Family Practice (12 page)

“Swamped at the office,” she said, returning his smile and experiencing a surge of nostalgia for the childhood nickname he seldom used anymore. If the new baby was a girl, would he call her
sweetheart,
too? Callie hoped so, and hoped she wouldn’t be jealous when he did. She cupped her chin in her palm and thought how childish and silly that would sound if she said it aloud, but she suspected there would be a tiny pang the first time it happened anyway.

J.R. put his hand on Ginger’s shoulder. “Mac passed on your message. It’s quieter than usual in the taproom, so I decided to take a break and stretch my legs. I can’t be gone long enough for ice cream, but I thought I’d walk home with you.”

“I’d like that,” Ginger said, smiling up into his eyes. “Ready, kids?” She rose heavily to her feet. J.R. put his hand under her elbow and helped her stand.

“I’m going to bed early so I can be really rested to pick tomatoes at Karen’s tomorrow,” Brandon said.

“Yeah, I bet you will.” Becca rolled her eyes.

“Walk. Don’t run,” Ginger said automatically. Only she wasn’t watching her son, but J.R. Brandon didn’t run but he did power walk, arms pumping, across the deck and down the steps. Becca followed in a more dignified manner.

“Is it okay if we walk ahead?” she asked. “I want to get started on the new
Crystal World
book. It came from Amazon today and I can’t wait to read it.” Crystal World was a planet inhabited by gentle fairylike humans. They had formed a reluctant partnership with a warrior clan and their intelligent dragon allies to battle alien invaders who wished to take over their beautiful, unspoiled world. Becca had told Callie and Karen all about the books the day they carded wool and watched Karen spin it into yarn. One of the heroes of the series was a warrior prince, naturally—the very one in the poster in Becca’s bedroom Callie had noticed resembled Zach to a startling degree.

“Becca, remind your brother to watch for traffic,” Ginger cautioned. “You know how tourists are, gawking at the lake and the shops and not watching out for kids walking.”

“We’ll be careful.” She didn’t start running until she hit the last step and in fifty feet had caught up with her brother.

“What’s this about going out to Karen’s farm?” J.R said in a low voice. The deck was filling up. Customers were waiting in a line that now stretched outside the shop. Callie, Ginger and J.R. would have to walk single file to exit the deck.

“She hired the kids to pick garden vegetables tomorrow,” Ginger explained. “I told them they could go. It will be a learning experience for them. They should understand that food just doesn’t get off-loaded from a truck or dropped onto the grocery shelves already wrapped in plastic and ready to eat.”

“But we agreed they shouldn’t spend a lot of time at Karen’s farm.” J.R. grimaced. “I’m sorry, Callie.”

She had stood up when Ginger had. “It’s all right, Dad. I know it’s awkward. But the kids really did enjoy themselves.”

“It’s helping them bond with Callie,” Ginger said more firmly than Callie had ever heard her speak to her husband. “That’s why I’ve agreed to it. It’s my decision—”

“They’re your kids,” he finished for her. His face set.

Callie could see the remark hurt but Ginger didn’t relent. She raised her chin a tiny bit. “That’s not what I was going to say, J.R. I realize you are just trying to protect them from getting hurt and I love you for it. But you are right. They are my kids.” Their eyes held for a long moment before J.R. nodded.

“I don’t want them to be disappointed by Karen’s self-centeredness like Callie was.” J.R. was fiercely loyal and protective of those he loved and cherished. He would lay down his life for any and all of them.

“I know, J.R.,” Ginger said softly. Callie saw the tension slowly drain away from her body. “You want what’s best for them. But she is Callie’s mother. She is an important part of Callie’s life
and
our lives, whether we’re happy about it or not. I want to give her the benefit of the doubt, at least this once.”

“Okay,” he said with a hint of a smile, “as long as
I
don’t have to deal with her.” Callie stifled a sigh. Those big Norman Rockwell painting-type family Thanksgivings she’d always dreamed about were probably not going to happen with her extended family anytime soon.

“The twins will be ready at seven for you to pick them up,” Ginger assured Callie.

Callie raised her hand in a small gesture of regret. “Dad, I’m sorry. None of this is Ginger’s fault. I set this all in motion. She’s just trying to get along with all of us.”

“I understand that. I’m sorry I let it get to me. I guess I’m not objective when it comes to your mom even after all these years. I remember all the ways she disappointed you as a kid. I don’t want her doing the same thing to the twins.”

“That was a long time ago.” She wanted to reassure him her mother’s self-centeredness hadn’t hurt her, but it had and they both knew it. “She’s changed.”

