The Choice (6 page)

“If he spikes a fever, you can bring him back and I’ll examine him again.”

“I don’t want to bring him
back.
That’s why I brought him in
today.
I think he should see a
doctor.
”

Gabby did her best to keep her tone steady. “Okay, I’ll see if Dr. Melton can squeeze in a couple of minutes for you.”

As she left the room, Gabby paused in the hallway, knowing she needed to prepare herself. She didn’t want to talk to Dr. Melton again; she’d been doing her best to avoid him all morning. As soon as Dr. Furman had left for the hospital to be present at an emergency C-section at Carteret General Hospital in Morehead City, Dr. Melton had sidled up next to her, close enough for her to notice that he’d recently gargled with mouthwash.

“I guess we’ll be on our own this morning,” he’d said.

“Maybe it won’t be too busy,” she’d said neutrally. She wasn’t ready to confront him, not without Dr. Furman around.

“Mondays are always busy. Hopefully we won’t have to work through lunch.”

“Hopefully,” she’d echoed.

Dr. Melton had reached for the file on the door of the exam room across the hall. He’d scanned it quickly, and just as Gabby was about to leave, she’d heard his voice again. “Speaking of lunch, have you ever had a fish taco?”

Gabby blinked. “Huh?’

“I know this great place in Morehead near the beach. Maybe we could swing by. We could bring some back for the staff, too.”

Though he had maintained a pretense of professionalism—he would have sounded the same way had he been speaking to Dr. Furman—Gabby had felt herself recoil.

“I can’t,” she’d said. “I’m supposed to bring Molly to the vet. I made an appointment this morning.”

“And they can get you in and out of there in time?”

“They said they would.”

He had hesitated. “Okay then,” he’d said. “Maybe another time.”

As Gabby reached for a file, she’d winced. “You okay?” Dr. Melton had asked.

“I’m just a little sore from working out,” she’d said before disappearing into the room.

Actually, she was really sore. Ridiculously sore. Everything from her neck to her ankles throbbed, and it seemed to be getting worse. Had she simply jogged on Sunday, she figured she probably would have been okay. But that hadn’t been enough. Not for the new, improved Gabby. After jogging—and proud of the fact that even though her pace had been slow, she hadn’t had to stop once to walk—she’d headed to Gold’s Gym in Morehead City to sign up for a membership. She’d signed the paperwork while the trainer explained the various classes with complicated names that were scheduled almost every hour. As she got up to leave, he’d mentioned that a new class called Body Pump was about to start in a few minutes.

“It’s a fantastic class,” he’d said. “It works the whole body. You get strength and cardio in a single workout. You should try it.”

So she had. And may God forgive him for how it made her feel.

Not immediately, of course. No, during the class, she’d been fine. Though deep down she knew she should pace herself, she found herself trying to keep up with the scantily clad, surgically enhanced, mascara-wearing woman next to her. She’d lifted and pushed weights, jogged in place to the beat, then lifted some more and jogged in place, over and over. By the time she left, with muscles quivering, she’d felt as if she’d taken the next step in her evolution. She’d ordered herself a protein shake on the way out the door, just to complete the transformation.

On the way home, she’d swung by the bookstore to buy a book on astronomy, and later, as she was about to fall asleep, she’d realized she felt better about the future than she had in a long time, except for the fact that her muscles seemed to be stiffening by the minute.

Unfortunately, the new, improved Gabby had found it exceptionally painful to rise from bed the following morning. Everything hurt. No, scratch that. It was beyond hurt. Way beyond. It was excruciating. Every muscle in her body felt as if it had been run through a juice blender. Her back, her chest, her stomach, her legs, her butt, her arms, her neck . . . even her fingers ached. It took three attempts to sit up in bed, and after staggering to the bathroom, she’d found that brushing her teeth without screaming took a herculean amount of self-control. In the medicine cabinet, she’d found herself reaching for pretty much everything—Tylenol, Bayer aspirin, Aleve—and in the end, she’d decided to take them all. She’d washed down the pills with a glass of water and watched herself wince while swallowing.

