7
Clara had told him that Dr. Wilder’s new offices were nice, but he hadn’t really believed her. The old offices had been cramped little rooms in a stucco strip mall, but Dr. Wilder didn’t care about aesthetics. She cared about results.
But the new place had definitely been chosen with aesthetics in mind. At half-past seven on Monday morning, he stood beside the borrowed Maserati, taking in the prospect before him: a freshly painted, meticulously landscaped Victorian mansion.
It was right around the block from Main Street on a corner lot, and the three other houses that shared the intersection were of similar age and style, though not as kept up. The surrounding neighborhood was residential, and the atmosphere was calm and sedate—kind of like Grace Wilder herself.
There was a small parking lot tucked to one side of the house, and a carved wooden sign on the front lawn bore the names of both partners:
ROMEO FAMILY HEALTH Melinda Pike, D.O. Grace Wilder, M.D. Se Habla Espanol
He went up the wide steps, noting that the massive porch was in perfect condition—everything was—and the brass handle on the mahogany door gleamed in the morning sun.
I’m not buying this place. I’m not falling for this.
A little bell tinkled as he entered the hushed waiting room. Heavy curtains had not yet been drawn back from the large windows; it was too early for patients, and the only other car in the lot had been Clara’s twenty-year-old Mercedes.
The interior of the house was as pristine as the exterior, and he found himself gazing all around in appreciation of the architectural details and subtle, well-appointed décor.
Warm light came from somewhere down the long, carpeted hallway. He followed it to a spacious kitchen. The first rays of sun spilled in through towering windows and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.
Clara was standing at the little round table trimming stems and poking flowers into vases. A five-gallon bucket packed full of pink, red, and white roses stood on the floor beside her. A second bucket contained tulips, baby’s breath, and a lot of greens.
She looked good, he thought. Not at all traumatized.
Everyone he worked with in Austin, regardless of rank or station, wore scrubs, but Clara Wilder’s idea of professional attire was more along the lines of Audrey Hepburn or a vintage Barbie doll: a soft black pullover with a neckline that reminded him for some reason of Paris, tucked into a white, calf-length skirt that looked like it had been wrapped around her and tied in a giant bow at her hip. Her earrings looked like strands of tiny diamonds tied like shoelace bows.
She made a very pretty picture with her roses, and after the night he’d had in the OR, she was quite literally a sight for sore eyes. “’Morning.”
She was surprised but not startled by the sound of his voice, smiled at him like she was glad to see him, and answered cheerfully in kind.
“This place is…kind of amazing.”
“It was built in 1909 by an oil baron, for the actress he was in love with,” she told him. “I don’t think she ever lived here, though. Coffee?”
“In a while,” he answered, raising the cup he’d bought on his way in. He’d forgone Dunkin’ in favor of a bakery called Daily Bread that boasted the best coffee in town, and so far he wasn’t regretting it. “They must have spent a fortune renovating this place. Your mom and Dr. Pike.”
“I think they did,” she admitted. “The Colonel kind of spearheaded it. It took months and months.”
“How many exam rooms are there?”
“Four. Would you like a tour?”
“No, that’s okay. What’s upstairs?”
She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “A really nice bachelor pad.” He must have looked some kind of way, because she was quick to add, “I’m kidding. Trust me, if there were a fancy apartment up there, I’d be living in it. She mentioned renting space to a dentist or therapist someday, but it doesn’t even have drywall yet.”
He would have to take a look upstairs at some point during the week to make sure Dr. Wilder didn’t actually have a luxurious apartment up her sleeve.
“You really think she did all this to manipulate you into moving here?” Clara asked him.
He looked swiftly at her, certain that she had read his mind. “Yeah.”
“Maybe she just wants to give you something nice.”
“That day at the Rickles farm, you asked if I’d guessed why she guilt-tripped me into coming here. This wasn’t what you meant?”
She shook her head. “I thought she just wanted to see you and was using the practice as an excuse.”
Jesse didn’t think it stopped there. When he’d received a call from a retirement-aged GP asking him to visit her small-town practice, it had seemed a little too pat. Yes, his upbringing had made him far too suspicious, but he knew that his benefactress was a chess player.
First, she’d cut him off completely for a few years to make him nice and desperate. Now she was going to offer him a ticket back into the family—for a price. And she’d disclose the details when she was good and ready.
Clara, he thought, appeared sincere. Which just meant she wasn’t in her mother’s confidence. Just like she probably hadn’t known six years ago that Dr. Wilder’s little story about Jesse being mad at them because his dad was dying was just that: a story.
“Want to put money on it?” he asked her.
She frowned and shook her head again.
“Smart girl.”
There was a long moment of silence. The sardonic words hung in the air, and Jesse was reminded that Clara had been smart on Sunday when she’d helped him at the accident scene. He’d been lucky to have her there, in fact.
“Hey, we sewed that guy’s leg back on,” he told her. She deserved to know. “I think he’s going to be all right.”
“Good,” she said, and smiled at him before turning her attention back to her flower arranging.
“Thanks for your help,” he added. “I know it was pretty gnarly for a rookie, but I was glad you were there.”
“You’re welcome,” she said.
Apparently, she did not want to chat about it.
The feeling that he owed her in some way persisted, which was probably why he said, “Need any help there?”
“No,” she said at once. “Thank you, but I need creative control. Oh, you could put the goodie bags together if you want. That’d be really nice.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Giving out goodie bags, too?”
