Perfectly Reasonable (6 page)

“True case. The doctor was sued for providing a letter without the patient’s written consent.”

“Even though the wife was at the visit and knew it all anyway.”

“Even though. Confidentiality is a big deal. You can’t let on what you know, or even say if a person is a patient, without their permission.” She popped a piece of muffin in her mouth. “And no discussing details in an elevator or at the coffee shop. Eavesdroppers are everywhere.”

“It’s a mine field. How do you figure it all out?”

Margo finished the muffin and brushed the crumbs to the center of the plate. “Some of it’s common sense. Being humble helps. And respectful. Once you’ve had patients who trust you with their stories, you appreciate what a gift it is to be able to help them.” She gave a crooked smile. “That probably sounds a bit hokey.”

He smiled at her. “I’m using feng shui. Get in the hokey pokey line behind me.”

She laughed and wondered what it would be like to wake up beside those twinkling blue eyes. “I better get back to work.” She stood up.

“This is really helpful. Is this what you were asked when you applied?”

She shook her head. “This is stuff I saw during my clerkship. Sixteen months of seeing patients.”

“Wow, a lot of shit goes down. Got any more?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” She picked up the paintbrush and stepped on the step stool to touch up the edge by the ceiling. “A twenty-two-year-old male comes in asking for a renewal of his asthma medication. He states that he’s been asthmatic since he was little, but the vague history is out of keeping for someone living with asthma for years. You know that the inhaler device has a street value. It can be sold and used to inhale street drugs. You wonder if that’s how this prescription is going to be used.” She stepped down and picked up the roller. “Do you write the prescription?”

“What if he truly is asthmatic?”

“He could have an acute asthma attack and die without the medication.”

Trace frowned. “Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”

Margo smiled and nodded.

“I think I’d go with trusting what he says. His dying seems a bigger risk. And it wouldn’t look too good on my CV.”

“It’s frowned upon,” she agreed. “That’s what I did, too. I suppose I could have called his pharmacy, but he was visiting from out of town, and I didn’t get a gut sense that he was lying. I could’ve been wrong, but the doctor-patient relationship is built on trust, and at some point you have to trust that the patient isn’t lying to you.”

Trace nodded as he finished the cereal.

“How about this,” Margo continued. “What would you do if you saw a resident using cocaine at a party?”

“A resident is a student?”

“They have their medical degree and are working toward a full license to practice. Often they see patients on their own, but technically they’re still supervised.”

“So snorting cocaine would be frowned upon, as you say.”

“Yes.”

“And it’s pretty unlikely that they would only snort once, so something should be done.”

“Yes. I’ve not been in that situation, but I think I would report it. They obviously need help. And a cocaine-using doctor is a very scary combo, any way you look at it.

“When you’re applying to medicine, they love to throw these ethical dilemmas at you. And often there’s no right or wrong. They want to see how you think, how you approach the problem. They want to see that you can be nonjudgmental and empathetic.”

“Right. So consider what it’s like to be in the other person’s skin. Show them I get it. Ideally they should leave feeling better. And keep everything confidential,” he said.

“Exactly.”

“I should be good at this.” He grinned. “Sounds a lot like foreplay.”

Chapter 10

Margo folded the last of the drop sheets and packed them neatly in her tote bag. She threw the rollers, tray liners, and two empty cans of paint in a plastic trash bag.

Trace had a weekend tutorial to run for some of the first-year students and had left after lunch, which turned out well. Without him to distract her, she powered through the rest of the job and finished it. Even the baseboards got a touch-up and it was only four o’clock. She wouldn’t say she rushed it at the end, exactly. But if she could get cleaned up and out the door before he returned, she would call it a good day.

Foreplay indeed. She suppressed a shiver. He definitely thought outside the box. And it was a very sexy box.

But it was also Pandora’s Box to her, and the sooner she was out of there, the better.

