Page 17 of The Scars I Bare
“What is this I hear of you harassing my new nurse?” Jake said, charging into the exam room with no warning.
I’d been sitting in here for nearly ten minutes, wondering if I’d been forgotten or simply left for dead.
“What is this I hear of you hiring a new nurse without telling me? Especially when it happens to be someone I know? Someone I used to know…well?” The last part was said in a hushed tone with a look that said I meant business.
Taking a seat on the exam table, Jake placed my chart—the correct one, I assumed—next to him and faced me as a friend rather than a doctor. Being friends with him so long, I’d now learned the difference between the two sides of him, and this was definitely Jake the friend.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he began. “I meant to; I really did. You know I’ve been desperate for someone for months since Betty left. And it’s not easy, finding a nurse who will willingly work down here. Part-time? Maybe. But full-time?” He made a disgruntled sound in the back of his throat. “I had a nurse on the mainland, offering to ferry in every day. But she would need to drive two hours each way and requested a substantial increase in pay to cover it. You know I don’t have that. The clinic barely stays afloat as it is.”
I nodded, knowing how much blood, sweat, and tears he’d put into this place since taking over after his father’s death.
“So, when I got a résumé for a competent nurse with a familiar name to boot, I jumped at the chance before she could change her mind. Cora was willing to start as soon as possible, and things just kind of happened after that. I’ve been in a whirlwind ever since, trying to make sure everything was in place for her arrival.”
I held up my hand, ignoring the automatic knee-jerk reaction of his eyes as they darted toward the other lying in my lap. It was the briefest of glances, but even he couldn’t help but look.
“I get it; I do. Just a little heads-up would have been nice. You know, so I could have avoided making a world-class idiot of myself again.”
He grinned, picking up my chart as he hopped off the table. “Wouldn’t have helped in the least. You, my friend, would have done that on your own regardless of my interference. Now, let’s play doctor, shall we? I have other patients today, you know.”
Shaking my head, I stood up and hoisted myself up on the exam table, “I hate you,” I said, making his grin widen.
“You say the sweetest things. Now, shut up, and let me do my job.”
Friend time was over, and I surrendered to the chore of answering his questions and allowing his tests, knowing he was the best at what he did—keeping people alive.
Usually, at the end of a relationship, the people involved separated and went their own ways.
This was not the case for Molly and me. At the end of our engagement that had been going nowhere, we continued to see each other.
In a platonic sort of way.
Growing up, Molly, Jake, and I had been the best of friends. When Molly and Jake naturally gravitated toward one another and their relationship became something more, we always remained a team. The three amigos.
Until Jake left.
And then it was just Molly and me.
We made the mistake of pushing our relationship past its boundaries, but soon after we broke off our engagement, we were able to find that rhythm again, the one that had bonded us together as young children and still did as adults.
When I returned home from my rehabilitation, Molly made sure of this by inviting me over to the inn for weekly dinners. At first, I had been sure it was to keep an eye on me or a secret plot with my mother to make sure I was being fed properly at least twice a week between the two of them.
Whatever the reason, it continued to this day.
Except, now, our trio was complete.
Driving up to the inn that night after my rather unusual day, I felt nothing but relief at the normalcy of this dinner. There were times when Molly would be out traveling, and we’d skip for months on end, but we’d pick back up when she returned.
Same day of the week. Same time.
When Jake had moved back home for good a few months ago, it hadn’t changed. We just added more beer, and sometimes, if Molly was feeling crazy, she’d let her fiancé help with the cooking.
Parking the car in the driveway, I sincerely hoped tonight was not one of those nights. Jake had a way of destroying even the simplest of meals with a single glance. How a man who had been trained to be one of the best heart surgeons in Chicago could mangle a couple of stalks of celery was beyond me.
As I stepped out of my truck, I couldn’t help but notice the other cars around mine. I’d made it a habit to do so whenever I came to the inn. I loved seeing how far Molly’s guests traveled—or, in some cases, how little.
Tonight, I saw a rental from North Carolina, which suggested either a foreigner or someone from the West Coast, and a nice-looking sports car from up north. But nothing held my attention like the dusty little SUV from Virginia.
With a car seat in the back and a Princess Anne county sticker on the dash, it suddenly dawned on me—what I’d failed to ask Cora and Jake when I was in the clinic earlier that day.