Okay, she admitted, maybe she’d overdone it.

But it was too late now, and even worse, the painkillers hadn’t worked. Or maybe they had. She was, after all, able to function in the office, as long as she moved slowly. But the pain was still there, and Dr. Furman was gone, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with Dr. Melton.

Without another option, she asked one of the nurses which room he was in and, after knocking on the door, poked her head in. Dr. Melton looked up from his patient, his expression becoming animated as soon as he saw her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

“Sure,” he said. He rose from his stool, set aside the file on his way out, and closed the door behind him. “Did you change your mind about lunch?”

She shook her head and told him about Eva Bronson and George; he promised he’d talk to them as quickly as he could. As she left, she could feel his eyes lingering on her as she limped down the hall.

It was half-past noon when Gabby finished with her last patient of the morning. Clutching her purse, she hobbled toward her car, knowing she didn’t have much time. Her next appointment was in forty-five minutes, but assuming she wasn’t held up at the vet, she would be okay. It was one of the nice things about living in a small town of fewer than four thousand people. Everything was only minutes away. While Morehead City—five times the size of Beaufort—was just across the bridge that spanned the Intracoastal Waterway and the place where most people did their weekend shopping, the short distance was enough to make this town feel distinct and isolated, like most of the towns
down east,
which was what the locals called this part of the state.

It was a pretty place, especially the historic district. On a day like today, with temperatures perfect for strolling, Beaufort resembled what she imagined Savannah to be in the first century of its existence.

Wide streets, shade trees, and a little more than a hundred restored homes occupied several blocks, eventually giving way to Front Street and a short boardwalk that overlooked the marina. Slips were occupied by leisure and working boats of every shape and size; a magnificent yacht worth millions might be docked next to a small crab boat on one side, with a lovingly maintained sailboat on the other. There were a couple of restaurants with gorgeous views: old, homegrown places with local character, complete with covered patios and picnic tables that made customers feel as if they were on vacation in a place where time stood still. On occasional weekend evenings, bands would perform at the restaurants, and last summer on the Fourth of July, when she was visiting Kevin, so many people came to hear the music and see the fireworks that the marina literally filled with boats. Without enough slips to accommodate them, the boats were simply tied up to one another, and their owners would walk from boat to boat until they reached the dock, accepting or offering beers to strangers as they went.

On the opposite side of the street, there were real estate offices mingled with art shops and tourist traps. In the evenings, Gabby liked to stroll through the art shops to examine the work. When she was young, she’d dreamed of painting or drawing for a living; it took a few years before she realized that her ambition far exceeded her talent. That didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate quality work, and every now and then she found a photograph or painting that made her pause. Twice, she’d actually made purchases, and both paintings now hung in her house. She’d considered buying a few more to complement them, but her monthly budget prevented it, at least for the time being.

A few minutes later, Gabby pulled into her driveway and yelped as she got out of the car before gamely making her way to the front door. Molly met her on the porch, took her sweet time smelling the flower bed until she took care of business, then hopped into the passenger seat. Gabby yelped again as she got back in, then rolled down the window so Molly could hang her head out, something she loved to do.

The Down East Veterinary Clinic was only a couple of minutes away, and she pulled into the parking lot, listening to the crunch of gravel beneath her wheels. A rustic and weathered Victorian, the clinic building appeared less like an office than a home. She slipped a leash on Molly, then stole a glance at her watch. She prayed the vet would be quick.

The screen door opened with a loud squeak, and she felt Molly tug at the leash as she was confronted with odors typical of animal clinics. Gabby approached the front desk, but before she could speak, the receptionist stood up from behind her desk.

“Is this Molly?” she asked.

Gabby didn’t bother to hide her surprise. Living in a small town still took some getting used to. “Yeah. I’m Gabby Holland.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Terri, by the way. What a beautiful dog.”

“Thank you.”

“We were wondering when you’d get here. You have to get back to work, right?” She grabbed a clipboard. “Let me go ahead and get you set up in a room. You can do the paperwork there. That way, the vet can see you right away. It shouldn’t be long. He’s almost done.”

