Dermott laughed out loud. “Of course you did. Anything else wouldn’t have been pure Jenna Lawson. Any regrets for what you did?”
She shook her head. “They’re looking to hire a few more nurses now, make some administrative changes, and that’s good. So, do you want to come in for some tea? I just fixed a pot.”
“Cinnamon.”
Actually, it
was
cinnamon she’d found in the cupboard, wasn’t it? She hadn’t thought much about it, but cinnamon was her favorite, and probably not the most common thing to stock in a pantry where there was little else. “You remembered that, too?” Unless this was a coincidence like her birthday, she was flattered again. Ice cream, birth date,
and
favorite tea…
“What I remembered was that night after work, when five or six of us went to the café. You ordered cinnamon tea, and I think it was the first time I ever knew that tea came in any flavor but plain. You opened a new world for me that night.”
“So you like cinnamon tea now?” She recalled that night. He hadn’t been particularly fond of the tea after she’d convinced him to order it, and after several tastes, he’d finally traded it for a cup of coffee. Black. Plain.
“No. I still like my coffee.”
Jenna laughed. “So what new world was it that I opened?”
“If you recall, I was the only guy in the café drinking regular coffee, and that’s sort of been the lot of my life since then. People like their lattes and cappuccinos and espressos, and all those chocolate-caramel-vanilla-hazelnut-amaretto flavors in their coffees, and when you step up and order your coffee plain and black, you get a funny look from a lot of people. They practically beg you to order what they have, to be like they are, to fit into their mold or stereotype.
Just one sip, you’re really going to love it.
Well, I was trying my hardest to impress a pretty girl that night by drinking her hideous cinnamon tea but what I discovered was that sometimes putting on airs is too tough. In the end, depending on how it works out, you end up sentencing yourself to a lifetime of cinnamon you hate, or somewhere in the future you’ll have to admit that you were lying, which could make people wonder what else you lied about since little lies, like cinnamon tea, usually snowball. The world that opened up to me over a plain, black coffee is that it’s always best to be honest about who you are right from the start. You know,
To thine own self be true.
It’s one of the few things in life over which you have total control.”
Spoken like a man who’d given it a lot of thought. Was that because of his wife’s problems? she wondered. “Like you always wanted to be a small-town doctor when everybody was trying to convince you to become a surgeon?” He’d been brilliant during his surgical rotation and the offers had flooded in, but he’d turned them down. People had ridiculed him for his choice because rural medicine wasn’t in vogue. Wasn’t lucrative. Wasn’t prestigious.
“Being a surgeon, drinking cinnamon tea, it’s all the same thing. Directions that weren’t right for me.”
She liked that in him. Dermott had a strong sense of self. In her own mixed-up life, a little of that might have helped along the way. “Then would you like to come in for a glass of…?” She didn’t remember seeing anything else to serve him but she really didn’t want him to leave. “Tap water?”
“Actually, I was going to invite you down for a late supper. Max is in bed now, and I was getting ready to fix myself a grilled cheese sandwich. Since you arrived a day early and I didn’t stock you with any food, I thought the least I could do would be to slap a piece of cheese between two slices of bread and throw it in the skillet.”
“You wouldn’t be offended if I brought my cinnamon tea with me?”
He laughed. “It really is nice to see you, Jenna. I’m glad I didn’t run you off on your first day here. Heaven knows, except for my son, not much else had gone right lately. But having you here…”
There was that sad look again. It was hard imagining Dermott as a widower with a young son. But that was his reality and, now, hers. So maybe looking for bits and pieces of the Dermott she’d known years ago was a waste of time. Maybe he’d moved too far from that point for any of it to remain. If so, that would be too bad. But the past was the past, and perhaps he was remaining true to himself as he was now, and not what he used to be. In which case, getting to know him again over a grilled cheese sandwich sounded lovely. “I’m glad I’m here, Dermott. Doubts and all, I’m glad I’m here.”
“I hope so, JJ. I really hope so.”
She liked it when he called her JJ. That
was
the old Dermott.
“I have to call her right back,” Dermott said. “But I need to run downstairs and check her medical chart to see what her medication dose is. I think she may have taken too much, and that’s what’s causing her symptoms. Five minutes, and I’ll be right back. Then we’ll have grilled cheese.”
“Can I do anything?”
He shook his head. “I’ve been changing Mrs. Gray’s arthritis medications and she’s having some gastric upset because of it, and I suspect she’s not taking enough of the medication I prescribed to treat the side effect. Off the top of my head I could guess how many pills she’s supposed to take, but I’d rather be safe and check. Do you mind looking after Max for a few minutes?”