“Has she? I’m not so sure,” he said, but more in sorrow than in anger.

And now, after all of that, she and the twins might not even go to Karen’s. Callie put down her empty glass and wandered into the main room of the cabin to stare out the window at the storm. It was raining so hard the lights of the marina, only a quarter of a mile away, weren’t visible, but she was looking more inward than outward anyway. It had been a rough day, a whole series of rough days since her confrontation with Zach. She’d been pulled in so many directions these past few weeks.

Intellectually she understood as well as anyone that life was a complicated business, but that didn’t make it any easier when it involved people close to her heart. But as Zach had said, sometimes she couldn’t make everything right, heal every condition and bring people together, no matter how hard she tried. The most difficult part was to keep from feeling as though she had failed them all. Especially Zach.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and shivered in the chill darkness. She might as well go back to bed. Nothing was going to get solved tonight. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

But she stayed where she was. The storm demanded her attention. Lightning flickered almost continuously across a sky as black as spilled ink. Thunder rumbled in long timpani rolls that never seemed to end. The wind lashed waves onto the narrow sand beach, their white crests slightly luminous in the darkness. Zach’s small boat bucked at its anchor but the ropes holding it were strong and appeared to be riding out the storm. She couldn’t make out the raft farther out on the lake where she and the twins had watched the meteor shower only a week before, but it had survived many storms over the years and would probably be okay. Rain drove against the windows. She should feel cozy and safe, watching from her snug sanctuary as the rain pinged on the steel roof and splattered against the windows—but she didn’t. She felt alone and a little sad with a steadily increasing sense of foreboding far out of proportion to her worries about her family; she couldn’t shake it, but neither could she identify its cause.

Almost on the thought, the screen door on Zach’s side of the duplex slammed open, banging against the stone wall with the force of a gunshot. Startled, Callie put a hand to her throat. What had happened? Had the door become unlatched somehow, caught by the storm’s wind? She waited a moment, staring hard into the darkness beyond her window, working to get her pulse and heartbeat under control. Surely Zach couldn’t have slept through a noise like that. The door continued to bang against the lightweight wooden frame as it was battered against the building again and again by the gusting wind. She knew he was home. His truck was parked beside her Jeep behind the cottage. Should she find her rain jacket and check on him? At least close the swinging door? How could Zach not hear it and come to investigate the source of the noise?

Her anxiety level ratcheted up. Something must be wrong. No one, no matter how sound a sleeper they were, could remain unaware of such a racket. More lightning shimmered across the sky, striking somewhere out on the lake, throwing everything outside her window into vivid relief. That was when she noticed him. Zach was on his knees with his hands curled around the porch railing, head lifted to the cold rain.

“Zach?” Raincoat forgotten, Callie was outside in an instant, hanging on to her own screen door with both hands as the wind tried to take it also. She slammed it shut and held on to the wildly swaying rocking chair to catch her balance.

Zach remained where he was as the rain poured off the eaves and blew onto the porch in silvery sheets. He was wearing only a T-shirt and sweats and he was already soaked to the skin by the deluge. She dropped to her knees beside him. “Zach, what’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?” The rain hit her like a million stinging needles of ice, making her breath catch in her throat. In a matter of moments she was as wet as he was, her thin robe and nightgown clinging to her, her hair plastered against her throat and neck. She reached out and laid her hand on his arm. The muscles and tendons beneath her touch were rock hard with tension. He was shaking. She raised her voice and put all the authority she could muster into a repetition of his name. “Zach, answer me.”

“I’m fine. Nothing but a bad dream. Go inside.”

His voice was hoarse, grating, devoid of any warmth, like the rain-soaked night. Whatever had driven him out into this storm was more than just a bad dream.

“Not without you.”

He shook his head. Raindrops flew from his hair and chin. “Here,” he gasped. “I’m going to stay here a little longer. You leave, Dr. Layman. Now!” He was good at giving orders, but Callie was not to be put off.

“No.” She sat on her heels. Did he believe she would leave him here in this condition, exposed to the elements, in real danger of suffering hypothermia or worse?

“Stubborn woman.” He dropped his head. His voice was gentler now, weary as though he didn’t have the strength to keep arguing with her.

“So I’ve been told.” Her teeth were chattering. She couldn’t help it. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees since sunset. The wind and rain made it seem even colder. The screen door still swung on its hinges, banging itself to pieces against the stone wall of the building, but she ignored it.

She couldn’t begin to guess what kind of nightmare—or memories—tormented him. But she wanted to, so she could take his pain away.

The realization brought her up short. She was already way too attached to this man, a coworker, a colleague, a man scarcely more than a stranger.

