Page 18 of Come to Me

“Sounds good.”

Tate ran toward the deck, his body twisted as his hand waved at Patrick. “Bye Dr. Patrick.”

“Bye Tate.”

Patrick watched until Tate reached the top step and entered the house. Then he started toward his cabin, thinking he’d get a book and read.

“The rental folks are here, Dr. Andres,” Mrs. Kincaid called to him.

“Thank you.” He reversed course, but instead of going up the deck the through the house to reach the driveway, he walked around the side. Lori was still annoyed at him, so he’d keep his distance.

As he came around the corner, Patrick ran into Mr. Kincaid carrying his cane in one hand and a several long planks in another. Mr. Kincaid wobbled. The boards crashed down. His hand flew up and with it his cane, whapping Patrick in the side.

As the man pitched forward, Patrick took ahold of his upper arms to right him. “Mr. Kincaid. I’m sorry. Are you alright?”

Mr. Kincaid shook Patrick off. “Yes, yes.”

Patrick let go but held at the ready just in case. When it looked like Mr. Kincaid was steady on his feet, Patrick picked up the boards. It didn’t seem wise to for a man suffering from MS enough to affect his balance to be walking down an uneven slope carrying boards.

Mr. Kincaid waved his hand. “Just hand those over. Your new rental is here.”

“It can wait. Can I help you with these? Where are you taking them?”

“I’m bringing them down to the far dock for Micki. She said she’d work on a few of the loose planks.”

Patrick tucked the boards under his arm. “Let me help you.”

“No, no. Lori would skin my hide if she knew a guest was helping.” Mr. Kincaid reached for one of the planks Patrick held.

“I don’t mind.”

“Yes, well, Lori would. You’re supposed to be resting and relaxing.”

“I don’t know how to do that, sir.”

Mr. Kincaid’s head jerked back, his face contorting into confusion. Then he let out a laugh.

Patrick hadn’t meant to be funny. His cheeks heated with embarrassment.

“I’ll tell you what, son. If you don’t tell the little lady, then I won’t.”

Patrick nodded, feeling a little bit like Tate; a child eager to please. He was also relieved that while Mrs. Kincaid was still cool toward him, he appeared to have forgiven him.

Patrick carried the boards down and on the return trip to retrieve more, connected with the car rental company and got the keys to a new car. Then he carried more boards down to the dock.

Patrick understood hard work. He’d put in effort at school all the way until he earned his medical degree. He’d worked hard in his residency and then at his job. Both had been physically and mentally taxing. But he’d never done manual hard work. As he laid the final plank down by the dilapidated dock, his shoulders screamed for a break. He wondered if he’d be able to lift his arms the next day.

Patrick looked over at Mr. Kincaid, feeling like a wimp as he watched the man hobble over to a large rock to sit. He pulled out a red bandana and wiped his face. How did the man, slowed down by MS, keep a resort like this running? Michaela of course. Hadn’t he seen her up on the roof yesterday?

“Let’s sit a spell. But not for long. I don’t want the missus to find out what I’ve been up to.”

Patrick walked to the grassy area near the rock and sat. “What does she think you’re up to?”

“She thinks I’m tinkering on the old Mustang.”

Patrick remembered the ancient, but well-preserved truck Michaela drove. “Did you do your daughter’s truck too?”

“We did that together. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

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