She wrapped the brushes to take home to clean and stuffed them in a side pocket of the tote. She swept the floors and put the stool back in the closet where it belonged. All done. It would take a couple of trips to load her car. She shrugged on her coat and found the keys in her pocket just as the door to the condo opened.

Her heart skipped a beat when Trace walked in.

He stopped when he saw her all packed up. “Leaving so soon?”

“All done.”

He came closer and she smelled the fresh outdoor air on his jacket.

“Beautiful.”

She looked around at the smooth blue of the walls. For a pale color, it exuded strength and calm. She’d have to agree. She’d done a good job. “Thanks. I think it looks good, too.”

“I didn’t mean the walls,” he said.

She raised startled eyes to his but looked away at the intensity of his gaze. “It’ll . . . It’ll just take a couple of trips to clear this stuff out,” she stammered.

“I can help you,” he said.

She passed him the totes, and when his hand lingered on hers, felt a flutter of panic. Can’t go there. Shouldn’t go there, her mind raced. It was a guaranteed one-way street to heartache.

With her head down, she pulled back and then picked up the half-empty paint can and the rest of her gear. Trace held the door open, and they walked down the hallway to the elevator.

They stepped in silently when the doors opened.

18

17

“So tomorrow you start another job?” Trace asked.

She nodded. “Another residential, on Savior.”

16

15

“Thanks again for getting it done this weekend. How much do I owe you?”

A lifetime of forgiveness.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll send you a bill.”

He nodded.

She watched the numbers count down. The elevator was slower than the average green van.

14

13

12

“So, how often are you at the soup kitchen? What did you call it? The Breakfast Table?”

She smiled. “Breaking Bread. I usually try to go twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Depends on my schedule, though. They’re pretty flexible and can always use a hand.”

He nodded. “Right. Breaking Bread.” He nodded again.

11

10

9

8

“I’ll be working on my application to medical school this week. Can I get in touch if, you know, I need advice?”

7

6

“Sure.”

5

4

“I’m on Facebook,” she said reluctantly. “Send me a friend request.”

“You know, they say you shouldn’t accept a friend request unless you’d be willing to go out for a beer with the person.”

“Really?”

“Yup.” He shifted the totes in his hands. “Maybe we should test that out.”

3

“Ask all our friends if they’d be willing to go out for a beer with us?” she asked.

2

“Starting with us. Would you like to go out for a beer with me?”

Her heart sank as she saw how she walked into that one. Heartache. Heartache, her brain screamed.

1 Ding. The elevator doors opened.

“Friday, if you’re free. I have to write a bunch of short essays for the application. Why don’t we meet, and you can give me your expert opinion,” he added when she didn’t answer.

She looked him in the eye. And was ashamed to see the hurt there. “I’d like that,” she said finally.

He grinned. “Great. Seven o’clock. O’Malley’s. Their burgers and fries are the best in town.”

They arrived at her Mini Coop. She popped open the hood of the trunk and stowed the paint can inside. “I guess I’ll see you Friday then?”

He nodded, set the totes in the car, and then leaned forward and brushed his lips gently against hers. Her breath caught at the touch and her eyes fluttered closed. “Thanks for all your help,” he said quietly.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. It was a moment before she could speak. “You’re welcome.”

He opened the car door for her. “Drive safely in this little rat-trap. Don’t want you skidding all over the road.”

Her eyes widened. How dare he criticize her beloved Mini Coop. “You don’t drive a green van, do you?”

He looked pained. “Please. A van? Seriously?” He shook his head. “I’m hurt that you think so little of me.” He closed her door.

She laughed and rolled down the window. “You insulted my Coop.”

“Only because I care.”

She started the engine.

“See you Friday,” he said with a smile.

She couldn’t help smiling as she pulled away and rolled up the window. He was cute. But what kind of car did he drive?

Chapter 11

Margo pulled open the back door of Breaking Bread and with a flourish of cold air, stepped inside.

