Blessings. Lois Richer
Nicole paused, her hand on the doorknob.
You think your father will finally love you for yourself if you can do the one thing your mother never achieved.
Sometimes being a loner wasn’t so great, especially when you talked to yourself—and yourself talked back.
Thrusting that little voice to the back of her mind, Nicole opened the door and breezed inside the treatment room, a smile pasted on her face.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Brandt. How can I help you today?”
Twenty past five and she still had three patients to see!
“I’m really glad to have met you. I think you’ll find that medication will take care of your rash with no problem. Okay?”
Nicole tried to hurry the woman, but to no avail. To tell the truth, she’d rather enjoyed the garrulous Millicent Maple. Her words shed new light on Dr. Darling and his rambunctious daughters.
“I’m sorry to babble on so, doctor. But you promise you’ll stop by our bake sale on Friday? We’re featuring quilts, too.”
“I’ll try my hardest.” Nicole waffled her fingers in a wave and scurried out the door.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe he was tied up with his own chatty granny, catching up on all the latest Blessing news.
“You’re behind, Dr. Brandt.”
She almost groaned. Instead, Nicole fixed a saccharine-sweet smile on her lips and turned around.
“Yes, I am, Dr. Darling. Since every patient is new, it does take some time to go through the case histories. I’m sure you can understand that. Excuse me.” She opened the door and walked inside, determined to meet each need without watching the clock.
At ten after seven Nicole sat down to finish her files. At twenty after eight, with Penny’s help, she managed to get the whole lot off her desk.
“There we go. All ready to start fresh and clean tomorrow.”
Penny grinned, but her next words were cut off.
“Dr. Brandt, why have you kept my staff overtime?”
Nicole twisted to face him, her face burning.
“Just a moment, please, Dr. Darling.” She turned to Penny. “Thanks so much for all your help. I’m really sorry I’ve kept you so long, but I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”
“Not a problem. Actually, I enjoyed it. Good night.” Penny lifted the stack of files, grinned at Dr. Darling and sauntered out of the room.
Nicole closed the door behind her.
“Now, Dr. Darling. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
“Your lack of organization,” he muttered, staring at the mess she’d made of her office.
“I am not disorganized—I am new in this town. I am trying my best to do a good job here, but I will not sacrifice time with my patients to satisfy your need for a timetable. I’m sure that, given time, your ‘quotas’ will be met.” She got up, pulled on her jacket and lifted her purse. “Now, if that’s all, I’ve had a very long day. I’d like to get home.”
She was too tired and too frustrated to wait for his assent. She walked out of her office, out of the building and down the street toward Miss Winifred’s.
It really was a glorious evening. The sun was just beginning its descent and the spring air had cooled off enough to bring a quickness to her step. It felt good to stride along, stretching muscles that had been tense for far too long. Her stomach rumbled as she walked, reminding her that lunch had been a long time ago and rather puny at that.
Once on “her” street, as Nicole had begun to think of it, the tension slipped away as she strolled under awnings of newly budded maples, drawing in the scent of crocus, hyacinth and daffodils that blossomed in every yard but the last.
She paused for a moment at the gate to Miss Winifred’s to stare at the house just down the street, across the way. The Darlings lived there. She should have guessed it that first day, but it had taken Miss Winifred to point it out. There were bicycles strewn across the driveway. Bright pink balls, a green plastic doll carriage and a child’s yellow jacket spilled across the still-shaggy grass.
But there were no flowers in the window boxes or tumbling out of the big urns that sat beside the front porch.
“Hey, it’s her!” Ruthie barreled out the front door and down the steps of her house, clad in a flowered pink nightgown and a pair of fuzzy slippers. “Hi, Doc! Remember me?”
“How could I forget?” Nicole grinned. “Hi, Ruthie. How’s the arm?”
“Oh, it’s all right. I hafta get this cast cut off pretty soon, though. Our class is going to take swimming lessons!”
“Hmm. That sounds like fun, but you’ll have to wear it until your arm is healed.” Nicole listened as the little girl chattered about her life.
“Ruthie? You’d better get your butt in here before Dad gets home.” An older version of Ruthie stood on the doorstep, glaring at her sister.
“Do you remember? That’s Rachel. She thinks she’s the boss, but she isn’t. She’s only one year older than me, and I’m six.”
“Ruthie!”
“Just a minute,” Ruthie yelled over her shoulder. She leaned closer to Nicole, her face screwed up in concern. “Quick! What am I supposed to call you? I can’t just say doctor all the time, can I?” Ruthie’s blue eyes darkened as she considered. “You did mean it when you said we’d be friends?”
It had been a ploy, something to get the child to trust her while she treated the arm. Nicole had never had sisters, never been around young children. She knew diddle about being their friend.
But something in this sprite’s eyes made her want to be Ruthie’s friend.
“Ruthie, I’m warning you!”
“I’m coming.” Dejected, Ruthie turned toward the house, slippers flopping as she walked.
“It’s Nicole. You can call me Nicole, Ruthie. And yes, I’d like to be your friend. If you want to.”
“Good.” Ruthie’s smile transformed her face as she raced back, ignoring her sister’s angry squeal. Her head tipped to one side. “But Nicole is what everyone calls you. You should have a special name, a friend name.” Her face tilted up, curiosity evident in the big blue eyes. “Don’t you have one?”
“A special name?” No one had ever called her anything but Nicole. Except her mother, she suddenly remembered. So long ago, when they’d snuggled together and read stories. That’s where Nici had come from.
“You could call me Nici,” she murmured. “My mother used to call me that.”
“Does she still?”
“She’s dead. She died when I was a little girl.”
“Hey,” Ruthie crowed, eyes blazing. “Just like me! My mom died, too. She always called me Ruthie. Now there’s just me an’ Rachel and Roz.” She lowered her voice, checked over one shoulder. “Sometimes I call her Rosie. An’ there’s my dad, of course. He sometimes calls me Ruth Ann. I like Ruthie better.”
“Then Ruthie it is.”
They grinned at each other like coconspirators. The low rumble of an engine drew Ruthie’s attention. She gulped, then offered a watery smile.
“Whoops! It’s my dad. I gotta go.”
She scurried toward the house, turning when she reached the top stair to smile and lift her hand. Her voice rang through the air as clear as a bell.
“See you tomorrow, Nici.”