Chapter 19 #2
At her slightly windblown auburn curls.
At those green eyes blazing with fierce intensity.
At her clenched jaw.
And suddenly something hits me like a punch straight to the chest.
She truly believes it.
She believes I’m here because I want to be here.
Not because I’m running from something.
Not because I had nowhere else to go.
But because I chose this place.
“Mary…”
“What?”
I search for words.
I can’t find them.
“Nothing. Thank you.”
She studies me for another moment before nodding.
“You’re welcome.”
She opens the door, and without thinking, I follow her outside.
“And you?” I ask. “Are you participating in the tug-of-war?”
She laughs softly.
“Are you kidding? My cousins signed me up automatically. I’m probably going to be sore for a week.”
“You could refuse.”
“I could. But unlike you, I’m actually a McGregor. Which means I have a reputation to defend.”
We continue walking in silence.
A reputation to defend.
That’s the difference between us.
She belongs to this family. She grew up surrounded by their traditions, their expectations, their suffocatingly warm kind of love.
I’m just an outsider playing a role.
Later that afternoon, while I’m at the medical clinic in the village, someone knocks on my office door.
“Come in.”
Nate sticks his head through the doorway.
“You got a minute?”
“Sure.”
He walks inside and closes the door behind him, glancing curiously around the clinic before looking back at me.
“If you ever want to renovate this place, you know I’m your guy.”
Despite myself, I glance around the room.
Nothing here is remotely modern.
The Glenfield medical clinic looks like a time capsule abandoned somewhere in the late nineties.
The faded floral wallpaper is peeling at the corners. The cracked beige linoleum creaks under every step. Heavy burgundy velvet curtains hang beside the windows like relics from another century.
The waiting room is no better.
Aggressively optimistic orange plastic chairs line the walls. Magazines so old they could qualify as historical archives are stacked crookedly on a wobbling coffee table. The anti-smoking poster hanging beside the reception desk clearly predates my birth.
My desk—McKinnon’s desk before me—is solid oak that would probably be beautiful without the chipped varnish.
The office chair squeaks every time I move.
The filing cabinet in the corner hasn’t closed properly since the day I arrived.
The bookshelf is crammed with medical textbooks whose newest editions date back to 2005.
And then there are the photographs.
McKinnon is everywhere.
On the wall behind my desk, half a dozen framed photos show him smiling beside villagers, babies he delivered, grateful patients.
McKinnon at the village festival.
McKinnon receiving a medal.
McKinnon cutting a ribbon for the opening of... something.
I never looked closely enough to figure out what.
His name is still on the plaque outside.
Dr. William McKinnon, General Practitioner.
Someone added a smaller label beneath it:
Dr. Finley McLeod, Temporary Replacement.
Temporary replacement.
The plaque itself immortalizes the fact that I was never meant to stay.
At least the examination table still functions, even if the white vinyl is cracked in several places.
The privacy screen has definitely seen better days.
The medicine cabinet has a broken glass panel.
The sink has a persistent leak I’ve reported three times to the plumber with absolutely no results.
Apparently I remain at the bottom of his emergency list.
“It’s... unique,” Nate comments diplomatically while examining an anatomy poster whose colors have faded into sepia tones.
“That’s one word for it.”
“McKinnon never updated anything?”
“Apparently he liked things staying exactly the same.”
“You mean depressing.”
“That too.”
Nate leans against the desk and crosses his arms.
“You could modernize it. Make it feel like your place.”
I glance toward McKinnon’s photographs on the wall.
“For what? I probably won’t stay long enough for it to matter.”
“Or maybe you could stop convincing yourself you’re leaving and actually settle in.”
I rub my eyes.
This conversation.
Again.
“Nate…”
“I know, I know. But seriously, Finn. You work in a clinic that feels like a museum dedicated to your predecessor’s glory. How exactly do you expect people to see you as their doctor when you act like a temporary substitute?”
He’s right.
But taking down those photographs, repainting these walls, replacing this furniture...
That would mean admitting I’m staying.
That would mean claiming this place as mine.
Taking McKinnon’s place instead of merely holding it temporarily.
“Renovations cost money,” I say weakly.
“I’d give you the family discount.”
“I’d need to discuss it with the town council. It’s their building.”
“Duncan Fraser already told me they’d be thrilled to modernize the clinic. They’re just waiting for you to ask.”
I stare at him, surprised.
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. But you have to ask. You have to show them you’re invested.”
For that to happen, I’d need to believe I actually have a future here.
I turn toward the window overlooking Glenfield’s main street.
A few villagers pass by outside.
Mrs. MacTavish enters the grocery store.
Old Angus stops to chat with Duncan Fraser in front of the pub.
People I’m slowly beginning to know.
People who are, little by little, beginning to accept me.
“And what if I do all that and it still doesn’t work?” I ask quietly without looking at him. “What if I renovate everything, settle in properly, and then end up having to leave anyway?”
“And what if it does work?” Nate counters. “What if you actually stay and build something here?”
I don’t answer.
Nate sighs and moves to stand beside me at the window.
“You know what I see when I look at this clinic?”
“A decorating disaster? A mausoleum? A time capsule?”
“Huge potential. These walls could be painted calming colors. The linoleum could be ripped out to reveal the hardwood underneath. The waiting room could feel welcoming instead of depressing. And those photos of McKinnon…”
He turns toward the wall.
“They could be replaced with yours. Not to erase him. Just to show that life moves on and Glenfield has a new doctor taking care of its people.”
“They don’t want a new doctor. They want McKinnon.”
“They wanted McKinnon. Now they have you. And if you give them a chance, they might eventually want you too.”
I stay silent, looking around the worn-down clinic with entirely different eyes.
Trying to imagine what it could become.
What I could make it become.
“Think about it,” Nate says while heading toward the door. “And not in ten years. Because every day you spend inside this McKinnon museum is another day you keep telling yourself you don’t really belong here.”
He opens the door, then pauses.
“Oh, by the way. Lily wants to invite you and Mary to dinner. At our place. Something simple. You interested?”
It’s an invitation for both of us.
As a couple.
And the idea does something strange to my chest.
“I... yeah. Sure. Why not?”
“Perfect. We’ll figure out a date. And Finn?”
“Yeah?”
“Stop living like a ghost inside someone else’s life. Build your own. McKinnon doesn’t need this clinic anymore. But you do.”
Then he leaves.
I slowly look around the room again.
The yellowed wallpaper.
The cracked linoleum.
The faded curtains.
Huge potential.
Maybe Nate’s right.
Maybe it’s time I stopped living in McKinnon’s shadow and started creating a space of my own.
Maybe it’s time to choose to stay.