She was a bit late. Not that anyone checked their watch when she arrived, but she had wanted to be there in time to help prep the meal.

She would have been even later, except that she managed to get in behind a white sedan. She followed him closely as he blew through three yellow lights. The lights hadn’t turned red by the time they passed the intersection, so it was legal. Sort of. And it shaved a good six minutes off her twenty-minute drive. Meaning she was only four minutes late. Bonus.

She unzipped her jacket, hung it on a hook near the door, and rubbed her shoes on the mat to dry off. It was damp outside, but the snow hadn’t stayed on the ground. Surprisingly. It was later than usual. Hopefully they wouldn’t catch up with a granddaddy of a storm.

She pulled a hair band from her pocket, quickly twisted her hair up out of the way, and walked through to the kitchen.

“Margo, honey. How are you?” She was enveloped in a big hug. Hattie was a staple at Breaking Bread. A large woman with a booming voice and ready smile, she was there most days to organize the crew. Nothing really started until Hattie said it did. Just don’t ask her to do the washing up. Shopping, slicing, dicing, peeling, cooking, serving, she didn’t have a problem with. She’d even stay late to put everything away. But washing and drying were off the list. Margo couldn’t even recall why, but knew enough not to hand Hattie the dishrag.

“I’m great, Hattie. I meant to be here a bit sooner. Do you have a job for me?”

Hattie laughed and her shoulders shook. “We’ve always got a job for you, honey.” She handed her a carrot peeler. “Here you go. If you thought coming late would get you out of cleaning carrots, you’d be wrong.”

Margo laughed. “Do you need them cut, too?”

“Not today. Thought we’d have a nice carrot and raisin salad. We’ll shred them and Jimmy there is making the dressing. It’ll go with the leek and quinoa soup and fresh rolls.”

Margo gave a wave to Jimmy across the kitchen. “Sounds delicious.”

“Hey baby girl, thank you for sending Barbara Crombie our way. She was in yesterday, and boy can that woman stretch a vegetable. She says you been talking up Breaking Bread, and she came to pitch in.”

Margo smiled as she peeled the carrots. “I’m so glad it worked out. She’s a fabulous cook and a mom of six.”

“And has more than a few tricks in the kitchen. And she don’t mind washing up neither.”

“Bonus,” Margo said. Hattie would welcome anyone to help, but it was nice to send her someone who made a difference.

“Carl’s out there today.”

Margo nodded. “Okay. I’ll give him a chance to eat and then go and see him.”

Margo finished peeling the carrots and hauled out the food processor. She pushed the carrots through until a big bowl was full of shredded carrot. “Here you go, Jimmy. Ready for the dressing.”

Jimmy tossed the carrots with chopped red onion, a bowl of raisins, and the dressing,
then set the bowl out, ready to serve.

Hattie stirred the soup and grabbed a spoon to taste. Throwing a bit more pepper in, she deemed it done and transferred the pot to the edge of the serving table. Baskets of rolls with tiny pats of butter, a basket of bananas, and empty bowls with a canister of spoons and knives filled the table.

As Hattie rounded up the guests for dinner, Margo filled the sink with hot water, squirted in the dish soap, and added a dash of bleach. On their wish list was a dishwasher. For now, she was it. She started with the cutting boards and knives and washed down the counters. As the guests finished their meals, the bowls were rinsed and added to the sink.

“Take a break honey, and go see about Carl and his meds,” Hattie reminded her.

“Will do.” She peeled off her dish gloves and left them hanging on the edge of the sink.

It always helped if she gave Carl a choice between orange juice and water, so she poured a glass of each and carried them through the swinging door into the dining room.

Eight rectangular wooden tables filled the room. The dark polished wood was an elegant contrast to the paper flowers sitting in colored glass vases at each table. Hattie had a knack for getting the community to pitch in.

