Richard Mabry: Diagnosis Death

"Good for you, Milton. I know that practicing OB can wear you down. I'm glad you've found someone to help with the load."

Gaines frowned. "What about you? I hope you're not expecting to work right up to the day you deliver. What are you going to do for coverage? Can Emmett take up the slack?"

"Emmett has offered to help, but… well, some of my patients have balked at seeing him. Then I lined up a retired doctor from the temp agency, but he's developed health issues so that's off."

"What will you do?"

"I have a young woman coming in for an interview this weekend. I hope she'll be a good fit for the practice."

"Will this be to fill in temporarily?"

"Originally, I wanted a locum tenens, but if things work out between us I might want to take her on as an associate. You know, the town is growing."

Gaines chuckled. "So are you, Cathy. So are you."

Her footsteps echoed in her ears and her pulse raced as Elena negotiated the dark sidewalk leading to her apartment door. She fumbled in the depths of her purse to retrieve her keys. Get a grip.

With the lights on and the TV pumping out Wheel of Fortune, she felt the knots in her neck unwind a bit. Elena collapsed in her usual chair and thumbed through the mail. She caught her breath when she spotted the square envelope, but it was only an invitation to a bridal shower. She tossed it back onto the table and made a mental note to send a gift. She had no money for bridal gifts, but she'd squeeze out enough to do something. She wouldn't be at the shower, though, even if her schedule allowed it.

Now her social activities consisted of an occasional meal with David. She'd miss him when they left for their respective practice locations. That thought brought to mind her trip to Dainger in a few days. She'd promised to call Dr. Sewell and confirm her visit. Elena looked at her watch-half past nine. Too late to call? Not for a doctor.

She located the number, punched it in, and listened through four rings. She expected to hear a voice mail message. Instead, a soft voice answered. "Dr. Sewell."

"Dr. Sewell, this is Elena Gardner. Dr. Gross told me you're looking for someone to help out in your practice."

"Elena, thank you for calling. And please, call me Cathy. I was so sorry to hear about your husband."

Elena had learned the best response, and she gave it. "Thank you, Cathy." She paused a beat, inserting a verbal paragraph mark. "Dr. Gross says you'd like me to come to Dainger this weekend to talk with you."

"Yes, I'd like to show you around, talk with you, see if we can work out an arrangement."

They talked for about ten minutes, and Elena was glad to find that Cathy was as detail-oriented as she was. Most of the questions she had would be answered during the interview, but Elena had a good feeling about the situation as Cathy described it. She hung up with a smile on her face.

Had Helen Bennett been right? Was God behind this opportunity? Or was it a random set of circumstances? She'd withhold judgment for now.

Elena fired up her computer, deleted a mountain of e-mail spam, read the two or three messages that were actually significant, and finally opened Google maps.

She plugged in the address Cathy gave her and, after a few minutes, found that the drive to Dainger, Texas, would take her about ninety minutes, maybe less if traffic was light. She printed out the directions and put them in a manila folder labeled "Dr. Sewell." Elena left the folder on the desk in plain sight, where its presence could remind her that there was hope for her future.

For about the millionth time after his death, Elena wished Mark were here so she could talk with him about the practice opportunity. That led to another crying spell. Should she call David? No, she'd seen him only a few hours before this. She had to learn to get through these times on her own.

She read for a while, or at least she turned the pages of a book. When she put it down, she had no idea what she'd read.

Elena channel-surfed long enough to decide that the guy-she couldn't recall who-was right. Television was indeed a barren wasteland. She left the set on for noise.

She wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, stared into it as though waiting for some secret to be revealed, then closed it again.

Elena showered, laid out her clothes for tomorrow, and crawled into bed, where she lay and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like an eternity. She must have fallen asleep, although she didn't know how or when. She was struggling through a nightmare where she defended herself in court on some unspecified but terribly serious charge when the phone woke her. She squinted at the bedside clock and was immediately wide awake, one nightmare replaced by another. Midnight.

What day was it? Was it Tuesday? She snatched up the phone and whispered, "Hello?"

"Are you all still open? I want to order a pizza."

Elena sighed. "No, I'm sorry. You have the wrong number."

She returned the phone to its cradle and sat up on the side of the bed. Might as well have a glass of milk and read. Sleep was probably going to be a long time coming. A long time.

Elena turned off the alarm well before it was time for it to sound, swung her feet over the side of the bed, and wondered how she could face the day. Her head pounded. Her mouth was dry. Sweat plastered her pajamas to her. She had never been drunk, but this had to be what the mother of all benders produced.

Had she slept at all? She wasn't sure. Last night's wrong number had been innocent enough, but the dreams that followed it were nonstop torture. Elena wondered if they represented the guilt that filled her subconscious, boiling to the surface like the bubbles in a witches' cauldron. They'd all been there-her late husband, her mother-in-law, her colleagues- all asking the same question. "Why did you do it?"

She stumbled through some semblance of morning ablutions, threw on the clothing she'd laid out the night before, and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. Thank goodness she'd bought more. It was bad enough to face another day. Doing it without coffee was unthinkable.

Elena spooned coffee into the pot, daydreaming about her future, when the open can slipped from her grasp and bounced three times on the tile, rolling to a stop against the refrigerator. The entire contents, almost a full can of coffee, formed a dark brown trail across the floor. Elena wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But instead, she laughed. One more thing had gone wrong, so how many more could there be? Maybe she could use up all her bad luck before she left the house today. Meanwhile, she'd stop at the convenience store on her way to the hospital. Maybe some caffeine would help. Then again, maybe nothing could help.

Whether it was the tall cup of coffee she drank or the fresh air blowing into her face through the wide-open car window as she drove, by the time Elena wheeled into the doctor's parking lot at St. Paul Hospital, she felt almost human.

Elena made her way through the hospital, following signs to the Family and Community Medicine Clinic. Funny, the medical center had changed the name to keep up with the times, but everyone still called the department Family Practice. Well, that was what she wanted to do in her own practice-help families. If she just had the chance.

She took particular comfort that today was Friday. Not because it marked the start of the weekend, though. Illness and accidents don't observe a calendar, and physicians are as likely to be called upon for their services on a Saturday as on a Tuesday. But this weekend was different. Tomorrow she would meet with Dr. Sewell.

By now Elena wasn't feeling particularly nervous about the meeting. Maybe she'd felt disappointment so many times the possibility of one more held no terror for her. Then again-