by Elena Aitken
Her lips twitched up into a grin, and once again she changed directions, heading for the end of the block and the local pub, the Log and Jam. What she needed was a drink to toast her fresh start.
It was still early afternoon, and there were only a handful of people in the pub yet, but that was perfect as far as she was concerned. As confident as she was feeling, she still wasn’t sure she was ready for a lot of faces. Not yet.
Christy slipped onto a stool at the end of the bar. A moment later, Ben Ross, the owner—who also happened to be one of her best friend’s brother-in-law, and one of the many guys she went to high school with—appeared to offer her a drink.
“Hey, welcome to the Log and Jam. I’m Ben.” He put a paper coaster down in front of her. “Can I get you a—Christy?”
His mouth fell open in surprise and Christy laughed. She couldn’t help it. She’d known Ben most of her life, and they were good friends.
“You look…wow…” He shook his head and joined her in the laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize you,” he said after a moment. “You look totally…”
“I needed a new look.” She saved him from trying to find something appropriate to say. “It was time.”
“Well, you look great. Can I get you a coffee or something?”
His question wasn’t totally unexpected considering it was pretty unusual for Christy to order anything alcoholic in the pub. There’d been a few times between treatments, but it definitely wasn’t the norm.
“I’ll take a glass of white wine actually, Ben.”
“Really?”
She smiled and nodded. “Absolutely.”
“One glass of white coming up.” Ben left to fill her order and Christy turned on her stool to take in the pub. There were a few people at the tables, but more interesting was the activity in the far corner of the room. Ben sometimes brought in bands on the weekend, and it looked as though one was setting up a few days early. Christy watched with interest while the two men attached cords and speakers.
Ben brought her the wine and disappeared again before she could ask him who was playing that weekend. She and Mark would often come down to listen to the bands, but she didn’t recognize the guys setting up. She sipped the wine, letting the cool liquid slide over her tongue and down her throat.
She closed her eyes and savored the taste before opening them to see she was no longer alone. She jumped a bit, shocked to see a man on the stool next to her. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment for the way she’d been enjoying her drink.
“Sorry,” the stranger said. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You seemed to be having a moment.” He grinned at her and nodded to her wine.
His smile was genuine and so disarming that Christy laughed. “I was,” she said. “Maybe a little too much.”
“No such thing.” He waved away her explanation. “My name’s Jamie.” He extended his hand. “Jamie Morris.” She shook his hand and looked into his green eyes that flashed with…something. “I’m with the band.” He laughed and ran his hand through his shaggy dark hair. “Sorry, that sounds like a pretty bad line.”
Was it a line? The thought hit her hard. It had been so long since she’d been on the receiving end of a pick-up, she didn’t even know what it looked like. Which was why there was no way that’s what it could have been. She almost laughed at herself.
“I’m Christy. Not with the band.”
“Nice to meet you, Christy Not With The Band.” He extended a hand and when she took it, a spark coursed through her body, startling her, but she didn’t drop his hand. Not right away.
Jamie grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but return his smile. The attention felt nicer than she would have expected. After a moment, she tipped her head to the side and looked wistfully at the setup. Her eyes landed on the microphone. There’d been a time when she’d secretly wanted to be a singer. Well, the fact that she liked to sing wasn’t a secret, but only Mark knew that she’d actually dreamed about being on stage and maybe one day actually being famous. It was a childhood dream, and in no way rooted in reality, but there were still times when she yearned for it.
“Do you sing?”
Jamie’s question took her off guard. She shook her head and looked back at him, away from the stage area. “No. Well, not really. Not anymore.”
“But you do sing?”
“Not like that.” She shook her head and took another sip of her wine.
“Like what then?”
He was watching her with his intense green eyes and instead of making her nervous, it had the opposite effect. Maybe it was her new hair, or new outfit, or maybe even the wine in her hand, but she was feeling uncharacteristically bold. “I sing like in the shower, or the car. Not on a stage.”
Jamie contemplated the answer for a moment and tapped his fingers on the bar. “Have you ever sang on a stage?”
She laughed. “Not since the high school talent show.”
“Would you like to?”
She studied him, trying to figure out whether he was being serious or not. But there was nothing in his expression that told her he might be joking.
“Well?”
Christy took another, bigger drink of her wine. “Yes. I would.”
As one of the only doctors in town, Mark’s practice was busy. He liked it that way. It kept him busy and he truly enjoyed getting to know each of his patients and their families. It hadn’t taken long for them to feel like part of his own family as well. It did make for full days, and although there was a time when that would have been problematic, for the last few days, Mark had craved it.
Immersing himself in other people’s problems allowed him to check out of his own. And he was smart enough to know it wasn’t a long-term solution, nor was he pretending it was, but it was a short-term coping strategy.