A local high school tech class had built the tables, sanded, and then stained them a rich mahogany color. The vases were old wine bottles that a glass artist salvaged, and the flowers were the artwork of the grade one class whose school was right next door. The six chairs around each table, in a mish mash of styles, were donated over the years. Margo had taken the worst and painted them. Some were a solid color and some told the story of a guest. It became their chair, in their spot, and welcomed them to the table. And heaven help ya if you decided to sit in someone else’s coveted chair.

Margo walked over to Carl, who sat in his usual spot across from Angie, the rest of the table empty. Carl looked a little worse for wear with a scruffy beard, an old torn flannel jacket, and greasy hair under a black tuque.

He smiled when he saw her, but his eyes quickly shifted back and forth between her and his two bags of belongings under his chair.

She smiled at Angie and then sat down beside Carl. “Hi, Carl.”

“Hi, Doc. You’re not gonna take my stuff are you?”

“No, not at all. I brought you juice and water to take with your pills. Which do you want today?”

“Juice.”

“Here you go.” She handed him the juice and set the water down in front of her. “Have you been taking your medication like we discussed?”

“Yes. Every day with dinner like you said.”

She nodded. “That’s good. Have the voices been quiet?”

He swallowed a pill and nodded vigorously. “Only heard ’em once or twice. You’re not gonna take my stuff are you?”

“Nope. I just came to say hello and see how you’re doing. Where’re you sleeping?”

“The shelter. They’ve been letting us stay a little longer with the cold outside.”

Margo nodded. “That’s good. And have you been showering at the Y?” She wondered how Angie could sit so close with the waft of his body odor.

“They said they’ve been having a problem with their hot water. Told me to come back on Wednesday. But I was thinking of waiting ’til Friday in case the poison’s not out.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. If they say it’s safe on Wednesday, it’ll be safe.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want no poison.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Are you still working at the market for Mr. Rebel?”

“He didn’t need me yesterday, so I’m going to go back after I can get to the shower. But I was waiting for the poison to clear.”

“Do you want me to check with the Y and see if they got it fixed? Maybe you could go tonight and then get back to work tomorrow?”

“Okay. If you think the poison is gone . . .”

“I’ll call and find out. In the meantime, it’s important to take your medication every day. Even when I’m not here, okay?”

“What if they try to poison me?”

“You can trust everyone here, Carl. We wouldn’t let anyone poison you.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll go call now.” She got up and turned toward the door, idly scanning the rest of the room and then stopped, staring.

Blond hair. Broad shoulders.

Trace? What was he doing here, sitting with Ottie?

Ottie was an eighty-year-old spry little guy with an unwavering toothless grin, oversized round glasses, and a black top hat. He looked like he was having an animated discussion with Trace, but stopped and lifted his top hat in greeting when she stared.

Trace turned to look and added his wave to Ottie’s greeting. Margo walked closer.

Ottie stood as she approached. “Hello, Doc. Delicious meal you made tonight. The carrot salad is my favorite.”

Margo smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.” She turned to Trace.

“The soup was divine,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

Before she could comment, he continued. “I came to serve, but Ottie here mentioned he’s a Shields fan.” He shook his head sadly. “That’s when I knew my true calling was not in service, but to turn Ottie toward fan enlightenment.”

Ottie chuckled.

“We can’t have him pining for a win from the Shields. He’ll be doomed to disappointment,” Trace added with a mock shake of his head.

Ottie pulled out a sticker for the Cascades. “He thinks I should stick this on my top hat. Change to the dark side.”

Margo smiled at Ottie’s wide grin and small round face, the top hat covering most of his forehead. “It would definitely start a fashion trend. There’ll be a run on the sale of top hats. All the fans will want one.”

“Maybe I ought to find a Shields sticker. I’ve been rooting for them for eighty years. Can’t change it up now despite this whippersnapper’s advice.”

“Don’t let him sway you, Ottie. You could teach
him
a thing or two,” Margo said. She gave him a wink.

