Page 5 of Dr. Scandal Claus

I'd almost shaken off my morning grump when I walked into the exam room with my eyes locked on the tablet. My routine of coffee, breakfast, and commute always included a fair amount of stewing over the rotten condition of my social life. But this morning, all of it was blown away like a tumbleweed the moment I looked up and saw the gorgeous bakery brunette. She sat next to a young boy in a wheelchair with an IV hooked to his arm. The nurse stood behind the chair waiting. She was his escort from the third floor where Pediatrics held his bed.

"Well, this is a pleasant surprise," I told her, smiling. I reached out my hand to shake hers but she didn't smile, though she did shake my hand. Part of me knew her lack of joy was because her son was sick, and based on the test results it wasn't an easy fix either. But part of me still believed her response to my greeting was because of my past. "I'm Doctor Nicholas Edwards, but this time I know we've met before." I added a chuckle which turned the corners of her lips up slightly.

"Yes, I remember," she said politely. "Scarlett Moore."

"This must be Ethan." I set the tablet down and walked over to the chair where the young boy sat. He looked upset too, as if he and his mother had a falling out while on the trip up here. Or maybe he just hated hospitals. I had a lot of patients who just wanted to go home and how could you blame them?

Ethan just stared at me, but Scarlett spoke up. "Ethan's having a hard time with sitting around doing nothing. He'd like to go back to school right now even though there is only one day until school dismisses for the holiday break."

Ethan crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm missing the Christmas party," he grumbled, and my heart went out to him. I had fond memories of my school days and holiday parties. I knew why he was sad.

"Well, Ethan, what do you say we get you all fixed up and you don't have to miss anymore parties ever again?" I pulled up the stool and sat down, and he perked up a bit.

As I put my stethoscope onto his chest to have a listen to his heart, I asked Scarlett about his health in general. She told me about his shortness of breath at times and the wheezing. I already had my suspicions of what it could be and how we'd treat it, but I did want to hear what she had to say about his life. It sounded like Ethan was a pretty busy little boy, playing any sport his mother would allow him to join.

"Well, I'm afraid I have some not-so-good news, but it's not a death sentence, and if we get this under control, I believe Ethan can have a fully normal life. Who knows, he might even go on to be an Olympic baseball player or wrestler." Treating adults was rough when I had to offer a diagnosis of a chronic condition. But a child was a whole other level. It made me feel heaviness in my chest, not just because Ethan would be suffering a while, but because I knew his mother would have a reaction too.

"So what is it?" she asked, and I watched her hands wring nervously. If I were this child's parent I'd be devastated to hear the news, but I knew I'd never be lucky enough to have a child. It should've been a tiny comfort to me, since my child would never suffer, but it wasn't. I'd rather have a child like this who needed extra care and attention than none at all.

"After reviewing all the tests and blood work, I believe I know what Ethan has. It's a condition called hypertrophic cardiomyopathy." I took a deep breath and dived into the details, hoping she followed me. "It's a condition where one part of the heart muscle begins to get thicker, causing the heart to have to work harder to pump blood. It accounts for the strange feeling in his chest and the difficulty breathing at times."

"Wait, I thought that was asthma." Scarlett looked confused and concerned. "Will he die from it?"

After seeing the scans of his lungs, I knew whoever had diagnosed him with asthma never even looked at this kid's heart. "Unfortunately, that diagnosis was wrong. Ethan doesn't have asthma at all. The reason his inhaler was working was because it opened his airways for him to ease some of the hard work his heart was doing." I pursed my lips before telling her this next part. She'd be upset, but I knew things would be okay.

"This condition can and does lead to death, but the good news is that we've caught it now, and we can treat it. The treatment options are really good, and as a last resort there's always surgery too. But we're not going to jump to that just yet." I told her the different medications we'd try, and that we needed further testing to see how much the disease had progressed. She seemed more relieved, and when she finally relaxed enough to smile, it hit me.

I knew where I'd seen her before.

Those soft hazel eyes, warm brown hair, that smile—those curves. The night of that bachelor party years ago, I'd taken a woman home, a woman who was very much like Scarlett. I couldn't place that smile before, but now, after having sat here talking with her for the past forty minutes, I would have put money on it. She was the girl.

It felt like a sock in the gut. I had her, but it was in the most turbulent time of my life when any thinking woman would haverun for the hills. I gave her my number, but she never called, and I never got to talk to her again. She said her name was Naomi though, not Scarlett, so maybe I was wrong.

"Well, we know what it is, but it doesn't make me happy that it's happening." Scarlett clearly didn't remembered me, or maybe she had and she was hiding it. Or maybe I was completely wrong and like she told me at the bakery last week, she and I had never met.

"I want you to trust me. I know there have been rumors about my professionalism and credibility as a doctor, but I promise you we are going to straighten this out and get this kiddo back to his sports as fast as possible." I patted Ethan's knee and stood up. "Nurse, can you take Ethan back to his room? Mom," I said, turning to Scarlett, "can we speak for a moment?"

Scarlett stood too and nodded at me before kissing Ethan on the top of the head. She looked nervous and anxious, but I couldn't decide if it was over his diagnosis or the fact that I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to put her at ease, but more so I wanted to see if she remembered me, or if she'd blocked our night from her memory completely.

"So, I need to know how bad this is. Is he going to be okay?" She hugged her arms over her chest after pulling her sweater tighter around her shoulders. The dip in her undershirt showed a bit of cleavage and I remembered that night again, burying my face between those perfect breasts. When I met her gaze again, this time I was certain.

"Naomi?" I said softly, stepping forward.

The concern etched on her face softened into recognition, then fear flashed through her eyes briefly and it spoke volumes. "It is you, isn't it?"

"I…" She looked down and away from me, then took a step backward.

"So I was right. You recognized me at the bake shop too." My heart squeezed. The only reason in the world that she'd have pretended not to recognize me was because she was either totally disgusted by me that night or because of the scandal.

"Nick, I'm so sorry." She pressed her hand to her forehead and sighed hard. "Yes, it was me. Yes, I remember but I can explain?—"

"You don't have to," I told her gently, but I was gutted. When she looked up at me there was terror in her expression, a fear worse than the dread of a mother whose son was sick with a potentially terminal condition. What on earth could have made her that afraid, except the town and its gossip?

"I probably should …"

"I understand," I told her, backing up a step. "I know how big of a scandal it was. I know how people talked about me. I know what they said. I did not murder that man, and I did not neglect the treatment either. It was a huge mess of a thing and if you're interested in the details, I can tell you what really happened…But I get it.

"You're not the only person to think I'm a pariah. And you won't be the last. I understand not wanting to be associated with me at all. People still talk all the time." It was my turn to rub my face and grimace. For a moment hope had sparked in my chest, but just as quickly it was snuffed out. I was stupid for believing that her remembering me would even mean anything.

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