What We Find (Sullivan's Crossing, #1)(84)

“Humph, what does it matter? You never know what’s going to hatch.”

“It’s schizophrenia, Maggie. I’m pretty sure my youngest sister has it but it’s hard to tell because of her drug use. In fact, we’ll never know unless she stops using and since she doesn’t want help with that...”

“That would be a grandparent and an aunt, not a parent or sibling. Less than ten percent likelihood of a genetic component. The odds are worse she could turn out like Phoebe.”

“You looked it up,” he said.

“Well, yes. I look up everything. You’re also not wanted for murder anywhere, congratulations.”

“I don’t want you to have regrets.”

“I don’t want you to,” she said.

“You have to do your part. You have to know how you want to spend your life. People can change their plans, that’s all right. I don’t want you giving up things to be with me. Things like neurosurgery.”

“I’m not sure giving it up would be the worst idea. It’s fraught with complications and stress.”

“It took a lot of that to break you and you still didn’t really crack,” he said. “You took a leave. You cried. Just remember when you’re thinking about this—it’s your identity. I don’t want to strip you of it. I want to be part of it.”

She was silent for a moment. “Wow. You’re so amazing. Is this how it was with your wife?”

“Lynne,” he said with a tender smile. “Most of the time. She wasn’t as bossy as you.” He nuzzled her neck. “There are still things for us to talk about before you let those eggs loose, okay? This is a good start. Let’s keep at it, all right?”

“Listen, there’s something,” she said. “I was ready to tell you about the pregnancy and miscarriage sooner, but then you told me about Lynne and her death and it was just...it was inappropriate. My loss wasn’t nearly equal to yours. It wasn’t just because my loss was less; it was because I was a little afraid to tell you what it meant. Cal, I wanted that baby. I want a family. I was reminded that I’m thirty-six, that there might not be a lot of time for that. Getting hooked up with me might be more burdensome than you signed up for.”

“I don’t think so.”

The next day Cal called Tom. “There’s something I’m going to need your help with. It might be a little complicated. And it’s top secret. Is there a time you’ll be alone at your house and I can come over? Because my business is never my business at Sully’s place.”

*



Every summer Sully invited special groups of kids out for the day or even an overnight. No charge of course. As she watched her father with a group of special needs kids, Maggie realized as never before how fantastic he was as a leader of children. He showed them how to drop a line and catch a fish, how to pitch a tent, how to roast marshmallows. He made hot dogs for lunch and went out on some of the shorter trails with them. The only thing Sully wasn’t doing this summer was getting in the lake with the kids.

Maggie supposed it was because she’d been thinking about a family for the first time. For all these years she’d been so busy working, scrambling to keep up, she hadn’t had the time to think about children of her own. In fact, she hadn’t had time to think about a lot of things. But she’d been at Sully’s for five months and in that time some of her most immediate pressures had resolved themselves.

Her practice was permanently closed and all the equipment, office and medical, and furniture had been sold. Most of it had been picked up by colleagues who were expanding while she was downsizing her life. The office space she’d been leasing was taken back, rented and bankruptcy was no long inevitable.

Her partners had been indicted but they didn’t go to trial. One gave up his license in a plea deal and the other was reprimanded and fined, and he moved to Florida. If there were civil suits lurking out there, no one seemed to know about them.

And she’d been invited by more than one of her colleagues to join their practices. John Halloran, a noted neurological surgeon from University Medical Center, advised her to keep a hand in. “Don’t stay out of the operating room too long, Maggie,” he said. “At least assist a few cases a month so when you do decide what you’re going to do next your decision won’t be forced by lack of practical application. Operate, Maggie. It’s what you were trained to do.”

It was good advice. She decided she’d drive into Denver a couple of times in August, scrub in with a colleague who could use a hand. While she was there she planned to see friends, so she took Cal with her once. It wasn’t at all surprising that her friends fell in love with him, even if he was a little hard to understand. She introduced him as a homeless criminal defense attorney who had a big crush on her. He explained himself as someone recently escaped from the rat race, simplifying his life. Maggie’s type A friends had trouble understanding that.

Maggie’s friends from the hospital, having had the mother lode of medical experiences, were fascinated by criminal law and plagued him with questions about his work, his clients, his experiences. They wanted to know if he’d ever defended murderers and he was quick to point out he had defended people accused of capital crimes. Had his life ever been threatened? Had mafia bosses tried to control him or had he ever been afraid for his life, being involved with scary people? And the one that interested Maggie the most: “Will you die of boredom being a maintenance man at a campground?”