“Great,” Gabby said. “I really appreciate it.”

The receptionist led them to an adjoining room; just inside was a scale, and she helped Molly get on it. “It’s no big deal. Besides, I bring my kids to your pediatric office all the time. How do you like it so far?”

“I’m enjoying it,” she said. “It’s busier than I thought it would be.”

Terri recorded the weight, then proceeded down the hallway. “I just love Dr. Melton. He’s been wonderful with my son.”

“I’ll tell him,” Gabby said.

Terri motioned to a small room furnished with a metal table and plastic chair and handed the clipboard to Gabby. “Just fill that out, and I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”

Terri left them alone, and Gabby gingerly took a seat, wincing as she felt the muscles in her legs plead in agony. She took a couple of deep breaths, waiting until the pain passed, then filled out the paperwork while Molly wandered the room.

Less than a minute later, the door opened and the first thing Gabby noticed was the white smock; an instant later, the name embroidered in blue letters. Gabby was just about to speak, but sudden recognition made it impossible.

“Hi, Gabby,” Travis said. “How are you?”

Gabby continued to stare, wondering what on earth he was doing here. She was about to say something when she realized that his eyes were blue, when she’d thought they were brown. Strange. Still—

“I take it this is Molly,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “Hey, girl . . .” He squatted and rubbed Molly’s neck. “You like that? Oh, you’re a sweet one, aren’t you? How you feeling, girl?”

The sound of his voice brought her back, and memories of their argument the other night followed. “You’re—you’re the vet?” Gabby stammered.

Travis nodded as he continued to scratch Molly’s neck. “Along with my dad. He started the clinic, I joined him after I finished school.”

This couldn’t be happening. Of all the people in this town, it had to be him. Why on earth couldn’t she have an ordinary, uncomplicated day?

“Why didn’t you say anything the other night?”

“I did. I told you to bring her to the vet, remember?”

Her eyes narrowed. The man seemed to enjoy infuriating her. “You know what I mean.”

He looked up. “You mean about me being the vet? I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t let me.”

“You should have said something anyway.”

“I don’t think you were in any mood to hear it. But that’s water under the bridge. No hard feelings.” He smiled. “Let me check this girl out, okay? I know you have to get back to work, so I’ll make this quick.”

She could feel her anger rising at his nonchalant “No hard feelings
.”
Part of her wanted to leave right then. Unfortunately, he was already beginning to prod Molly’s belly. Nor, she realized, could she rise quickly, even if she tried, since right now her legs seemed to be on strike. Chagrined, she crossed her arms and felt something akin to a knife blade plunging into her back and shoulders while Travis readied the stethoscope. She bit her lip, proud of the fact she hadn’t yelped again.

Travis glanced at her. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said.

“You sure? You seem like you’re in pain.”

“I’m fine,” she repeated.

Ignoring her tone, he returned his attention to the dog. He moved the stethoscope, listened again, then examined one of her nipples. Finally, he slipped on a rubber glove with a snap and did a quick internal.

“Well, she’s definitely pregnant,” he said, removing the glove and tossing it into the bin. “And from the looks of things, she’s about seven weeks along.”

“I told you.” She glared at him. And Moby is responsible, she refrained from adding.

Travis stood and put the stethoscope back into his pocket. He reached for the clipboard and flipped the page.

“Just so you know, I’m pretty sure Moby’s not responsible.”

“Oh, no?”

“No. Most likely it’s that Labrador I’ve seen around the neighborhood. I think he’s old man Cason’s, but I’m not positive about that. It might be his son’s dog. I know he’s back in town.”

“What makes you so sure it’s not Moby?”

He started making notes, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure he’d heard her.

He shrugged. “Well, for one thing, he’s been neutered.”

There are moments when mental overload can render words impossible. All at once, Gabby saw a mortifying montage of herself babbling and crying and finally storming off in a huff. She
did
have a vague memory of him trying to tell her something, all of which served to make her feel queasy.