Coming Home (Home #2)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“I want to do something splendid…something heroic and wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead.” ~Louisa May Alcott, Little Women

N at Owen’s jaw clenched as she worked to ignore the sour expression on Mrs. Lewis’ face. Don’t give the octogenarian the stink eye. “Your symptoms are consistent with a sinus infection, but?—”

“Is Dr. Owens coming in, dear?” Mrs. Lewis interrupted, her mouth pursed.

The corners of Nat’s lips flattened into a firm line. “I am Dr. Owens.”

“Yes, dear, but the real one. Your father,” she said with a saccharine smile and dismissive flick of her wrist.

Do no harm, even to sexist old ladies. Well, especially to them. Tapping on her tablet to give herself time to drop into the Zen zone, Nat continued, “We’ll have the nurse take a throat culture to rule out strep throat, and I’ll prescribe some antibiotics.”

“I’d like to have Dr. Owens see me, dear.”

Never had Nat experienced such a blood-boiling urge to say, “Bitch, please!” and flash her medical license proclaiming Natalie J. Owens, Medical Doctor . Eyes darting to the exam room door in surrender, she broadened her smile, even though it felt as if she were tightening an already too-tight sneaker. “Certainly. I’ll see if he can step in.”

Stepping out of the room, she controlled the force in her arm dying to slam the door, quietly eased it shut, then leaned against it, closing her eyes. The door’s reassuring stiffness soaked into her spine. “I am Dr. Owens. I am Dr. Owens,” she murmured to herself.

It wasn’t like this in Boston during her residency. Not entirely. At first, there were a few people who saw her petite stature as less than . Distracted by her assortment of bedazzled, patterned, and bright-colored shoes, they soon learned underestimating Nat Owens was a big mistake. Huge! Godzilla-sized! It was as huge of a mistake as that summer she’d cut her own bangs. Yet, a few weeks into her residency, she became the go-to family medicine resident.

In Boston, she only needed to overcome a first impression. In the village of Perry, N.Y., there was a lifetime of impressions, a lifetime of being the youngest daughter of the beloved Dr. Chris Owens.

For nearly one hundred years, there had been a Dr. Owens caring for the residents of the sleepy village, tucked between corn fields and cow pastures. A common trait shared by each former Dr. Owens was that they had all been the eldest son. Not the youngest daughter. That’s how it had been since Nat’s great-grandfather, Jacob Owens, had first established the clinic in 1925. His eldest son, her grandpa, took over, and then her dad. With two older brothers, Clayton and Evan, it was never meant to be her.

I’m not who these patients think should be here. Still fuming, she found her dad and asked him to stop in to see Mrs. Lewis. Then, she sought sanctuary in her office.

More of an alcove than an office, though. The space opposite the exam rooms was generally reserved for interns or residents from the medical school in Buffalo. She plopped into the swivel chair. It wasn’t a fancy office like her dad’s with its wall of windows and leather chairs. With its glittery framed photos, knickknacks, and an assortment of squishy stress balls shaped like animals, it was her refuge from the Mrs. Lewis types of the world.

“Thank you, Dr. Owens. I’ll stop by the pharmacy on my way home to pick up the antibiotics. When will the results of the throat culture come in?” Mrs. Lewis’ voice drifted into Nat’s open office door.

Seriously? Frustration sighed through Nat. She swiveled in her chair, listening to Mrs. Lewis and her father’s softening voices as they shuffled down the hall to the clinic’s reception area. Picking up a squishy hot pink pig-shaped stress ball, she clenched it. I am Dr. Owens. I am Dr. Owens.

A few minutes later, a throat cleared, pulling her attention to the open doorway where her dad stood. “Dr. Owens.” Happy crinkles kissed the edges of his blue eyes.

“Dr. Owens,” she said, lips lifted in a small smile.

Dad never ceased to be amused with having two Dr. Owens in the clinic. Even if some days he seemed to be the only person who remembered that she was a Summa Cum Laude graduate from medical school. He’d chuckle, saying “Dr. Owens.” as he greeted her in the morning or asked, “Which one?” when staff said, “Dr. Owens.”

Nat wondered if the amusement was pride in working alongside one of his children or astonishment at it being her. The memory of his blank expression when she announced she was declaring pre-med at Boston College often made her wonder. There were so many “Are you sures?” uttered, that just for a moment, she questioned it herself. She had been sure and for the last ten years, she navigated her charted path to arrive here. She just never counted on feeling like the unwelcomed third cousin at the party.

A smile kicked across his face. “You were spot on with Mrs. Lewis’ assessment.”

“Thanks,” she muttered.

He always gave these verbal pats on the back. It was reminiscent of being a little girl with a not-yet-dry fingerpainting that he placed on the fridge, proudly proclaiming that she was the next Picasso.

“Dad—”

He raised his hand, halting her words. “Honey, it will take time. The patients are just used to me. Soon, they’ll tire of the rusty Dr. Owens and want the shiny new one,” he assured in a soft and encouraging tone.

“Both my Dr. Owens.” Mom’s gray eyes twinkled as she stepped beside Dad and pressed a peck on his cheek. “Hello, handsome.”

Pink bloomed on his cheek.

The exchange both swelled Nat’s heart at the effortless affection between them and churned her stomach. They were her parents, after all. The idea of them still gettin’ busy after forty years of marriage horrified her. Even if it was something she secretly hoped for herself.

“Boss.” He quirked a flirtatious brow at his wife.

“Don’t you forget it.” Mom wiggled her hips and adjusted his bow tie dotted with tiny yellow teacups.

“Gross! I’d go to HR about the two of you, but since Mom is HR, there’s no point,” Nat groaned, watching the pink escalate to crimson across his face.

Who knew bow ties were a turn-on? Mom seemed to enjoy them. Ugh.

No wonder her dad had an army of fun bow ties. The teacup bow tie had been a gift from Elle Davidson, Clayton’s fiancé.

“Oh, hush Natalie Joan,” Mom chided with a grin. She turned to her husband. “Are you going to wear this bow tie to Clayton and Elle’s engagement party tonight?”

“It might be a little fancy for a brewery,” Nat offered.

The Farmer’s Ale, a local brewery owned by Todd Krueger and her brother’s best friend, Noah Wilson, would host the happy couple’s engagement party. Since opening in May, it had become one of the hot spots in the village. Granted, there were only four other “hot spots” opened past eight, including the VFW, the Sea Serpent Restaurant and Lounge, and the Wine Down, but she’d argue the new pub rivaled any hip brewery in Boston. Even if she was a little biased.

“Oh, I have a special bow tie for tonight.” Dad’s eyes filled with mirth.

“Oh?” Mom purred, waggling her eyebrows.

“Seriously. I’m going to need a therapist to wipe away this image of the two of you from my psyche.” Her face scrunched up as she gestured to her parents.

“Don’t be dramatic.” Mom waved her hands. “Anywho, Mrs. Jarvis is here. LeAnne is weighing her and will put her in exam room two.”

“Thanks.” Nat picked up her tablet and stood. A pregnant mother of three was her next patient.

With a sorrowful wince, her mom held her hands up. “Sorry, sweetie. She’d prefer to see your dad. He was her doctor with her other pregnancies and she’s…just more comfortable with him.”

Nat forced her lips upwards as she sank back into her seat. “Totally get it.”

“It will take time, honey. Change is difficult. It’s slow, but it always happens,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder before turning to leave.

I am Dr. Owens. I am Dr. Owens.

If she repeated that mantra, maybe it would come true, vanquishing the fear that in Perry, she may always be Dr. Owens’s daughter and not the actual Dr. Owens.