But he was also a human being in pain and she was a healer first. She tugged on his arm. “Zach, come inside.” He didn’t budge. She swallowed a sob of frustration. If he refused to obey her, she wouldn’t be able to move him. Should she call J.R.? Rudy Koslowski? No. He wouldn’t thank her for letting anyone else see him like this. “Zach, please.” The plea seemed to reach the dark place where he had gone. He raised his head and stared directly at her. For a moment there was no recognition in his eyes, only torment. The fitful light produced by the almost constant play of lightning between the clouds allowed her to witness his anguish, and it was almost too painful to bear.

She cupped his face with her hands. “You can’t stay out here in this awful weather.”

He bowed his head a moment, struggling to get a grip on himself. He raised his head and nodded. “All right.” He put his hands beneath her elbows and pulled her up with him, as though she weighed no more than a child. He pushed a strand of wet hair behind her ear. His hands were shaking, his teeth chattered and his eyes were hollowed out, as haunted as his gaze. “You get inside, too. Get out of those wet things. Get warm and dry. Now. Go.” He waved a hand toward her side of the cottage.

She shook her head. “Good advice, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily, Doc.” She wouldn’t leave him. “Come, let’s go inside.”

He hesitated a moment longer, gathering his composure. Callie saw the effort it took and was awed by his determination to fight his demons to a standstill.

“You win,” he said, grabbing the wildly swinging screen door. With one strong jerk he wrenched it off its loosened hinges and wedged it against the wall. Now only the creaking of the heavy pine rocking chairs competed with the sounds of the storm.

He reached out and ran his hand over the splintered door frame. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.” Callie nodded and took his hand.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“I’
M
FINE
NOW
,” he said for at least the third time. “Go to bed and try and get some sleep.”

“No,” Callie replied, just as patiently and stubbornly as she had twice before. “Not until you do.” She flushed slightly but held his eyes stare for stare. She was wearing one of his old sweatshirts, an equally old pair of sweatpants and thick cotton socks she could barely keep on her feet. Her hair was wrapped in a towel around her head.

The sweatshirt was heavy enough to preserve her modesty but he tried to keep his eyes above shoulder level anyway, and mostly succeeded.

She had refused to leave him alone even to change out of her wet nightgown and robe. “Why do that?” she’d asked with irrefutable logic. “As long as it’s raining and blowing so hard, I’d just get wet again on the way back.” He’d still been too disoriented by the panic attack to argue with her. Besides, she’d been shivering as violently as he’d been, and they’d both hovered on the brink of hypothermia. She’d turned on a table lamp by the couch, watched from the door of his bedroom while he hunted out dry clothes for the both of them, then insisted he get in the shower first.

“You’re the patient. I’m the doctor,” she said, pointing to the bathroom door. “Go.”

When he came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, she was changed and searching through his cupboards for plates and cups. Hot milk simmered on the stove and a box of instant-cocoa mix stood beside it. “You’re supposed to get in the shower, too,” he reminded her.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I wasn’t out there as long as you were. I’m still a little chilly, but warming up fast.” She smiled at him from the shadows of the tiny kitchen, where only the range light provided illumination, but she didn’t quite meet his gaze head-on. “I’m making toast and cocoa. It’s what my dad did for me when I was little and couldn’t sleep.”

He hooked his foot around the leg of one of the slightly rickety wooden stools that fronted the narrow breakfast bar separating the kitchen from the rest of the main room, turned his back on the storm and sat down. He envied her those childhood memories. He was sure someone in one of the foster homes he’d been in had made him toast and cocoa, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember which one.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“Of course, but I want some, too.” She poured the milk into mugs, stirred the cocoa and added just a little cold milk from the carton to lower the temperature a bit.

“Cocoa’s great, but I’ll pass on the toast.” He said it a little too gruffly, but he didn’t want to be reminded of the past. He didn’t want to think at all right now, but his brain refused to shut down.

She ignored his tone, just as she would ignore a patient’s sharpness when it was caused by fear and anxiety. “Okay, we’ll skip the toast. You don’t have any little marshmallows, so this will have to do.” She slid the mugs onto the counter and then came around the half wall to perch on the stool he’d pulled out for her.

“It’s good,” he said, taking a swallow. “Thanks.”

She watched him over the rim of her mug. He held out his hand. Her brows furrowed. “What?”

“Want to check my pulse?”

She blushed slightly and shook her head. “Sorry, I’ll stop watching every move you make. Habit, that’s all.”

