Chapter 11
11
Caroline
I leaned back into the cushion of my office chair, the leather creaking under the shift of my weight, and let out a long, confused sigh. The ghost of Walker’s grin danced behind my eyelids every time I blinked—a reminder of our date that had gone surprisingly well. Too well. It was just dinner and some light-hearted conversation, but the way he looked at me made my heart do somersaults.
Why would Walker Anderson, with his easy charm and a smile that could probably convince the sun to rise, be interested in someone like me? The girl who had her nose buried in textbooks while others were learning the art of flirting. It didn’t add up unless it was all part of the act. Our pretend relationship was supposed to be a charade, a means to an end for both of us. I couldn’t afford to get caught up in his endless charm.
My gaze drifted to the window where the vast expanse of Whittier Falls stretched out before me. The town was drenched in warm hues as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the streets I once roamed as a shy, studious teenager. It was ironic, really, how I’d returned here as a doctor, yet was still grappling with the same insecurities.
“Focus,” I muttered to myself, shaking away the image of Walker’s light blue eyes. I needed to concentrate on the lessons, the process, not the man who delivered them with a crooked smile. This was just a temporary arrangement, nothing more. Personal feelings had no place in this equation, and I couldn’t afford to forget that. Not when there was so much at stake—my newfound reputation, my father’s legacy, and the responsibility I carried on my shoulders.
I tapped my phone screen, composing a message to Walker with more hesitation than I cared to admit. My thumb hovered over the send button—a gateway to vulnerability—and I was acutely aware of the fluttering in my stomach.
Hey Walker, can we meet up on Friday? I’m eager to get started on the other things…
I grimaced at the screen. Was that too casual? Too formal? Too ridiculous? I let out a breath and hit send before I could second-guess myself again.
The waiting was the worst part—the silence stretching out like an endless prairie. I fiddled with the edge of my white coat, trying to distract myself with thoughts of prescriptions and patient care instead of his potential reply.
Then, my phone buzzed, slicing through the nerves.
Caroline, if this is about improving our waltzing skills, I’m all in. I’ve been practicing my twirls .
Walker’s response sparkled with humor, and despite my resolve, a smile tugged at my lips.
Twirls, huh? I’ll believe it when I see it. Are you free around 6?
Anything for you. Meet at your place?
Perfect. See you then.
Looking forward to it, darlin’
As I pocketed my phone, I couldn’t help but feel a strange blend of relief and anticipation. The teasing exchange felt natural, easy even, which was odd considering how I usually clammed up around men like Walker—confident and effortlessly charming. I shook my head to clear away the rising warmth in my cheeks.
This wasn’t an actual date. It wasn’t a date at all, it was an . . . educational booty call. Oh God. I hadn’t had sex in years, and the very few times I’d had it had been less than pleasurable. I wanted it to be pleasurable for me, of course, but I was mostly concerned with making a fool out of myself. I needed to learn how to have sex with a man without looking like a novice.
Learning how to please a man in bed was a rite of passage for women. One I had never earned. Better late than never, I supposed. And with a man like Walker on my side, I figured I’d soon gain at least a passable knowledge of it.
But how awkward will it be admitting I had no idea what to do in bed? This man was a Lothario. I’ll probably look like like a damn fool.
Crap. I needed to focus.
I looked around my office, hoping the sight of it would settle me back in work-mode. The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds, casting stripes of golden light across the linoleum floor. The faint hum of the air conditioning mingled with the muffled voices from the waiting room. My degrees hung proudly on the wall.
I’d just finished jotting down notes from my previous appointment when a soft knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts.
“Come in,” I called.
“Not tryin’ to rush ya, but I just put a new patient in room three,” Lisa said.
“I’ll be right there.”
I stood and pocketed my phone, putting thoughts of Walker out of my mind. Or at least as far back as they would go.
The door to room three was closed, so I took a moment to grab the chart from the holder on the wall and scan it before knocking.
Lily Michaels, female, twenty-six years old, complaining of wrist pain. Should be easy enough.
I knocked twice, then slowly opened the door to find the woman sitting on the exam table. Her hair, what could only be called mouse-brown, hung limp around her face and was due for a wash. Her eyes, brown, wide, and rimmed with the slightest pink, darted around the room before landing on me.
“Hi, Lily,” I said, offering her the kind of smile that usually puts people at ease. “I’m Dr. Cressley. What brings you in today?”
