7. Photographs & Memories
Chapter seven
Photographs & Memories
After the last patient leaves, I stand near the front of the clinic with a hammer in hand and goodwill in my heart.
Jesus, I hope I’m right.
The wall behind reception is empty except for a small framed notice about patient privacy and a bulletin board off to the side crowded with community flyers. Blood drive info. Library fundraiser. Lost dog. Penn Cove Water Festival.
This is the spot.
I found it in the bottom drawer of the desk two days ago, wrapped in clinic exam paper. I left it there at first, because handling it didn’t feel right. Then I looked again yesterday, and it hit me that leaving it there wasn’t right either
Ellie went with me to pick out a frame. And here we are. Standing in my clinic, his clinic, with Dr. Arthur Painter looking back at me from behind clean glass.
White hair. Weathered face. Crooked smile.
Annie was right about one thing from the start.
The clinic needs him.
I set the frame on the counter, mark the wall with my thumb, and drive the nail in with three careful taps. No announcement. No speech about legacy.
Just the picture.
Where it belongs.
I hang it, step back, and make one small adjustment.
Better.
Behind me, the file cabinet shuts near the exam-room hall.
Annie comes around the corner with two folders in one hand and a pen tucked behind her ear. She’s mid-sentence before she sees what I’m doing.
“Mrs. Turner’s labs came back and I left you a note…”
She looks up, sees the hammer in my hand, then looks at the wall.
For a second, she doesn’t move at all.
Then her face changes so fast I almost think it's anger at first, and I’m ready for that. But then a tear starts to roll down her cheek, which is turning redder by the minute.
“Annie.”
She blinks hard and waves her hand. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry for upsetting you. I just.”
“No, Doc, it’s fine.” She laughs once, rough and wrong.
I don’t argue with the lie. I step closer.
Her gaze stays on the picture. “You put him up.”
“Yes. It was time he came home.”
Her mouth trembles. She presses her lips together, but it’s too late. The tears spill freely and she drops her head in her hands.
I move in next to her, put my arm around her, take the folders from her, and set them on the desk. She turns and curls into me, crying harder. I put both arms around her and hold her quietly.
“I was going to do that,” she sobs into my chest. “But…”
“But what?”
She looks up at me through the tears. “I didn’t know how you would feel about it.”
That puts a knot in my stomach.
“I was afraid of that.” I lift her chin to look at me. “You can talk to me, Annie.”
She looks into my eyes, her shoulders shuddering with a breath she can’t quite control, then pulls away and turns toward the picture again.
“He hated that photo,” she says abruptly, changing the subject.
“He did?”
“Said he looked like an old man.” A tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it away fast. “He said he was really only twenty-three inside. That’s where it counted. It was a travesty that cameras couldn’t capture that.”
We laugh softly. She looks at the picture again for a long moment, and the laugh disappears.
“He always came in early, got here before me. I used to tease him about it. Told him one day I was going to beat him here just to ruin his streak.”
She wraps her arms around herself.
“I’m the one who found him.”
“Annie?”
“That morning.” She looks down. “Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know,” I say.
“His car was here when I pulled in. Lights on. Coffee was made. I yelled something stupid from the hall. Probably complained about him making the coffee too strong.”
Her fingers close around nothing and her voice gets quiet. “He didn’t answer.”
“I knew before I got to the office doorway,” she says, and the words take effort.
“I knew.” Her voice breaks on the last word.
My hand moves to the small of her back. Light pressure. Enough for her to know I’m there. She doesn’t step away.
“He was at his desk.” She wipes her face again, angrier now. “I ran in there thinking I could change something.”
“I called 911. I started CPR. I did everything I was trained to do.” She hangs her head. “And I couldn’t bring him back.”
“Annie.”
She shakes her head and waves her hand at me before I can say more. “I know. I know what you’re going to say. I know the medical answer. I know he was probably gone long before I walked through the door.”
She finally looks at me. “But if I’d gotten here first, maybe he would’ve had a chance.”
The words are raw enough to cut.
I get it now.
Not all of it. No one ever understands all of another person’s grief.
But enough.
She isn’t a porcupine only because of territory or me being an outsider.
Every morning when I get here first, she sees my car, the lights on, someone already inside.
She sees me at that desk.
And for a few terrible seconds, she isn’t walking into the clinic with me.
She’s walking in on Art.
Again.
“Annie, I’m sorry.”
She leans back against the desk and I take my hand from her back. “He trusted me to start living again before I trusted myself. And somewhere along the way, he became the person…” Her voice catches.
