Chapter 3 #2
Her smile wasn't flirtatious or uncertain.
It was simply warm, carrying the quiet kindness I'd already begun associating with her.
It reminded me of the first cup of coffee on a cold morning—uncomplicated, comforting, and somehow capable of making the whole day feel a little lighter without asking for anything in return.
I returned it with a small nod before finally forcing myself back toward the clinic.
There was always another patient waiting.
Always another chart.
Always another emergency just over the horizon.
But for reasons I couldn't quite explain...
The morning felt a little lighter than it had an hour earlier, though experience had taught me not to expect that feeling to last. Harbor House had a way of reminding us that peace and crisis often lived only minutes apart, and learning to appreciate the quiet moments in between had become just as important as knowing how to respond when the next emergency arrived.
By the time I reached the medical office again, Melissa had already added another chart to the stack waiting on my desk, my voicemail light blinked twice, and someone had left a sticky note reminding me that one of the veterans needed paperwork completed before his appointment with the VA the following morning.
I hadn't even sat down before another knock sounded against the open door.
"Come in."
Mr. Sanders eased himself inside, moving with the careful stiffness of a man whose body had accumulated more birthdays than it cared to admit.
His silver hair had thinned over the years, but the warmth in his brown eyes remained unchanged.
He held his blood pressure log tucked beneath one arm as though he expected me to quiz him on it.
"I know," he said before I had the chance to speak. "I'm five minutes early."
I smiled.
"I was going to congratulate you."
"Figured I'd surprise you."
"You did."
He settled carefully into the chair across from my desk while I reached for the automatic blood pressure cuff.
"My daughter keeps telling me retirement is supposed to be relaxing."
"And?"
"I think she's confused."
I wrapped the cuff around his arm.
"How so?"
"I've never been busier."
I laughed softly.
"What've you been doing?"
He counted on his fingers.
"I volunteer here three days a week."
"Good."
"I help Mr. Dawson cheat at cards."
"I had a feeling someone was."
"I rebuilt Mrs. Henderson's porch."
"That's kind of you."
"And Charlie recruited me to build a birdhouse because apparently the birds don't have enough houses."
I couldn't help smiling.
"Did she now?"
He nodded gravely.
"Very persuasive little negotiator."
"She's inherited that trait from several members of the club."
"I was afraid of that."
The cuff inflated around his arm.
He grimaced dramatically.
"Still hate that thing."
"I know."
"It squeezes."
"It's supposed to."
"It could squeeze less."
"It could."
I waited for the reading before slipping the cuff free.
"One twenty-eight over seventy-six."
His eyebrows rose.
"That's good."
"That's excellent."
"I've been walking every morning."
"I noticed."
"And I finally stopped putting salt on everything."
"Miracles never cease."
He laughed.
"Don't tell Daisy. She'll start experimenting with healthy recipes."
"I think she'd consider that a personal insult."
"So would I."
The visit lasted less than fifteen minutes.
Medication adjustments.
Another refill.
A reminder to drink more water during the Carolina heat.
Simple things.
Most of medicine wasn't dramatic.
It was helping people stay well enough that emergencies never happened.
After Mr. Sanders left, I finally lowered myself into my chair.
The silence lasted exactly twelve seconds.
My office phone rang.
"Remedy."
"Sorry."
Melissa again.
"I know you're buried."
"What do you need?"
"The kindergarten group from the elementary school wants to bring over cards for the veterans this afternoon."
I smiled despite myself.
"Mr. Dawson's going to pretend he doesn't like it."
"I figured."
"And he'll secretly keep every single one."
"Definitely."
"Tell them we'd love to have them."
"I already did."
"Good."
She hesitated.
"You sound tired."
"I'm fine."
"You always say that."
"Usually because it's true."
She didn't answer.
Eventually she sighed.
"Just don't forget to eat today."
"I won't."
The promise came easily.
Keeping it usually didn't.
When the call ended, I reached automatically for the mug sitting beside my keyboard.
The coffee had gone cold hours ago.
I took a sip anyway.
It tasted like burnt disappointment.
I made a face before setting it back down.
One of these days I'd remember to drink coffee while it was still hot.
Probably sometime after I remembered to sit down before noon.
A light rap sounded against the open doorway.
Bishop leaned one shoulder against the frame, his own coffee steaming gently in his hand.
"I've got a question."
"Shoot."
"When's the last time you looked in a mirror?"
I frowned.
"This morning."
"I mean really looked."
