5. To Possible
Chapter five
To Possible
By five thirty, the clinic has won.
Not permanently. I’m not conceding the war. But today? The building, the files, the messages, the half-updated supply list, and the patient portal that appears to have been designed by someone with a personal grudge against healthcare have beaten me cleanly.
I sit at the desk in my office with three charts open, two lab results flagged, and a yellow legal pad full of questions I haven’t had time to ask Annie.
Dr. Painter’s desk is old, heavy, and scarred along one edge where years of pens, folders, coffee cups, and human worry have worn the finish down. I don’t know if Annie has noticed I haven’t moved anything yet.
I notice.
The pencil cup is there. The framed ferry photo is there. The little paperweight shaped like a crab is still there, ugly as hell and clearly loved by someone.
I should pack it up. Or at least move it to a shelf.
I don’t.
The office door is open, and from the front of the clinic I hear Annie shutting down for the day. Cabinet. Drawer. Computer keys. Her steps, quick and familiar, cutting through a place I’m learning through repetition and error.
The last few days have been easier and worse.
Easier because the clinic hasn’t collapsed under me.
Worse because every answer I find produces three more questions.
I lean back in the chair and rub a hand over my face. There’s paperwork I can take home. A supply order I need to review. A list of patients Annie thinks need follow-up before the end of the week. Two charts where Dr. Painter’s notes are excellent if you already know what they mean.
I pick up my pen.
A bike bell rings outside.
Then the front door opens.
“Dad?”
Ellie.
“In here.”
Her sneakers squeak on the floor, and a second later she appears in my doorway, helmet hanging from one hand, cheeks pink from the ride, backpack hanging off one shoulder.
“You look terrible.”
“Hello to you too.”
“I’m saying it with love.”
“Your delivery needs work.”
She leans against the doorframe. “You said you’d be done by five.”
“I also said I was going to unpack the garage last weekend. I’m a complex man with soaring ambition.”
She scans the desk. “So… not done?”
“Closer than I was an hour ago.”
“That means no.”
She steps into the office farther and looks around. Her fourteen-year-old curiosity is trying to decide what pieces of the place belong to the last doctor and whether I’ll ever really move in here too.
I see the moment she notices the crab.
“What is that?”
“Artistic mystery.”
“It’s a crab.”
“Then the mystery is solved.”
She comes closer and picks it up. “Did you buy this?”
“Not a chance.”
“Good. I was worried.”
I smile and reach for one of the open charts. “What’s up?”
She puts the crab down with great care, then casually adjusts her backpack.
“There’s a restaurant Erin was talking about at lunch. The Restaurant at Captain Whidbey. She said it’s on the water and their fries are ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously good or ridiculously expensive?”
“Both probably. But she’s going there with her mom tonight.”
Ah.
I close the chart.
Ellie looks at the desk instead of me. “We don’t have to. I just thought maybe we could. Since it’s Friday. And we have to eat anyway.”
We do have food at home. Lots of it.
But my kid rode her bike here and is excited about hanging out with one of her friends. I can meet someone on the island who isn’t a patient and doesn’t work for me. Cool.
I can finish charts later.
I stand. “Let’s go get ridiculous fries.”
Her face brightens before she catches it and tries to look normal. “Cool.”
Annie appears behind her near the doorway with a stack of closed folders against her chest. She stops when she sees Ellie.
“Oh. Hi.”
Ellie turns. “Hi.”
I step around the desk. “Ellie, this is Annie Lockhart. She’s the PA here and the reason the clinic is still standing. Annie, this is my daughter, Ellie.”
Annie’s eyes move over Ellie with quick care. “Nice to meet you,” she says.
Her voice is warmer than the one she uses on me, but not as clinical as her patient voice.
Ellie gives her a polite smile. “You too.”
Then she glances at me, and I know that look. She’s filing Annie away for later commentary.
Annie shifts the folders. “You rode your bike over?”
“Yeah. It’s not far.”
“Good. You’re wearing a helmet.”
Ellie lifts it slightly. “He still threatens lectures if I don’t wear it.”
“I’m standing right here,” I remind her.
“I know. That’s why I said it.”
Annie’s mouth almost breaks into a smile, but she manages to keep herself under control. “Smart man.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“I meant about the helmet.”
Ellie looks between us, far too interested.
Annie moves first. “I’m heading out. Have a good night, Ellie.”
“You too.”
Then she looks at me. “The Radcliffe labs are flagged on your desk. I left a note.”
“I saw. Thank you.”
“Don’t forget the supply order.”
“I won’t.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“And look at me now, humbled and surrounded by consequences.”
Ellie makes a small sound that might be a laugh.
Annie’s eyes flick to her, then back to me. “Good night, Dr. Bie.”
