Cari Lynn - The Doctor's Recovery

“Good marriages are about real love, knowing what really matters to your spouse and romance.” Helen gripped her walker and stood up, greeting her therapist with a wide smile. “Vicky, you’ve rescued me from explaining the intimate details of a good marriage to my son.”

The older woman laughed and squeezed Wyatt’s shoulder before assisting Helen. “Follow your mother’s example and you’ll have a fulfilling marriage.”

Wyatt stepped back and rubbed his neck as if the idea of marriage misaligned his spine.

Mia cleared her throat, trying to break up her own laughter.

Helen turned toward Wyatt. “You’ll be back for dinner.” It wasn’t a request or suggestion—it was a command from a mother to her son. Disobedience wouldn’t be tolerated. Wyatt had more in common with his mom than Mia had first assumed. The Reid family certainly liked to order others around.

Helen shuffled down the hall, her laughter mixed with the therapist’s. Mia watched Wyatt’s eyebrows draw together as if he suddenly didn’t recognize his own mom.

“Good thing marriage isn’t on either of our to-do lists.” Mia let her amusement disrupt the silence.

Wyatt faced her, his fingers tapping against his bottom lip. “You wouldn’t claim to know everything on my to-do list, would you?”

Mia’s laughter fizzled like a candle in a rainstorm. Wyatt’s slow smile streamed through her, spreading a warmth like the sun’s first appearance after that storm.

Robyn arrived, pushing Mia’s transportation to the hyperbaric chamber between Mia and Wyatt. Mia sighed, relieved she’d get to sit in the wheelchair, instead of relying on her walker and sluggish legs and muddled mind. Robyn couldn’t carry her away from Wyatt fast enough.

CHAPTER FOUR

WYATT STRETCHED HIS neck and rolled his shoulders. He’d been crammed into the too-small recliner in his mother’s room for too long. He should go home and stretch out in a real bed. But there was more comfort in the stiff recliner than at his mom’s house.

His childhood home had been overrun by foliage and greenery, and no matter where he looked he couldn’t find any old childhood memories, good or bad. The cactus terrariums replaced the kid-art shelf of awkward clay pots and smeared-handprint pictures. Oil paintings of roses and orchids displaced family photos across the hallway walls. The scent of earth and soil lingered in every room, where vanilla and fresh-out-of-the-oven sugar cookies used to fill every breath. Even the tree house he’d built with Trent one summer before fifth grade had been overtaken by vines. The house was slowly being eaten by his mother’s plants.

He crumpled up another foundation application and tossed it into the wastebasket. Each scammer application etched his cynicism all that much deeper. “You’ll be lucky to have even ten real applicants to choose from.”

“Now isn’t the time for judgment.” His mom glanced up from her crossword and pointed her pen at him. “Just because these organizations don’t bring medical care to an entire country doesn’t make them less worthy of our support.”

He’d lost her support when his brother had died. He doubted he’d ever get it back. Fanning out several applications, he waved the papers at her. “You should go through these and decide for yourself.”

His mom removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes. “I’m too worn out tonight.”

“Spent too much time greeting new patients and playing with the dogs.” His mom was a closet dog lover. Nothing about that made sense. Nothing. Surely he should’ve known such a small personal detail about his own mother. He could recite the medical histories from his great-grandparents to his parents. Knew the family suffered from high blood pressure and diabetes and fraternal twins peppered the family tree on his mother’s side. He knew the vital information and important facts. That he’d only just learned about his mom’s dog history shouldn’t matter. The small dose of worry stuck in the back of his throat like a partially dissolved pill that should’ve been easy to wash down. After all, he knew everything that he needed to about his mom, didn’t he?

The click of her pen on the bedside table pulled Wyatt’s attention back to his mom.

She tossed her crossword book on top of the pen. “I only met one patient, and the dog visits are good for my health. They lower blood pressure, alleviate stress and anxiety.”

Maybe he should thank the therapy dogs for pulling his mom out of her death-is-coming-for-me phase and stop worrying about the things that didn’t matter, like her childhood pets. “You seem more relaxed tonight.”

“I owe that to Mia.” The pleasure in her smile brightened her voice in the dim room.

The words on the application in Wyatt’s hand blurred until all he saw was Mia’s wide copper-tinted eyes and even wider smile from earlier. A smile that punched him in the gut, deep enough to leave a permanent imprint and rattle his resolve to think of her as just another patient. Now Mia made his mother happy, too. That was unacceptable. His gut twisted around that punch. “Did Mia distract you with stories of her filmmaking adventures?”

“No, she was rather closed off about her life.” Helen frowned. “I’ll have to talk to her more about that tomorrow.”

Wyatt could hardly describe his relationship with Mia. Except from the moment he’d seen her in mud-coated hiking boots, a T-shirt splattered with blood and a fierceness in her attitude, he’d been drawn to her. Even when she’d demanded that he save her friend’s life. Even when she’d defied his orders to leave the surgery area and instead positioned herself at the door like a guardian angel ready to swoop in if he failed her friend.

He wondered how Mia would describe their time in the village. He crumpled up another scam application, shooting it into the trash can, along with his wayward thoughts. Mia’s version didn’t matter. Nothing good came from dissecting the past. Lessons had already been learned, and he prided himself on not being a repeat offender. “Don’t pry where you’re not invited, Mom.”

“Mia supports my desire to return home.” Helen took off her glasses and folded the arms together. “I’ll only be reciprocating the concern.”

“She told you to move home?” No wonder she’d made his mom giddy, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. Wyatt struggled to keep his face impassive. How dare Mia put such impossible ideas into his mom’s head. His mom already had too many impractical plans on her agenda.

“The idea that you were forcing me to give up my gardening appalled her.” Helen’s glass case closed with the same snap that punctuated her voice. “Mia believes a life not spent doing what you love is a life wasted.”

Mia needed to analyze her own life and leave his mom’s alone. Besides, one stroll through his mother’s house proved his mom might’ve escalated her passion to an obsession. Something her new friend could surely understand after chasing her own father around the globe. The drive for the perfect film footage had consumed Carlo Fiore so fully, he had nothing else to give his only daughter. Mia wanted a father, Carlo wanted a legacy. And it looked like Carlo had won. Mia had almost died for her film. That was passion in the Fiore family and stupidity in Wyatt’s mind. Still, Mia embraced her father’s life just as he’d trained her to. Just as Carlo Fiore had expected. Yet Wyatt wondered how much Mia loved the reality of her life now. “You can still garden and grow your plants.”

“There’s hardly room for more than two plants in the single window in those places.” Her frown joined the distaste in her voice. “Never mind the sunlight required for an herb garden.”