"I shaved."
"You missed a spot."
My hand immediately found my jaw.
He grinned.
"I'm kidding."
"I was about to say."
"You would've believed me."
"Probably."
Bishop studied me for another second before his expression softened.
"Headache?"
"Little one."
"When'd it start?"
"Sometime after Charlie diagnosed me in the truck."
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Did she kiss your forehead again?"
I looked up.
"How'd you know?"
"Lark told Daisy."
"Daisy told you."
"Clubhouse gossip travels faster than motorcycles."
I shook my head with a quiet laugh.
"I should've known."
He glanced toward the mug beside my elbow.
"You still drinking that?"
I followed his gaze.
"It's coffee."
"It used to be."
"It'll do."
"No."
He pushed away from the doorway.
"It won't."
Before I could object, he crossed the room, picked up the cold mug, and disappeared into the hallway.
"Bishop."
No answer.
Less than a minute later he returned carrying a fresh cup.
Steam curled lazily into the air.
He set it on my desk without ceremony.
"There."
"You didn't have to."
"I know."
His eyes shifted toward the untouched breakfast plate that still sat near the corner of my desk.
Most of the eggs were gone.
One strip of bacon remained.
The toast hadn't been touched.
He looked back at me.
"That's progress."
"I finished the pancakes."
"You also forgot lunch."
I blinked.
"It's barely noon."
He folded his arms.
"It became noon twenty-three minutes ago."
I looked at the clock.
Sure enough.
How had I missed that?
Bishop smiled the way he always did whenever I accidentally proved his point.
"Time moves differently for you."
"I've got things to do."
"So does everybody else."
"This is different."
"Is it?"
I leaned back in my chair.
"People are counting on me."
"So are you."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it again.
He knew exactly where to aim those conversations.
"You sound like Daisy."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't meant as one."
"I know."
He reached into the small refrigerator tucked beneath the counter and frowned.
"When did you buy yogurt?"
"I don't remember."
"That's concerning."
"I've had a busy week."
"You've had a busy decade."
I laughed quietly.
"Fair."
Bishop closed the refrigerator.
"You know what your problem is?"
"I suspect you're going to tell me."
"You think taking care of yourself is optional."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I prioritize."
"You postpone."
"They're not the same."
"They become the same when tomorrow keeps turning into next week."
His words lingered in the room longer than either of us spoke.
The frustrating part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.
Helping other people always felt urgent.
Eating.
Sleeping.
Headaches.
They could wait.
Until they couldn't.
Bishop looked toward the hallway before lowering his voice.
"You know why Harbor House works?"
"Because everybody shows up."
"Exactly."
He met my eyes.
"That includes you."
Before I could answer, another voice called my name from somewhere down the corridor.
"Remedy?"
Melissa.
Urgency.
I was already standing.
"What happened?"
"New arrival."
I grabbed my medical bag.
Bishop stepped aside as I hurried toward the door.
"Go," he said quietly.
"I know."
As I disappeared down the hallway, neither of us noticed the figure standing just beyond the partially open office door.
Sunshine hadn't meant to overhear.
She'd only come looking for Melissa after finishing lunch with several of the children.
Instead, she'd found herself standing motionless as Bishop quietly replaced another cup of cold coffee and gently reminded the man who spent every day caring for everyone else that he deserved the same kindness.
She watched Remedy disappear toward another emergency without a second thought for himself.
Then she looked back at the fresh cup of coffee still sending thin curls of steam into the empty office.
Her gaze lingered there for several long moments.
Something inside her ached.
Not because she pitied him.
Because she recognized him.
Some people gave so much of themselves that they forgot they were allowed to receive anything in return.
And somehow...
She had the feeling Remedy Parker had been living that way for far too long.
Sunshine remained where she was for another moment after Remedy disappeared down the hallway, her fingers still resting lightly against the folder she had intended to deliver to Melissa.
The clinic suddenly felt strangely quiet.
Not because no one occupied it.
Because the man whose presence seemed to anchor every room had already been pulled somewhere else.
She stepped inside almost without thinking.
The office wasn't large.
It had never been designed to impress anyone.
Shelves lined one wall, each one meticulously organized with medical supplies labeled in careful handwriting.
Anatomical charts hung beside framed photographs of Harbor House's first volunteer team, while children's drawings covered nearly every empty space between them.
One picture immediately caught her attention.
Three stick figures holding hands beneath an enormous yellow sun.
One of them had unmistakably oversized blonde curls.