“He became family.” I finish for her.
She looks away, embarrassed by the apology, the tears, all of it. “Jesus, don’t start being nice to me. I can’t handle that.”
I laugh. “I’ll try to remain mildly irritating.”
“That’d be better, thanks.”
“I can do that.”
Her breath catches, then eases. I pick up the folders and hand them back.
She wipes under both eyes with brisk efficiency. “Okay, enough. We need to close up.”
“Yes. We do.”
She takes one more look at Art’s picture. This time, she doesn’t break. She just looks.
“Thank you,” she says.
Two words. Low. Direct.
“You’re welcome.”
She turns away first.
We close the clinic with less noise than usual. We move around each other without our usual sharp edges catching on every corner.
At the side exit, she pauses with her keys in hand. “Have a good night, Dr. Bie.”
“Doc.”
She looks at me for a long moment. “Good night, Doc.”
Then she turns and leaves.
I wait until I hear her car pull away before I turn off the last light.
***
By the time I get home, Ellie is already at Erin’s.
She has sent me three texts in twelve minutes. One about festival parking. One about whether I know where her blue jacket is. One telling me she found it, so do not touch anything in her room.
I stand in the kitchen and read them twice and laugh. Normal teenage chaos.
For once, I’m grateful for it.
I go inside, drop my keys on the counter, and pull my phone from my pocket before I can talk myself out of it.
Admiral answers on the third ring.
“Doc. How the hell is our West Coast defector doing?”
“Admiral, you got a few minutes?”
“That sounds ominous.”
“I need some advice.”
Whatever he hears in my voice changes him immediately. The humor leaves and the friendship kicks in.
“All right,” he says. “Talk to me.”
So I tell him.
About the rough start with Annie and her gruff exterior, which is something he appreciates. I let him know how the clinic is running, the friction aside. And then finally about everything Annie shared today.
When I’m done, Admiral breathes out slow. “Holy hell, Doc.”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t know.”
“No. So now what do I do?”
“So tell me first, what does your gut think?”
The answer comes fast. “I bought the clinic. I’m responsible for it. I’m not going to arrange my workday around every bruise I didn’t cause. I can’t afford special handling.”
“Good.”
I stare at the clinic keys lying on the counter. “That sounded colder than I meant it.”
“It sounded honest. Try the rest of it.”
The rest of it is the part sitting heavy in my chest.
“Yes, it’s my clinic,” I say. “But it’s her workplace. Her history. Her people. I feel like I want to find room for her to be able to function, maybe even heal. But I don’t know what that should look like.”
“Well, let’s talk about practical options first. You said she makes house calls a couple days a month, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let her have those. Arrange a standing schedule with her, so you’re both aware of hard dates, and give her those days to come in first.”
I close my eyes.
So simple.
“And, maybe give her your schedule. Let her know, definitively, when you will be arriving at the clinic on normal days. That way, she knows to expect you at XX time. No guessing.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I haven’t told her that. I just appear.”
“But, also tell her you have a teenage daughter at home who sometimes can be a lot. So maybe say, if there are deviations in your arrival time, you’ll text her as soon as you know. Let her open the door and know exactly what is waiting for her.”
“I can do that,” I say, my throat getting tight. “Those are brilliant suggestions.”
“That’s not special handling, Doc.” He sighs. “It’s command responsibility.”
I understand that better.
“You’re not surrendering authority. You’re using it better.”
I look down at the keys. “You could’ve led with that.”
“You’re a smart man. I wanted to give you time to arrive.”
“Generous.”
“I’m beloved for it.”
I huff out half a laugh, and some of the pressure eases.
Then he changes the subject.
“Doc, sounds like this woman might matter to you.”
I should deflect. I know how. I’ve had four years of practice. But he’s a brother and I trust him with my life and have leaned on him through it.
“I’m just going to say, she has my attention,” I admit.
“That’s not nothing.”
“No.”
“Does she know?”
“No.”
“Do you?”
I close my eyes for a moment and see Annie with her head bowed under Art’s picture, wiping her face like she can scrub away being human. Saying my name at the side door.
“No,” I answer honestly. “But I’m beginning to.”
Admiral doesn’t push. That is why I called him.
“Keep this between us,” I say. “Herc and Bella have Fiji and the wedding coming up. I don’t want my life becoming a topic of conversation.”
“It won’t.”
“Thank you.”
“Beth loved you, brother.” His voice is softer. “She would not want you spending the rest of your life alone.”
I grip the phone a little tighter. “I know.”