Ottie’s grin cracked the wrinkles of his face and he let out a hoot. He tipped his hat. “Making mistakes is the best teacher.”

“Then he’ll be an A+ student,” Margo said.

“Hey.” Trace laughed as Ottie bent over laughing.

“Don’t keep him too long, Ottie. The dishes are waiting.”

“And we gotta stay on Hattie’s good side. I’m hoping for ice cream on Friday.”

Margo laughed. “I’ll let her know. I’ll see you later in the week.”

Ottie tipped his hat and grinned.

She turned to leave and heard them both laughing as she swung into the kitchen.

She called the Y and let Carl know it was okay to go back and then pulled on gloves to wash the dishes stacked to the side.

A few minutes later, Trace walked in, carrying another load of bowls. He set them down beside her and picked up a dry tea towel.

Margo looked over at him with her hands in the soapy water. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He grinned. “I’m trying to reach out and find my empathy.”

“How’s that going?”

“Pretty good. I could put myself in Ottie’s shoes. He’s got a cool top hat.”

She laughed.

“But I also learned that he misses his friends, most of whom have kicked the bucket. His wife has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t recognize him, and his only daughter died of cancer last year.”

“I didn’t know about his wife and daughter. He’s lonely,” Margo murmured.

Trace nodded. “But he’s an avid hockey fan and follows all the games on a small radio he carries around. He’s cheering for the wrong team, but he knows hockey.”

“He probably appreciates sharing it with you. Not many stop to chat with him about it.”

“Yeah. It felt a bit awkward grabbing some soup, but it felt even more awkward sitting there and not eating with him.”

Margo nodded. “Breaking bread with others is what it’s all about. Nobody minds.”

“Good to know. Ottie’s a special guy.”

So are you.
Not many would stop to sit and chat. It was easier to hide in the kitchen. She stacked another bowl in the rack for him to dry. “Their stories can be heartbreaking, but they smile and carry on.”

“You have to admire them.” He dried a bowl and set it on the counter. “And the soup was delicious. Mrs. Crombie was here yesterday. She had a ball.”

“Really? Hattie said she appreciated her help.”

“Do you recruit everyone you meet?”

“Pretty much.”

“Glad to see there aren’t any other boyfriends here,” Trace said, tongue-in-cheek.

Margo laughed and shook her head. She finished the last bowl and handed it over to Trace.

Hattie came bustling into the kitchen. She put the bowls away and cleared off the counters. “Looks like we’re all done here,” she said, looking around the room. “Thanks for all your help. It goes a lot quicker.” She looked over at Margo. “We’ll see you Thursday?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be here as soon as I can, after work.”

“Thanks, darlin’. I sure do appreciate it. How about you, honey pot? Will you be back?” Hattie asked, looking at Trace.

Trace nodded. “I promised Ottie I’d take him to watch the game tomorrow. So I’ll come and help out and then take him over to the pub.”

“That’s mighty fine of you,” Hattie said.

“I made him a bet that the Cascades would score the first goal. If they do, he has to wear the Cascade sticker on his top hat. If they don’t, I’m supplying ice cream all next week.”

Hattie’s laughter filled the air. “Butterscotch ripple. That’s all I’m gonna say ’bout how that’ll turn out.”

Trace smiled. “Ottie’s sure of a win if there’s butterscotch ripple on the line?”

“Exactly.” Hattie pulled out her keys as they put on their coats. “You two have a wonderful evening. I’ll lock behind you and then head out the front door in the dining room to double check it’s locked.”

Trace held the door open for Margo, and when it closed, they heard the click of a lock.

Margo pulled out her scarf and wrapped it around her neck, tucking the ends in her jacket. “Brrr . . . feels colder.”

“Wanna come and warm up at Decker’s? I’m meeting a few guys for a beer,” Trace asked with a persuasive smile.

“Will Daniel be there?”

Trace’s smile dimmed. He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked away. “I don’t know.”