Practice Makes Perfect (Single Father) (9 page)

As he’d walked down to the E.R., he’d imagined a conversation with Sarah. “While your ideals are all very well, this gets old. With CMS, there would be a trauma surgeon on call. The fog wouldn’t be an issue.”

But even as he’d worked up righteous indignation, he’d remembered her face after he’d dropped her off following the fossil trip. The same closed-off look, her voice with the same brittle quality.

“She’s not very friendly,” Lucy had remarked.

“You just have to get to know her,” he’d said.

Now, thoughts of Lucy receding, he examined the young girl who lay drugged but conscious on a stretcher in the middle of the room, squinting against the bright overhead light. A nurse was adjusting the monitors that traced her heartbeat and respiration.

Matthew leaned over so that the girl did not have to turn to see his face. Her eyes were open and she looked responsive and alert. An X-ray tech at one end of the room fitted a newly developed picture of the skull into a manila folder and placed it next to the chart on a steel table. On the floor lay a brown paper bag with the clothes she’d been wearing.

After he’d examined her, he stepped out into the hallway to talk to the family and found them huddled in a corner of the waiting area across from the emergency room. Straight-backed chairs against cinder-block walls. Compassionate Medical Systems would have to be an improvement.

He finished reassuring them about their daughter, grabbed a few hours’ sleep then, groggy and in need of coffee, he started down the corridor and ran into Sarah.

CHAPTER NINE

“Y
OU
LOOK
AWFUL
,”
she told him. It had been over a week since the trip to Agate Beach, a week absorbed in the million and one details of setting up a practice. Long days and sleepless nights and still she had to look very closely to determine that she’d actually made any progress. On the other hand, she’d been too preoccupied to obsess about her relationship, or lack thereof, with Matthew. But now, although she’d sought him out on strictly professional terms, his gaunt appearance and shadowed eyes produced a rush of feeling she hadn’t anticipated. “Seriously, are you okay?”

“Slept here last night.” He ran his hand through his hair. “And the night before. I’m thinking of giving up my condo. Why do I need it?” He yawned. “What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you about something.” His eyes looked tired but very blue. She took a step backward. “A patient of yours.”

“Okay.” A moment’s hesitation. “I was headed for a bite. Want to join me?”

“I’ll even buy,” she said.

In the cafeteria, the woman dishing out scrambled eggs and biscuits did a double take when she saw Sarah. “Aren’t you Rose Benedict’s daughter?”

“Yep. And you’re…” The woman, who had worked there for years, used to serve her up extra portions of hash browns when she’d come in with Rose. “Betty.”

“You could have just read her name tag,” Matthew observed.

“Don’t give him any food,” Sarah told Betty, relieved that despite his obvious fatigue Matthew’s sense of humor was still intact.

“So what are you doing these days?” Betty asked.

“Big plans in the works,” Sarah replied.

“Sarah’s always working on something,” Matthew said. “Usually a way to improve the world.”

“Too bad I haven’t had time to start on you,” Sarah shot back. He was fine, she decided.

“I heard about your husband,” Betty said. “Sorry about that.”

“Thanks.” Sarah experienced the usual discomfort involved in not knowing quite how to respond to condolences. “He was definitely too young to die.” A lame response, she thought, hearing the words. Is anyone ever the right age to die?

“You’ve never talked about Ted,” Matthew said after they’d carried their trays over to a corner booth. “I just met him briefly when you came home after the wedding, but…”

“He was sweet and kind,” Sarah said. “A good person.” She started attacking her food, aware of Matthew watching her. Three years had dulled the pain of Ted’s death, but it was still difficult to talk about him. Especially to Matthew. “You know, you married the wrong man,” Ted had told her more than once, usually after she’d finished describing some shared escapade with Matthew, and she’d always reply that she and Matthew had been friends, nothing more. Ted had never seemed convinced. She drank some coffee. “Actually, I’m here in an official capacity.”

“Let me put my official face on.” Matthew affected an expression of extreme attention, leaning across the table, his eyes intent on her face. “There.”

“You have egg on your lip.” Sarah resisted the urge to reach over and remove it.

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Official egg, though.”

“Okay, we can do this for—” she glanced at her watch “—another two seconds, then all jokes are off.”

“Shoot.” He drank some coffee. “Poor choice of words. Speak.”