“Well, I make a pretty good grilled cheese sandwich myself. You go, I’ll cook. And, no, I don’t mind looking after Max.”
“Jenna Lawson, domestic.” He was chuckling on his way out the door. “I’d have never guessed.”
Making a sandwich wasn’t exactly domestic, but Jenna actually found it rather pleasant puttering around Dermott’s kitchen, and she was just about ready to put the skillet on the gas flame when she heard a shriek coming from down the hall. “Max!” she gasped, turning off the gas and running as fast as she could to the bedroom where the little boy was tossing in his bed, and crying. “No!” he cried out. “Don’t! Please, don’t!”
“Max,” she said, running straight to the bed. He was in the throes of a nightmare, and his little body was twisting in the bed. His eyes were open, he was reaching out trying to find something, or someone. Instinctively, Jenna dropped to the side of the bed and pulled the boy into her arms. But he fought her at first, pounding her with his fists, trying to get away.
“No, I don’t want to!” he screamed, thrashing, hitting. “No…no…no!”
“Max, it’s Jenna. Wake up, Max.” She gave him a little shake, but he hit her again. “Max, you’re safe. It’s Jenna, and I’m here with you. You’re safe.”
“No,” he whimpered, the fight suddenly going out of him. He was drenched in sweat, and he’d wet the bed. “I don’t want to,” he choked out. “I don’t want to.”
Jenna held him tight, stroked his head. “You’re safe,” she whispered. “Nothing’s going to hurt you. I promise, nothing’s going to hurt you.” He must have heard, because he settled down, snuggled into her arms.
“Where’s the big guy?” he sniffled. “I want the big guy.”
“He’s downstairs, talking to a patient. He’ll be here in a minute.”
“I want him right now!” He pushed away from her and, as if having second thoughts, collapsed back in her arms. “I want him,” he said, crying now.
“Shh,” she said, starting to rock him. “He’s coming right back for you, Max. He’s not going to leave you. He’ll be right back, I promise.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything. His body still shuddered though, and he clung to her as hard as he could. “If he doesn’t come back, do I have to go to Grandpa’s house?”
“He’s coming back. And I’m not going to leave you until he does.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.” Poor child. He was trying to be brave, but she knew what it was like to have nightmares. She’d had them. Only there’d been no one to hold her like this, no one to take care of her when she’d been so scared, and hadn’t known of what. More often than not, her father had hit her and told her to shut up.
“Max!” Dermott gasped, running through the door. He stopped short of the bed, breathless, his face drained of all color. “I heard from downstairs.”
“And we’re just fine,” Jenna said. She was still rocking back and forth with Max in her arms, stroking his hair, holding on to him as tightly as he held her. He had quieted down and seemed contented to stay right where he was. She was contented to have him there, too. “He had a bad dream, but it’s over now and he’s doing better, aren’t you, Max?”
Max nodded, but didn’t look up at his dad. His head was still tucked against Jenna’s chest, and Jenna held him protectively, the way a mother would. To anyone looking on who didn’t know, Jenna could have been his mother, the way she comforted him. Dermott saw that. Saw that she had already become a fierce protector of Max.
“Dermott, we’re going to need some fresh pajamas and sheets, if you don’t mind getting them. And I think Max would like a quick little bath before he settles back in for the night.”
Ten minutes later, after Dermott had gotten Max ready for bed again, and Jenna had changed the bedsheets, Max asked, “Can Jenna read me a story before I go back to sleep?”
“What’s your favorite one?” she asked, wondering if Dermott would prefer doing this. She gave him a questioning look, but he smiled, and nodded.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing a story from Jenna either.” Dermott sighed a huge sigh of relief and slumped down into the chair next to Max’s bed. Then he handed her a book. “This is our favorite. We especially like the part where the big, red dump truck wins the race.” He looked straight into Jenna’s eyes and mouthed the words “Thank you”, then settled back to listen to the story.
And so she read, while Max snuggled in again, and Dermott sat across from them, looking totally distracted, trying with everything he had to hold it all back.
After Max was asleep once more, and the grilled cheese sandwiches long forgotten, Dermott walked Jenna to the apartment door. “I’m sorry we put you through that. Max doesn’t have these nightmares often—they started after his mother died. But they’re so hard on him when he does.”
“And hard on you.”
“And me,” he admitted. He held out his hands to show her they were finally steady again. “I’d much rather it be me than him. When this happens I feel so…so damned helpless. I feel like I’m failing him, and I wonder if he thinks the same thing too, since I’m the one who’s supposed to protect him and take care of him, and I can’t protect him from these damned nightmares.”
