Never Too Late (5 page)

“I have to be back by noon for the district back-to-school barbecue. I told you about it.”

Jamie didn’t remember, but with her preoccupation with her business problems she wasn’t surprised. “Can’t you be late?”

“It’s all about making allies, Jamie. What if the district superintendent leaves early and I miss a chance to talk to him?”

Jamie cupped the back of Sheryl’s head and pulled her into a kiss. Her disappointment was lost to the heat of Sheryl’s mouth. Did it matter what they did as long as they were solid as a couple? Jamie slid her hand up Sheryl’s tummy. “I love you,” she murmured, and then kissed Sheryl deeper. She circled Sheryl’s nipple with her finger until it hardened. “Maybe we could…”

“Come on.” Sheryl closed the laptop and popped out of bed. “Take a shower with me. Then let’s go have some fun.”

Carla held the newly framed picture of her daughter to her chest as she stared out at her backyard. This morning they’d been having breakfast with the girls, and now she was standing in Lissa’s bedroom, wondering how her daughter had gone from a child playing in that playhouse to a freshman in college.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Mike wrapped his arms around her.

Carla absorbed the solidness she’d always trusted. “I miss Lissa already and I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m moving out of the house, honey, not out of your life.” He kissed the top of Carla’s head.

“Look at them.” She held up the picture of Lissa and her girlfriend, Steph, cuddled together on the new couch they’d bought for them. “They don’t look grown up enough to be off living in an apartment on their own.”

“They’re only in San Diego.”

“Might as well be another planet.” Carla set the picture on the dresser with the other pictures that chronicled her daughter’s life. Lissa’s favorite brown teddy bear sat on her pillow. Carla hugged it to her chest. “What am I going to do? I’m not ready to be an empty-nester.”

“Maybe you should consider going back to work.”

“Maybe.” Carla sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed the bedspread. “I hate this bed made.” After a heartbeat of silence they both burst out laughing. “Maybe I should turn this into a sewing room.”

Mike pulled her to her feet and kissed her cheek. “You don’t sew.”

“I know, but isn’t that what middle-aged women without daughters or husbands do? Take up a hobby?” Carla rearranged the pictures on the dresser.

“Give yourself time. You can’t decide the rest of your life in a day.”

“I know we’re doing the right thing, but I’m scared. What if Lissa doesn’t take our divorce well? What if she hates us for it?”

“She won’t. We’ll pull each other through it,” he said, taking her hand.

“Everything I thought was my life is ending. I don’t know how to start over.”

“It’s kind of funny, though, isn’t it?” Mike tried to keep a straight face. “If we’d been more…I don’t know…self-aware or honest with each other, we might have figured out sooner that we’re both gay.”

“Better late than never, I guess.”

“Are you going to start dating?”

“Oh, good heavens, no. I can’t imagine falling in love at my age.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic, honey. Someone will sweep you off your feet.”

Carla laughed when Mike took her in his arms and danced her around the room. They were a perfect fit in all ways but one. Sex had always been loving and gentle between them, but never passionate in the way Carla yearned for. She hadn’t told him the specifics of how she knew she was a lesbian at heart. One night, but it had profoundly changed her, and she’d never forgotten it.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s not sit around and sulk. You go for a run and I’ll get the barbecue ready.”

“Come with me.”

It was after eleven when they blew out the candles on the patio table, set the coffeemaker for the next morning, and said good night with a long hug outside Carla’s bedroom.

Mike had been sleeping in the guest room for most of the last year under the guise that his snoring kept Carla awake. Both had wanted some private space to begin the transition to their new lives.

After a long bath, Carla crawled into bed. She didn’t like sleeping alone and wondered if she’d ever share this bed again. Picking up the romance novel from the nightstand, she settled back against the pillows and let herself be carried away.

“Dr. Hammond, what do you want me to do about the new patient? She insists on seeing you.” Her receptionist’s long brown hair framed a face that looked frazzled. The phone rang and then went to voice mail because another call was on hold. “There just aren’t any openings.”

