Fools Rush in(38)
“Millie? The house?”
“Oh. Sorry.” I gratefully extracted myself from thoughts of cellulite and pasty skin. “The house is great. Very cute. I’m almost done painting the other bedroom. You should come see it.”
“I’d love to,” Sam answered. He popped an Oreo into his mouth, whole, like a giant black communion wafer, grinning at me as he chewed. “How’s work going?”
“Oh, it’s great,” I said. “I love it. I just hope…”
“Just hope what?”
I drew my initials in the condensation on my glass. “Well, I hope Dr. Whitaker will take me on in the fall. The clinic is only open till October, and if he doesn’t want to hire me, then I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, I think he’ll take me on, he hasn’t said anything negative. But if he doesn’t, I’ll have to think about something else. I just got an offer from a doctor in Wellesley, but I don’t want to live off-Cape.”
The offer had come as a surprise to me. Alan Bernstein was one of the nicer supervising doctors I’d met when I’d been a resident, and he had a growing practice with two other doctors. They wanted to expand, and Alan had called me last week. Wellesley was a lovely, affluent suburb of Boston, and if I hadn’t been so determined to stay on Cape, it would have been perfect.
“You could move, couldn’t you? Come up here on the weekends and stuff?” Sam asked.
“I could. But I just got back here,” I answered. “And I don’t want to live anywhere else. I mean, how could I? You didn’t want to stay out in Indiana, did you?”
“Landlocked? You kidding? I couldn’t wait to get back,” Sam smiled. “Curse of the Cape.”
It was true. Once you’ve lived on the Cape, you’d be hard pressed to move. The natural beauty of the place, the loveliness of so many neighborhoods, the smell of the air, the sound of the ocean…it was unsurpassable. Even when I’d lived in Boston, just a couple of hours away, I’d yearned for Eastham. It was my dream since childhood to be a doctor in my hometown, and I was determined to make that work.
And of course, there was Joe. Even though my plans were going nowhere at the moment, I couldn’t quit now. I had been putting this plan into effect for quite some time, dreamed about it for years. Surely, something would have to give, and he would finally, finally notice me, fall in love with me and marry me. Hopefully before my fiftieth birthday.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BY THE MIDDLE OF JUNE, cars crowded Route 6, people waited at least a half hour at any restaurant, and the T-shirt and gift shops were hopping. Our clinic was quite busy, and though the cases I saw weren’t that challenging, it was great to be bustling around, writing out prednisone prescriptions for the never-ending stream of poison-ivy victims, stitching up booboos, and shipping patients down to Cape Cod Hospital. We had a nice rhythm going, Jill and Sienna and I. The mysterious Dr. Bala was quite cordial, having gotten over his initial formality. Now that it was busy, we really clicked along, and I was more than holding my own.
I loved working at the OCSC, too. Mr. Glover and I had had a little chat, and he’d been quite well-behaved since our initial visit. There, the cases were often more complicated, and with that came the deep satisfaction of really getting to know the patients and their families. Even though I was just covering for Dr. Whitaker, it was an honor to be taken into their confidence, to be trusted with making them feel better, to be a part of their lives.
I was even becoming a better cook. I invited my parents over for dinner and made a vegetable lasagna that did not nauseate any of us. I brought a chicken casserole over to Sam and Danny one night and stayed to eat it with them. But it was no fun cooking for one person. Most recipes served at least four people, and more often than not, I’d end up throwing the leftovers away. I ended up making salads or omelets or quick, one-person vegetable dishes and eating them while I read.
I continued to run; Sam’s athletic advice had come in handy, and I wasn’t suffering quite so much anymore, regularly covering four miles with my sweet black-and-white doggy. And I worked on my house, filling window boxes and putting out little pots of flowers. The lilac trees Sam had planted bloomed, and all in all, it was a lovely time. Except for Joe. Aside from our little moment at the Barnacle, I had hardly seen him.
One Friday night, I planned to hang out at the Barnacle while Katie worked, something I did from time to time. The restaurant was noisy and crowded, and when I walked in, my energy suddenly flagged. In a few weeks, I would turn thirty, and I was tired of hanging around bars. Suddenly, all the single women in the restaurant looked much younger than I was. The women in my age group all seemed to have adorable children with them, or were radiant in pregnancy, or held hands with their husbands. Nearly thirty years old, and I was still stalking Joe, just as I had been at twenty-two…and nineteen…and fifteen….
Speaking of Joe, there he was. Tonight, the sight of his beauty made me feel…tired. Exhausted. Would my love for him ever be reciprocated? Would he ever discover that he could be very happy with me, and not the willowy, red-haired out-of-towner he was currently flirting with?
Katie came up to me. “Hi,” she said, glancing Joe’s way. Her expression was sympathetic. “Sorry. Squeeze of the week.”
“Yeah, except he was with her last week, too,” I said, feeling my heart grow leaden. I looked around the restaurant. “Katie, I think I’m gonna go,” I said. “I’m not up for this.”