The Doctor's Second Chance

“What?” Edith nearly shrieked, probably trying to imagine him taking care of her infant grandchild.

“I don’t know what to say.” Paul sounded worn-out, as if he’d taken one too many emotional beatings.

Jake’s aunt and uncle had been through a great deal of pain and disappointment with their daughter, who’d lied to them, stolen from them and nearly depleted their savings in rehab programs. They’d had to practice tough love for their own sanity.

Once they’d refused to enable her any longer, Remy’s rare visits ceased. Because of financial difficulties, the couple had decided to sell their practice and retire early. They moved south to heal.

Jake hated to be the one to reopen the wound. “I’m sorry to call. I tried waiting, hoping she’d come back in a day or two. But she hasn’t. I have no contact information. No license plate number. Nothing with an address except hospital records, and who knows if Remy still lives there?”

“We have a grandchild,” Edith whispered, tears choking off her voice.

With a whimper, Abigail drew her knees in and spit out the nipple. Not now.

“Yes, and Remy put in writing that she wants me to raise her,” Jake said.

“We have a granddaughter?”

“Edith,” Paul snapped. “A baby isn’t going to instantly make us some normal, happy family. She’ll come back for the girl, disappear and break our hearts all over again.”

His aunt began to cry. Then the phone line clicked as she hung up.

“Uncle Paul?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. What do you plan to do?”

No offer of help. Jake was on his own.

The baby started to fret. He put her to his shoulder and walked outside. What was wrong with her this morning? Was she sick?

“I’ll wait it out,” Jake said. “I’m sure Remy will come back. In the meantime, I had Dr. Crenshaw check her out.”

Paul harrumphed.

“I know we didn’t like the terms of the contract, but I think she’s a good doctor,” Jake said, looking across his backyard to the doc’s house.

She sat at the table on her patio. Had she heard him mention her name to his uncle?

“I’m sure she’s a good doctor,” Paul said. “She had impeccable references. I just didn’t like her negotiating. Didn’t like her evaluation of our business practices.”

Violet stood and started toward him. Great. Just what he needed while his uncle got on a roll.

“Hey, listen. The baby’s fussing. I should go.”

“You didn’t say whether the baby checked out okay.”

“She’s fine.”

“That’s a relief. Maybe Remy managed to take decent care of her.”

“I need to go. The neighbor’s heading this way.” He wouldn’t specify which neighbor.

“Okay. I imagine Remy will turn up soon, unless, of course, she’s back on drugs.”

And wasn’t that the story of Remy’s life? Her problems with drugs had wrecked her life and pretty much destroyed what family Jake had left. “Tell Aunt Edith not to worry about this big clod handling the baby. Doc Crenshaw came over and trained me.”

Paul let out a groan. “Don’t get sucked in by the pretty doctor. I’m sure Grace Hunt from the church will be glad to help you.”

The pretty—more like beautiful—doctor stood in front of him wearing running shorts, an Emory Medical School T-shirt and running shoes. Jake’s neck heated. Surely there wasn’t any way she’d heard their conversation.

“I’ll get the situation figured out,” he said to his uncle.

“We can always depend on you, Jake,” Paul said. “I’ll let you know if by some wild chance we hear from your cousin. Don’t tell Edith or it’ll get her hopes up, but I’ll do some checking to see if I can locate Remy.”

“Thanks.” They hung up, and he forced a smile for Violet. “Good morning. What’s up?”

“I heard Abigail crying earlier when I was out running. Thought I would check on you.”

“Making house calls now, huh?” He stuffed the rejected bottle in his pocket, brought Abigail to his shoulder and then gently patted her back. “Come on, sweet thing. Give a nice big burp for Cousin Jake.”

Abigail complied by spitting up across his shoulder and down his back.

“What’s the deal, Abigail?” he said.

“Some spitting up is normal. Here, let me take her.” Violet took the baby and they headed inside the kitchen.

She grabbed a cloth diaper from a freshly washed stack he’d left on the counter. “I’ll clean her up.”

“Thanks.” Jake went to his room to change shirts.

When he returned to the kitchen, Violet was sweet-talking Abigail. She’d changed her into a clean onesie—a new word he’d learned since becoming a temporary guardian. Violet also had the child calmed.

“Thanks. I think my laundry has multiplied tenfold with one tiny little gal.”

“Has she acted sick this morning? Is that why you were outside so early?”

“I’m sorry if we disturbed you.”

“No, I’m not complaining. Just wondering if everything’s okay.”

“She woke early and has been fussy. Looks flushed.”

Violet placed her lips on Abigail’s forehead. “She feels a little warm to me. Did you take her temperature?”

He winced because he had hundreds of dollars of baby paraphernalia but not the equipment he needed. “I apparently missed buying a thermometer.”

“I have one. Be right back.” She handed over the infant and hurried out the door.

Worried about Abigail and not wanting to drag her to the work site again, he decided he would skip going as planned. There wasn’t a lot Jake needed to do that morning anyway, other than check on the cabinet installers and hurry up the interior painters. He texted Zeb. When Zeb didn’t reply, he called the man’s voice mail to check in and leave instructions.