Part 16 (2/2)
”Maybe you could start,” he said, ”with what you think I should say when a Hopkins-trained vascular surgeon tells me my a.s.sociate is a miracle worker.”
”Oh, Doc, really!” She glanced at her watch, picked up her knapsack, and looped it over her shoulders. ”You tell him thank you very much, and forget it.”
”I might have been able to forget c.o.o.ney,” he replied. ”Maybe I could have chalked up his recovery to luck and the man's own const.i.tution, though Straun says he's got an ulcer and some other things that don't support it. But let's let that one go. Then there's your ankle, and maybe I could forget that, too, if I believed you were so upset you could have misjudged how bad it was. But when I get to Francis”-he shook his head-”no, I can't forget that one. And in the long run, I can't forget three separate, miraculous recoveries in the same week.”
Rolling her eyes, she started toward the door. ”This is really getting silly.”
”Is it? Then tell me how to explain these things. I thought if anybody could, it would be you, since one of them was your own injury, and you were there the other two times.”
”Doc, you're asking me to explain the impos-”
He waved her off with an impatient gesture. ”Kate, I'm an old man, and I've been doctoring for a lot of years. I've seen miracles. I don't need you or anybody else to tell me what they look like. And I've learned not to make excuses for them because miracles don't need excusing.” He looked at her from under his furrowed brow. ”But if they start happening too often, and if they seem to happen when one particular person has been in the vicinity, well, it makes me wonder if that person has something. Something special. I think you know what I mean, Kate, and I was hoping you'd do me the courtesy of giving me a straight answer.”
She let go of the doork.n.o.b, her eyes widening in genuine horror as she thought she understood the direction of his thoughts. ”Oh, now, wait just a minute! You think I cured Francis and fixed my ankle and- ” Abruptly, she turned back toward the door. ”This is crazy. You're talking nonsense, and I've got other things-”
”What you've got is four hours of appointments, starting in half an hour, so I don't know where you think you're going.”
She froze, her hand on the doork.n.o.b. Behind her, she heard his chair squeak as he rose.
”Relax,” he said. ”I'm leaving. Besides, I don't think there's much you could say I haven't already figured out.”
What was that supposed to mean?
She stood staring at the door, frantically looking for an answer to the question, while, behind her, she heard Doc making preparations to leave.
”I was going to tell you about the other phone call I got,” he said. ”Came from a doctor out in California by the name of Martin Anderson.”
Kate whirled to face him, her heart pounding at a rate that made it impossible to keep the anxiety out of her voice. ”What did he want?”
Doc looked her up and down, then gave a half-disgusted grunt. ”So, you know who he is, do you?” He began sorting papers on his desk as he continued. ”What do you think he wanted? He was looking for Sam. And when I said Sam didn't have a phone, he asked for an address. I gave him mine and said I'd forward a letter for him, if he wanted to send one.”
”How did he find Sam?”
”Called his father in Detroit. Apparently Sam sent his folks a letter last week-didn't tell them where he was, but there was the postmark, of course. Anderson looked up the post office, then got the name of the local doctor. Interesting, don't you think, that he did it that way, sooner than getting, say, the state police to track Sam down?”
”Is he-” Kate broke off, hearing the panic in her tone. Drawing a shallow breath, she tried again. ”Is that all he wanted? An address?”
”Well, that would have been the end of it,” Doc said, ”except he started asking me about my practice, about the area. Seemed a mite long-winded for prime-time long distance. But he's a pleasant sort of fellow -a little excitable, but bright- and Earl Carver was late for his appointment, so I chatted with Anderson until Earl came in. Then, when I said I had a patient waiting, Anderson got nervous. He hemmed and hawed for a minute or two.” Doc paused, a medical chart in his hand, to turn his head slightly toward her.
”Then he said he'd appreciate it if I didn't mention to Sam that he'd called.”
Her gaze followed as Doc crossed the room to stick the chart into the filing cabinet. ”What did you tell him?”
