Page 9 of A Soldier's Return

“I have no concerns on that front,” Wendell assured him. “You’re a better doctor than I ever could have dreamed of being at your age.”

Eli knew that was far from true. How could it be? His own dreams were haunted by the ghosts of all those he couldn’t save. Miri. Justine. Those ghosts at least had names and faces, but there were scores of others who drifted through, anonymous and lost.

He let out a breath, wondering when the hell the sense of guilt and loss would leave him. It had been six months but still felt like yesterday.

He turned his attention back to his father, instead of that war-battered market town.

“Dad, I could never be half the doctor you are. We both know that. I’ll be trying my whole life to catch up.”

His father rolled his eyes. “We could be here all day patting each other on the back, but I know what I know. And what I know is that you’re a damn fine doctor and I’m proud to call you my son. There’s no one else on earth I would trust more than you to fill in for me while I’m laid up. When I ask about my patients, it’s only because I’m concerned about them, not because I don’t think you can care for them the way I would.”

His father had been the best doctor Eli knew. Wendell and his genuine concern for his patients had been the main reason Eli had gone to medical school in the first place. He had wanted to help people, to deliver babies and diagnose illnesses and give little kids their first shots.

He had never expected that his first years of practicing medicine would be in a series of emergency shelters and refugee camps, but that was the path he had chosen and he couldn’t regret it.

“If I’m not mistaken, that sweet Julia Garrett was supposed to come in today for a prenatal checkup. She and Will had an early-term miscarriage during her last pregnancy, so I’ve been watching her closely. How did things look today?”

Though he instinctively wanted to tell his father to put all his patients out of his head, Eli knew that wouldn’t happen. Wendell wanted to stay current on all the people he had cared for over thirty-five years of practicing in Cannon Beach. Eli had a feeling that was the only way his father would be able to endure the long recovery from his double knee replacement.

“Everything looked good today. The baby measured exactly where she should be at this stage in the pregnancy, the heartbeat sounded strong and steady, and Julia appears healthy and happy. She didn’t report any unusual concerns.”

“Oh, that’s good. This is her fourth pregnancy—fifth, if you count the baby they lost and sixth if you count the fact that her first were twins—and I wanted her to feel confident and comfortable.”

As far as Eli was concerned, his father was the iconic family physician. Wendell was dedicated to his patients, compassionate over their troubles and driven to provide them the best possible care. He had delivered some of his own patients—like Will Garrett—and was now delivering the second generation and providing care over their children.

Those patients had saved his father, plucking him out of the deep depression Wendell had fallen into after Eli’s mother died following a short but hard-fought battle against breast cancer when Eli was twelve.

They had both been devastated and had dealt with the blow in different ways. Eli had retreated into books, withdrawing from his friends, from baseball, from social activities. His father had done the same, focusing only on his patients and on his son.

The pain of losing Ada Sanderson had eased over the years but hadn’t left completely. Eli suspected it never would.

“And how are you, son? I mean, how are youreally? You haven’t talked about what happened with that friend of yours, but I know it still eats at you.”

The question, so intuitive, seemed to knock his own knees out from under him. It had always seemed impossible to conceal his inner struggles from his father’s gimlet gaze. Still, Eli did his best. He had never told Wendell how close he had been to Justine, or how her death and Miri’s had been his fault.

Somehow he managed to summon an expression he hoped resembled a smile. “I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be? It’s a beautiful time of year to be home in Oregon. I don’t remember the last April I was here. I’m not sure what I’m looking forward to more—watching the spring storms churning across the water or savoring the explosion of flowers.”

Wendell saw right through him, as usual. His father gave him a searching look even as he shifted on his hospital bed to find a more comfortable position.

“After all the exotic places the army has sent you, are you sure you won’t be bored out of your mind treating cold sores and high blood pressure?”

“No. I’m looking forward to that, too, if you want the truth. It will be a nice, calm change of pace. Just what I need to decompress.”

“Maybe this will help you figure out whether you’re going to stay in the military or settle down somewhere and open a practice. Or maybe join a practice that’s already busy with tourists and locals alike.”

Since the day Eli finished his residency, Wendell had been after him to become his partner here.

It had always been in his long-range plan, but how could he walk away now, with this heavy sense of responsibility he carried everywhere? He felt the weight of it even more on his shoulders now, after what happened to Justine. She had been dedicated, compassionate, completely driven to help those in turmoil. Her dedication had been silenced forever and she could no longer carry out her work. He had made a vow to carry on in her place.

“Tell me how they have been treating you here,” he said to change the subject. “Have you already charmed all the nurses?”

“Not all of them. A few of these nurses have been coming to my office since they were children. I’m afraid they know all my tricks by now.”

Wendell was regaling him with a story about the surgeon who had operated on him when Eli heard a slight knock on the door.

A moment later, it was pushed open, and a delicate-looking girl of about seven held the door open while cradling a huge cellophane-wrapped basket in the other.

“Hi, Dr. Sanderson,” she said cheerfully, giving his father a winsome smile.

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