“My pulse is back to normal and so am I. I’m fine, Doctor,” he said, managing a grin. “Emergency’s over. You can dial down to concerned-neighbor mode.” He
was
okay. His nerves were still thrumming, but it was more because she was sitting here beside him so close their knees almost touched than residue from the panic attack.

“PTSD?” she asked without preamble, probably anticipating if she’d asked him to talk about what had just happened he would just change the subject.

He shifted slightly on the stool so he didn’t have to meet her still-watchful hazel eyes. He braced his elbows on the counter and held the mug between his hands, absorbing the warmth and the homey smell of chocolate. He never made the sugary stuff for himself. He didn’t even know why he’d bought it, except it seemed like something he should keep in his cupboard, the same as salt and flour.

He chose his words with care. “It’s pretty much part of the job description after two tours attached to a Marine unit in Afghanistan.”

“You’ve never shown any symptoms or the slightest sign you had a problem.”

“Thanks,” he said. “I’ve worked very hard to get to that point.”

“Can you talk about it? About what happened over there?”

“No.” It was too abrupt, but he couldn’t help himself.

She winced slightly but didn’t falter. “I understand why you’ve never confided in me. The only thing I know about PTSD is what I’ve learned in books. I’ve never dealt with it in the real world.”

He swung his head around. “Stop putting yourself down.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “I wasn’t. It’s the truth,” she said simply. “I’m a good doctor, but I’m a green one. Facts are facts. So, please, help me understand a little more. If not for your sake, then for the next soldier or sailor or Marine I have as a patient.”

He didn’t have an answer for that one. She was learning quickly how to get around his defenses. “If you won’t talk to me as a physician, will you talk to me as a friend?” She had her hands clutched around her cocoa mug. She was almost as tense as he was, but he realized she wouldn’t be denied.

“I’m fine, Callie,” he said, softly this time. “Really, I am.”

“You frightened me. You were in a place so far away and so terrible I was scared you might never find your way home.”

He leaned his elbows on the counter, both hands wrapped around his mug. “I was dreaming. I still have nightmares, but not as often. The storm must have set it off. Loud, sustained noises can be a trigger. I thought I had it under control. Most of the time, I do.”

“I know a little of what happened to you over there in Afghanistan,” she said, staring down at her own mug. “That night at the White Pine after the barbecue, you and Ron Seamann were at the bar getting drinks and Rudy and Gerry were dancing to the jukebox, remember?” He nodded. “Jen Koslowski and I were alone at the table. She confided to me how Rudy lost his leg. Jen was a little drunk and she was so proud that Rudy could dance again, when for years he wouldn’t even try. She told me how close he came to dying. How you saved his life. Is that what your dreams are about? Rudy and the other men you needed to save?”

He wanted to get up and run out of the room. In the past he might have, but he
was
better now; he should be able to talk about it. So he made himself continue.

“I never remember much about my dreams,” he said, deciding she wouldn’t give up until he explained at least some of it, and he owed her that much. “High anxiety mostly. My guys are hurt. I can’t get to them ’cause I’m not ready. My gear’s not packed. My instruments are missing, all kinds of things go wrong.”

“Or is it you can’t get to them because you’ve been injured yourself?”

He shrugged. “You’d make a good shrink. I’m always slow and clumsy but I honestly don’t remember—” He shook his head. “Usually I wake myself up, but tonight I was out the door before I got myself together. The rain helped.”

She laughed a little, softly, with sympathy underlying the tinkling sound. “Rushing headlong into a monsoon will shock anyone into cold, hard reality.”

“Yeah, but that’s not what I mean.” He’d never told anyone this, but he had no worry she would betray his confidence. “It’s the rain. Storms spook me these days, but it’s the rain I crave.”

“I don’t understand.”

He set his empty mug on the counter, stood up and walked to the window. After a couple of seconds, she did the same. She stood beside him looking out into the night, not touching but almost. “I grew up in the desert in California. None of the families I was placed with were well-to-do. A couple were downright poor. We didn’t have big swimming pools or spa rooms. It hardly ever rained. We were always worried about wildfires in the dry season. Then when I was about the twins’ age, one of my better-off foster families took us to the ocean for a vacation. I’d never seen anything like it. I never even dreamed so much water existed. I couldn’t get enough of the smell and the sounds and the movement. That’s when I decided to join the navy.”

“But how did you end up here in White Pine Lake? We’re a long way from the ocean.”

“From salt water, maybe. As the crow flies we’re less than a mile from one of the largest inland seas in the world,” he said.

He was just enough taller so that she had to tip her head slightly to look at him. He liked that. She probably didn’t.