“Yeah. No candy involved, just little toys and things. Dentists do it,” she added defensively.
“All right, fair point. Show me the stuff.”
She produced a shopping bag full of things and as she unpacked it and excitedly explained the thought process behind each purchase, he watched her animated face and envied her the youthful enthusiasm.
He was sidetracked by a sudden memory of witnessing another, long-ago shopping haul; her parents had taken her to New York City for her tenth birthday and she’d come home with pierced ears, a manicure, and a suitcase full of new clothes. Her brothers hadn’t shown any interest beyond expressing that it was a boring and idiotic way to spend a birthday, but Jesse had been astonished that anyone would waste so much money and attention on a mere kid. Of course, at the time he’d been comparing it to his latest birthday gift from his own mother: the box from a brand new iPod—empty.
That’s what you get for nagging me about your birthday.
“So just cut the ribbon to about ten inches and tie a bow around each bag,” Clara finished brightly.
“Got it.”
“A good bow,” she clarified. “I don’t want it to look like Charlie Brown tied it.”
“In that case, I might need a crash course. I’m pretty good with knots, but you probably want the kids to be able to open the bags.”
“Admitting you need help is the first step,” she praised him, and pulled out a chair for herself. “Okay, your basic bow is very simple and will be familiar to you, but there are a few things to look out for.”
He could not quite believe what he was hearing, but Clara was not joking around, so he merely nodded to show her he was attending.
When Yoli arrived a short time later, he and Clara were working in silence on their respective tasks.
“Hey, guys!” Yoli exclaimed, dumping a lot of bags on the counter. She was dressed in pink scrubs and her hair was smoothed back into a tight bun. “Welcome, Dr. Flores! Flowers are looking great! What’s in the goodie bags? Can I have one?”
“Only if you get a shot today,” Clara answered.
“I guess I could use a flu shot,” Yoli said good-naturedly. “How early are we starting?”
“First appointment isn’t until eight forty-five, luckily,” Clara told her. “I wanted to get all of this done yesterday, but I think there’s enough time this morning.”
“Want me to blow up some balloons?” Yoli offered, seeing the unopened packs on the table.
“Yes, thank you! There’s helium in the hall closet.”
Yoli dutifully inflated thirty-six heart-shaped balloons, handing them to Clara one by one so she could add enough length of thin, sparkly gold ribbon to allow the balloons to be retrieved from the high ceiling.
“Feel like I’m in a glittery rainforest,” Jesse said, looking around.
Both women laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t know, you just said it with such angst,” Clara explained.
A phone rang down the hall, and Yoli hurried away to answer it.
“That was a cancellation,” she said when she returned a minute later. “Looks like we’ll be out of here by four-thirty today.”
“That’s great,” Clara answered. “You must be pretty tired, huh, Jesse? My dad said you got home at like four.”
“I can operate on a few hours of sleep if I have to. But yes, I’m pretty tired.”
“Like function-operate, or operate-operate?” Yoli joked.
“Both.”
“What were you doing until four?” she asked with interest.
“Operate-operate,” he said dryly.
“There was a motorcycle accident,” Clara explained, on her way out of the room with a large flower arrangement and six balloons.
“No way! The patient who just called and canceled said it was because her son was in a motorcycle accident. I wonder if that’s the guy you operated on, Dr. Flores!”
“Maybe,” Jesse said. He tied the last bow, tossed the goodie bag into the box with the others, and stood up. “Can I see the patient file for the eight forty-five?”
“Yessir, right this way. Okay, this is Dr. Pike’s office here. Looks like Clara’s got you set up in Dr. Wilder’s. This open file here is probably your eight forty-five. Clara tends to think of everything.”
“Thanks, Yoli.”
“My pleasure. Do you have any big plans for next Monday?”
He kept his expression blank. “No. Why?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day. Clara and I are focusing on finding dates this week.”
He put a hand on the doorknob. “I don’t do Valentine’s Day.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” she said, and went out so that he could close the door.
The hand-on-the-doorknob trick seldom failed.
Before he had even sat down in the desk chair, he heard Yoli’s voice in the lobby, clear as a bell. “Why do you think he doesn’t do Valentine’s Day?”
“I don’t know,” Clara answered carelessly. “Maybe he just doesn’t do it in Romeo. He doesn’t live here. Doesn’t know any ladies .”
He tried to tune them out and focus on the patient information on his screen.
“Maybe we should set him up with someone. Maybe someone he went to high school with!”
“Nope. I don’t want any part in that.”
“I’m going to think of someone for him,” Yoli maintained. “Hey, do you think he’d go out with me ?”
“Absolutely not.”
“All right, fine, sheesh.”
“I mean, you work together. It wouldn’t be smart.”
“We work together for like, a week! We don’t really work together. Do you think I’m not his type?”
“I can hear everything,” Jesse snapped.
His overconfident office manager laughed, but his tech ventured a timid apology, which he ignored.
Ten quiet minutes later, someone knocked.
“Come in.”
It was Clara. “Had some extras,” she said, setting a small vase of pink tulips on the desk. “I’m going to call you Dr. Flores at work. Sounds more professional in front of the patients.”
“Okay.”
“I just didn’t want you to think it was weird.”
“I’m pretty used to it,” he answered gravely.
She looked at him as though he’d made the worst dad joke, and then added, “Oh, and you’re Dr. Jesse in pediatrics.”
He blew out a long breath. “Okay.”