LITMIR.BIZ

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what a load I’ve been carrying,” Estelle Fellows, the nurse practitioner and business manager, told Jenni. “I’m qualified to handle basic family care and the state of Tennessee allows me to write prescriptions, but without a doctor around, I feel like I’m walking a tightrope without a net.”

      “You must be exhausted.” Jenni had sympathized after learning that Estelle had four kids. The eldest, nineteen-year-old Patsy, worked as office receptionist.

      “And the hours!” Estelle went on, ruffling her short dark hair in frustration. “People think that because I’m the pastor’s wife, I’m at their beck and call any old time. I hope they treat you with more respect!” Her husband, Ben, Jenni had learned, worked two jobs, as police captain and as minister, so theirs was indeed a busy household.

      “I just hope they accept me.”

      “I’d say they already have.”

      Sure enough, a steady stream of patients dropped in once word spread that the new doctor was on board. Some people must have saved up their ailments, while others, Jenni got the feeling, mostly wanted to take a look at the new girl in town.

      She handled a couple of evening emergencies that week, one involving a broken arm and the other a baby with asthma. The on-call arrangement included her, Estelle and a Mill Valley doctor who lived halfway between the towns.

      Estelle continued to treat those patients who requested her services, brought Jenni up to speed on the remaining clients and, at her request, gleefully left early a couple of afternoons to be with her younger children, who were on vacation. Later, she promised, she’d gear up to handle vaccinations and back-to-school exams.

      A younger nurse, Yvonne Johnson, assisted Jenni in the office. If Estelle had been welcoming, Yvonne was downright effusive.

      “I am so glad they hired a woman!” she said as the two of them ate sandwiches together in the clinic’s lunchroom on Friday. Yvonne was a striking young woman with long silver hair and violet eyes, the hue of which was probably boosted by contact lenses. “I can’t afford to move away, especially now that I’ve got a little girl,” she explained “but you wouldn’t believe how prissy folks can be about single moms.”

      “It must be tough on you,” Jenni responded. During the past few days, she had heard Yvonne mention her year-old daughter, Bethany, several times. However, she’d said nothing about the father. According to Estelle, his identity remained a secret.

      “That’s putting it mildly. I went to Mill Valley to give birth. I just couldn’t bear…” She stopped. “Well, never mind. Tell me about L.A. Did you go to clubs a lot? I’ll bet that would be fun.”

      Jenni hated to admit how boring her life had been. “Once in a while I’d go dancing with some other women from the hospital.” They’d had to drag her, because she hated loud music and rude men.

      “Are the guys gorgeous?” Yvonne sighed at the prospect.

      “Gorgeous and full of themselves,” Jenni replied.

      “You mean they expect sex on the first date?”

      “I mean they expect sex before they decide whether there’s going to be a first date.”

      The nurse made a face. “That almost makes Downhome sound appealing.”

      The fourth member of the clinic staff was a technician, a fellow with the confusing name of Lee Li, who commuted from Mill Valley twice a week to handle sonograms, X rays and routine lab work. Anything complicated had to be sent out by courier, and anyone needing advanced diagnostic treatment such as an MRI had to travel to another town. For major emergencies, Jenni learned, she could call on Vanderbilt University Medical Center’s LifeFlight helicopter to transport the victim to Nashville.

      To be so isolated after working in a metropolitan area where medical centers sprouted on every corner felt strange. In L.A., the question had been not where to find a cancer specialist or a neonatal intensive care unit, but which one to use.

      Jenni hoped she wouldn’t have to deal with many such cases. No town was immune to tragedy, though.

      After lunch on Friday, the influx of patients dwindled. Jenni felt tempted to slip out early to search for an apartment, but her sense of responsibility kept her around.

      She enjoyed staying with Karen. However, the house was noisy, since Barry had a stream of newspaper subscribers and advertisers ringing the doorbell and the phone in the early mornings and evenings. Most could have contacted him during work hours, he grumbled. Still, he couldn’t afford to turn away business.

      So far, most of the rentals Jenni had found were houses too large for her needs or rooms where she would have to share a kitchen and bathroom with strangers. Other than that, she’d visited one duplex apartment next to another occupied by a large family who screamed at one another while the TV blared.

      There had to be something better.

      “Dr. Vine?” Patsy, the receptionist, appeared in the doorway to Jenni’s office, where she’d retreated to write up the day’s reports. “Mrs. Forrest just brought Nick in. He scraped his shin and he’s diabetic, so she wanted you to check him out. They’re in examining room two.”

      The young woman seemed to assume that Jenni would recognize the names. And of course she did. Nick must be Ethan’s son and Mrs. Forrest, she assumed, was the ex-wife.

      Unexpectedly, her throat clogged. What was this woman like who’d managed to tame the glowering beast? And why, Jenni wondered, did she feel a curious reluctance to meet her?

      “Is Yvonne with them?” she asked. The nurse should be taking the boy’s vital signs.

      “She just finished. She’s in the nurses’ lounge, playing with her baby.” Seeing her perplexed expression, Patsy explained. “Usually, Yvonne’s cousin babysits, but Mrs. Forrest helps out sometimes. Today she brought Bethany with her.”

      “I see.” In Downhome, everyone seemed to be connected to everyone else, Jenni reflected as she rose. It was a little disconcerting, but a welcome change from the lack of connections she’d experienced during her own fractured childhood.

      Outside the examining room, she read the clipboard containing the boy’s medical history. Now five years old, he’d been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at age three. A year later, he’d been fitted with a pump to provide the insulin his pancreas couldn’t make.

      Like most children, he had some problems complying with the strict diet and the frequent finger pricks to make sure his blood-sugar level held steady. However, the chart indicated he was generally healthy.

      Still, the injury concerned Jenni. Due to reduced circulation, diabetics were vulnerable to infections, particularly in their lower extremities.

      Taking a deep breath, she tapped on the door, then went in.

      Two earnest faces tilted toward hers. On the examining table, a little boy with huge dark eyes and chestnut hair regarded her anxiously. From his slightly dirty shorts and the smudge on his nose, she could tell he’d been playing outdoors.

      In the chair beside him sat a woman of around sixty. Her worried air softened as she smiled at Jenni. From the stylishly cut hair to the trim pantsuit, she gave the impression of a retired professional. A scan of Yvonne’s notes revealed that the woman’s first name was Annette.

      This had to be Ethan’s mother, not his ex, Jenni realized with an odd sense of relief. At the same time, she wondered why the grandmother, instead of Nick’s mother, cared for the boy.

      “Mrs. Forrest? I’m Dr. Vine.” Jenni shook hands with her. Although she wanted to get to know the woman, she wished to establish a rapport immediately with the patient, so she turned to him. “It’s nice to meet you, Nick.”

      “Are you going to stick me with a needle?” the boy asked.

      “I don’t plan to.” She glanced at his chart again. “I see you’ve had a tetanus shot, so you won’t

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