Page 2 of Once Upon A Second Chance
She grins, a little too knowing. "Oh, we’ve heard all about you."
I stiffen. From who? But I already know.
A nurse behind the desk leans over, whispering to another. I catch the tail end—"—the one Penny used to—" before they see me watching and fall silent.
Darlene slides a clipboard toward me. "Dr. Holloway’s in his office. He wants to see you.”
I take the paperwork, scanning the forms without reading them. My fingers tightenaround the pen when I see the emergency contact line. In New York, it would’ve been Rebecca. Now, it’s blank.
I nod. "I’ll head there now."
As I walk down the hall, my pulse hammers in my throat.
The door to Holloway’s office is half-open, the faint rubbing alcohol and menthol ointment leaking into the hallway. I knock once before stepping inside.
The man behind the desk looks up, his salt-and-pepper beard trimmed close, reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.
The walls are lined with framed diplomas and faded photos—Holloway shaking hands with mayors, Holloway holding a fishing trophy, Holloway standing beside a much younger version of himself at what looks like a medical school graduation.
"Dr. Hogan," he says, not quite smiling. "Heard you’d arrived."
"Richard, please." I step forward, hand extended. His grip is firm, his palm rough in a way that suggests he still gardens or chops wood in his free time.
"You’re younger than I expected," he says, sitting back down. "Penny made you sound like some silver-haired genius when she talked about you."
My stomach drops. She talked about me?
Holloway chuckles at my expression. "Relax. That was years ago. These days, she just glares when someone brings you up."
I force a laugh, but it lands hollow.
He slides a file across the desk. "Mr. Higgins. Sixty-eight, rotator cuff tear after a fall. Surgery was clean, but he’s stiff as a board. Penny’s handling his rehab, but I want you to take a look—make sure there’s nothing we missed."
I open the file, scanning the notes. My fingers tighten imperceptibly when I see her handwriting—neat, precise, with those looping g’s she never could break from her college note-taking.
"Problem?" Holloway asks.
"No," I say too quickly. "Just reviewing."
He leans back, studying me. "You two have history. I’m notblind."
I don’t answer.
"Just keep it professional in my clinic," he says finally. "Exam Two. She’s in there now."
I stand, the chair scraping loud against the floor.
"Oh, and Richard?" Holloway adds as I reach the door. "Welcome to Mount Juliet."
The hallway in front of me stretches too long, the fluorescents buzzing like wasps. Exam Two’s door is slightly ajar.
I hear her before I see her.
"No, Mr. Higgins, like this—"
That voice. Lower than I remember, but still warm, still laced with that faint Southern cadence she tried so hard to lose in college.
I knock once. Push the door open.
