Chapter 5 #2
She laughed at another classic line—one they’d quoted to each other before. Then she turned and locked eyes with him, catching him staring. Her gaze shifted from amused to something deeper. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Everything.
Her cheeks flushed pink. She looked away. But not before he caught the hope flickering there.
Maybe with the illness he wasn’t good at hiding his feelings right now. Or maybe he was just tired of hiding them. Suddenly everything in him wanted to stand, wrap her in his arms, and beg her to forgive him for being such an idiot, for pushing her away.
Only he was sick. And he’d rather do that when he wasn’t about to sneeze or cough all over her.
Meg’s gaze darted to her watch. Then she shot to her feet. “I should let you sleep. I have work to finish.”
She filled his water glass from the kitchen sink, then turned and fled for the door.
“Meg.”
She froze with her hand on the doorknob, but she didn’t turn around.
“Thank you. For…” He struggled to find the words through the fever haze. “For being here.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Always,” she whispered.
And then she was gone.
Noah lay back against the cushions. His mind spun with fever and revelation.
He’d told her about Mary. About the accident. About the guilt that drove every decision he made, every reckless choice. And she hadn’t run. Hadn’t offered empty comfort or meaningless promises.
She’d just…understood.
Tomorrow, when his head was clear and his words wouldn’t come out slurred, when he could stand without swaying, he’d find her. He’d tell her that he’d been wrong to push her away. That he wanted to try. That he was terrified but willing to take the risk.
But for now, he let his eyes drift closed. The sound of rain against the window was steady and rhythmic. The distant echo of her footsteps faded as sleep finally claimed him.
And for the first time in three years, he wasn’t afraid to let go.
It had been twenty-four hours, and Noah’s fever had finally broken.
Not that Meg had checked on him again. But Teague had—sending updates via text with occasional thumbs-up emojis. She sent back a thumbs-up and set her phone aside.
She’d buried herself in work all evening, chart after chart, and passed the buck off to his friends for the night. But that hadn’t kept her from replaying that look Noah had given her yesterday—fever-glazed but piercing, burning with an intensity that had nothing to do with illness.
She’d seen it twice before. Once before he kissed her, and once before he nearly did.
If he hadn’t been burning up, she had no doubt that look would’ve led to another kiss.
That was probably for the best. Noah had made it clear more than once that although he cared for her, love was off the table. She couldn’t keep trying to fix him or setting herself up for yet another round of hope and heartache.
Meg’s phone buzzed on the clinic desk.
Mom.
She stared at it for two rings, debating. Then she accepted the call. “Hey, Mom.”
“Meggie. Finally.” Her mother’s voice carried that particular blend of warmth and exasperation that only mothers could achieve.
Uh-oh.
“I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. And all three of your siblings said they hadn’t heard from you.”
“Sorry. We had a storm come through. I’ve been busy.” Meg rolled her chair toward her barely-more-than-a-closet office that sat adjacent to the exam room. It was stuffy but she needed the privacy.
“I got your message about a new job? In Pennsylvania?” Of course her mom didn’t waste time. “What’s going on?”
Meg leaned back in the creaky office chair and watched dust motes drift through the afternoon sunlight. “It’s that research position I told you about when I left med school. They got their funding back and offered me the job. It’s actually a really good opportunity.”
“I’m sure it is.” Her mother’s tone suggested she wasn’t buying it. “But I thought you loved where you are. You’ve told me that a dozen times.”
“I do. I did. But…” Meg pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s complicated.”
“Is this about the panic attacks?”
Meg’s chest tightened. Of course her mom would go there. Mothers always knew.
“They’re getting worse again. This place—every storm, every emergency call—it’s too much.”
“Have you talked to Dr. Sandra? She helped you so much before.”
“I don’t need therapy, Mom. I need a change. Pennsylvania is a lab. Controlled environment. No emergencies.” Her response was more defensive than she intended.
Her mother was quiet for a moment. “Running to something new doesn’t fix what’s broken, sweetheart.”
“I’m not running.” But even as she said it, the words felt hollow.
“Then what would you call leaving a place you love for a job you never wanted?”
“I wanted it. It was the original plan, remember?”
“I know it was the original plan, but I was never convinced you wanted it. You love working with people too much.”