“It’s about one of your patients. Debbi Kennedy’s daughter, Alli.” She saw the hesitation in his expression. “It’s okay, Debbi gave me her permission to talk to you.”

“I’m assuming you have a license to practice in the state of Washington?” Matthew asked, mock serious still.

“From beauty school.”

“That’ll work.”

“Seriously.” She set down her fork. “Debbi said you told her the baby needs surgery.”

“I said she needed to come in to have tests,” Matthew said. “I suspect she’s going to need a kidney transplant. The tests would confirm that. Unfortunately, she seems to pay more attention to her boyfriend’s medical advice.”

Sarah nodded. “I’ve met them both. He’s an organic farmer and—

“Crackpot,” Matthew said.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. He’s well-known around town. Last year he led a crowd of protesters against a condo project on the old Dungeness Highway. As I recall, he ended up in jail.”

“He has strong convictions,” Sarah said, irritated without quite knowing why. “Sometimes people have to take a stand. Go against the flow.”

Matthew looked at her but said nothing.

“It’s always easy to take the path of least resistance.”

“Did you come here to defend Curt Hudelson? Or attack me?”

“I’m just making my point.” She tried to calm her racing heart. “Okay, I realize he’s got strong opinions. Debbi’s a little…unnerved by him, too. She’s torn between trusting the baby to him and fear that Alli will get swept up into the jaws of Compassionate Medical Systems.”

Matthew’s face tightened. “And you, of course, did nothing to reassure her that CMS is a reputable organization with hospitals all over the country.”

“A lot of dirty little secrets about botched surgeries, patient dumping, that sort of thing.”

“One thing I’ve always admired is your objectivity,” Matthew said.

“That isn’t stuff I made up, Matthew. You can go to the newspaper archives and see it for yourself. If you really wanted to know, that is.”

Neither of them spoke for a few moments. Then Matthew met her eyes. “So,” he said, “back to Debbi’s daughter.”

Sarah felt her face redden. “Look, could we start again? I didn’t mean to get into a fight with you.” She took a breath. “Here’s the deal. I know I could provide the middle approach that Debbi would feel comfortable with. I know I could help Alli. But I also recognize that she might need surgery at some point and I just want to know that if that’s the case, I can come to you and know that the child won’t be…”

“Pulled into the maw?”

“Matthew.”

“Where will you see Alli?” he asked. “You’re going to open an office?”

“I’m going to make house calls.” She saw his eyes flicker. “It’s being done in other places throughout the country. It makes sense, Matthew. House calls are convenient for the patients and—” she leaned across the table “—they can also save thousands of dollars for taxpayers.”

He smiled. “Vintage Sarah. ‘Matthew, we open a lemonade stand. Five cents a glass. By the end of summer…’”

She sat back, folded her arms and glared at him. “You can make light of it, but I’m serious. Research shows that patients who can’t get to the doctor regularly are more likely to wait until they’re really bad off, then call an ambulance. And what does that mean? Huge emergency-room costs, hospital-room costs and everything that goes with a prolonged illness. People out on the end of the peninsula—laid-off mill workers, single mothers—some of them qualify for welfare, some don’t. But they can’t get into town to see a doctor and even if they do, they can’t afford the charges. Debbi’s just one of many.”

He carefully picked the foil off a pat of butter, then sliced open a biscuit. “Okay, let me just say something. I’ve had a brutal couple of days, I desperately need an uninterrupted night’s sleep so if you’re about to make another pitch, you’ve picked the wrong time. Again.”

“I’ve asked you already, Matthew, and you’ve made your feelings pretty clear. You’re obviously exhausted. Something clearly has to give and you think CMS is the answer. Fine. Maybe you’ll enjoy practicing in an environment where the real focus is money. Go for it. I’m just looking out for Alli Kennedy’s interests.”

He spread butter on the biscuit, set the knife down and then, as though deciding he wasn’t hungry after all, pushed the plate away and stood. “If you need to consult with me on Alli Kennedy’s care,” he said in a flat, expressionless voice, “I promise to honor your request.” He reached for the tray, started across the room. “See you around, Sarah.”

“Matthew.” She got up, followed him across the cafeteria as he loaded his tray onto a conveyor belt. “Wait. Just talk to me for a minute.”

