Diagnosis: Daddy. Gina Wilkins
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earlier, he thought, glancing at the digital clock on the microwave. He’d been buried in his books, staring intently at a diagram of the cardiovascular system, trying to memorize the vessels that originate from the external carotid artery when she’d told him she was leaving. He remembered looking up and reciting, “The superior thyroid artery, the lingual artery, the facial artery, the occipital artery and the posterior auricular artery.”
Without even blinking, Mia had laughed and leaned over to brush a light kiss against his cheek. Her bright blue eyes had been warm in her pretty, girl-next-door face when she’d drawn away, tucking a strand of her light brown hair behind her ear. “Thank you again for the birthday present. Good luck on your test tomorrow. Call me and let me know how it went, okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” he had replied, his eyes already on the diagram again as he’d squinted at the brachiocephalic artery, which divided into the common carotid artery and the subclavian artery. “’Night, Mia. Drive carefully.”
He distinctly remembered telling her to drive carefully. Not exactly a “thank you so much for all you’ve done for me tonight and ever since I started med school, I don’t know what I would have done without you.” But at least it showed he cared about her, right?
He didn’t deserve a friend like her, he thought with a disgusted shake of his head. Maybe he could pay her back somehow when she started grad school, which was her plan after teaching and saving for another year or so.
Yeah, right. As a second-year med student, he would take another full slate of courses and begin studying for Step One of the nightmarish medical licensing exam that had to be passed before he could continue with his training. As tough as his first year had proven to be, there were some who warned that the second year was even more arduous. Hard to imagine.
In his third year, he would begin rotations through various disciplines of medicine, continue with classes, and start seeing real patients. Those rotations, with increasing levels of responsibility, would continue during his fourth year, along with preparation for the Step Two exams—clinical knowledge and clinical skills.
All assuming, of course, that he made it through the rest of this semester.
He might as well face it. He wouldn’t be helping anyone but himself for the next three and a half years—and then the four years of residency following that. He would be close to forty by the time he was a full-fledged physician, ready to strike out on his own. What on earth had made him think he could do this—and that the end result would be worth the stress, the sacrifices and the financial investment?
But that was exhaustion talking, he told himself, reaching grimly for the coffee carafe. And nerves. He’d wanted to be a doctor since he was a kid. It was his own fear and stupidity that had kept him from pursuing the goal earlier and he wasn’t going to let his dreams be derailed again.
A yellow sticky note was affixed to the carafe. “It’s decaf,” it read in Mia’s looping handwriting. “Get some sleep.”
His vague feelings of guilt dissipated and he scowled. He needed caffeine, damn it. Now he would have to make a fresh pot. He opened the lid of the carafe, and the scent of freshly brewed decaf coffee wafted to his nostrils. Mia made really good coffee.
He sighed and filled his cup. So maybe the jolt of the hot liquid alone would sharpen him long enough to finish the review he’d been studying. And she was probably right; he did need a few hours of sleep before he tackled the six-hour-long exam tomorrow.
He really didn’t deserve a friend like Mia, he thought again as he carried the steaming mug back to his papers. Someday he was going to have to figure out a way to repay her.
“So have you seen Connor lately?” Spanish teacher Natalie Berman asked as she picked at the school cafeteria lunch of greasy spaghetti, cold green beans, canned fruit cocktail and a rather stale roll.
Wishing she had remembered to pack a lunch that day, Mia swallowed a forkful of green beans before wiping her mouth with a paper towel. “I saw him a couple of nights ago. He was studying for a monster exam and I made him a casserole.”
“Is he doing okay?”
Mia shrugged and twisted her fork in the overcooked pasta. “He looks really tired. He could use a solid eight or ten hours of sleep, but I don’t think he’s going to get that until Christmas break, if he allows himself to rest even then.”
Natalie shook her dark head in disapproval. “Can’t imagine why he wanted to take that on. He had a good job here. He probably would have been named head coach when Coach Johnson retires next year. Now it’s going to be years before Connor finishes school and then he’ll have all those loans to pay back. Not that he’ll have much trouble doing that,” she admitted. “Doctors certainly make good money.”
“He didn’t go into it for the money. He’s pursuing a dream he’s had most of his life. And he’ll be a great doctor.”
“He will,” Natalie admitted. “But he was a good teacher, too. And a good coach.”
“This is what he wanted.”
“And heaven knows you want him to have everything he wants,” her friend murmured over a plastic tumbler of watery iced tea. “Just like you do for everyone else you care about. I still say you try too hard to make everyone happy.”
“Yes, well, I’m going to be very selfish when I start grad school in the next year or so. Watching Connor has reminded me of how much work it’s going to be to take classes and tests again. I’m going to have to concentrate entirely on myself while I earn my doctorate.”
Looking skeptical, Natalie crumpled her napkin and tossed it on her plate. “You? Selfish? Yeah, right.”
“Just watch me. You’ll call and want me to go shopping with you and I’ll tell you I can’t. Have to study. Or you’ll want me to give you a lift to the airport and I’ll turn you down flat because I have a paper to write.”
“Hmm.” It was obvious that Natalie didn’t believe a word of her friend’s assertion. Even Mia wondered if she would be able to follow through. She’d always had a hard time with that no word when it came to people she cared about.
“So, about tomorrow night…”
Mia paused in the process of gathering the remains of her lunch onto the brown plastic tray in preparation for carrying it to the conveyor belt that would sweep it back into the kitchen for cleaning. “What about tomorrow night?”
Natalie sighed loudly and rolled her eyes. “Double date? Me and Donnie and you and…uh, Donnie’s friend whose name I’ve forgotten.”
Groaning, Mia sat down again. “I never said I would do that. I said I would think about it.”
“C’mon, Mia, it’ll be great. Donnie’s fun and his friend’s probably fun, too.”
“Probably?”
“Well, I’ve never actually met him. But Donnie says he’s a great guy.”
“And this allegedly great guy needs a date tomorrow night because…?”
“Because he’s new in town and doesn’t know many people yet. We’re just being friendly. You know, welcoming him to town. Southern hospitality—”
“Only extends so far,” Mia muttered.
“I’m not asking you to sleep with him or anything. Just join us for dinner. Maybe a movie or something. How bad could it be?”
“You really want me to answer that?”
“Do it for me, okay? Donnie was really pleased when I said I’d bring someone to meet his friend. You don’t have to see him again if you don’t want to, but at least meet the guy.”
Letting out a gusty breath, Mia nodded. “All right. I’ll meet him.”
Natalie beamed. “Thank you. You’ll see, it will be fun.”
Mia