“We’ll work it out.” Jamie had two excellent associate doctors in the practice, but having new patients insist on being treated by her was all too common. Handing the patient file across the front counter to her receptionist, Jamie said to her patient, “Remember to do your exercises. We have to get some strength in your lower back or this will keep happening.” She’d have a lot fewer problems if she lost thirty pounds and did her exercises, but Jamie had learned that people had to make their own decisions. She did her best to encourage them.

“Is she acute?” Jamie walked behind the counter and looked at the appointment book. The schedule was even busier than usual because of the holiday weekend. Nothing about her practice was easy these days.

“Says she can barely walk.”

“She’s not exaggerating.”

Jamie looked up. Renee Rapp was standing at the counter, all five foot two of her. “We had dinner last night. You need to see her today, Jamie.”

“Far be it from me to argue with you,” Jamie said. When Renee’s eyes held hers she knew there was more.

“Fund-raiser next month for the Women Mentoring Women Foundation. Second Saturday. I want you there.”

“Renee—”

“No argument. I’ll give you a reprieve for a while considering what you’re dealing with, but then I’m pairing you up with someone.” Renee held up her hand when Jamie started to protest. “You’re a smart businesswoman, Jamie.”

Not so smart, but Renee wasn’t one to argue with. “Can I see her during my lunch?” Jamie asked her receptionist.

“No,” Betty piped in, popping her head out of her office. “You have an interview.” Short gray hair framed a grandmotherly face and the unusually stern gaze brooked no argument. Betty had been her father’s patient and filled in over the years if Jamie needed office help. She’d gamely agreed to act as office manager until Jamie found a replacement.

“How optimistic are you about this one?”

“I don’t know,” Betty said, shaking her head. “We’re getting plenty of applications, but doesn’t anyone have a brain any more? Or common sense? Or phone sense?”

“Schedule the new patient for the second half of my lunch break,” Jamie said to her receptionist. “It sounds like it’ll be a short interview.”

“I’m sorry, Jamie, but I can’t do this forever.” Betty took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Frank packed the motor home over the weekend. He’s getting cranky about delaying our trip. And you know I don’t have the right skills. Every time I touch this darn computer I’m terrified it’ll explode because I hit the wrong key. You need a real office manager.”

“I’m scared of the same thing,” Jamie said to Betty. Buffering her staff from her business problems was getting harder the longer this mess went on. But none of this was their fault, and Jamie wasn’t going to pass any of the stress on to them.

“You’ll get through this,” Renee said, as they walked down the hallway to a treatment room.

Renee was one of the few patients who knew what was going on. They talked as Jamie adjusted her, and then she hustled on to her next patient. Getting behind schedule this early in the day would be a disaster.

“You got my shoulder working good again, Doc,” the elderly man with stubble on his cheeks said as he hoisted his arm over his head.

“Now don’t go letting your new puppy pull on it,” Jamie said after adjusting him. Half of her patients could prevent their problems with a little common sense, but as her father always said, “It’s our job to make sure they don’t suffer for their lapses in judgment.” He’d be tremendously disappointed in her lapse in good judgment that now jeopardized the practice he’d built.

Marci, her chiropractic assistant, met her as she was leaving the treatment room. “Your next patient is in treatment room three. I put heat on her neck and did some passive range-of-motion stretching.”

“Perfect.”

“I talked to my sister, Dr. Hammond. She’s got time to help you out part-time with the bookkeeping.”

“It’s not your problem,” Jamie said, more sharply than she’d intended. She reached up and squeezed Marci’s shoulder. She’d been a patient and basketball star at Santa Clara University and was her right hand with patient treatment. “I’ll work it out.”

She had to, for the sake of her relationship, and the patients who depended on her for care, and the staff who depended on her for jobs. “I’m trying, Dad,” she whispered to herself.

*

Alone in her office as her staff headed off to lunch, Jamie turned on the iPod on the credenza behind her desk. She was still in one of what Penni called her “Melissa moods,” brought on by the concert last month at The Mountain Winery. It had been a magical night with Penni, her wife Lori, and a group of friends—one thing they still made time for in the midst of careers and kids. It was fun to pretend they were still young, screaming for their favorite rock star. If Sheryl had come it would have been a perfect evening.

“Got a minute?” Don Walker, one of Jamie’s associate doctors, was standing in the doorway.