She took hold of his hands, both of them, in her hands. “Max doesn’t blame you. You’re the one he counts on, and the one he asked for when he saw that it was me coming to help him. I promise, you’re going to get through this, Dermott. I know it’s not so easy right now, and you really can’t see past all the pain Max is going through, but you have each other and that’s where you’ll find the strength you’ll need.”
He shook his head, struggling with the emotion. “What she did to him…” He choked off his last words, sucked in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. “You were good with Max, Jenna. He was comfortable with you, which he isn’t with many people. Thank you for being here for him…and me. And I’m sorry about the grilled cheese sandwiches.”
She waved him off on that one. “I’m just upstairs, if you need anything else. And, Dermott, that’s a serious offer. If you, or Max, need anything, come and get me.”
He pulled her into his arms and hugged her. “I’m glad you’re here, JJ. Really glad you’re here.” Then he returned to Max and Jenna returned to her apartment feeling…good. She was glad she was here, too.
“W
ELCOME
to Dr. Callahan’s office!” Jenna opened the door for the older couple to come inside. They’d been standing on the stoop, refusing to enter, for a good two minutes, and it appeared they were arguing about something. So she’d decided to expedite the matter, whatever it was. “Would you like to come in?”
Neither of them made a move. In fact, the woman took a step backwards.
“Do you have an appointment with the doctor this morning?” Jenna asked.
The old man looked away, but the woman nodded. “I have an appointment with the doctor.” She scowled over at her husband. “He has an appointment with something else.”
Well, this seemed interesting. But wisely she decided not to butt in. Not at this point in their debate, anyway.
“It’s like this every time he brings me here,” the woman continued. “He thinks I don’t know, thinks I can’t smell it all over him, but I do, every single time. And the doctor has warned him, but he doesn’t listen. Just doesn’t listen.” The woman shoved past the door, marched right on by Jenna and went straight to the waiting room, while her little white-haired husband stayed there on the stoop, smiling sheepishly and shrugging.
“I have my routine,” he explained. “And it’s the only time I indulge myself. She’s out of sorts every time I do, but after fifty years of marriage, I deserve my few minutes.”
“Would either of you like a cup of coffee?” she offered, wondering if that would help fix the grumpy mood filling the office.
“Coffee? That’s all? Nancy always had sweet rolls out with the coffee,” the woman snapped. “So did the other nurse who worked here after her. They made it worth a person’s while to come down here and waste her time while her husband was out doing other things.”
“I’m sure all Dr. Callahan’s nurses were very good.”
“Nancy was especially good. Lovely woman.” She gave Jenna a skeptical head-to-toe appraisal. “Wonderful nurse, who looked like a nurse
should
look, and took particular pains to be good to the patients. The other nurse, I don’t remember her name, was adequate.”
A reputation for her to live up to. Somehow, Jenna had a hunch that standing next to the operating table for three hours, pulling back on an abdominal incision while the doctor searched every inch of the man’s intestines for an undetected bleeding ulcer was far easier than this was going to be. But this was a small-town practice, Dermott had reminded her. One that was set in its ways. Very set, apparently. “I apologize for not knowing where to buy the sweet rolls. If you tell me, I’ll be sure to have them next time you come in.”
The old woman’s face softened a bit toward Jenna, but when she looked over Jenna’s shoulder, her scowl for her husband deepened. “He’d rather indulge in his filthy habits than have a good sweet roll,” she said, then sat down. “But, dear, if you’d like to go and get those sweet rolls right now, I’ll be glad to sit here and wait. I’ll even answer the phone for you.”
“Now?” That was a surprise, but the little old lady seemed insistent, and willing to wait to get what she thought was her proper due.
“Two blocks down, on the south side of the street. It’s called Linnea’s Bakery, and they have a particularly good prune Danish.”
“Prune Danish,” Jenna repeated.
“Or cheese. That’s usually good, too. Although I think the prune might be healthier.” The scowl for her husband went up again. “Not that
he
cares about health, with all those filthy habits of his.”
“Five minutes, Lorraine. That’s all I allow myself. Five lousy minutes, once a week!”
Lorraine…Jenna scanned the appointment book, but didn’t find the name there. “I don’t see that the doctor has you scheduled for an appointment,” she said.
She gave Jenna a look akin to the one she was giving her husband. “Of course he doesn’t. I stop in for one of his quick checks every Monday morning—he doesn’t charge me anything.” Naturally, Lorraine emphasized that last part simply to let Jenna know what was what.
A free physical, a prune Danish,
and
a reputation to live up to? It was time to go and ask Dermott about this. Jenna excused herself and hurried back to Dermott’s office as Lorraine was about to start round two with her poor husband.
