hospital in the nation wanted. Though catheter ablation surgery, the process of “burning” away misfiring nerves inside the heart to treat arrythmia, had become as common as bypass surgery, the cold beam laser was truly cutting-edge technology. Cold beam created a clean, open channel to the heart by drilling several holes from a dying heart muscle to the left ventricle. Once the holes healed, they triggered a growth of new muscle, so oxygenated blood could flow into the heart, which hadn’t been receiving proper oxygen and nutrients. Finding the surgeons to perform the procedure was difficult. Nate was keenly aware that he could have gone to Los Angeles or San Francisco, and he’d been offered a position in Scottsdale, but most hospitals wanted him to sign a three-year contract. Indian Lake demanded only a single year. One year was more to his liking because Nate wanted to prove himself—fast. With a year under his belt as a top cardiac surgeon at the Indian Lake Hospital and working in their Ablation Department, he could go wherever he wished and he would get the kind of financial backing he would need. For years, Nate had dreamed of one day landing a department chief position at a major hospital. But last year, that all changed.
Nate had spent a year on an Indian reservation in Arizona, ostensibly to whittle his medical school loans down by half. He’d learned about the government plan that enticed newly-licensed doctors and dentists from a shipmate of his in the Navy. Within a few days of treating patients on the reservation, Nate saw a desperate need for doctors with his skill level. He’d never considered himself a humanitarian, but something happened to him during that year that changed his view of life. These people could not afford highly specialized ablation surgery. And there were very few surgeons in his field willing to sacrifice money and possibly fame to help them. Nate realized he could make a real difference in the world.
By the end of his stint at the reservation hospital, Nate had come face to face with his life’s passion.
Indian Lake was exactly the place Nate needed to be for the short term. And afterward...he’d ratchet himself up another several notches toward his dream.
* * *
“DR. BARZONNI?” A MAN’S voice asked in a clear, clipped tone.
“Yes, sir.” Nate snapped to his feet from the uncomfortable metal-and-plastic chair he’d been seated in. Nate presented his hand to the tall, slender man with an angular face. Dr. Roger Caldwell was in his late forties and looked fit, in a long-distance-runner way. He wore black slacks and a long white lab coat over a cheap maroon oxford-cloth shirt and blue-and-red-striped polyester tie. This was the third interview Nate had been on, and at every hospital, every major clinic, the administrator responsible for choosing the hospital uniforms and outlining the dress codes apparently won the job based on their obvious lack of fashion sense and color blindness. “Dr. Caldwell. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.”
They began walking down a carpeted hallway.
“You can drop the ‘sir.’ We aren’t all that formal around here.” Dr. Caldwell flipped through some papers in a manila folder marked with Nate’s name. “And you haven’t been in the navy for quite some time.”
“Sorry, sir. I mean Doctor. It’s my upbringing as much as the navy.” Nate smiled.
“I know your parents quite well, so I understand completely.”
“They’re still old-world Italian, I’m afraid. In fact, they’re insisting I live at home with them once I move back to Indian Lake.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Dr. Caldwell replied, scratching his temple. “Frankly, I’d like to see a bit more of it myself.” He took a couple steps back and then waved his right arm in front of an open door. “Let’s step into my office, shall we?”
“Thank you very much, sir. Doctor.” Nate laughed good-naturedly.
For as austere and sparse as the waiting area was, Dr. Caldwell’s office was quite the opposite. Colorful Persian rugs covered the laminate floors. The furniture was modern and sleek, made of glass, chrome and wood. A butter-yellow leather sofa sat against the back wall with two massive, off-white leather Barcelona chairs flanking it. A squatty black vase of tropical flowers sat in the middle of a kidney-shaped coffee table. The room was lit by dozens of tiny halogen ceiling fixtures, and natural light flowed in from skylights and a very large window that looked out on Main Street where the morning traffic was building to a bustling crescendo. The sun skirted around and through huge snow clouds, which had come to perform their own kind of magic and alter the scene below. Slowly, a very light snow started to fall. From the fifth floor, the view was captivating, and as Nate gazed out across the commercial-building rooftops and toward the housetops of Maple Avenue and Lily Avenue, he realized he was eye level to the many church spires that dotted nearly every block of Indian Lake. From this height, it didn’t take much imagination to see the fantasy aspect of the town. As the snowflakes grew in size and number, they fell delicately on the grand shoulders of the Presbyterian church, creating white, lacy epaulettes. Nate had always loved all the churches of his hometown and how they stood for hundreds of years, never swerving, never capitulating or seeming to decay. Unlike many other cities or towns, the people of Indian Lake renovated, renewed and shored up their treasures. They put new foundations on their buildings, installed new roofs on their banks and fixed storefront windows. They adapted and perfected, modernized and improved, but they never destroyed the original structure, the soul of their buildings, which was part of the soul of the town. He’d forgotten how little things like that mattered to him.
“Nice view, isn’t it?” Dr. Caldwell asked.
“Spellbinding.”
“Interesting you say that. I thought the same thing when I moved here. I came from New Jersey. The unpretty part of New Jersey. I was a class-A nerd in a street-gang-infested world. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”
“Is that why you joined the navy as well, sir?”
“It is. Best move I ever made. I fell in love with Chicago the minute I walked off the bus. But once I got married and left the navy, we started looking around for a small town. You know, to raise kids and all. We came here on a winter vacation, actually, and stayed four days. Everyone was so friendly and we loved all the little shops and cafés. My wife and I were hooked. I’ve always wanted to live in a small town.”
“Funny. When I was growing up here, I couldn’t wait to leave. See the world. Have an adventure.”
Dr. Caldwell laughed and sat in his black leather desk chair. He leaned back in the chair and watched the falling snow. “I had plenty of adventure. Persian Gulf. I was fortunate enough to be part of the launch of the Sullivan to the Mediterranean Sea on August 12, 1995. I’ll never forget it. This was the second ship, Nate, to be named for the Sullivan family, who’d suffered the greatest loss of any one American family in the Second World War.”
“I remember the story well.”
Dr. Caldwell smiled to himself. “I was lucky. I sailed over half my naval career. How about you?”
“Not so much. I spent most of my navy years in and around the Great Lakes. I signed up as a corpsman and worked at the Great Lakes Naval Hospital while I received my training. I didn’t mind it so much, though. I used my time wisely. I took advantage of the extracurricular college classes. I took every class that was a requirement for premed. By the time I finished my service, I had three years of credits piled up. I went to Northwestern on the GI Bill and finished up my undergrad. Then I got more loans for medical school and stayed on at Northwestern. I rejoined the navy as a doctor after med school and completed my internship and surgical residency. I finished my cardiology residency at Northwestern as well. As you know, I’m finishing up my year-long contract at
