13. Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Thirteen
Jane
D uring the week I’d spent at Meg’s, she and I had found a little Victorian settee at an antique shop in Sparta, just east of La Crosse. It was perfect for my parlor and I’d placed it in front of the large street-facing window, but since it was the only piece of furniture on the main floor aside from my dining table and chairs, the parlor looked rather stark, as did my empty drawing room.
Lance didn’t seem to mind. He’d come right in and made himself useful by opening a bottle of wine he and my daughter had brought. At first glance, the young man didn’t look like Meg’s type. She usually dated guys who were on the nerdy spectrum—guys who tinkered with computers or who were talented musicians. But Lance reminded me of a sun-kissed surfer—at least someone who preferred to spend his time outdoors.
Though my brother Roger was no longer practicing medicine, he was a doctor, and Lance didn’t seem like the type to put up with all the years of school. Roger was serious, studious, and contemplative. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it but my first impression was to peg Lance as the sort of man who never left his childhood. Maybe he reminded me of my ex—immature and always hankering for a party.
I hoped not, for Meg’s sake.
For dinner, I made chicken fajitas including guacamole and pico de gallo . Fresh ingredients were always better, and now that I had time on my hands, I didn’t mind making things from scratch.
Meg rolled up her flour tortilla and took a bite, her eyes rolling back. “Oh, my God, Mom, this is delicious.”
“Yeah, it’s better than going to Chili’s,” Lance agreed, taking a sip of his third glass of wine.
Fortunately, I’d also bought a bottle, which Meg’s boyfriend had been more than happy to open after the first disappeared. I’d opted to drink water and gave him a nod, the corners of my lips reluctantly turning upward. “Thank you.”
I took my first bite and savored it. Goodness, it did taste good. “How long was the drive from Ohio?”
Lance’s prominent Adam’s apple bobbed with his swallow. “A little over nine hours.”
“Wow, that’s quite a distance.” I was well-versed in geography, though I needed to make small talk, so I added, “I’m surprised you didn’t fly.”
“Driving relaxes me.”
“Wonderful, if you can afford the time.” I pursed my lips. When I was working for Bethany Plastics, whenever I went on vacation I wanted to get to my destination as soon as possible. Driving was a waste of precious minutes. Moreover, with my salary, I could afford to fly and rent a car. I was absolutely positive a single doctor earned plenty of money to do the same.
“What are you planning to do now that you’ve moved to La Crosse?” Lance asked.
It was difficult not to read into his words… now that you’ve been fired . Sure, Meg would have told him why I’d moved here and bought a house close to her. I hadn’t asked her not to. The bile in my gut churned. Would I harbor an inadequacy complex for the rest of my life?
Probably.
I’d put a lot of thought into my future, and though I didn’t need to work, I certainly wasn’t about to let Leon Worthington take the wind out of my sails for good. Of course, that damned newspaper article had all but doomed me from ever working in the beverage industry again. Moreover, I still hadn’t seen movement during my late-night security camera footage watching vigils.
Meg and I exchanged glances as I replied, “I’m taking a bit of time to refurbish this house, and once that’s done, I’ll start weighing my options.”
Lance piled guacamole on one end of his fajita, licking his fingers where it had overflowed. “Cool.”
I decided to take the lead of this question-and-answer session. “So, what made you want to become a doctor?”
“Uh…” Lance shrugged as he took a bite. Chewing, his mouth full, he replied, “I wanted to help people.”
I almost laughed at his standard answer. Was he fobbing me off? “I’ll bet everyone who goes into medicine initially does it to help people. But I’m guessing there’s more. Isn’t there? ”
“You don’t have to answer that.” Meg shot me a dagger-eyed look. Yes, my daughter knew what I was doing. “Helping people is incredibly virtuous.”
“But don’t most employees help people in some way?” I took a tortilla and began to load it up. “Meg, you help people at the library all the time.”
“Yeah, but that’s different.”
I dropped a dollop of sour cream on top of my creation. “How so?”
Meg reached for the pico . “I’m not helping people recover from illnesses.”
“Maybe not directly,” I took a drink of water. “But isn’t reading calming? Doesn’t the library carry any number of books about self-care and whatnot?”
“Of course we do, but I don’t listen to patron’s hearts and test their cholesterol. Good grief, Mom, all doctors are heroes in my book. You’re just tarnished because of the bad experiences you’ve had.”
Maybe she was right. Perhaps I’d let my aversion to MDs taint me.
I bit into my fajita, chewing and swallowing before I posed my next question to the scruffy but handsome doctor from Ohio. “Did you have an experience in your childhood where you helped someone and that cemented your decision to become a doctor?”
Meg groaned and looked to the silver Victorian chandelier above. “Mom, enough.”
“Sorry.” I didn’t regret my questions at all. Instead, I was overjoyed that I owned a home abounding with historical relics like the chandelier. “I asked your Uncle Roger the same question not too long ago. He said he made his decision when he had to have his broken arm set.” I inclined my head to Lance. “Roger fractured his radius playing basketball in the eighth grade. He said the doctor had a calming bedside manner—talked to him about basketball and made Roger forget about his arm. That was the moment my brother decided he wanted to be just like that doctor—he wanted to guide patients through the scary moments.”
Meg sighed. “I love Uncle Roger.”
Of course, she did. Everyone loved my brother especially in small doses. He lived in Washington state and couldn’t bear to see our mother because it tore him up too much. However, I wasn’t convinced his feelings justified the fact that he hadn’t been to see Mama since I’d been forced to put her in assisted living. I wasn’t sure how I felt about Roger’s choice to remain absent aside from a little resentful because our mother’s care fell solely on my shoulders .
“Yeah,” Lance rubbed his belly and belched. “Now that I think about it, the ER doc who sewed up the stitches at the back of my head when I was nine was awesome—made a real impression on me. I’ll never forget how cool he was.”
Wonderful, my daughter was dating a surfer-dude doctor who lived six hundred miles away. But maybe the distance wasn’t such a bad thing. After all, absence made the heart grow fonder…or gave it amnesia.
I grinned at him. “How about we play a game of Scrabble?”