couldn’t turn back the clock. He’d spent five years reorganizing the day-to-day operations and putting the budget on a sound footing, and now he was ensuring the future of Doctors Circle by establishing an Endowment Fund.
“No one could have forced Dad to slow down,” Bernie said. “He was obsessed with the center, even more than Mom was. I know he was upset about their losing a child, but these things happen to lots of people.”
“Dad didn’t see it that way,” Patrick said. “Did you know he blamed himself for Melissa’s death?”
Bernie’s face scrunched in surprise. “No! Why would he do that?”
“While Mom was pregnant, he spent all his time either at his janitorial job or out in the workshop, fiddling with his inventions,” Patrick explained. “He told me that if he’d paid more attention, he’d have seen how she was suffering and insisted on better care.”
“They couldn’t afford it,” Bernie said.
“He’d have borrowed the money if he had to.” Patrick could still see the lines of pain etched in Joe Barr’s face as he’d made this confession. Melissa’s stillbirth had been fresh in the aging man’s memory, even though decades had passed since the unhappy event.
How ironic that Joe had pulled himself out of poverty, gaining a fortune from marketing his self-cleaning glass, yet had never really enjoyed the money. He’d poured much of it into Doctors Circle, which he’d established fifteen years ago. For Patrick’s father, it had been both a form of atonement and a sacred obligation.
“I wish I’d known so I could have set him straight,” Bernie said. “Problems with the placenta can’t always be corrected, even now. Mom never blamed him.”
“I guess when we feel guilty, logic has nothing to do with it,” Patrick said.
“Are you speaking of yourself?” she asked.
“Me?”
“Well, you’re the one driving yourself like a maniac for the Endowment Fund,” she said. “It won’t bring Dad back.”
“Thanks for trying to make me feel better,” he said. “The truth is, I enjoy my work.”
“You used to whistle more when you were in pediatrics.” Bernie straightened a large, modern canvas that faced the curving staircase.
“I whistled?” Patrick didn’t recall that particular habit.
“You also told more jokes,” his sister said.
“I collected jokes to make my patients laugh,” he protested. He’d loved working in pediatrics, but what he was doing now was crucial. “Sis, I’ve got to get going. I want to allow plenty of time to visit with Mrs. McLanahan.”
“Don’t let me stop you. I’m leaving, too. There’s a pot of orange-glazed chicken in the refrigerator, by the way,” Bernie said. “You can eat it tonight or tomorrow.” With a wave, she went out the front door.
Patrick locked up, then carried the flowers to his car and set them on the rear seat. He eased the finely tooled sedan along the driveway, past the glistening pool.
He stole a glimpse at the high bluffs. The rear of the estate provided a spectacular view of Serene Beach and its harbor. Far below, September sunlight played over a butterfly swarm of sails.
The driveway curved left, away from the view. Patrick stopped at the estate’s ironwork arch and waited for traffic to clear on St. Michel Drive.
In his childhood, this street had been little used. That was before the two-story medical buildings had sprung up on the far side, with their white stucco exteriors and red-tile roofs.
The family had built Doctors Circle on the land where an orange grove once stood, situated so that the back entrance to the Birthing Center faced the front of their estate. As a result, Patrick didn’t have to commute far to his office.
Seeing no more cars, he turned right and drove the few blocks to Mrs. McLanahan’s home. To his disappointment, the houseman reported she was sleeping. Patrick left the flowers with a note wishing her a speedy recovery.
He had plenty of time before the luncheon. All dressed up and nowhere to go. It was a rarity not to have every minute committed, and against his better judgment, he knew what he wanted to do.
It would be childish to head inland toward Natalie’s apartment. For heaven’s sake, he had almost no chance of glimpsing her unless he parked and rang her doorbell, which he wasn’t going to do.
This past month, he’d watched for any indication that she hadn’t meant it when she pushed him away. Like an inviting smile, a touch on the shoulder, a mention of their night together.
There hadn’t been any. He kept telling himself it was for the best, yet he missed their closeness with an unaccustomed ache.
He was better off alone, though. Work absorbed and energized Patrick, and relationships only interfered.
Both of his previous involvements had failed miserably. During his internship, a girlfriend had broken off with him because of his inattention. Years later, a lawyer he’d dated had also called it quits, citing his long hours and frequent cancelations of their plans. She’d told him she hoped he never had children, because he’d make a lousy father.
She was right. Much as Patrick enjoyed being around kids, his work came first, and always would.
Natalie was right to keep him at arm’s length. Patrick certainly didn’t want to lose her the way he’d lost the other two women. But like a teenager with a crush, he was going to cruise by her place in the hope of catching an unguarded glimpse of her. A man was allowed the occasional bit of foolishness as long as it did no harm, he told himself.
He drove inland to the flat mesa area of Serene Beach. Palm trees, azaleas and calla lilies dressed up the modest homes and apartments.
Along the sidewalks clattered kids on tricycles and preteens on skateboards. Patrick drove cautiously, remembering from his emergency-room rotations what could happen when children darted into the street.
The fourplex where Natalie lived lay in the middle of a block. Patrick had dropped her off once when her car was in the shop, and he’d never forgotten the location.
A rental van stood double-parked in front of the building. As he swung past, he saw stacks of furniture through the open rear door, from which someone had lowered a ramp. Obviously these amateurs didn’t realize or perhaps didn’t care that they were blocking several cars.
At the next corner, Patrick made a U-turn and swung back. This time, he spotted Natalie’s small green hatchback at the curb, hemmed in by the truck.
What now? He had time to kill and a strong desire to see her. Irresolutely, he parked across the street and sat considering his options.
Before he could decide how to proceed, Natalie emerged on the upper balcony of the apartment building. With her blond hair floating in the breeze, she took his breath away.
Even from here, he could see the sweet fullness of her mouth and the way a T-shirt clung tantalizingly to her rounded breasts