“Is that Mrs. Ketterman?” Dermott asked, fighting back a mischievous smile. Although his eyes couldn’t hide the smile.
“You mean prune Danish?”
He chuckled. “She likes a good cheese Danish too, if Linnea’s is out of prune.”
“Then she was telling me the truth? That we cater breakfast with our morning appointments?”
“The truth is that Bill Ketterman has a passion for a good cigar, and Lorriane won’t allow him to have it at home. So every Monday morning he brings her down for me to check her blood pressure—which is legitimately high—and while she’s indulging in Danish, he’s indulging himself in the alley.”
“And they squabble about it every week like they’re doing right now?”
“Sometimes it’s worse. I thought they sounded like they were getting along fairly well this morning.”
“A marriage made in heaven?”
“A marriage that has endured fifty years. Heaven or hell, that makes it pretty good.”
“Fifty years, one man…” She wondered what Dermott would look like in fifty years. Handsome, she decided. The kind of handsome that got better with the years. “So I need to run down to Linnea’s, don’t I?”
“If Bill is to have his few minutes of pleasure, yes. If you don’t mind. I mean, it’s not part of your duty, and if you don’t want to—”
“Do you indulge all your patients the way you do the Kettermans?” she interrupted.
“They’re nice people, and a prune Danish isn’t such a big deal. If it makes them feel special in some way, why not? Heaven knows, there are so many things in medicine we can’t control, so if a prune Danish makes someone feel better or special or important…” He shrugged. “It’s an inexpensive cure for something, I suppose.”
This is what made Dermott better than other doctors. He genuinely cared. His compassion was something she’d never forgotten about him. “Anything else I need to know about the patients? And, by the way, I noticed you don’t have any appointments scheduled this morning.”
“I usually leave the mornings open for anybody who wants to wander in. Then schedule regular appointments in the afternoon, although most people prefer coming in the morning.”
“Let me guess. So they can get the prune Danish?”
He nodded. “They’ll know what to give you down at Linnea’s. Oh, and do you happen to have any kind of a uniform with you?”
She glanced down at her jeans and T-shirt, the outfit Lorraine Ketterman had disapproved of. It wasn’t exactly a crisp, professional look…she’d give Lorraine that much. But she didn’t have a uniform. “Never wore them. I had some hospital-owned scrubs and they didn’t come with me when I left.”
“Then grab a white coat out of my office. That’ll work, I think. Personally, I don’t mind the casual appearance since casual is the way I run the office, but the people here expect to see something more professional…the old-fashioned white uniform, actually.”
Sweet rolls and white uniforms. Definitely in keeping with Nancy, the other nurse. He didn’t have to say it, but that’s what it was. Nancy had set a standard the people here expected, and it was going to be up to Jenna to fit into it. Or distinguish herself in other ways. Like change the bakery order. Skip the Danishes and buy doughnuts. And buy some of those bright floral scrubs of all colors like most nurses wore these days.
Good idea, she decided as she passed by the alley outside, and caught a glimpse of Bill Ketterman standing almost hidden behind the dumpster, a plume of bluish smoke circling his head like a tarnished halo. “Appreciate the sweet rolls, ma’am,” he said. “I know they don’t seem like much to you, but when you get used to having something…” He paused, sucked in then blew out a puff of smoke. “You like to count on the traditions.”
Traditions, like the tray of Danishes she brought back fifteen minutes later. OK, so she’d caved in a little and bought
all
Danishes. But apple and pineapple. For which Mrs. Ketterman was appreciative, especially when she discovered that pineapple was her new favorite flavor.
By the time Lorraine had devoured two of them and received her blood-pressure check, which was normal, three other people had wandered in, none of whom had particularly major complaints. In fact, two of them insisted on not disturbing the doctor, and asked Jenna to take a look. A little sinus congestion, no infection. A little poison ivy, spreading.
A very sparse morning led into what promised to be an even sparser afternoon as there was only one patient scheduled. Someone else who insisted on leaving Dermott alone. Well, it was odd, but for the office nurse it was fulfilling, being the one they wanted to see. And it was nice that Dermott had confidence in her being the first line of medical care, so to speak. But that did leave her wondering, because the people all seemed so sincere about not wanting to disturb him. Could a whole town really be that concerned over the welfare of one of its own?
For someone who hadn’t even had a father who’d cared, it was hard to imagine. But she was a little cynical by nature, and she admitted it. A healthy dose of cynicism was an awfully good barrier.
“Big guy!” Max screamed as he ran down the front walk leading away from the Allen house and launched himself into Dermott’s open arms.
