My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(39)

He brushed the hair away from her brow and placed a kiss there. “I’m starting to understand what has your family a little freaked out. Might be your ‘commitment to living,’ as it were.”

“I have no intention of being reckless,” she said. “I just don’t want to waste away in a lab or library while life goes on around me. You know why I haven’t had boyfriends? Real boyfriends? Because I’ve been so focused on school. Because the only place I could compete in life was with grades, with scores. I always had to be the best in my class. It felt like the only way I could measure my success, my self-worth. If you knew the time I put into preparing for the MCAT you wouldn’t believe it—it verged on OCD. It’s that insane.”

“And did that get you the highest possible score?”

Her gaze shifted away as if it was something to be ashamed of when, in truth, her fellow students had envied her. “Forty.”

“Is that good?”

“Ninety-ninth percentile.” She looked into his beautiful eyes. “But I’m tired of living my life behind a textbook, of being awkward as soon as I venture out into the real world. And…I’m sick of being lonely. Sometimes I have no one to talk to.”

He laughed at her. “You? Shy? You came on to me. You let me undress you. You wrapped yourself in lights for me!”

“For some reason, I’m comfortable with you. You make it easy. Well, it was easy to let you undress me. Special circumstances…”

“Oh?” he asked.

She rolled over so she was on top of him. “Do you know the scariest part about this interlude? It’s not the fact that we’ll part ways soon, going off to do what we have to do. It’s the thought that I might never find another man like you. I don’t know much about getting myself a good boyfriend, but you might have raised the bar.” She shook her head. “What if I’m alone forever because of you?”

* * *

Angie did research and made phone calls from the clinic so she could be on hand if Mel needed her help—even if it was just for sweeping up or sterilizing instruments. For someone who wanted to do more living, she had trouble managing idle time.

Her first order of business was finding a surgeon but getting through to one proved impossible. She was reduced to leaving her number and the subject of her business. She was thrilled when Dr. Temple called to check on her progress—he’d left messages with a dozen plastic surgeons he knew who he thought might help if their time permitted. He offered to email her the information.

“Have you made a decision about your next move, Angie? Peace corps? VISTA? Anything?”

“I’ve read a few websites, but my goal is to get this little girl set up before I pursue my own next move. What about you? Doing anything exciting?”

“I’m taking two weeks in March to go with a team to Honduras. There are a lot of patients who’ve been waiting a long time for medical and surgical aid. It’s a private foundation operated by a senator’s wife who happens to be a surgical nurse. She does all the front work, selection, scheduling, purchasing, acquisition and facilities. We’ll load up a C-130 transport aircraft, see patients and operate ten hours a day.”

Angie actually gasped. “I would love to do that!”

He laughed at her excitement. “You will one day, Angie. I have no doubt.”

Brie was working out of her home office that day so Angie drove out there for lunch, and in a fever of excitement told her about Dr. Temple’s philanthropic project. Then she described her own progress, or the lack thereof. Getting a doctor to even call her back would be a dream come true and having one sign on to donate his services—well, that was something she realized she was going to have to work very hard for.

“I’m so proud of you. But what I want to know is what you’re going to do next. Any chance you’re going back to school? You must realize your mom calls Jack and me every day.”

“Even though she doesn’t admit that to me, I assumed as much. What does she want to know?”

Brie leaned across her small kitchen table and took Angie’s hands in hers. “Ange, she says you hang up on her.”

Angie pulled back her hands. “When she puts on the pressure, I do. When she says she’s made an appointment with a psychiatrist because I haven’t made arrangements to go back to med school. When she asks me—daily—if I’ve had a chance to think things over and come to my senses. It’s insane! She’s so convinced that there’s something wrong with my brain—simply because I’m not interested in doing exactly what she wants me to do. The truth is that she’s the one who seems to have a problem, not me. Oh, Brie, how am I going to go home? Ever?”

Brie’s brows furrowed in empathy. She shook her head. “Has anything changed? Have you made any possible plans? I mean, besides helping Megan get her operation?”

Now Angie grabbed Brie’s hands. Her voice was soft. “I haven’t said anything to my mom yet, but…yes. I think I’d like to do a couple of years in the peace corps or a similar organization, and maybe while I’m there I’ll think about med school.”

Brie’s eyes got large, and she leaned back, startled. Then she groaned and let her head drop to the kitchen table. “Oh, man.”

“You don’t approve? Brie, I thought you might find it exciting!”