The Doctor's Perfect Match. Irene Hannon
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“To know if someone’s a good match.” A soft smile tugged at the older man’s lips. “When I met Marjorie at that USO dance, things clicked right away. I won’t say it was love at first sight, but I knew the potential was there. We were married for fifty-four years, so I guess my instincts weren’t too shabby.”
Christopher swallowed. “Not everyone is blessed with sound instincts.”
“You were. Otherwise you wouldn’t be such a good doctor.”
He gave a slight shrug. “Then I guess they don’t translate to my personal life.”
“What happened with Denise wasn’t your fault, Christopher. The problem was her, not you.”
Brushing a few crumbs into a neat pile on the snowy linen, Christopher picked them up and deposited them on his plate. When he’d come to Nantucket, he’d had no intention of sharing the story of his ill-fated romance with anyone. But he’d changed his mind one stormy night a few weeks into his stay after he’d discovered his landlord trying to batten down the gazebo his late wife had cherished.
Though Christopher had pitched in, they’d been unable to stop the brutal wind from ripping it apart and hurling pieces of it down the beach. Christopher had wrapped a protective arm around the older man’s shoulders and guided him inside, to safety. But he hadn’t been able to pry Henry away from the window. As the older man had watched the storm destroy the gazebo, tears streaking down his cheeks, he’d told Christopher he’d built it for his beloved wife years ago. That it had become her favorite place. And that it was the only spot where he could still feel her presence.
Now it was gone.
Christopher had stayed to console Henry. But later, over strong cups of coffee and a stubby candle—the electricity had also been a victim of the storm—he’d found their roles reversed when Henry asked him about his own life and what had brought him to Nantucket. As the wind howled and the world was reduced to the diameter of a candle flame, he’d opened his heart—and sealed their friendship.
In the ensuing months, Christopher had come to value the man’s insights and advice. About everything except Denise.
“I’m not sure the problem was all hers, Henry. Besides, you didn’t know her.”
“I know you. That’s enough.”
Though he was gratified by his friend’s loyalty, Christopher was far less certain where the blame lay.
“Well, gentlemen, how was your tea?”
They both looked up. Marci stood beside their table, a small white box in hand.
“Best tea I ever went to,” Henry declared, beaming up at her.
Christopher quirked an eyebrow at him. As far as he knew, this was the only tea Henry had ever gone to.
The older man ignored his skeptical reaction. “What did you think, Christopher?”
“Very nice.” He smiled at Marci, appreciating how the simple but elegant white silk blouse showed off her figure. “Thank you again for the invitation.”
“It was the least I could do. I was in desperate straits the day you stopped by. The antibiotics worked magic.” Transferring her attention to Henry, she set the small white box on the table. “Julie told me you were partial to the chocolate tarts, Mr. Calhoun. Here are a few more to take home so you can extend your birthday celebration.”
He laid a gnarled hand on the box and gave her a pleased smile. “That’s mighty sweet of you. And it’s Henry, please. Now tell me, how are you enjoying Nantucket?”
“I’m afraid I haven’t seen much yet. But I intend to make up for that as soon as my brother and sister-in-law get back.”
“How long will you be staying?”
“I have five weeks left. One more to work, and four to play. I plan to take a month of vacation before I get serious about looking for a job. I just finished my master’s.”
“In what?”
“Social work.”
“My, that’s impressive.”
“Hardly.” She gave him a wry grin. “Most people my age are already well-established in their careers. I was a late bloomer.”
Henry cocked his head. “Couldn’t have been that late. You don’t look more than twenty-four, twenty-five.”
She chuckled. “Try thirty-one.”
“Thirty-one.” Henry shot his host a speculative look. “That’s a perfect age.”
The sudden gleam in Henry’s eyes reminded Christopher of the one he’d seen in Edith’s the day he’d made the house call. It was time to steer the conversation to a safer topic. Like sightseeing.
“It’s nice that you’ll have a chance to enjoy the island at leisure,” he offered, keeping his tone conversational. “A lot of people only stay for a weekend, or make it a day trip. You’ll be able to explore all the beaches. And be sure to visit the lighthouses.”
“Especially Sankaty,” Henry said, jumping back in. “That’s real close to where I live, in ’Sconset.” His expression grew thoughtful. “Tell you what. Why don’t you ring me if you’re out my way, and I can ride along and give you some history? I could take you on a tour of the Lifesaving Museum, too. I’m a trustee there. Then you could come back to my place and have some of my homemade banana-nut bread. It can’t compare to these—” he tapped the box in front of him “—and I don’t make it as well as my wife did, but I like to keep it on hand. I think of her whenever I have a slice.” His voice choked, and he cleared his throat.
Marci’s features softened, effecting a subtle, appealing transformation in her face that tugged at Christopher’s heart. “I’d like that, Henry. And banana-nut bread is one of my favorites, too.”
“It’s a date, then.” He extracted a pen and small scrap of paper from his jacket, speaking as he wrote. “Here’s my phone number. You give me a call anytime.”
“I’ll do that.” Marci slipped the piece of paper into the pocket of her skirt.
“Maybe I can convince Christopher to join us, if he’s not working. He’s partial to my banana-nut bread, too.”
That suggestion seemed to fluster her, Christopher noted, still focused on her face. She took a small step back and clasped her hands in front of her. “Dr. Morgan is probably very busy, Henry. I’m on vacation. He’s not.”
“He works too hard. A little R & R would do him good. And you can call him Christopher. We don’t stand on formality around here.”
When Marci shot Christopher an uncertain glance, he cleared his throat and spoke up.
“Please do.” He smiled, and as they stared at each other, his pulse tripped into double time.
It was Henry who finally broke the charged silence. “I think we’re overstaying our welcome, Christopher.” He gestured to the deserted tearoom, where Julie was beginning to clear tables. “These lovely ladies have work to do.”
Dragging his gaze away from Marci, Christopher pushed back his chair—and willed the warmth creeping up his neck to stay below his collar. “Thanks again.”
Marci gave him a stiff nod. “It was a pleasure. I’ll call you, Henry.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
In silence, Christopher followed the older man to the front door, taking his arm as they descended the steps.
“She’s a sweet girl,” Henry offered.
“Yes, she is.”
“Great legs, too.”
A smile tugged at Christopher’s lips. “Yeah,