Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
HAYDEN
I walk into Sycamore Falls Family Medicine with the same energy most people reserve for stepping on a Lego barefoot.
The waiting room is packed. Flu season is already hitting us, and I have a feeling this one will be a doozy.
Margaret looks up from the reception desk, treating me to the same congenial smile I remember from whenever I managed to injure myself during my childhood.
“Morning, Doc,” she says.
“Morning.”
She tilts her head. “Rough start?”
I think back to the war zone formerly known as my kitchen. “You can say that.”
She hums knowingly before returning to her computer, the click of the keyboard cutting over the TV in the waiting room playing some home improvement show.
I head down the corridor. The walls are lined with portraits of every physician who’s ever practiced here, going all the way back to the 1800s. A timeline of medical history in a small town.
Then there’s Cora.
Her portrait hangs right outside my office door.
She never worked here. Hell, she didn’t even want to work here. Her specialty was pediatrics.
But her father hung it anyway out of pride. Grief. Legacy.
Or maybe he just wanted me to have a daily reminder that she should still be here.
That it’s my fault she’s gone.
I slip into my office and close the door behind me. The silence is welcome. No toddler tantrums. No burned pancakes. No stains.
Except for the one currently on my shirt.
I peel off my suit jacket, loosen my tie, and unbutton the stained shirt. I swap it for the clean one hanging in the closet. I’d much rather be in scrubs, but Robert insists the community needs a doctor who looks like they have their life together.
Spoiler alert: I do not have my life together.
I knot the tie, shrug into my white coat, and brace myself for a day full of sick people coughing on me as well as those insisting they have cancer or something equally as bad because of an article they read on the internet.
Just as I’m about to reach for the knob on my office door, it swings open.
No knock.
No warning.
No sense of personal boundaries.
“There you are,” Robert says.
He glances at the clock, but doesn’t comment. Weaponized silence is his specialty.
“Had a bit of a slow start this morning,” I explain.
“Would that have anything to do with firing Grace?” He arches a single brow.
“She didn’t click with the kids.”
“Both of them?” He crosses his arms in front of his chest, his stomach seeming to protrude even more.
I know what he’s getting at. He thinks Presley is the problem.
He keeps telling me she just needs structure. A consequence for not speaking, instead of the patience, care, and compassion I’ve shown her.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “Both of them. Jeremiah needs someone who’ll get on the floor and be a dragon or dinosaur. Presley needs someone who won’t look at her like there’s something wrong with her.”
He gives me a look. He doesn’t have to say the words for me to know what he’s thinking.
That there is something wrong with her.
At least in his eyes.
Do I wish she’d finally talk again? Of course. I’d give anything to hear her sweet voice and her bright laughter.
But she’s suffered a traumatic event at a young age.
Like her therapist has told me. She just needs reassurance she’s loved and safe.
That’s what I’ve spent the past year trying to do. Showing her she’s loved. And keeping her safe.
“Who’s watching them today?” Robert asks.
“Abbey.”
“Where?” he scoffs. “The brewery?”
The disgust is subtle but familiar.
“She hasn’t worked there in months,” I retort, keeping my voice even. “She works for a clean water initiative now. Writes grants from home. But she was more than happy to use personal time to spend the day with Jemmy.”
I leave out the part where Abbey plans on bringing both Jeremiah and Presley to the brewery after she picks her up from school to play on the playground my brother, Jude, installed a few years ago by the outdoor patio.
“I’ll have Jeannie find you a new nanny,” Robert declares. “And this time, don’t fire them. There are only so many people to choose from.” He starts to turn from my office.
“That won’t be necessary,” I say, stopping him. “Dylan has someone in mind.”
He faces me once more. “Are you sure your sister’s the right person? I’m not sure she knows what those kids need.”
I push down my irritation with his obvious disdain for my sister.
Hell, for most people.
“She took care of them for the better part of the year. Sacrificed her own dreams to step up when no one else would.” I give him a pointed look.
As much as Robert likes to have a say in who watches his grandkids, he’s not exactly involved in their lives. He doesn’t take them fishing or to the park or on a bike ride. Not like my family does.
From the second I returned to Sycamore Falls after losing Cora, my mom, brothers, and sister have done everything they can to pitch in. I can’t say the same for Robert and Jeannie.
“And who is this person?” Robert inquires. “What are her qualifications?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t met her. She volunteers at the shelter with Dylan.”
His face pinches. “You’re letting a stranger watch your children?”
I don’t even bother softening my glare. Granted, I voiced the same concern to Dylan less than an hour ago. But hearing Robert say it grates on my nerves.
“They’re my kids. I’ll decide who takes care of them. And if Dylan thinks she might be a good fit, I’d like to give her a chance. If we’re done here, I have patients to see.” I move past him.
“Have you chosen the readings?”
His question stops me, and I glance over my shoulder. “Readings?”
“For the memorial.”
Right.
It’s not enough that I’m still mourning the loss of the love of my life even nearly a year later.
Robert seems to feel the need to remind me she’s gone every chance he gets.
From the portrait right outside my office.
To the monthly church services said in her memory.
To weekly vigils at her gravesite.
And now this… A memorial on the anniversary of her death.
It’s the absolute last thing I want to sit through.
It’s not that I want to forget Cora. I’ll never do that. Never stop loving her.
But I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. And every time I join Robert and Jeannie at church or at Cora’s gravesite, I can’t help but feel their disapproval.
As if I’m not mourning her enough.
As if I don’t miss her enough when every damn minute of every damn day I’m reminded that a giant piece of my heart is gone.
“I’ll get them to you this week,” I tell Robert through the ache in my throat.
Then I head down the hall, the heaviness on my chest growing more suffocating with every step.