Patt Marr - Promise Of Forever

The work was a hybrid of ER medicine and private family practice. If and when she decided to leave, she would be taking more experience than she would have gained working the same amount of time at Brennan Medical Clinic.

Home was a tiny apartment on the Upper East Side, close enough to Central Park for her daily run. She’d wanted to live near the clinic in lower Manhattan, but her brother said she would appreciate a quiet neighborhood to go home to.

He’d been right. The city was a noisy place, with millions of people on the move. The infinite variety of sights and sounds had been a culture shock, but she’d grown to love it all. If it weren’t for missing Ry and Meg, Beth could stay here indefinitely.

Her cell phone rang, and the caller ID said Ry was about to wish her a happy birthday.

“Ry!” she said, answering with a smile. “I was just thinking about you.”

“How’s the birthday girl?”

“Lovin’ New York, missin’ you and Meg.”

“How did you like my present this morning?”

“Very much!” she said, laughing. “Thank you!”

A trio of his buddies had shown up at the clinic to sing “Happy Birthday.” The best-looking one asked her to dinner tonight and begged her to go since Ry was footing the bill. She’d thought, why not? It wasn’t as if she’d met anyone who mattered, and she didn’t want to be alone on her thirtieth birthday.

“They called after they’d seen you,” Ry said, laughing. “Your date for the night thanked me. He said you were the most attractive doc he’d ever seen.”

“It must have been my yellow sneakers. They draw men like flies.” She caught a glimpse of herself in a store window. Her yellow sneakers, blue scrubs and navy hoody sweatshirt with the New York Yankees logo made quite the fashion statement.

Her new hair cut was cool, though. The uneven blond length was more of a frame for her face than a style. The stylist had said he only gave this cut to pretty women with fine features, but he’d also said she should have permanent, tattooed eyeliner and lipstick. That wouldn’t be happening. She just wasn’t that trendy.

“Have you heard from the rest of the family?”

“Not yet. Grandpa will call. Dad might, but I don’t expect to hear from Mom.”

“It’s not just you, Beth. Since she moved in with Aunt Jackie, she’s shut herself off from the rest of the family,” he said comfortingly.

“I ask myself, how could the things that happened on one day tear Mom apart from her family so drastically?”

Ry cleared his throat. “You’re not going to like this, but I ask myself that every time I place a call to you a continent away.”

That stung. “I talk to Grandpa. He calls, I call him.” She’d gotten over her hurt feelings long ago.

“What do you tell Grandpa about coming back and working at the clinic?”

“That I’m still looking for a new dream.”

“What’s wrong with the old one?” he said, reproof in his voice.

Reproof? From the family rebel? “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? You don’t plan to work at the clinic when you get your M.D.”

“Right, but I never wanted to. You always did.”

“Give me that phone.” That was Meg’s voice in the background. “You don’t nag a person on her birthday.”

Beth grinned. Her favorite brother and her lifelong best friend made a great pair.

“Beth, don’t mind him,” Meg said, just as sassy as ever. “I wish you were here so we could celebrate your birthday at the beach, like we used to do.”

They ended the call as Beth neared the clinic. A chilly breeze blew through her hair, and she thought about home. It would be summer-hot there and very dry. The leaves wouldn’t change color until close to Thanksgiving, and, if it had been a very dry year, they would just go brown. Here, the trees were a glorious riot of red, orange and gold.

She’d learned to love the changing seasons. Each one made her more aware of her Creator. She’d been a brand-new Christian when she’d arrived a year ago last spring, but she’d studied the Word and knew Him much better now. He’d become her friend, someone she could talk to any time, any place—even now on the streets of New York.

Father God, it’s my birthday. You’ve given me the best presents anyone could have—a relationship with You, satisfying work, good health, friends—everything, actually, but a man of my own…and a baby!

I’m ready for them, Lord—the man and the baby! I’m more than ready. I won’t say I’m desperate, because no self-respecting woman admits that, but I can’t fool You. You know my heart.

Beth’s last patient of the day was a tough eleven-year-old kid with a long gash on his arm. She sutured the wound while the boy’s mother paced the small examining room and complained that he was nothing but a gangbanger, just like his brother.

The woman reminded Beth of her own mother—far less cultured, but just as hateful. In moments like these, it was hard to remember that a Christian prayed first and reacted second. The instinct to stand up for this boy was strong, but God could do more for him than she ever could.

Father, you know the need. Help this child and his family. Please silence this woman’s words. If you want help from me, I’m your willing servant.

The boy threw his mom a cocky smile. It might have been sheer bravado, but his mother threw up her hands and stormed out of the room.

Wow! If that was an answer to prayer, it came with the speed of light.

“So, tell me, Stevie, how did you get this cut?” Beth said, praying again, this time for words that might make a difference in the boy’s life.

“Me and my brother was practicing fighting.”

“With real knives? Isn’t that kind of dangerous?”

“My brother says you gotta keep it real if you’re gonna be ready when somebody comes at you with the real thing.”

What a philosophy! She would make sure he saw the staff social worker before he got out of here. Not only was it her duty to report a wound like this, somebody should think of this kid’s safety.

“Am I gonna have a scar?” He sounded hopeful.

“Not unless you want one. I’m good at this.” She hadn’t been much older than Stevie when her grandfather had begun teaching her suturing techniques.

“Scars are kind of cool,” the boy said, watching her work. “You’re kind of cool, too, even if you smell like baby puke.”

“You don’t like my perfume?”

He grinned at her little joke.

“I was about to change into fresh scrubs when you came in here, bleeding all over the place.”

“Is that my blood on your shoes?”

“Probably.”

“How come you wear yellow shoes?”

“They make me happy.”

“Aren’t you mad that I got blood on ’em? It made my mom real mad when I got blood on her towel.”

She smiled, hoping he would see the love of Jesus in her eyes. That’s what she was here for. “Do I look mad?”

He smiled back. “No, you look pretty. I think I could go for you.”

Maybe she’d overdone the smile.

“I dig blond chicks, even if you are kind of old.”

Stevie needed a little work on his pickup lines.

“You’ve got pretty eyes.”

That was better.

“I never seen anybody with that eye color. They’re kind of gold or brown or somethin’. And you got long eyelashes. Are you seeing anybody?”

Kids hated when they were treated like kids. If she could hang in here and talk to him as if he were an adult, there might be an opening to talk about Jesus. “I’m still single, Stevie. How about you?”

“I’m not with anybody either. You wanna go out some time, Doc?”

There it was. “I might if we went to church. You wanna take me to church?”