Meg’s throat tightened. “I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep—” She stopped. The image of Lydia’s face, pale and still, flashed through her mind. Then to an older memory, her father’s gray face, lips turning blue. His hand going limp in hers. “I can’t keep failing people.”
“Oh, Meggie.” Her mother’s voice gentled. “You haven’t failed anyone.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand. Talk to me about what’s really going on.”
But Meg couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The words stuck in her throat like they always did as the memory rose.
The dock, splintered wood rough under her knees, Jude’s hands reaching up through the water, small and desperate.
Her body frozen while others dove in. Her father gasping for breath on the cabin floor while she tried everything and it wasn’t enough.
And right behind that, another memory. Lydia dying in a cave while Meg’s own panic rendered her useless.
“I just need something different,” Meg said finally. “Somewhere I can help people without…”
Without caring too much. Without loving them. Without the terror of losing them.
“Without what?”
“Without the constant fear that I’m going to freeze when someone needs me most.”
Her mother sighed. “Meggie, the report said that what happened with that teenager wasn’t your fault.”
“The report doesn’t change what I know.” Meg’s voice cracked. “It doesn’t change that I couldn’t help her when she needed me.”
“You’re a good doctor, Meggie. I know it, and deep down, you know it. You save people. That’s what you do. That’s who you are.”
“Not always.” Her voice came out small.
“Is this about your father?”
“We are not talking about that, Mom.”
“Then can we talk about Noah?”
Meg’s breath caught. “What? Noah’s just a friend.”
“I’m your mother. I know when my daughter is in love.” The words landed with gentle certainty.
“Mom, please. I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Okay.” Her mother’s tone shifted and became gentler.
“But before you make this decision, I need you to ask yourself something. Are you running toward good things or just away from hard things? Because Pennsylvania might be a wonderful opportunity. But if you’re taking it because you’re scared—scared of failing again, scared of getting hurt, scared of staying in one place long enough for the pain to catch up—then you’re not moving forward. You’re just changing locations.”
The words settled into Meg’s chest—heavy and true.
“Just think about it,” her mom continued. “And pray about it. Really pray. Ask God what He wants, not what feels safest.”
“I will.” Meg managed.
But what good would it do? God never seemed to listen to her prayers. Never had.
“I love you, sweetheart. Whatever you decide, I’m here.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
After she hung up, Meg sat in the quiet office. Her mother’s words echoed in the stillness. Are you running toward good things or just away from hard things?
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and took a shaky breath. The clinic’s waiting-room door chimed—her afternoon appointment.
Time to pretend everything was fine.
Meg pasted on a smile as Emma Martinez, age eight, shuffled into the exam room, followed by her mother and younger brother. Emma’s nose was red, her eyes watery and rimmed pink. She clutched a wadded tissue in one small fist.
A few minutes and quite a bit of data entry into her tablet later, Meg pressed the stethoscope against the little back. She listened to clear lung sounds while Emma’s younger brother, Tyler, swung his legs from the adjacent exam chair. The squeak filled the small room.
“Big breath in,” Meg instructed.
Emma complied, her thin shoulders rising beneath her pink T-shirt.
“Good. And out.”
“Is she dying?” Tyler asked in the way only a six-year-old could—with absolute seriousness and zero filter.
“Tyler!” Emma’s mom’s hand landed on his knee.
But Meg just smiled. “Nope. Not even a little bit dying. Just a cold.” She pulled the stethoscope from her ears and let it hang around her neck. “Your lungs sound great, Emma. Keep drinking lots of water. Get plenty of rest. You should be feeling better in a few days.”
“But we’re supposed to hike tomorrow.” Emma’s voice was thick with congestion. Her lower lip trembled slightly.
Meg pulled up a rolling stool and sat so she was eye level with the girl. Outside, through the clinic’s large windows, the sky was still overcast. But there were rumors of clear skies tomorrow. Everyone was hoping, eager to get back on the trails.
“Here’s the thing about colds,” Meg said gently.
“Your body is working really hard right now to fight off germs. If you push it too hard, you might end up feeling worse for longer. But if you give yourself a day to rest, drink fluids, maybe take it easy with a shorter walk instead of a big hike, you’ll probably feel better faster. ”
Emma’s face brightened a little. “So I can still go outside?”
“If you feel up to it tomorrow and take it slow, a gentle walk in the fresh air might actually help. Just listen to your body. Deal?”
“Deal.” Emma’s smile was watery but genuine.