“Good night, Annie.”
She leaves before either of us says anything else.
Ellie waits until the side door shuts.
“So.”
“No.”
“I didn’t ask anything.”
“You inhaled with intent.”
“So, how’s it going with the porcupine?” Ellie laughs.
I gather my coat and keys. “Things are going fine with Annie, my PA.”
Ellie watches me a second longer than I appreciate. “She doesn’t seem scared of you.”
“Why would she be scared of me?”
“You’re tall. You’re a doctor. You own the place. Some people would act weird about that.”
“She doesn’t.”
“No kidding.”
I guide her toward the front door. “Bike in the back?”
“Locked by the rack.”
“Great. We can come by and get it in the morning.”
Outside, the evening carries a cool edge. The rain has cleared and Ellie loves it when I put the top down. The road winds toward the water, past houses tucked into green, wooded lots, past old trees and glimpses of gray-blue water through breaks in town.
Ellie leans her face into the wind and looks younger for a few seconds.
My heart aches for a second. For simpler times.
The Restaurant at Captain Whidbey is already busy when we arrive. Families on the deck. Couples by the rail. People with wine glasses and water cups, kids leaning over plates of fries. The building has that old-lodge feeling Beth would’ve loved on sight.
Ellie looks around with controlled awe, a fourteen-year-old trying not to appear impressed.
“This is nice.”
“It is.”
“Erin said the deck is the best part.”
“Then deck it is.”
We’re halfway to the hostess stand when a voice calls out, “Ellie!”
A girl with curly brown hair waves from near the far side of the deck. Ellie’s posture straightens at once. She waves a hand.
“That’s Erin.”
Erin says something to the woman beside her as we walk over. Rhea is about my age, maybe a little younger, with dark-blond hair pulled back at the nape of her neck and an easy smile that hints she’s used to making people comfortable.
“You must be Ellie’s dad,” she says. “I’m Rhea.”
“William Bie.” I shake her hand. “Doc is easier.”
“Rhea Calder. And this is Erin, who has mentioned Ellie at least nine times since Tuesday.”
“Mom.”
“What? I rounded down.”
Ellie smiles down at her shoes.
Erin looks between our hostess, the deck, and the empty table behind her mother. “We saved a table.”
Rhea gives her daughter a look. “We did?”
“We did, Mom,” Erin says, tugging on her mom’s arm to come back and sit at the table.
Ellie and Erin giggle and move to the same side of the table to sit down. Ellie turns to me with eyes wide and innocent enough to fool no one. “You two can sit together.”
Erin nods too quickly. “Yeah, that way Ellie can tell me about the science project and you two can talk about grown-up stuff.”
Rhea’s lips press together.
I know that expression. It’s the same one I’m presently wearing. The face of a parent trying not to laugh at a child who thinks she’s pulling off a covert operation in broad daylight.
“We wouldn’t want to intrude,” I say.
“You’re not,” Erin says quickly.
The two of them speak so fast and so close together that Rhea and I look at each other.
There is no universe where this is subtle.
Rhea recovers first. “You’re welcome to join us if you’d like. Apparently, the seating has been formally reassigned.”
“Apparently.”
With the girls sitting beside each other, that leaves two chairs.
Right next to each other.
Rhea lifts an eyebrow at her daughter.
Erin opens her menu with theatrical concentration. “I’m starving.”
Ellie hides behind hers as well.
I pull out the chair for Rhea.
“Thank you,” she says, amused.
“You’re welcome. I feel honored to be included in the seating chart.”
The girls exchange a look they believe is invisible.
Rhea sits. “They’re very discreet.”
“Professionals.”
Ellie kicks my shoe under the table.
I look at her over the menu and glare.
“What?”
“Weak defense, kiddo.”
Dinner starts easy after that. The girls talk school, teachers, who takes attendance too seriously, and which hallway gets crowded between periods. Erin explains the best place to sit at lunch if Ellie doesn’t want to get trapped near the boys who flip water bottle caps.
Ellie listens like Erin is handing her a survival map.
Rhea watches them with soft attention. She knows exactly what this means to the girls.
“You’re in from Boston?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of water.
“That’s a big move.”
“It was time.”
She doesn’t press, and I appreciate it.
“Ellie seems to be doing well,” Rhea says.
“She’s trying.”
“That counts for a lot here. Kids have their own rhythm. Adults do too, but we pretend ours is more dignified.”
“I have a teenager. The good ship dignity sailed years ago.”
Rhea laughs, and across the table Erin lights up at the sound. Ellie notices too.
The waitress comes. Fries are ordered, because a signature dish with that kind of reputation requires verification. Once the orders are placed, Rhea asks if Ellie has seen much of the island yet.