results arrived via e-mail that morning, Ted had known he wasn’t going to save Joey. But God how he had wanted to save this special kid who had so many plans, so many friends, so much to live for. They were all special, but a few managed to work their way past his determination to protect his heart from the never-ending catastrophe that surrounded him. Yes, there were a few he loved, and Joey was one of them.
Ted ran a weary hand through his thick blond hair and took a deep breath to steel himself for what he had to do.
John and Melinda Gaither were huddled together outside their son’s room. Melinda wept into John’s shirt, and he held his wife with tenderness that should have been used up by now. Ted had seen many a marriage self-destruct in the midst of a child’s critical illness and was relieved to realize the Gaither’s union wouldn’t be one of them.
Melinda looked up and saw Ted approaching them. “Dr. Duff,” she gasped. “Joey’s so bad today. What’s going on?”
“Let’s go to the lounge,” Ted said.
Melinda exchanged glances with her husband. They had been doing this too long to miss the signs.
Ted led them to the lounge, which was thankfully empty, and reached for Melinda’s hand.
She dissolved into tears. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I’m sorry.”
John dropped his face into his hands.
“If there was anything else—”
“We know, Doc.” John wiped his face and reached for his wife’s hand. “We knew this last round of chemo was a long shot, but we were hoping for a miracle.”
“So was I.”
“How long do we have with him?” Melinda asked, her pretty face ravaged by grief and years of worry.
“His kidneys have failed, so not long.” The chemo had been aggressive, but rather than arresting the cancer, it had damaged Joey’s already weakened organs beyond repair.
Melinda sobbed quietly.
“Do you mind if I spend a few minutes with him?” Ted asked.
“Of course not,” John said.
Ted stood up.
“Ted?” Melinda said. “Thank you for all you did.”
“I just wish it could’ve been more.”
Joey’s room was filled with signed photos of his heroes—the Boston Red Sox. The Make-A-Wish Foundation had granted the boy’s fondest desire to meet the team’s all-star catcher, who had made Joey a part of the Red Sox family, even going so far as to allow him in the dugout during a few games the summer before. Yesterday, the halls of the hospital had buzzed with the news that the catcher, shortstop, and ace pitcher had been by to visit Joey.
The child was shrunken into the big hospital bed, his baldness concealed by a Red Sox hat.
Ted reached for Joey’s hand. He had ordered oxygen and morphine the night before. All they could do now was make him comfortable for whatever time he had left. Ted found it hard to reconcile the tiny body in the bed with the bright, dark-haired child he had once been, before he’d lost a leg and his childhood to cancer. But the cancer hadn’t infected his spirit. He had fought so hard and for so long that Ted knew he would always remember Joey’s special brand of courage.
He stirred and turned to look at Ted with chocolate-brown eyes heavy with medication and knowledge.
“Hey, buddy. Does anything hurt?”
Joey shook his head and reached for the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose.
Ted helped him move it aside.
“No good, huh?” Joey asked. He had once asked Ted to tell him only the truth, and Ted had done his best to comply.
“I’m sorry.”
Joey’s fragile shoulders rose in a shrug. “Win some, lose some.”
“I really wanted to win this one.”
“I know.”
When he saw him struggling for air, Ted put the mask back over Joey’s face.
Joey took several deep breaths before he reached for the mask again. “Do something for me?”
“Anything.” Ted wanted to weep for all the things that would never be.
“Keep fighting. Someday you’ll win them all.”
“I promise,” Ted said, blinking back tears.
Joey nodded with satisfaction and squeezed Ted’s hand before he drifted back to sleep.
Ted kissed the child’s forehead. “Godspeed, buddy.”
John and Melinda waited in the hallway. Ted hugged them both. “Page me if you need anything.”
John nodded.
Since there was nothing more he could do, Ted left them to say goodbye to their son.
Ted wove his black Mercedes SL convertible through the heavy traffic leaving Boston on that Friday night in early July. He lived for his summer weekends in Newport, Rhode Island, where he shared a rental with his three best friends. A colleague who skied covered for Ted most summer weekends in exchange for the same courtesy during ski season.
The rare, humidity-free night made it comfortable to have the top down, and the rush of fresh air was a welcome relief from the stagnancy of the hospital. After eighty hours of tending to sick kids that week, he welcomed the normalcy of traffic, of people rushing to get where they were going, oblivious to the epic battles being waged by cancer-stricken children. It was just as well they didn’t know. On days like this, it was almost more than he could bear.
He received word from a nurse on the ward that Joey died at six o’clock. After that, Ted had moved quickly to brief his colleague on the status of his other patients so he could get out of there for the weekend.
When he left Interstate 93 and merged onto Route 24, the traffic finally let up, and he let the powerful car loose. Only when he crossed the Sakonnet River Bridge to Aquidneck Island did he begin to relax. He loved the view from the old bridge and was sorry he had missed the best of the sunset. The deep pinks and purples that remained reflected off the flat-calm water.
He hit more traffic in Portsmouth and Middletown as he made his way south on Route 114. The island, a popular summer tourist destination, was home to one of the guys who rented with Ted. Smitty, now a stockbroker in New York, took every Friday off all summer to get to his hometown as early in the day as possible. He usually shared the ride with Chip, a dermatologist in the city, and Chip’s longtime girlfriend, Elise. Rounding out the group was Parker, known in the media as “The Prince” because of his billionaire real estate developer father, James King. Despite his lineage, however, Parker was a hard-working divorce attorney in Boston who often rode to Newport with Ted. He had called earlier in the day to say he was taking a half-day and would meet Ted at the house.
The four men had been friends since their sophomore year at Princeton when they had shared adjoining dorm rooms. They had seen each other through failed relationships, professiona
l ups and downs, the deaths of several parents, and Smitty’s spectacular divorce, which Parker had handled with great delight. None of them had liked Smitty’s wife, Cherie, and were thrilled to see her go—no one more so than Smitty. Of the three, Ted considered Smitty his best friend. While he was close to Chip and Parker, he talked to Smitty most often.
Ted was always the last to arrive in Newport, since cutting out early wasn’t usually an option for him. Tearing himself away for two days a week all summer was something he had gotten better at in the five summers they had been renting the house. He often wondered if he would have stuck with pediatric oncology without these weekends to look forward to. Between medical school, his internship, residency, and fellowship, followed by the first few years at Children’s, he had been on the verge of burn out when Smitty suggested they spend summer weekends together.
The traffic in downtown Newport was heavy and typical for a July Friday. As he inched along America’s Cup Avenue, Ted received a few appreciative glances from women on the bustling sidewalk. He was never sure if they were checking out him or the car, but once they saw the empty passenger seat they inevitably took a second look at the driver. His mother often accused him of being married to his work, so she would love to see him fill that seat with any of the pretty girls who gave him the eye from the sidewalk.
At the light on the corner of America’s Cup and Lower Thames, he was approached by a group of girls out for a bachelorette party. They would have jumped into the car had he given them the slightest bit of encouragement. Instead, he said, “Not tonight, girls,” and took a right onto Lower Thames. A few minutes later, he finally pulled up to the large house on Wellington Avenue, overlooking King Park and Newport Harbor.
Ted grabbed the bag he had packed that morning from the trunk of the car and used his key to let himself into the dark house. No doubt the others were out at one of the waterfront bars they frequented. Ted could have joined them and most Friday nights he would have. Tonight he was grateful for the silence. He flipped on a light to find the dining room table littered with beer cans, the remnants of a poker game, and an ashtray filled to overflowing with cigar stubs. Ted chuckled, knowing the house was cleaned after every weekend and marveling at how quickly his friends had brought disorder to the place.