A Mother For His Child

‘You mean it’s a very definite drop in status?’ he said.

‘That, yes.’ Why deny it? He wouldn’t expect her to. ‘You always cared about status.’

‘I thought I did. Shall I say something saccharine? Say that I came to realise I cared much more about people instead? Something like that?’

‘Spare me!’ she drawled.

‘OK.’

‘No, say it,’ she revised. ‘Was that the reason?’

‘No, it was the hours that did it. I wanted a life. None of the orthos I knew actually had one.’

‘I’m sure many orthopaedic surgeons do,’ she offered primly. ‘It’s a matter of choosing your priorities. And for some, in any case, it’s a question of vocation and they just couldn’t be happy doing anything else.’

‘Maybe.’ Will shrugged.

They had reached her car, which was dark and new and American-made. She had bought it last year. The alarm and automatic lock whooped electronically as she pressed a button on her key-ring. Will knew she was in a hurry, didn’t open the door for her, just slid himself into the passenger seat in tandem with her own movement. Maggie buckled her seat belt, started the engine and threw the vehicle into reverse.

Feeling alarmed and confused, she told him, ‘You can’t be serious about joining my practice.’

‘Can’t I? It’s what I want. What I need,’ he corrected, as if the distinction was important.

She filed the word away, as something else to question him on later if he didn’t explain its use himself. For now, she just wanted him to keep talking, and he did.

‘The location is ideal. You didn’t look for a new partner after Mark died, did you?’

‘No.’

‘But that’s not because you were short of patients. Your books are overflowing, and you’re turning new patients away. You need someone. I can understand your hesitation. You and Mark must have worked well together. But it’s time, isn’t it?’

‘That’s not about your needs, it’s about mine,’ she pointed out, her defensive instincts still strong.

Maggie could smell the fresh maleness of him and was distracted by an absurd need to identify it. It was no pungent drenching of aftershave, just something clean and simple and subtle. Sandalwood shampoo? Hotel soap? A faint whiff of chlorine, too. He must have taken a swim in the pool, and hadn’t quite showered off the residue.

They drove out of the hotel grounds and across the bridge which connected its island setting to the shore. Through the open car window came the sound of ropes playing music against the metal masts of boats in the night breeze.

‘Yes,’ she finished reluctantly, ‘it’s time I looked for a new partner.’

She wasn’t looking forward to the process.

‘So you have an opening,’ he pointed out, his voice confident, ‘which is what I need.’

‘When you called, you said you’d be “in the area”. I got the impression you had business here.’

‘I do. An interview at a practice in Wayans Falls. But I like your set-up better.’

‘How do you know that? And how did you know about my patient load? Have you been…?’ She shifted in her seat and sat up straighter as she made a turn, ready to put on a cloak of indignation.

He cut her off. ‘Have I been checking you out? Yes, but nothing sinister.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that!’

‘I called your office and asked for an appointment. I was told that, as a new patient, I’d have to wait at least six months. I was referred to a practice in Ticonderoga and one in Warrensburg. Your sign, out front, lists you as the sole practitioner. It was pretty easy to fill in the blanks.’

‘You’re avoiding my question, Will. Why Picnic Point? For that matter, why New York State? It’s a long way from Arizona.’

He ducked the question. ‘How far is this patient’s house?’

‘Just up the hill, here, off a side street. Technically, we’re still in Cromer’s Landing. Will, you have to—’

‘This needs time, Maggie. There’s a lot to say.’

Dear lord, he’d dropped into that serious voice again! The one that undermined her because it forced her to liberate him from the convenient box she’d placed him in so many years ago. She didn’t want to know that he could talk this way. She’d never heard him do so before.

‘I know you want better reasons,’ he went on just as soberly. ‘There are better reasons. Reasons that are going to make me tell you more about the collapse of my marriage than I remotely want to.’

‘And more than I’ll want to know?’

‘You and Alison were close.’ Not exactly a direct answer. ‘Can we wait until we’ve seen your patient?’

She couldn’t help trying for more from him. ‘This is the reason for the divorce, then? Alison didn’t want to move?’

‘No, you were right before about the reason for the divorce.’ His tone was very light.

She couldn’t tell if he was serious. He couldn’t be. It was just a line. What had she ever said or hinted about what she thought of his and Alison’s divorce and the reasons behind it? Nothing! She had her own scenarios, of course. None of those scenarios showed Will in a very good light. She hadn’t been uncomfortable about that fact until now.

But she couldn’t give the matter any more of her attention. They’d just turned into Kathy Sullivan’s driveway. Kathy herself was silhouetted against the light that came through the screen door as Maggie and Will came up the concrete path that led to the entrance of the weathered clapboard dwelling.

‘Is that you, Dr Lawless?’ she said, peering out. The old door creaked.

‘Yes, it is, Kathy,’ Maggie called back. ‘And I’ve brought—’

‘Dr Braggett,’ he cut in, smiling. ‘Will Braggett. Dr Lawless and I are looking at the possibility of me joining her practice.’

No, we’re not!

Maggie bristled, but no one noticed.

Will grabbed the screen door which Kathy had pushed slightly ajar, held out his hand for her to shake, ushered Maggie past him and then entered the front hallway himself. The series of fluid actions, on top of his confident explanation of his presence, took just seconds and left Maggie—as usual—breathless with something she wanted to call outrage.

Wanted to. Couldn’t, in all honesty. He wasn’t deliberately attempting to overshadow her or crowd her out—he just did this charm stuff too well.

Kathy was smiling, too. ‘Well, that would be just great, wouldn’t it?’ she said. ‘Dr Lawless needs someone.’ Then her face fell. ‘Come on in. He seems real sick. More than just flu, and it came on so fast. He was fine this afternoon. The rash is getting worse, and it’s such a funny colour. It don’t look like poison ivy no more.’

She led the way, leaning her swollen hands heavily on a four-footed walking frame. She’d put on a little more weight. Maggie registered the painful stiffness of her walk, and the two inches of streaked grey showing at the roots of her long, braided coppery hair. Kathy’s great pride was her beautiful thick hair, and it was never the same colour for more than six months at a stretch. When she let the grey grow through like this, it meant the pain had been pretty bad. She had rheumatoid arthritis as well as fibromyalgia and struggled to maintain her quality of life.

Fourteen-year-old Matthew was lying on the couch in a darkened living-room. The television flickered in one corner, providing the only light, but his eyes were closed and he wasn’t watching. Maggie slipped past Kathy and went immediately to him, touching the palm of her hand to his forehead.