“I was proud that you two had both gone into family medicine, but shocked that you both wanted to return to little ol’ Hamilton after all these years.”
Lucas and I both had high enough scores for the more difficult specialties. Plastic surgery, dermatology—the few with flexible hours and big bucks. Family medicine spots aren’t typically in high demand, or anyone’s first choice.
“But as an old doctor is likely to do, I turned this problem on its head and looked at the silver lining. As you can see, Hamilton isn’t as little as it used to be. Do you know I’ve had to skip lunch every day for the past five years just to meet the demand?”
I can see where he’s going with this, and I don’t like it. My fake smile is making my cheek muscles cramp.
“My point is, there’s enough work for two doctors, maybe even three.”
I don’t need lunch. I’ll work Saturdays—Sundays even. I want my own practice. It’s my dream and he’s slowly crushing it.
All I actually manage to say is, “Right.”
I try not to let dread show on my face. I moved back to Hamilton a few days ago assuming the practice was as good as mine, but part of being a doctor is being able to roll with the punches and adapt when things don’t go according to plan. So, I conjure up a genuine smile and resolve to fix this later.
I scoot my chair back, stand, and stretch my hand out across the table.
“Well Dr. McCormick, whatever ends up happening, I look forward to practicing with you.”
He grins, pleased.
As I leave Hamilton Brew, I take an espresso shot to-go…then think ahead and grab another. Tomorrow morning, I will come face to face with my rival, and there are a few things I need to take care of before then.
From Hamilton Brew, I walk down Main Street and head into the biggest salon in town. I haven’t trimmed my hair in almost a year. That won’t do. I ask for clean layers and have them shape it so it frames my delicate features. From there, I ask for every spa treatment they have. I don’t want to be pretty for Lucas, who, as a robot, isn’t programmed to register beauty. The primping is all for me. I’m a general preparing for battle, and while they buff my feet, I flip through my old medical textbooks, brushing up on the off chance I encounter some obscure, hard-to-pronounce illness tomorrow.
“What about your brows? Want us to shape them up a bit?”
I laugh because it’s a stupid question. “Yes. Do it. All of it.”
When I stroll into my mom’s house later, she’s sitting at the dining table flipping through magazines and talking on the phone. She looks up at me as I close the door and her mouth falls open in shock.
“I’ll have to call you back,” she says into the phone. “Someone that looks like Daisy just got home.”
I drop my shopping bags on the couch and walk into the kitchen. I’m taking a massive bite out of an apple when she comes in to join me. She’s petite, even more so than I am. Her blonde hair hides the few grays she has, and her regimented skincare routine means she looks 30 instead of 50. Usually her smile can light up a room, but right now, it lights up nothing.
“You’ve been busy today,” she says, waving her hand up and down my body. I’m not really the girly-girl type; there was no time for it during medical school and residency. This woman with glossy hair and smooth legs seems foreign even to me, but it feels good, as if I’m faster and more aerodynamic now that they’ve stripped most of the hair from my body.
“What’s in the shopping bags?” she asks as I munch on my apple.
“Work clothes.”
She arches a brow. “I thought you told me the other day you didn’t need anything.”
“That was before—” I hold my tongue and then pivot. “I just changed my mind. These clothes are new and I spent all afternoon with Mrs. Williams getting them altered.”
She smirks. “So you do know, don’t you?”
“About what, Mother?”
The use of the word mother hints at my annoyance with her, like when she uses my full name.
She rubs her temple and sighs. “I only found out a few days before you moved back. I was going to tell you, but I’m a selfish woman and I wanted you back here. You’ve been gone too long.”
“You still should have told me.”
She nods, agreeing. “I take it from the clothes that you’re not leaving?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Do you want to see what I bought then?”
It’s an olive branch and she takes it readily. Truthfully, I’m not that upset that she didn’t tell me Lucas moved back sooner; I understand her reasoning. She and I have always been close, especially since it was just the two of us for so many years after my dad got sick when I was little. She hardly wanted me to leave for college and now that I’m back, I have no plans to leave this town again. No, McCormick Family Practice is as good as mine.
We’re upstairs in my room picking out my outfit for my first day of work when my phone rings on the nightstand. It’s a number I don’t recognize and I nearly ignore it, but curiosity gets the better of me.
Waving my mom out, I lock the door and answer.
“Hello?”
“Daisy Bell.”
I haven’t heard his voice in 11 years.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“I think you know.”
“Lucas Thatcher. I don’t recognize the number. Am I your one call from jail?”