In a few days, he’d be okay. Or better, at least. Besides, there were a lot worse ways he could be dealing with the disappointment and pain of everything they’d been through. He didn’t drink excessively, he didn’t gamble, and he loved his wife more than anything else in the world. Even if he felt like he barely knew her anymore.
The last few days had been…strange. He’d expected Christy to cry, to lash out about how unfair everything was. More than anything, he’d wanted to talk to her. Together they could figure out what to do next. There was adoption, and maybe even surrogacy. They had options. But if they didn’t talk about them, they had nothing. But Christy hadn’t wanted to talk. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with him at all.
It was hurtful and confusing. Did she not think he was in pain, too? That he was equally sad and disappointed and…he couldn’t tell her any of that. How could he confide in her about his sadness, when she seemed to be…well, he wasn’t sure what she seemed to be.
“Dr. Thomas?” The intercom on his desk beeped to life, distracting him from his thoughts. He neatly stacked the files he’d been looking at and picked up the phone.
“Yes, Sarah?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor Thomas. I just wanted to check to see if I could make you a tea or something? The kettle is warm.”
Mark had missed Sarah’s attention to detail while she’d been on maternity leave. Christy had filled in for her a few days a week and he’d enjoyed having her around, but her heart wasn’t in the work, and it was good to have Sarah back.
Even if she did come with a desk full of pictures and daily stories about her new son, Nick. It hadn’t bothered him, not at first. Especially considering he’d been so sure that the last round of IVF would work and he’d soon have his own stories and pictures to share.
“I’m good right now,” he said into the phone. “Thank you, though.”
“No problem, Dr. Thomas.” Her voice was laced with just a shade of the exhaustion that plagued all new moms, but she’d never let it show. “You just let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
“Shall I send your next patient in? He’s here a few minutes early.”
He took a moment to stretch in his small office before he headed down the hallway to the exam room. It had been awhile since he’d gone for a decent run the way he had that morning; he probably shouldn’t have pushed it so hard. He’d be sore tomorrow.
But it wouldn’t stop him from doing it again.
He chuckled at himself and paused outside exam room two long enough to pull up the chart on his tablet. The office had recently upgraded from paper files and Sarah had them all using tablets and an electronic charting system. He hadn’t been too sure about the change, but it did solve the problem of him not being able to read his own handwriting. So that was a distinct benefit.
He clicked through the steps and opened the file for the patient waiting behind the door.
No.
He read the patient’s name again and turned to look down the hallway toward the reception area, as if that would clear things up. He scrubbed his hand over his face and knocked once on the door before he twisted the door handle.
Mark hadn’t seen Eric Ross in years. More than he could remember. They’d gone to school together, but it was Ben, Eric’s little brother, who’d been Mark’s age, so Mark didn’t actually know Eric very well at all. He’d seen him a few times over the years since one of Christy’s best friends, Drew, married him, but they’d moved away and as far as he knew, didn’t come back to visit very often.
In fact, Eric hadn’t even come back for the big school anniversary party that had been held that past spring. To say he was surprised to have Eric Ross in his exam room would be an understatement. But as surprised as Mark was to have Eric there, he was even more surprised to see him.
“Eric? Hi.” Mark’s voice dipped when he saw the other man who he’d remembered as tall, strong, and broad like his brother Ben. Not the emaciated, shell of a man who now sat in front of him. Mark called on his training and moderated his voice and facial expression to match. “It’s good to see you.”
“Hey, Mark. Or should I say Doctor—”
“Mark’s fine.” He took a seat on the stool and set his tablet down. “I know it can be a bit weird for people I knew when I was a kid. Whatever you want to call me is fine by me.”
“If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Mark.” Eric’s smile was weak. “I’ve had my fill of doctors for the last little while. No offense.”
“None taken.” He hadn’t had time to read through Eric’s entire file, but he didn’t need to in order to see that Eric wasn’t well. Not at all. “It’s good to see you, Eric. What’s it been…”
The other man shook his head and managed a small smile. “Too long. That’s for damn sure.”
“What brings you back to town?” Mark almost hated to ask the question, because it was clear by the look of him, and the expression on Eric’s face that told him everything he needed to know, but he was a professional and he needed to hear it from him.
Eric nodded to the tablet on the counter. “You read my file?”
“Not all of it,” Mark answered honestly. “I thought maybe you’d want to tell me.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Eric said with a sigh of resignation. “Not anymore.”
Christy was bursting with excitement by the time she finally got home. After leaving the Log and Jam, she’d made a quick stop at Timber Trade to pick up a few things to make Mark dinner and tell him her news.
She’d sung. A full song.
Sure, it wasn’t on stage in front of people. Not unless you counted the rest of the band that was still setting up, Ben, and the few customers he had at the time. But it didn’t matter if it was for one person or a hundred—she felt amazing.
Never in a million years did Christy think she’d ever get up with a microphone in her hand and put herself out there like that. There was that one time at karaoke, but that was different because she’d been drinking and…this had been different.
