Page 22 of Doctor’s Surprise Twins

My jaw dropped as he reeled around and stomped out the door, leaving me in a whirlwind of emotion. This time, I didn’t hold the tears back. I didn’t want just sex and friendship. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but I wanted more than he did.

That much was true.

CHAPTERFIFTEEN

Derek

After a very frustratingday at work, I came home to yet another argument with Peter. He’d spent the majority of his “work time” bickering with me about how much I was paying him and that it was “slave wages”. I’d inevitably given up on him, turning him over to Hammer to finish up the chores, and I came in the house to cool off.

I sat sipping a beer, watching out the large sliding glass door toward the pasture where my mare tended to her new foal. That had been an eventful night too, which Peter had been mysteriously unavailable for. Evan, the vet, and I had handled everything, and mom and baby were doing great. I, however, was not doing great. The beer coaxed some of my troubles away, but my growing frustration with Peter and the recent lack of communication from Maggie hadn’t been easy to handle.

The last drops of beer went down, and I knew another wouldn’t help much more than the first one, so I opted for something different. If I couldn’t get through to Peter, maybe my father could. I hadn’t spoken to him in months, so today was about as good a day as any. I pulled my phone out and called him, half-expecting him not to answer. When he did, he at least sounded pleased to hear from me.

“Derek, it’s been so long. How have you been?”

My father was a kind man, unnaturally kind at that. My beef with him had never been because he was an abusive or unloving parent. On the contrary, he was an excellent father to both me and Peter. His patience and compassion were what drove me to become a doctor. He taught me to put others first and care about them. It was just his failure to follow through by caring more about my mother than she did about herself that hurt me.

“I’m okay, Dad.”

“I’m so glad you called. I’ve thought of you often. Did you get the letters I sent? The ones from Aunt Becky?”

I had, and I had tossed them in a drawer full of memories I’d rather not think about a long time ago.

“Yeah, I did, Dad.” Getting him on topic was a must, or he would eat up my whole day with trying to convert me back to Christianity—specifically, his version of it. “Listen, I called to talk about Peter.”

“Oh.” His voice fell flat, and I knew he did not want to talk about the subject at hand before he even continued. “You know, I’ve washed my hands of that. Derek, your brother just needs the Lord.”

I rolled my eyes. “The way Mom needed theLord?” Bitterness was a black cloud shrouding my life. “Dad, I need your help being real about this situation.” I remembered what Maggie had said to me about our mother and how Peter was still suffering. “He is struggling to cope with losing her. He is floundering. I can’t keep supporting him.”

“Your mother made her own choices, Derek. Peter is making his. You will make yours.” I heard some pots and pans clanging together in the background and then I heard him clear his throat. “Why don’t you visit church on Sunday? We can go for dinner afterward.”

“Will you listen to me then? That Peter needs help? That he needs his father to tell him to grow up and get a job and stop mooching off me?” Angry didn’t begin to explain what I was feeling. He always did this, preach instead of offering helpful solutions.

“The Bible says—”

“The Bible is wrong, Dad. You told me the Bible said God would heal Mom, and it was wrong. You were wrong. She is dead, and I’m dealing with the fallout. Peter is dealing with the fallout. You are ignoring the fallout because you have someblessed hopethat you’ll see her again one day. Meanwhile, we are hurting, and all you can do is spew more rhetoric about a thousand-year-old book and a made-up man in the sky.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, wishing I had kept my mouth shut or not even called him. I was angry, and I had every right to be.

“Derek, your mother believed that God would heal her or accept her into his arms. I was not in any position to change her mind. She did what she felt was right.”

“I gotta go, Dad. I’m not coming to church. Please talk to Pete.”

Hanging up was easier than dialing his number. I knew it would be. It always was. All the years of being forced to go to services and listen to men teach on morals that humans should just inherently possess had been a waste, and so was calling my father. The expanse of lawn between myself and the barn where I watched Peter and Evan appear and disappear was not nearly large enough. I wanted to put more distance between us. I wanted to stop being the parent and for once just forget that our life had been interrupted in a tragic way.

Mom was gone. She left us through her own choice. She wouldn’t be there when I got married or when I had children. And it made me furious that even though it made no logical sense, she held fast to her belief that she would somehow miraculously recover without medical intervention. Even to this day, my father still believed and taught others the same thing.

Without even thinking, I swiped to my contacts and pressed Maggie’s name. She had been the only one to even remotely understand what I was feeling and why Peter’s sudden return to my life in such an invasive way might be causing me so much turmoil. She hadn’t interacted with me at the office much, but she hadn’t seemed to be in a bad mood. I chalked it up to her just needing some space.

But when the phone call rang through to voicemail, I felt a little angry with myself for having told her it was just sex and friendship. I was starting to realize that some of my issues stemmed from Mom’s decision to choose herself over everyone else. She thought she was choosing a better life for us by offering us the wealth of her parents that she had laid up for us. I’d have given it all back just to have her here, but she chose her faith.

That didn’t sit right with me. And part of me was very conscious of the fact that Maggie could do the same. She could decide one day to withdraw and choose herself and walk away, and I wasn’t prepared to deal with that pain. I built a wall up to keep that pain out, and it was about a mile high and impenetrable. Maggie had chipped away at the mortar, but the bricks were stacked, and I was the idiot repairing the wall she was trying to take down.

The problem was, I wanted her to bulldoze the fucking thing, but I’d told her under no uncertain terms to stay in her own lane. I shot myself in the foot. So, how could I undo that now?

CHAPTERSIXTEEN

Maggie

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