He shook his head. “You got what you came for, now just go. Okay? Take your ideals and your sermonizing and your absolute convictions and peddle them somewhere else.”

She stood there for a moment, watching his back as he walked down the corridor, not quite believing what had just happened. Then she raised her chin and walked out of the hospital into the cool air.

“…
AND
THEN
SHE
ACCUSED
ME
of being more interested in money,” Matthew was telling his friend Roger Evans over dinner the following night. “According to her, I’ve completely sold my soul to corporate medicine and, all in all, I’m a pretty poor excuse for a physician.”

Roger laughed. A successful pediatrician with a practice in a Los Angeles suburb, he was visiting his adult daughter who now lived in Port Hamilton. Over antipasto, Matthew had filled him in on the Compassionate Medical Systems saga and segued into Sarah as they started on the lasagna.

“Who is this woman?”

“We grew up together,” Matthew said. “She’s two years younger than me and, as kids at least, she looked up to me.” He grinned. “Although she’d choke if she heard me say that. She influenced me to go into medicine. Her parents and grandparents were doctors. We used to have all these high-flying ideas…”

“Didn’t we all?”

“But Sarah never got over hers. She’s just returned from Central America and now she’s got some plan to start her own practice. Integrative medicine and house calls.”

Roger looked amused. “Good luck.”

“If anyone can make it work, Sarah can.” Matthew pulled a slice of garlic bread out of the bread basket, bit into it and tried to recall the last time he’d had dinner at a restaurant with anyone but Lucy. “She asked me to go in with her, but…” He shrugged. “I’ve got a daughter. Upkeep. I hope she succeeds, but…”

“It’s a long shot.” Roger signaled to the waiter for more water. “So, this woman—”

“Sarah. Strictly friends,” he said, anticipating Roger’s question. “Although, I don’t know. Sometimes I look at her and wonder.”

“Attractive?”

“In an offbeat sort of way. The odd thing is I know her so well on one level and yet she’s this complete mystery to me.”

Roger grinned. “Always fun solving mysteries.”

“Yeah, I guess. These days though, I hardly have time to figure out my own life, let alone try to figure out what makes Sarah tick.”

“Probably what you need,” Roger said after the waiter had brought the water, “is a simple, uncomplicated woman who looks at you adoringly.”

Matthew laughed. “If you come across one, introduce me.”

But long after he’d gone to bed that night, Matthew was still awake thinking. His relationship with Elizabeth had once seemed less complicated, but Sarah had always been there, on the edge of his consciousness. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed about her standing on the beach, enveloped in fog just as she’d been that day on Agate Beach.

A
CANVAS
SATCHEL
slung over one shoulder, Sarah rode her bike through town to her appointment with the Realtor to look at office space. If this all came through, she reflected, she would need to buy a car. Maybe a truck. The west end of the peninsula where most of her patients would probably live was too far to go by bike. The wind bit her face, blowing through the wool of the hat she’d jammed on as she left the apartment. It had rained during the night, a late spring storm that frosted the Olympics a sparkling sugar white—and made her think of Matthew. Of skiing down the mountain with Matthew years ago when anything seemed possible.

Everything made her think of Matthew.

At the east end of Port Hamilton, the highway split into two one-way streets. First Street ran through town. Front Street skirted the shore, before it headed west and, ultimately, off the peninsula. The day after the fight with Matthew in the hospital cafeteria, she’d seriously considered packing up and taking the road west.

Elizabeth had dissuaded her.

“So you had a fight?” Elizabeth had said. “And now you’re going to let him chase you out of town? Sarah, he’s always been smug and self-satisfied. Okay, okay, you didn’t call him that, I did. But, listen to me. People are looking to you for an alternative. You can’t let them down.”

The next day she and Elizabeth had cleared off Sarah’s kitchen table and begun a list of things they needed to take care of.

1) Location.

2) Patients.

3) Supplies and equipment.

Still, she missed Matthew. Thought about Matthew. Endlessly. Later, back at her apartment, she picked up the phone to call him.
I’m sorry. I said things I shouldn’t have.
She set the phone down. What had she really said that required an apology? She took a bubble bath. Cucumber melon to soothe the troubled soul. Except that it didn’t. She climbed out of the tub, dried off. The doorbell rang. She grabbed the yellow terry-cloth robe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door and pulled it on. Her hair was wet, and water trickled down her back as she opened the front door.