Epilogue
August
When I got on the flight to Connecticut, my spirits were high.
It had felt good to be doing something proactive, to be setting aside my all-consuming career, and taking a step in the right direction.
One away from hiding behind my work, and toward the kind of connection I’d been craving for so long.
I was excited to spend time with my brother, his kids, and, if fate was on my side, see Lacey Lovette again.
My trip was, by all accounts, a success. My brother and I are on better terms than we have been in years, and I did a hell of a lot more than see Lacey Lovette.
Even with all that, however, as I get out of the car at the airport, it strikes me how I should really be… well. Not this.
This weekend was probably the best I’ve had in years, possibly far longer, but as I hand over the keys to my rental car and drag my rolling suitcase through the automatic doors of baggage claim, dread seems to weigh on me.
It grows heavier and heavier with each step through the luggage claim, my mind on the two people I left behind at The Chestnut Bed and Breakfast.
Reconnecting with Wells Davis wasn’t something I anticipated, not in this lifetime, and my hopes of seeing Lacey again never went farther than just that—seeing her.
I had no way of knowing, no way of preparing myself, for what it would be like to create something entirely new between us three. When we were together, I felt like being a doctor was merely a part of who I am, not my entire life.
Now that I’ve experienced that, all I want is more.
In the decade or so since I left Connecticut, I’ve visited countless times. This weekend with Lacey and Wells, though, was the first time it truly felt like coming home.
They saw me, they wanted me, and the time we had together was painfully insufficient.
Not doing everything in my power to get more of it seems to go against every instinct I have, but reasonably speaking, what am I supposed to do here? It was one weekend, a fling, and you don’t upend your entire career to move across the country for two people you barely know. We’re adults.
No amount of assuring myself I’m doing the right thing seems to make any difference.
My heart is in my shoes as I move through the hustle and bustle of the airport, finally stopping at the end of the line for security, and staring around at the metal detectors and my fellow travelers without really seeing them.
I’m so lost in my own head, trying to talk myself out of feeling so horribly, irrationally heartbroken, that the voice that comes from behind me makes me jump.
“Vogel? August Vogel?”
I turn, starting at the sight of the old man standing just behind me.
We haven’t seen each other since I left Connecticut for my residency, but I’d know the face of my former mentor anywhere.
He took me under his wing when I was in medical school, going out of his way to teach me, and was the one who inspired me to pursue ophthalmology.
“Doctor Gonzalas.” I let out an incredulous laugh, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Jesus, it’s been years.”
He beams. “I thought my eyes were deceiving me. You look good, Doctor.”
“As do you. What a small world.”
“It is,” agrees Dr. Gonzalas with a cheerful little chuckle, resting his hand atop the handle of his suitcase. “In town visiting family? You’re still at the SCO Institute?”
Despite not feeling the least bit fond of my place of employment at the moment, I manage a weak smile. “I am, yes, just in town for the holiday. My brother and his wife had a baby recently, so I came out to meet her. How’s the practice?”
My former mentor answers this query with a grimace. “A chain around my neck.”
The woman standing behind us clears her throat significantly, and realizing the line has moved up, I offer her an apologetic smile as Dr. Gonzalas and I hurry forward.
“Staffing issues?” I pose once we’ve stopped again, distracted from my turmoil by concern.
“Nothing like that.” He sighs. “I’d like to retire, believe it or not.
Carol has been on me for years about it now, but finding a suitable offer to buy out the practice has been a challenge.
A lot of these young doctors are still paying off their medical school loans and aren’t eager to take on another sizable debt.
Not that I can blame them.” He fixes me with an amused, playful look.
“I don’t suppose you would be interested? ”
I still, staring at him.
It’s madness to even consider such an offer, and my former mentor’s joking tone suggests he doesn’t actually expect me to take it seriously.
After all, my career is thriving in California, and moving certainly wouldn’t be a simple proposition, nor would I see the same level of professional success taking over a small surgical clinic in Connecticut.
I have every reason to stay where I am, every damn reason to stay the course and become head of the department when my boss retires in a few years.
Fate isn’t something I’ve spent much time considering, always having believed myself to be a man of science. As I look at my old mentor, however, the wheels in my mind turning in different directions, I have to wonder if maybe this chance encounter wasn’t so random.
How many stars needed to align for me to decide on a visit home, right before Christmas?
How many for Wells’ furnace to break?
How many for The Chestnut’s other bookings to be canceled on what would ordinarily be a very busy weekend for Lacey?