Dermott scooped up his son and gave him a great big hug. “What have you been doing with yourself all morning? Something blue?”
“Painting that old bed for Jenna! I wanted to paint it red and green, but Grandma said it would look better if it was blue. But Grandpa let me choose which color blue.” He grinned from ear to ear.
“Well, the blue on your shirt looks like a very nice blue. Is that the one you chose?”
Max nodded. “Grandma says Jenna will like it if she’s smart. Is she smart, big guy?”
“Yes, she’s very smart.”
“Good, because I heard Grandpa telling Grandma that it wasn’t going to be easy. What’s not easy? Painting her bed blue?”
Dermott swallowed hard. “What Grandpa said…” He glanced over at his father-in-law, who’d heard Max and was now turning all shades of red.
“Yes, Max. A blue bed isn’t so easy to paint, which is why I needed your help,” Frank Allen said.
Dermott’s heart went out to the man. For all the things Nancy had been, and all the things she’d done, she’d still been Frank’s daughter, someone Frank had loved as much as
he
loved Max. “You OK with the arrangements, Frank?” Dermott asked the older man. “Having her live with us was the only way I could afford her.”
“OK enough. But to be honest, it’s hard seeing another woman taking Nancy’s place everywhere. I understand that the two of you were separated and would have probably gone through with the divorce, and don’t get me wrong here, I know you need to move on, and we want you to, but…”
Frank was entitled to his feelings, but Dermott was entitled to his own, and part of those feelings were about concealing all the ugly truths from Nancy’s family. Sure, they knew she’d abused drugs. Everyone in town had found that out at the time of Nancy’s accident, and he’d spent the months since then trying to hide everything else. Especially from Nancy’s parents. Would it do them any good to know that when she’d been high she had also abused Max? That she’d had other men in her life? That she’d stolen her drugs from his own medical supplies?
The answer was no. They didn’t need any more pain. “She’s not taking over, Frank. Just stepping in and helping me where I need it,” Dermott said, lowering Max to the ground. “I know the people here are determined to slow down their medical care so I can have more time with Max, and I appreciate that, but I need help even with the way I’ve cut back, and I am thinking about growing the practice back up again because I do miss my work. So I need an office nurse who might be able to bring back a few of my straying patients.” The people here deserved the convenience of more medical care at home and he did want to give that. It was part of making his life normal once more, but it was also his duty.
“My daughter—she was a good nurse, though, wasn’t she, Dermott?” Frank asked.
“You know how much the people here loved her, loved the way she went out of her way to do the nice things for them. They still talk about her with affection, Frank. Even Lorraine Ketterman, and you know how grumpy she can get.” Sure, it was a generic thing to say, but it was the truth. Noncommittal, but true. And it’s what Frank needed to hold on to—the side of his daughter that people had adored. He was holding hard, because he was smiling now. But Dermott saw pain behind that smile—the pain Frank never talked about.
Dermott gave his father-in-law an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder. “So, are you two men going to finish up that blue bed this afternoon?”
Max looked up at his dad, grinned, gave him a big, blue, double thumbs-up sign. “Can you come and see it, big guy?” Max asked, then took off running down the path to the barn.
Dermott and Frank followed at a slower pace. “I don’t mean to overstep the mark, Dermott. Under the circumstances, it’s generous of you letting us have Max with us so much. He makes up for, well…you know.”
“Not generous, Frank. I need you to look after him. You’re the only ones I trust to do that.” So very true. He was a lucky man, having them in his life the way he did, and no matter what it took, he intended on keeping them there. “Besides, Max loves coming here. It’s good for him. Gives him something to do other than hang around an old building all day.”
At the barn, Dermott got a good look at Max’s work of art. “You’re right, Max,” Dermott said, biting back a laugh. “It is a good color. Did Grandpa give you permission to paint all the wooden columns in his barn with those blue happy faces, by the way?” Dermott sighed a contented sigh. Happy faces, happy life. Too bad it couldn’t be that way all the time.
“You’re the new nurse,” the woman behind the lunch counter said on her way around to show Jenna to a table by the front window. “I heard you did a good job on Isaiah Wilkerson last night.”
The woman, whose name tag read Sadie, seemed pleasant. She was about Jenna’s age. Platinum-blonde hair. A figure even the most well endowed would envy. Voluptuous didn’t begin to go far enough in describing her. And she had a friendly smile, too. That’s what Jenna liked, the smile. It was like the one so many of the people here turned on her and, to be honest, the genuine warmth in Fort Dyott felt good all the way down to the bone. It was a place she
could
call home, she thought. “Did you hear that from Isaiah?” she asked.