Protecting What's Mine(33)

Honesty, even brutal, was better in Mack’s mind than polite lies.

“That’s fair. But it would be easier for both of us if you gave me an actual chance here. This is very different from what I’ve been doing. But I want to be here. And I want to provide the best level of care that I can. But I can’t do that if you’re making scenes about my shortcomings in front of our patients.”

“I understand, and I apologize for being unprofessional.”

“Accepted. And I’m sorry for missing the notes. I’m used to unconscious patients teetering between life and death, not having medical records and family histories at my fingertips. I won’t miss it again.”

“Good.”

“Okay.” She reached for her keys again.

“Are you confident in your ability to build a rapport with our patients?” he asked, recrossing his arms.

She took a breath. Honesty. “No. I’m not.”

He nodded, accepting her statement. “Then that’s what we’ll focus on.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Have a good night, Dr. O’Neil,” he said, straightening from the hood of his car. “Oh, and make sure you reach out to Ellen and Leroy this week.”

The steak and wine could wait, she supposed.





16





Ellen wasn’t interested in coming back to the office for a chat, but she was amenable to happy hour at Remo’s, a rustic-looking bar with a full parking lot on a Wednesday night.

Early, Mack took a spot at the back of the lot and answered a few emails on her phone. A couple of friends from the service. A headhunter wanting to know what her plans were after this stint in small-town America.

She stowed her phone and keys in her small clutch and headed in the direction of the front door. The porch was skinny, the cedar shake shingles had seen better days, but the exterior was remarkably clean for a bar.

Inside, the clamor of neighbors catching up warred with an undistinguishable country song on the jukebox in the corner. It smelled like hot wings and beer.

She spotted Ellen waving from the bar to the left of the sea of crowded tables. Intrepid servers wound their way through the mess, hauling pitchers of beer and baskets of fried deliciousness.

“Hey, Mackenzie,” Sophie, Luke’s sister, greeted her from behind the bar. She was dressed in a form-fitting Remo’s polo. Her hair was up in a spunky side ponytail that bounced as she spun a bottle of vodka in one hand. She sent a cheerful wink to a patron in overalls and a John Deere hat who was eighty if he was a day. “What brings you out tonight?”

“Girls’ night,” Ellen said, cheerfully sucking on the straw of a frozen pink concoction.

Or girls’ medical ambush, more accurately. Mack felt a stab of guilt for not being clearer on the phone. She just couldn’t seem to get this patient relationship thing down. She hated failing.

Sophie poured the vodka into a shaker. “It’s half-priced wing night, and onion rings are on special, too. What’ll it be, doc?”

Mack perused the shelves on the wall behind the striking bartender and spotted an okay merlot. She ordered a glass, watching as Sophie simultaneously poured two beers on tap while reaching for a wine glass.

It was a thing to behold, someone in their element. And right now, Mack felt a little too sensitive about being a fish out of water. She picked up her wine as soon as Sophie set it in front of her.

“I know I should go with a salad. But I have a soft spot for Remo’s hot wings,” Ellen said, staring mournfully at the menu.

Dutifully, Mack opened hers. “How about we split the garden salad and an order of wings?”

Ellen brightened, further driving the guilt knife into Mack’s chest. “That would be amazing!”

“There’s some tables on the patio,” Sophie said, nodding toward the doors as she trayed up a flight of beers at the service bar. “I’ll have your food brought out if you want to enjoy some fresh air.”

“Perfect!” Ellen bounced off her stool, carting her fishbowl-sized drink.

Mack took her wine and followed her new gal pal, who was trying not to whack anyone in the head with her oversized mom tote.

Ellen chose a table in the middle of the patio whereas Mack would have preferred the one in the corner. But her new pal seemed to enjoy being around people.

“Thank you so much for this,” Ellen said, sighing happily. “Do you hear that?”

Mack looked around them. The low buzz of conversation, the tinny sound of music coming from the crappy outdoor speakers mounted on the building. “Hear what?”

“No one asking me to do anything. No mom or wife or daughter-in-law, you know? Just me.”

“When’s the last time you had a girls’ night?” Mack asked, wondering if she’d ever had one.

“Do baby showers count?”

Mack wasn’t a socializing expert, but even she knew the answer to that one. “They do not.”

“So I heard Lincoln Reed sent you flowers,” Ellen said, leaning in and taking another slurp of pink alcohol.

And this was why she didn’t do girls’ nights.

“It was just a joke.” Mostly.

“Our Chief Reed doesn’t joke about women,” Ellen said knowledgeably.

“He does have a reputation,” Mack agreed.