Closing the cabinet drawer, Doc shot her a somewhat indignant look. ”Well, I asked him why, of course. He said to forget he'd asked, but that if I was going to tell Sam about the call, would I give him a message? He didn't want Sam to know he'd called without knowing why, because it might worry him. Well, then, I started worrying, wondering if there was some medical reason Anderson needed to talk to Sam.” Mumbling a little as he headed toward his desk, Doc said, ”The man's a neurologist, and I began having visions of untreated epilepsy and malignant brain tumors. But Anderson said Sam was fine. Absolutely healthy. And besides, he wasn't Sam's doctor. He was his friend-so he said.”
Reaching for his black bag on the desk, Doc paused to look at her. ”Is that right, Kate? Is Martin Anderson Sam's friend?”
She nodded. ”Yes, he's . . . Yes.” Taking a step away from the door, she asked, ”But what was the message?”
Doc picked up his medical bag in one hand and hooked a thumb in his suspenders. ”He said he was trying to find out if Sam was all right. Said he knew how bad things had been for him in California before he left, and he was sorry for whatever part he'd played in that. He hoped things were better now. And he hoped Sam would stay in touch and not worry that he'd tell anyone else where he'd gone. He swore he wouldn't. He wanted Sam to know that he wished him well-he said that several times.”
She held Doc's gaze, waiting, but when he didn't continue, she ventured cautiously, ”And that's all he said?”
”Yes.” He arched an eyebrow. ”Should he have said more?”
”No.”
”And is Sam all right? Or is Anderson justified in being worried?”
Kate swallowed hard and answered, ”He's a lot better than he was when he left California.”
”You've seen quite a bit of him lately, haven't you? Starting the day you hurt your ankle. And the next day-the morning Francis recovered his hearing. And Bob Bradley mentioned to me after church yesterday that Sam was with you at the campgrounds when you were there with c.o.o.ney.”
Doc paused, and she knew what was coming.
”In fact,” he added slowly, ”maybe I ought to have a talk with Sam about our recent outbreak of miracles. Maybe he could shed some light on it for me.”
Kate felt the tears welling up in her eyes. ”Doc, please, don't,” she whispered hoa.r.s.ely.
He was angry, and she didn't blame him, although his words were not unkind as he asked, ”Don't what? Don't talk to Sam?”
She knew he didn't expect her to answer. With a deep, tired-sounding sigh, he walked past her toward the door, saying, ”I think you've got the same problem Martin Anderson has. The man's worried sick, and I knew there were things he wanted to say but didn't. And I didn't know how to tell him without saying it outright that he didn't have to protect Sam from me finding out something I already knew.”
Pausing with his hand on the doork.n.o.b, Doc looked at her. ”But I understood Anderson's hesitation. The man doesn't know me from Adam. And he didn't know I'd already been faced with some of the results of Sam's having picked Bourner's Crossing as a good place to . . . shall we say, hide his light under a bushel? But I have to admit”-he raised his chin in a look that broke her heart-”I'm a little disappointed you don't trust me any better than Martin Anderson does.”
”I do,” she said quickly, one tear rolling down her cheek. ”I'd trust you with my life.”
Doc's indignation lasted half a minute longer; then, slowly, it faded, replaced by the calm understanding she'd grown to expect from him.
He sighed again. ”But it's not your life we're talking about, is it? And I don't suppose I can fault you for that.”
She took a step toward him. ”Doc, I . . . I'm sorry. I promised.”
”And I'm sorry for being impatient.” c.o.c.king one eyebrow, he added, ”But I would appreciate it if you could get out of that promise sometime soon so we can talk about this sensibly. Or have Sam talk to me himself. Because I'd hate to go blundering into another conversation like the one with Anderson and wind up making a mess of things for Sam . . . or for you.”
”For pity's sake, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not-”
”I don't suppose the fact that you bounced in here this morning looking prettier and happier than I've ever seen you has anything to do with Sam's Jeep being parked in front of your house all night.”
Kate felt a sudden heat creeping into her face. When Doc merely looked at her as if to say, what did she expect, her gaze slid away.
”I guess Sarah was up with the birds, checking,” she grumbled.
”I don't know. Probably. But I saw the Jeep myself.”
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