Page 8 of Doctorshipped
“I see it. It’s … nice.”
Fiona giggles like I’m the silliest thing she ever encountered.
“If you’re into that sort of thing,” I add, trying to soften my last statement and failing.
Fiona just laughs a little more.
“I think you like it, Daddy.”
“Hmph. I like you. If you like it, I like it.”
She nods a single bob of her head, as if that settles everything. And, really, it does. Fiona is my world.
She rambles on about whether we can get a horse, and if I think she could learn to milk cows, and can we have pets now that we live so close to the country?
I’m silent, taking in the scenery, wondering if I’ve just made the greatest mistake of my life moving us away from my dad and such a diverse, thriving city.
A man waves at us as we turn onto the street leading into our new neighborhood. People will be friendly here—and up in our business. Small-town meddlers will wonder about my history, and Fiona’s special circumstances. I consider turning the car around and reneging this whole decision. But then Fiona sees our home. The SOLD sign still stands in the yard.
“Is that our new house?”
She’s bouncing and pointing.
“It’s so beautiful!” she squeals.
I try to see the old Victorian through her eyes—the wide porch at the end of the walkway and front steps. The shuttered windows, the spires on two points of the house. It’s in relatively good condition. It’ll do.
“It will be our house and my office combined.”
I think I told her that, but she looks at me with a gaping mouth, so maybe I left out that detail in all the upheaval of trying to transfer my practice and get us ready for this move.
“You’ll be home? All day! Every day!”
“I’ll be in the house. There’s a front room with sliding pocket doors that will serve as my office. There’s also a sitting room across the hall from the office that will serve as a waiting room. The back of the first floor has a living room for us, and a kitchen with a dining room off the side, and there’s another bedroom toward the back door. There are two bathrooms downstairs too. When I’m in my office, I’m at work, so you will need to leave me to my patients when they are here.”
“Can I be your receptionist? Like, I could greet people and say, ‘Welcome to the doctor’s’.”
“That would be a no.”
“Daaaaddyyyy.”
“Those beautiful, puppy-dog eyes don’t work on me. And adding that pouty lip won’t change my decision. I need to establish myself as the doctor of this town. I’ll need you to let me do that.”
“Daddy,” she says my name as if I’m dense. “You will not get close to doing a good job at that. You are a good doctor. But you’re truly horrible with people. You need me. Otherwise, you’ll scare this town.”
I laugh.
“I’ll scare them, huh?”
“You know it’s true.”
“I’ll have Hazel.”
“That’s a point. She’ll help. Hey! Maybe I can be her assistant.”
“Maybe.”
You’d think I told Fiona she had her own horse in a corral in the back yard the way she unbuckles and wraps her arms around my neck.