How many for me to run into Dr. Gonzalas in the line for airport security going home?
So, nearly dizzy by the magnitude of the question I’m about to ask, I feel myself smile. “Tell me more.”
So, he does.
We talk it through as the line inches forward, and as we put our bags up on the conveyor belt to be checked, pausing the conversation only long enough to get to the other side of the metal detectors. His gate happens to be directly across from mine, and we talk on the way there, too.
By the time we arrive, pausing in the middle of the busy airport terminal, I find myself holding out a hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
Dr. Gonzalas’s eyebrows are so high that they are very nearly swallowed by his fringe of gray hair. “You’re sure about that?” He frowns. “I won’t pretend running this practice will be as prestigious as what you’re doing. The money might not be as good either, if the rumors are to be believed.”
I think about the pile of money I have in the bank, the investments I’ve made, and the fact that I could retire tomorrow if I wanted to.
In a few years, if I stay the course in California, I’ll be making even more.
None of it has made me happy, though, and none of it excites me as much as this does.
There are a lot of reasons why this tiny ember of a possible relationship with Wells and Lacey could flicker out and fail. I’m not afraid of people’s judgement, though, or even losing them. Or, at least, none of that scares me as much as never giving it a proper chance.
I want this, and the universe has been throwing up giant, flashing “detour” signs as I stubbornly kept to the same life plan I’ve had since I was twenty-two years old. It’s about time I listened.
“Yes,” I say with all the confidence in the world, my chest inflating with hope. “I’m sure.”
He takes my hand, a smile splitting his heavily lined face. “I’ll have my attorneys send over a contract after New Year’s?” he proposes tentatively, still clearly expecting me to change my mind.
“Looking forward to it,” I agree, calmer than I would have thought possible. “If everything looks good, I think I can get out there by February to start the transition.”
Dr. Gonzalas’s hand falls back to his suitcase. “If you’re sure, Vogel. I wouldn’t blame you if you backed out. Why don’t you sleep on it and give me a call tomorrow?”
“I don’t need to sleep on it,” I assure him. “This has been… I’m glad to have run into you.”
“Not half as glad as I am,” he assures me with a wry smile, his eyes shining. “This practice is my life’s work, and I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather hand it off to.” We shake hands again and turn toward our respective gates.
As much as I’d like to, I can’t turn around and walk back out of the airport.
I have surgeries scheduled for this week, patients depending on me, and a department head who I’ll have to notify of my resignation when the ink is dry on the contracts with Dr. Gonzalas.
My house will have to go on the market, and I’ll need to buy another one in Connecticut.
There are things, a lot of them, that need to be done before this actually happens.
That doesn’t stop me from dropping into a seat beside my gate, though, and pulling out my phone.
August: I’m moving to Connecticut.
It takes an entire fourteen seconds before the first response comes in, followed in quick succession by three more.
Lacey: Wait, what?!
Lacey: Like, for real????
Lacey: Are you on the plane yet? I have so many questions!
Wells: What she said.
I chuckle, rubbing the stubble of my beard as I stare down at the screen, the painful ache that appeared in my chest as I left The Chestnut, now overflowing with excitement.
This might not work. It’s important I keep that in mind and not put the cart before the horse on this road, which is bound to be ridden with potential pitfalls. Wanting it to work must surely be the most important part of this, though, and if Lacey and Wells want it to work too…
August: Boarding soon. I’ll call and tell you the whole story when we land.
Lacey: I’m crying.
Wells: You’ve been gone less than 12 hours. Miss us that much already?
My chest is ready to burst open with relief and excitement as I type out my response.
August: Yes. Which seems like a pretty strong indicator this thing is worth fighting for, if you’re both in agreement.
It takes less than ten seconds for me to receive their responses, nearly simultaneously.
Lacey: One bazillion percent, yes.
Wells: Fuck yes.
Adjacent to where I’m sitting, people are beginning to line up for our flight. I don’t join them, though, choosing instead to sink back in my seat, staring out at the blustery tarmac beyond the terminal window.
I’ve made a lot of hard choices in my life and in my career. Even if they were the best I could do with the information I had, there was always a lingering fear I’d somehow missed some massive variable that would have changed the outcome of my decision.
This… Lacey and Wells? There are too many massive, unknown variables to count. This is the most impulsive, ill-thought-out choice I’ve ever made, and yet, I’m not worried.
Grinning to myself, I rise from my seat at long last, joining the last few stragglers waiting to get onto the flight.
It might be a bit longer than I’d like, but damn it, I can’t wait to get home.