Page 94 of Coming Home

“I agree.” Mom tapped her manicured red fingers on the smooth surface of the table. “We discussed that, but between the equipment, hiring a technician to run it, paying the therapist, the learning curve for patients, and marketing it was something we couldn’t budget for this year. Maybe in a few.”

Nat reached for her sleek, leather satchel, a gift from Elle when she started at the clinic to replace the canvas one she’dalways used. Opening it, she pulled out the copies of the application packet she’d drafted. Pushing her plate to the side, she handed her parents each one.

“If you’d flip to the second page of the packet, it outlines the Clark Foundation and how we can utilize their grant program to pay for the startup costs for a telehealth program,” Nat explained.

“Aren’t they only for businesses? We’re a medical clinic.” Mom gnawed on her lower lip in thought.

“That’s what I thought. But I spoke with them at length at…” Nat paused, looking at Dad’s arched right brow. Of course, he knew when and where she’d spoken with the Clark Foundation’s staff, and if she’d shared, so would Mom. Not wanting to raise Mom’s suspicion, she lied. “…on the phone. They’ve never worked with a medical office, but they are very open to it. Their goal isn’t just focused on businesses but cultivating thriving rural communities. A thriving rural community would include access to quality healthcare resources.”

“This is very thorough and well-researched.” Dad flipped through the packet. “I love the statistics about outcome measures related to mental health services and suicide rates in rural populations.”

“What’s this about a parent support group?” Mom asked, pointing to the third page of the documents.

Nat’s giddiness couldn’t be contained. Joy pulsed through her as if she was giving a talk during grand rounds in her Residency Program again. Goddess, she was such a school nerd. How she’d loved giving presentations in her academic career.

“I got the idea from Summer. It’s a group for parents of kids with disabilities. Summer located other parents in the county who would be interested in the group. We reached out to a therapist who would be willing to host a virtual group for them. I’m proposing we get two sets of telehealth equipment to setup one in the third exam room we never use for individual appointments and one in our conference room to be used evenings and weekends for group therapy. We can start with the parent support group and then look at other groups, like for substance abuse or grief.”

Nat’s gaze flicked to her dad at the mention of a grief group. With a small smile, he nodded. Clayton, he, and she had met every Tuesday for the last few weeks while Mom was at her weekly Jazzercise class at the YMCA in Warsaw. The time together had been filled with many tears, hugs, and laughter about Evan. It also was filled with many conversations about how to best approach Mom. The mere mention of Evan seemed to grip her in debilitating grief where she couldn’t speak or even seem to function.

An impressed grin sketched across Mom’s face. “I think this is really good. Something we should explore. What do you think, Chris?”

“Agreed. Good work, Dr. Owens.”

“Thanks.” Nat did a wiggly happy dance in her seat. She didn’t care that she was celebrating much like her five-year-old self when there was chocolate cake for dessert.

I bet Noah would make me chocolate cake to celebrate.She blushed at that. Yup, she was a goner. Summer was so right.

“I wish you’d brought me in sooner. I could have helped you with this,” Mom said.

Nat blew out a breath. “I know. I wanted to show you that I can do both the clinical and the admin side of things. I wanted you to see that I can do it myself. That if Dad and you choose to retire, that I have this.”

“Oh.” A frown yanked down at Mom’s lips as she placed the paperwork beside her plate.

Nat nibbled at her lower lip. Part of her wanted to just let it go, but the sadness almost screamed from Mom’s downcast smile.

“What is it, Mom?”

“Nothing.” Mom waved her hands in front of her face, almost seeming to flick off the idea that anything was wrong.

In the Owens family, if someone said they were “fine” or “nothing was wrong,” then you just smiled and said, “Okay.” It’s how it had always been. Nat had done it so many times.

No more!

“There is something wrong.” She shifted in her seat to face Mom straight on.

Mom’s lips pursed. “Natalie, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.” She thumped her chest. “Talk to me.”

“Natalie Joan, I told you everything is fine, so drop it.” Mom’s tone was as firm as her smile. “You did a nice job with this. I’ll go over the application, and we can submit it by the deadline.” She stood up, grabbing the stapled packet from the table.

Nat opened her mouth, but her reply was halted by Dad’s hand resting on her shoulder. The squeeze of his hand was his silent command to stop. Dad knew Mom better than anyone. He’d advised patience, as Clayton and she discussed their concerns about Mom. As much as Nat wanted to yank her mom along with the rest of the family, she knew that everyone healed at their own pace. They waltzed a delicate dance.

“Heidi, please sit,” Dad’s request was gentle.

“This is silly. Everything is fine.” Her face pinched.

“Damn it, Heidi.” His demand, both pleading and firm, halted her steps.

---