She sniffed, clutching her wrist close to her chest. “I, um, tripped and fell down the stairs,” she mumbled, her voice so soft it nearly got lost in the quiet of the room. “My wrist hurts. I don’t think it’s broken, but . . . I guess I wanted to make sure.”
“Let’s take a look.” I stepped toward the examination table, watching as she perched on the edge like a sparrow ready to take flight at the slightest disturbance.
“It’s your left wrist?” I asked. It seemed obvious from her stance, but one thing I’d learned was to never assume, always verify.
“Yes.” She extended her left arm, wincing even at the slight movement. The woman was obviously in pain, but I could tell it was more than that. She was nervous. I put on my most calming, empathetic armor.
“Okay, Lily. I’m going to be very gentle, but I need to feel around to see what might be wrong. Just tell me if it hurts too much, okay?” My fingers probed expertly along the bones and tendons, noting the swelling and heat radiating from her skin. Lily’s breath hitched but she didn’t stop me.
“Looks like a sprain,” I diagnosed, keeping my tone light. “I do recommend you going to get an X-ray to rule out a hairline fracture, but?—”
“No, I can’t,” she interrupted. “I mean, it’s expensive, I can’t afford it. It’s just a sprain.”
My physician Spidey Sense tingled at her immediate refusal, but I didn’t want to push it. I knew lots of people didn’t have access to health insurance, and sometimes even with it, the cost of things could be overwhelming. But there was something in her voice . . .
I couldn’t force her to get an X-ray, only recommend it, which I’d done. And I didn’t want to alienate her in case she needed me in the future.
“Okay. If you change your mind, I’ll put orders in your chart for imaging. But I do feel confident you’re just dealing with a mild sprain here. I’m sure it hurts, but it’ll heal up well as long as you rest it. We’ll need to wrap it up, and I want you to keep it elevated as much as possible. Ice it for twenty minutes every couple hours, too.”
“Great. I can do that.” She looked relieved.
“You said you fell down the stairs. Did you get banged up anywhere else? Any bruising you want me to check out?
“No, nothing like that. I’m fine.” It was another quick answer.
Not wanting to press the matter, I nodded then gathered the supplies I needed. As I wrapped her wrist, I chatted with her about lighter topics—the nice weather, the new litter of kittens her cat had just had—and by the time I was finished, Lily seemed more relaxed. But there was still something hiding behind her eyes.
“You can take ibuprofen for the pain every four to six hours as needed. Call us or come in if anything changes.”
“Thanks, Dr. Cressley,” she said, a genuine smile breaking through as she slid off the table, her sprained wrist now neatly supported.
“Anytime, Lily.” I smiled back. “Remember, ice and elevation.”
As I left notes in her chart, Lisa came back to tell me about another cancellation. Just when I felt like I made a little progress with a patient, someone else had to go and knock me down a peg.
“It’ll be okay. The people all leaving for another practice are the complainers anyway. Trust me, you don’t want their business.”
“If enough of them leave, I’ll need any business I can get.”
“Oh hush, you’re a long way off from that. You’re still at triple the number of patients your father had when first starting out. Don’t forget, he wasn’t always as successful as he seemed to you. We all start somewhere.”
“Huh. I guess you’re right.”
“Of course I am. I nearly always am,” she said with a wink. “Oh, I tried to give Lily Michaels the print out to take to imaging, but she didn’t want it.”
I sighed. “Yeah, she said she couldn’t afford it. I told her I’d write up the orders so she can go in case she changed her mind.”
Lisa’s eyebrows knit together in question. “Strange.”
“Hmm?” I asked, as I checked off the diagnosis and treatment recommendation. “Imaging is expensive nowadays, I wish she would go, but I understand.”
“No, not that. It’s just, when she first came in, I asked if she had insurance and she gave me her card. I was halfway through processing it when she came to ask for it back and said she’d pay cash for the visit.”
I made a note in the computer and clicked out of the file. “Well maybe the insurance expired.”
“No, it was active. I checked.”
“I guess that is weird. I don’t know, maybe her copays are high.”
“Maybe. I didn’t get that far, but it was a good plan.”
That was strange, but I supposed it wasn’t any of my business .
Still . . .
She was my patient and she’d already seemed nervous. Maybe I’d call her tomorrow to check in on how she was doing. Use it as an excuse to see if there was anything else she wanted to talk about.
The idea would sound preposterous to my colleagues back in Chicago. But small town practice was different, and it allowed for more flexibility and care.
And what use was that if I never took advantage of it?