Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 189(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 126(@300wpm)
“Don’t test me, Ben. Not right now,” I say.
He looks more pissed than I’ve ever seen him before, but he doesn’t take another step toward me. Instead, he takes a step back and nods, adopting a more casual posture.
“Look, I can see you’re upset about this whole thing with your grandmother. I get it,” he says. “I’ll give you a little space to cool off—”
“What part of ‘this is over’ do you not understand?”
“And don’t worry, I’ll find somebody to buy the ticket. It’s cool,” he says. “Go, take care of your grandmother, and when you get back, we can talk. We can sort this all out.”
“Get out,” I say again, making my voice as low and threatening as I can manage.
“Okay, baby. I’ll text you later. Let you know how the show goes and all.”
He finally turns and walks out of my apartment, and when the door closes, I rush over, throw all three locks on the door, and turn around, pressing my back against it.
“I really need to get those locks changed,” I mutter.
Pushing away from the door, I head back into my room to finish packing. I need to get out of here and get to Tennessee.
2
ETHAN
“Okay, Mrs. Timmons, everything looks good,” I say as I step into the room.
The older woman sits on the edge of the examination table and gives me a wink. Unlike at my old practice in LA, my patients here are all a hell of a lot nicer. They’re kind, good people, and I enjoy being around them far more than the superficial, hoity-toity snobs I dealt with back in LA. The view is nowhere near as nice, but it’s a trade-off I’d make every single day of the week and twice on Sundays.
I set the file down on the counter beside me. “Your numbers are mostly good. But I’d still like for you to get out and do some light exercise. Try taking a twenty to thirty-minute walk a day. It’s really important that we work on that cholesterol level. You think you can do that for me?”
“Of course, I can, Dr. Collier,” she says. “I’ll do anything you ask.”
The tone in her voice is flirtatious, which is somehow amplified by her slow, syrupy-sweet Tennessee drawl. It makes me chuckle because she’s old enough to be my mother and not some giggly high school girl.
“Well, be careful who you say that to, Mrs. Timmons. I’d sure hate for Mr. Timmons to hear that and come down here to set me straight.”
She cackles like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard. I write out a prescription for her, tear it off my pad, and hand it to her.
“Thank you, Dr. Collier,” she says. “And I have to say again how nice it is to have you in town now that Dr. Pelson has retired.”
“Nice of you to say, Mrs. Timmons. I’m glad to be here.”
I walk her out of the examination room and to the door, holding it open for her.
“Go ahead and check out with Melinda and we’ll see you in a month,” I say. “And don’t forget, now. Twenty to thirty minutes of activity a day.”
She gives me another wink before starting across the lobby to Melinda’s station. I close the door, then walk down the short hallway to my office and drop heavily into the chair behind my desk, letting out a long sigh. It’s been a long day. Picking up the coffee mug sitting next to my laptop, I take a drink. It’s cold. But it’s still caffeine, so whatever. My eyes drift to the photo of me and Dr. Artie Pelson hanging on the wall beneath my array of diplomas and certificates.
It occurs to me that it’s the only personal photograph I have anywhere in my office. But I suppose that’s because Dr. Pelson is a large part of my life and my story. He was my teacher back in med school, but more than that, he was my mentor. Dr. Pelson is a big part of why I’m a doctor today, and he’s an even bigger part of why, at forty-five years old and despite being a renowned cardiovascular surgeon making piles of money, I left LA and started over as a general practitioner in Emerson, Tennessee.
“Money can’t buy you respect, satisfaction, peace of mind, or your way into heaven,” I mutter to myself.
“Dr. Pelson used to say that all the time.”
I glance up to see Melinda standing in the doorway of my office. She’s an attractive woman in her late thirties with honey-blonde hair and hazel-colored eyes. Two children, a fantastic husband, a sharp mind, and good relationships with almost everybody in town, I inherited Melinda along with Artie’s practice when he retired and lured me out here. And thank God she came with the practice. I wouldn’t have even known where to start without her.