“Sure.”

Don lowered his beanpole frame into the chair across the desk from Jamie. “Do you think I’m a good doctor?”

“Of course.”

“I don’t know, Jamie…I thought I did a good job with several patients last week, but they’re not any better today. Maybe I’m not cut out for this.” Don fidgeted with the pen in the pocket of his white clinic coat. “Maybe I should have gone into computers like my dad wanted.”

“Nonsense,” Jamie said. “Never doubt yourself. Patients place their trust in us, and we have to inspire confidence—” She stopped. That was her father’s answer whenever she voiced any doubts. His dismissive attitude had hurt. She rubbed her forehead and took a deep breath. “You’re one of the best associates I’ve had, Don. It took me…oh, about ten years to gain enough confidence to not panic every time a patient didn’t get well right away.”

“I find that hard to believe. You make it look easy.”

“Trust me. I came out of chiropractic school as unsure of myself as you. Confidence takes time and experience. Be patient with yourself.”

Don looked relieved as he stood. “Thanks, Jamie. I needed that. Sorry I bothered you.”

“I want you to come to me with your concerns. Give this a fair try. If you’re not happy in a few years, go do something else.”

Jamie rested her elbows on the desk and ran her hands through her hair. Sheryl wanted her to color it, but Jamie liked the gray that was showing at her temples. She was forty-five and wasn’t going to apologize for her age. She’d look for tickets to a concert Sheryl would like. Or maybe a pair of earrings like the ones she liked in Carmel. She needed to make sure Sheryl knew how much she loved her.

Betty opened the door. “The applicant’s here.”

“Show her back.” Jamie rolled down the sleeves on her pink Oxford shirt and buttoned the cuffs.

“I’ll bring you a sandwich. Do you want your usual?”

“Sure. And—”

“Iced tea. I know.” Betty held up her hand, fingers crossed.

Jamie stood, ready to greet the woman she hoped would be her new office manager. Fifteen minutes later she was all too willing to tell the woman who chattered like a parakeet that she had another appointment. The choices must be dismal if Betty brought this one in for an interview.

She rubbed over her face, forcing back the fear and frustration. Shoving out of the chair that creaked its age, she steeled her resolve. She’d gotten herself into this mess; she’d have to get herself out. Her father always said you reap what you sow. When had she sown the seeds of this disaster?

*

Jamie set the stack of patient files on the coffee table and sat down on the brown leather couch in her office, tired and hungry after a long day. Her father had brought it with him from his old office, and right now she felt about as old and worn as it looked. Had it really been almost twenty years since his death? Sitting where he’d sat gave her a sense of comfort, but she actually needed his wisdom.

She clenched her jaw. Everything he’d worked for was in jeopardy. Why had Marjorie embezzled from her? Hadn’t she treated her with the same regard her father had shown his office manager, Mary? What would Mary think of her daughter’s behavior? It just didn’t make sense.

She should be home having dinner with Sheryl instead of trying to figure out how a trusted employee committed insurance fraud and stole from her for God knew how long. She grabbed the top file. The only way to reconstruct what Marjorie had done was to match the treatments she’d billed for against what treatments had actually been done. She’d need to go through the files for every insurance patient as far back as she still had them.

The insurance companies were acting as if she’d approved of the fraud, and their lack of cooperation was making it harder. Too many files she’d looked at didn’t have EOBs in them, and without copies she had nothing to compare the treatments against.

She checked her watch. Seven o’clock. One more hour. Then she’d go home and curl up on the couch with Sheryl and watch the worst adventure movie they could find.

“Breakfast in bed.” Jamie frowned as she walked into the bedroom carrying the tray with cappuccinos, fat-free yogurt, and fruit. Sheryl had been asleep ten minutes ago. Now the shower was on, and she was booming out one of the country songs she loved. Jamie set the tray on the bed.

Opening the shower door she let her eyes wander over Sheryl’s body. She felt guilty for missing those extra curves, but she had to admit Sheryl looked great. “I thought we’d have breakfast in bed and pick up where we left off last night.” Jamie had surprised Sheryl with tickets to a sold-out George Strait concert. Thank-you kisses had led to making love.