Something about Jamie and his encouragement had propelled her to go for it, which was crazy because she had never met him before and had no idea who he was. But maybe that was the point?
Whatever it was that had made her get up there and hold on to that microphone, it didn’t really matter because the point was, she’d done it and it had felt great.
Jamie had nothing but supportive things to say about her attempt and even offered for her to come and rehearse with the band if she wanted to. He’d given her his number, and maybe if she was younger and single she might have considered the idea that he was hitting on her. Because he was hitting on her. But she wasn’t young or single, so she chalked it up to him just being nice. But she didn’t throw his number away like she should have. Even after she got home, she pulled out the napkin and stared at the numbers written there and wondered…
What? She didn’t know. Would she call him? Would she actually rehearse with his band? The idea was completely insane. There was no way she could entertain either the idea of Jamie or singing with a band. That wasn’t who she was. No matter how good the attention had felt.
Still, she’d kept the number. And it made her feel a little…naughty? Guilty? Excited? Maybe a little of all three.
It didn’t matter though, because Christy couldn’t wait to tell Mark about her singing—she’d leave out the part about Jamie because she wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea—and have a nice dinner. Maybe they could finally share a bottle of wine and spend a little time together, just the two of them, without the weight of everything between them. Maybe, just for one night, they could pretend that everything was okay.
Yes. It was going to be a great evening.
“I wasn’t sure you’d be up for this today.” Aaron Owens picked up his pace to match Mark’s strong stride. “Clearly, I was wrong.”
“Yep.” Mark was sick of talking about everything he and Christy had been through. He was tired of people asking him whether he was okay, how Christy was, and what they were going to do next. He was sick and tired of all of it.
He knew his friends and family, and even his patients and random people in town, were asking from a place of care and concern, but frankly he didn’t give a shit. Maybe he’d be ready to talk about it some other time. But it certainly wasn’t now.
And after the afternoon he’d had, seeing Eric Ross in his exam room…he was more than ready for a run.
All he wanted to do was feel his feet on the pavement, the breeze in his hair, and the burning in his lungs as he pushed himself to run faster and farther. Because when he was running, he didn’t have to think about anything else except putting one foot in front of the other.
Aaron, his best friend, who also happened to be his first cousin, was thankfully smart enough to pick up on Mark’s need to ignore that part of his life and matched him step for step.
They ran in silence for a few minutes before finally Aaron called for mercy. “I need to slow down, man. You’re killing me.”
Mark laughed but he slowed his pace and let Aaron catch his breath.
“That’s better,” Aaron said. “I haven’t seen you run like that since…well, ever. Usually you’re the one trying to keep up with me. What’s gotten into you?”
Mark wiped the sweat from his brow and slowed his pace even more until they were walking. “I was just thinking that maybe I’d like to sign up for a few races this year.” He glanced at his friend. “Like the old days.” Truthfully, he hadn’t been thinking of it at all, but the moment the idea sprang into his head, it seemed like a good one. A really good one.
“Really? Like proper races or get up late on a Saturday and finish with a beer, races?”
“T-shirts and medals.” Mark laughed. “But I’m more than happy to finish with a beer.” Years ago, the two of them signed up for as many races as they could, and the joke was that they were trying to build up their wardrobes with free race t-shirts and decorate all the door handles in their homes by hanging
the medals from them. Together they ran every race, from community fun runs to a few marathons and even one ultra-marathon. It was a busy few years until finally Mark’s medical practice started demanding more of his time and energy and Aaron turned his attention to taking over the Creekside Inn that his father owned. They’d scaled back their training to daily morning runs, sometimes together, but more often on their own time. Although they had committed to meeting once a week for a longer run and to catch up, even that had fallen off until their time together was more sporadic than regular.
Mark missed it.
He missed a lot of things.
His medical practice had taken up so much of his time and when they’d started fertility treatments…well, he couldn’t decide what had felt like more of a job. Either way, running with Aaron again felt good and it would take his mind off everything else in his life.
Or at the very least, it might help to take the edge off his total and complete failure to give Christy the one thing she wanted more than anything else. The failure was magnified by the fact that he was a doctor. He should know what to do, how to fix it. His whole life, whatever he’d wanted, he’d worked his ass off for and earned. This was different. Infertility was so very different. Intellectually, he knew that Christy didn’t blame him, at least not intentionally. But it was his job to protect her and no matter what he’d tried, he could not manage to protect her from the hurt of not getting pregnant. He’d failed. More than once.
“How many races are you talking about?” Aaron’s question broke through his internal diatribe. They’d reached the parking lot where they’d left their vehicles. Aaron grabbed a bottle of water from the back of his truck and tossed one to Mark. “And what distance? What are we talking about here?”
“I don’t know.” Mark tipped the bottle back and drank deeply. “Maybe we can start out with a 10K and move into an ultra by fall.”