Protecting What's Mine(18)

“Want me to clear out any of this personal crap?” the doctor asked, making a sweeping gesture at the bookcase in the corner that sagged under the weight of photos of the Dunnigans’ wedding day, framed certificates, and an intriguing number of bobbleheads.

Mack shook her head. “No, it’s fine. You’re coming back. I don’t need to personalize anything.”

“Still. Feel free to slap up some pictures or at least order a new desk chair. This one can be temperamental if you’re not used to it.” To demonstrate, she flopped down and leaned back. The entire seat assembly bucked backward.

Mack reached out to catch her.

“Don’t worry,” Trish snickered. “Hasn’t thrown me yet. I’m a professional. But don’t let it sneak up on you. Catch you unawares.”





Lunch was Trish’s treat. She devoured half an order of spring rolls and the lunchtime cheesesteak special. “I can feel your nutritional judgment,” she said, washing a bite of cheesesteak down with a gulp of raspberry iced tea. “But I’m about to embark on a four-month world tour with my opinionated, vegetarian wife. I’ll be lucky to sneak a cheeseburger once a month.”

Mack smiled. There was something so normal about the doctor.

“Well, while you’re off sneaking fast food runs, are there any areas you need me to concentrate on in your practice?”

“I just want to know that my patients, my friends, my neighbors are in the best possible hands.”

Medically speaking, they would be. But if they were all looking for a life coach, they were up shit’s creek.

“I’ll do my best,” she promised.

“All anyone can ask. We’re a small, independent practice. Practically unheard of these days. But we make it work. Insurance billing is always a bitch. But we’ve got people on staff. If you run into any issues, put Freida on it. She’s terrifying. And Russell Robinson, your counterpart, is a truly excellent practitioner. A little hoity-toity for small town, but we love him for it. If you have any questions, go to him. He’ll be in the office this afternoon.”

“What are you doing with the other two months of your sabbatical?”

“Recovering. Want a spring roll?”





9





While Trish took care of a sprained wrist follow-up and a case of pink eye, Mack sat behind the front desk crammed in between Tuesday and Freida so they could take turns explaining the office database.

“So, here’s where you update the patient visit notes,” Tuesday said, pointing at the laptop screen with a fingernail the color of sparkling sand.

“Do not, repeat, do not write anything you don’t want the patient to read because these notes are uploaded directly to their patient portal,” Freida said, her sweeping hand gesture nearly catching Mack in the right boob.

“Tell her about Mrs. Moretta,” Tuesday insisted, bouncing in her seat.

Mack’s interest piqued. She happened to know a Moretta or two in this town.

Freida’s eye-roll was extravagant and entertaining. “Mrs. Moretta, bless her heart, is a bit…”

“She likes things her way,” Tuesday filled in generously. A nice cheerleader.

“She does not like to be told to lay off the box wine and ice cream.” Freida was less generous and perhaps more realistic.

They were definitely talking about Aldo’s mother, not the man’s wife, Mack decided.

“Anyway, Mrs. Moretta’s numbers were high. Cholesterol, sugar, weight. Dr. D. tried to gently encourage her to consider some healthier options,” Freida said.

Tuesday wrinkled her cute little nose. “And Mrs. Moretta was uncomfortable with the suggestion and tried to explain—”

“At the top of her lungs,” Freida added.

“In an enthusiastic manner—”

“The walls shook. Children cried.”

“So Mrs. Moretta goes home, and we had just rolled out the new patient portal,” Tuesday continued, obviously enjoying Freida’s commentary.

“An hour later, we’re locking up, ready to head home for the day and the phone rings. Guess who it is?” Freida demanded, stabbing Mack in the shoulder with a very pointy finger.

“Mrs. Moretta?”

“Yep. And she just read Dr. D’s patient notes.”

Mack hid her smile. “And what did the patient notes say?”

“That the patient was belligerently determined to make poor nutritional choices.”

“Mrs. Moretta took offense to the wording.”

“She told Dr. D. to kiss her double-wide ass.”

The laugh sputtered out of Mack, and she was grateful that the waiting room was empty.

“So, Dr. D. had to call Mrs. D. and ask her to reschedule their dinner reservations so she could go apologize to Mrs. Moretta.”

“With a box of Chardonnay.”

“Only polite patient notes in the file. Got it,” Mack said. She was getting itchy to do something. The patient database was as straightforward as it could get. She was ready to jump in.

Tuesday scrolled through another patient file where a note caught Mack’s eye.

“Hang on, why do you have the work schedule of this patient’s next-door neighbor in the file?” Mack asked. They also had out-of-state adult children listed with occupations. There was another notation of the woman’s favorite cookie.