style="font-size:15px;"> His mind drifted back to the party the night before. Rebecca had been right— Mitch and Anne really were meant for each other. The fact that they’d be starting married life with a ready-made family of her adopted baby and his foster son just seemed to add to their glow.
Alex was another story. Brett frowned down at his cup. Alex might be able to hide his pain from other people, but not from him. He’d give anything for a look at Alex’s medical charts. He owed Alex—owed him a lot. If there was a way he could make up for the past, he’d like to find it.
He put down the coffee. Somehow everything—every concern, every conversation, even every thought, led him straight to the clinic. Rebecca was probably wondering why he wasn’t there already, and she wouldn’t hesitate to tell him so. If he’d known pesky little Rebecca would turn into such a beautiful, determined young woman, maybe he’d have stayed in touch.
Or maybe he’d have avoided her like the plague.
He didn’t owe Rebecca an explanation, regardless of whether she agreed. But he certainly owed one to Doc, easy or not—and it was time he paid him a visit.
He drove out to the corner, then turned uphill. In Bedford Creek you were always going either up the mountain or down toward the river. There wasn’t anything between. The town was wedged tightly into the narrow valley, with mountain ridges hemming it in.
The new tourist brochures his mother had sent him described Bedford Creek and its mountains as the Switzerland of Pennsylvania. People had obviously tried to live up to that billing, decking houses with colorful shutters and window boxes. Now, the boxes overflowed with marigolds and mums.
Apparently the publicity campaign was working. Strangers slinging cameras dotted the sidewalks, and a line waited to board the old-fashioned steam train for a jaunt through the mountains to see the autumn foliage. In another week or two the woods would be in full color, and the place jammed.
Doc Overton’s clinic sat at the top of the hill, its faded red brick looking just the same as it always had. Brett’s first glimpse of the familiar white clapboard sign swamped him in a wave of nostalgia. He pulled into the gravel lot and got out of the car slowly.
What had led to that promise he’d once made Rebecca about becoming a doctor? One of those early visits, when Doc thumped him and patted his head and told him he was fine? Or when Doc had responded to the interest he’d shown in some procedure, taking the time to explain it to him? Whenever it had been, Doc Overton had certainly been part of it.
It had been too long since he’d been back, too long since he’d let Doc know how much he appreciated his mentoring. That had to be a part of the talk they needed to have. He took the two steps to the porch and opened the door.
New wallpaper decked a waiting room that was far more crowded than he ever remembered it being. It looked as if he’d have to postpone their conversation. Clearly Doc wouldn’t have time for a talk this morning—not with all these patients waiting.
He didn’t intend to rush this conversation. Telling Doc the changes he wanted to make to the future they had once planned wouldn’t be easy.
Maybe the best course was to see Doc and arrange a time when they could be alone, uninterrupted. He exchanged greetings with people he knew as he edged his way to the desk.
He nodded to the receptionist, wondering if she was someone he should remember. “I’m Dr. Elliot. I’d like a word with Dr. Overton when he has a moment.”
“Brett.” Rebecca appeared from behind the rows of files, looking startled. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Funny. I got the impression I’d better show my face around here pretty quickly or someone might get after me. Can’t imagine why I thought that.”
A warm flush brightened her peaches-and-cream complexion. “I can’t either.” She gestured toward the hallway. “Come on back.”
The treatment area had changed even more than the waiting room. Cream paint unified it, and a modern counter had replaced the old rolltop desk where Doc had once kept a jumble of papers. Charts were neatly filed, and an up-to-date computer system ruled the countertop.
He stopped, assessing the changes, then turned to Rebecca. She’d changed, too. Her bronze hair was tied back from her face, and a matching bronze name pin adorned her neat uniform. Everything about her spoke of efficiency and professionalism. How strange to see little Rebecca so grown-up and businesslike.
“Were you responsible for all this?” He gestured toward the changes, knowing old Doc wouldn’t have modernized a thing if someone hadn’t pushed him into it.
She looked startled. “I guess I did suggest we were due for some up-to-date touches.”
“You mean you nagged him until it was easier to say yes.” He smiled at her. “Don’t fib to me, Rebecca. I know both of you too well.”
“Something like that.” She smiled back, but there was a shadow behind it. She was probably still thinking about their unfinished conversation the night before—
“There you are.”
The familiar voice sounded behind Brett, and he swung around.
“About time you were getting back here to see us.”
“Hasn’t been that long, has it?” He gripped Doc’s hand, emotion flooding him. It had been too long. Rebecca had been right. Doc Overton was getting old.
The hair he remembered as iron gray was white now, and Doc’s shoulders stooped, as if he’d spent too many years carrying all the medical burdens of the town. The lines in his face formed a road map of wisdom and caring.
“Come here, boy.” Not content with a handshake, Doc pulled him close for a quick hug, then pounded his shoulder. “Good to see you. How are they treating you at that big city hospital?”
There was the question he didn’t want to answer, and it was the first one out of Doc’s mouth, of course.
“Things are going okay.” He managed a smile. “It was tough getting used to Philly after all those years in California.”
“Not enough beaches, huh?” Those wise old eyes surveyed him. “If you want to succeed in this business, you have to make some sacrifices.”
“Like having any time for yourself,” Rebecca said. She held out a chart. “I’m sorry to interrupt the reunion, but you’re running about an hour behind already.”
“Doc always runs an hour behind,” Brett said. That was probably because Doc had never heard the notion that the physician should spend only ten of his precious minutes with any single patient. And if he heard it, he’d dismiss it. He knew his patients too well to rush anyone out of the office. When you were closeted with Doc Overton, you felt as if you were the most important person in the world to him. “Don’t people still set their clocks by him?”
Rebecca smiled, but it was more an automatic response than an agreement. “I’m afraid people are a bit more impatient than they used to be.”
Doc shrugged, lifting his hands. “What can I do? This young woman runs the place, and she runs me, too. We’ll have to get together later.”