The storm had moved off inland, the lightning reduced to mere flickers, the thunder a low, soft growl at the edge of his hearing. But still the rain came down. He watched it with both hands resting on the windowsill. “You might not believe this, but I spent eight years in the navy and never had sea duty. I did my medical training in Texas. After that, I was in Afghanistan attached to a Marine combat unit. There might be beautiful places in that part of the world. I never saw any of them. To me it was all heat and cold and dust and dirt everywhere I looked. I swore to myself that if I ever got home I’d never be out of sight of water again. I didn’t have anything or anybody to tie me to California and the places I was raised. Rudy thought White Pine Lake was the greatest place on earth. So I came home with him on leave once. I was standing right over there—” he gestured toward the reappearing marina light “—suddenly I realized I was over three hundred miles from Great Lakes in Chicago where I did my basic training, and it was still the same water. I decided that was ocean enough for me.”

“‘Water, water everywhere,’” she quoted.

“And rain and snow in winter, and it’s all fresh and clean and clear. And there are no sharks.” He grinned.

“I’ve seen the T-shirt. Lake Michigan—Unsalted and Shark Free,” she said, smiling also. The smile became a yawn. She covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I probably scared you half to death and ruined your sleep.” He caught her hand and held it with his own.

She went very still but didn’t attempt to break free. After a moment she laid her other hand on top of his. “Don’t be sorry. And for the record, I was already awake.”

He used the opening she gave him to change the subject from his problems to hers. “Are you still worrying about Eno’s condition?”

She shook her head, her expression hard to read in the low light. “No, I’m sad but I’m getting a perspective on it. You’re right. There are some things I can’t fix. I just have to endure.”

“Then it’s your family that’s concerning you.”

She sighed. “As usual.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She narrowed her eyes slightly. “We are done talking about you. Am I right?”

He nodded. She inclined her head. “So be it.” She didn’t say she would be there for him again if he needed her, but she would. If he could keep himself from doing what he longed to do—taking her in his arms and asking her to stay in White Pine Lake with him always—the step forward they had taken tonight might not come with the usual two steps back. “I’m guilty of trying to blend my families again,” she said with a smile that wavered a little at the edges. The vulnerability in her smile made the urge to hold her even stronger.

“What are you up to now, Dr. Callie?” The rain was beginning to slacken. In a few more minutes, he would have no excuse to keep her with him. He lifted her hands and held them close to his chest. She bowed her head a moment, and he held his breath that she might move into his arms of her own free will. But she stayed where she was, so close but still so far away.

“My mother has hired the twins to help her pick market vegetables tomorrow—” She stared out the window where, indeed, the sky was beginning to lighten along the edges. “I guess I mean this morning, in just a couple of hours. We were having ice cream at Kilroy’s when my mother showed up. I offered to bring them out to the farm, and Ginger went along with the plan, though I don’t think she really wanted to. She only did it because I asked her to. Then my dad joined us, and, well, I figured out why Ginger had been so reluctant. He’s not happy with the idea, or with me.”

“I never pictured J.R. as a vindictive man.”

She smiled. “He’s not, but he is a very protective man, and he has never quite forgiven my mother for deserting me. For deserting both of us.”

“Have you?”

“Yes, for the most part.” She hesitated. “Not completely. Maybe I never will. But now I’ve caused more tension between Ginger and my father, and that’s exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do. Suddenly that cruise-ship job is looking better and better.”

“You sound like you’re giving up.”

“It’s way past three o’clock in the morning. No one’s very optimistic at this hour.”

“I can’t argue with you there.”

She blew out a breath and it came close to a sigh. “I want us all to be comfortable with each other.” She seemed to hear the uncertainty in her own words. “That’s a lot to ask, isn’t it?”

“I’m not much of an expert on family dynamics, blended or otherwise.”

“But you are certainly skilled at getting your patients to open up to you. Listen to me, rattling on to you like one of those women who don’t have proper boundaries.” She attempted a smile, but it faded away like the sound of the rain on the roof. “Am I wrong to attempt so much?” she asked softly.

“If anyone can, it’s the stubborn and laser-focused Dr. Layman. But not if you’re sailing the seven seas in a floating hotel.”

She tilted her head slightly and studied him through her lashes. Long, straight lashes that could veil the emotion in her hazel eyes. “Are you telling me I should stay if I’m offered the position?”

“I’m not telling you to do anything, I’m only stating the obvious. You can’t blend a family long-distance.” He paused. “Would you consider it?”

“The committee hasn’t asked me. But yes, I would consider it. Especially after today.”

“Why today?”

“Us.”

“Us?” His heart rate kicked up a notch.