Page 1 of Doctorshipped
1
GRANT
My eleven-year-old daughter, Fiona, reminds me of a much younger version of herself today. She can barely sit still for all the excitement and anxiety coursing through her. She shoves a too-big forkful of my dad’s famous chocolate chip pancakes into her mouth and talks around the bite.
“Will the mooffers get to the new houshe berfore usssh?”
Her words come out garbled because she’s got her cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk.
“Chew first,” I say.
My dad smiles over at Fiona. “The moving van should already be in Ohio. They’ll meet you at your new house tomorrow.”
“Where will the movers sleep tonight?” Fiona’s eyes go wide with concern, as always. My girl’s heart is too big and too good for this world.
“I don’t know,” I grumble around a bite of sausage.
“Chew first,” Fiona says, tossing my words back at me with a glint in her eye.
She carries on with more rapid-fire thoughts and inquisitive statements as I finish my breakfast in silence. Her barrage of questions flows like the Mississippi after a rainstorm. It’s understandable. Fiona’s lived in the same house for as long as she can remember. We’re about to move to a new state, sight unseen.
Margot and I lived in an apartment when we were first married, but we moved out when Fiona was two. Our combined salaries as doctors in residence, along with the nest egg her parents gave us, made it possible to purchase a home in one of the most desirable neighborhoods in St. Louis.
Margot.
I shake my head and blow out a long breath, attempting to bring my thoughts back to the moment and my daughter’s antics.
I can’t help but smile at Fiona. I’m not known for my excessively warm bedside manner, or for letting smiles freely crack across my face. My mother used to tell me she savored my smiles like a gourmet chocolate mousse after supper. I picture her standing in the kitchen, a warm grin and her soft voice as she said, “Your smiles are sweet, rich, and worth the wait.” I never felt that I had to change my naturally reserved nature for her.
My daughter is the one exception to all other people in the world. She can draw a smile out of me at whim. And she knows it.
“Clear your plate,” I tell Fiona as I stand and walk toward the sink. “We need to be out front in ten minutes to catch our Uber.”
She huffs and looks up at me with an exasperated expression, reminding me her teen years are looming on the horizon.
My dad places his hand over Fiona’s and gives it a squeeze. “You don’t have to call me every day. But you do have to call at least once a week or else I’ll be calling you. And I’ll be expecting some photos of you once you find a hockey team up there.”
“I’ll call you all the time, Gramps. You’ll get sick of me calling, that’s how much I’m going to call you.”
“I’d never get sick of you, Feedleedee.”
“Gramps! Puh-lease. That’s my baby nickname.”
“And it’s what I’ll call you all my days. You don’t get to change your gramps. Trust me. Years from now you’ll be looking back on that nickname with a smile on your face.”
“If you say so,” she says with yet another huff, but it doesn’t have half the weight of the ones she sends my way.
“Dish. Rinsed. And grab your backpack,” I tell my daughter. Then I turn to my dad. “We’ll be back for Christmas, and we’ll fly you up for a visit once we’re settled.”
“Son, I’m a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon with a long list of credentials and a coveted position at St. Luke’s. I’m pretty sure I can make my way to Ohio to visit my granddaughter without you buying me a ticket. You know what you need to focus on, and it’s certainly not being my travel agent.”
He clears his throat and gives me one of his looks. His expression conveys concern and a slight warning. After all we’ve been through in the past three years, I can’t blame him for being a little wary or overprotective.
Nothing else needs to be said between my dad and me. No words could change the strange trajectory of my life. I’m leaving behind a thriving family medical practice as an internal medicine physician in one of the largest cities in the nation to move to a town ninety-nine percent of the world has never heard of. Make that nearly one hundred percent. I’m pretty sure the only people who have heard of Bordeaux, Ohio, are the people who live there.
I’m abandoning my childhood home, my dad, my reputation, and everything I’ve built to start a new life in an obscure little town nestled among cornfields and—well, pretty much just cornfields.
I’d only sacrifice everything for one person: Fiona. She deserves a fresh start and she needs women in her life. In Bordeaux she’ll have my cousin Hazel and Hazel’s parents. And Hazel assures me there’s a network of women in Bordeaux who will take Fiona under their wings.
