The Doctor's Do-Over Read online

“I’m gonna guess April’s,” Mel said, all bittersweet ache at the prospect of seeing her cousin again after more than a decade. She and April had chatted briefly the day before, but only long enough to coordinate their schedules. And unleash a boatload of memories.

  And laughter.

  We were happy here, Mel thought on a smile, even as the backs of her sinuses twinged. She’d been happy here, during those summers when Amelia called enough of a truce with Mel’s mother to allow Mel to hang out in the rambling old house with her close-in-age cousins. Summer sisters, they’d called themselves—

  “Ohmigosh! There you are!”

  In a flippy little plaid skirt and coordinating cardigan, April—still tiny and bubbly and strawberry blonde—burst out of the front door and down the steps before they’d even climbed out of the Honda, where she grabbed Mel in a hug hard enough to do damage, then let go to fan her now tear-streaked face.

  “Honest to Pete,” Mel said, laughing, digging in her gargantuan purse for a pack of tissues which she handed to her cousin. “Still?”

  “I know, I know, I’m terrible!” Gal always had cried at the drop of a hat. “But I can’t help it, it’s just so good to see you...wait,” she said, her soggy gaze turning to Quinn, standing off to one side. “Oh, my word—is that your little girl?”

  “Little girl?” Mel said, pretending to look shocked. “What little girl? For heaven’s sake, she must’ve crawled in the backseat while I was at the store—”

  “Mo-om, geez,” Quinn said. Rolling her eyes. Then she extended her hand to April. “I’m Quinn. The sane one—”

  “Don’t you go giving me your hand—come here, sugar,” April said, hauling Quinn into her arms, and Mel’s own eyes watered. Yes, April had cried more than ten girls put together, but this was what Mel remembered most about her cousin, that she loved more than any human being she’d ever known. That her tenderheartedness was only surpassed by an unfeigned generosity that put most people to shame.

  Then she noticed how the feeble porch light glinted off the tasteful, but impressive, array of diamonds on April’s ring finger. Between those and the car, Mel got the feeling her cousin was a lot better off than when they’d been kids. Not that they’d ever discussed such things, even when they were all old enough to figure out that while their grandmother obviously had money—then, at least—her three daughters had all somehow bounced well out of range of that particular tree.

  “Aren’t you the prettiest thing?” April now said, holding Quinn at arm’s length before turning to Mel. “I take it she looks like her daddy, since I’m not seeing a whole lot of you in that face—”

  “Quinn, let’s get this food out of the car,” Mel said, smartly going around to the trunk. “Stir-fry for dinner okay with you?”

  April shot her a look, but took the hint and simply said, “Sure thing. I’m starved!”

  Despite their earlier attack on the kitchen, the cloying dampness assaulted Mel’s nose as they carted the groceries through the conglomeration of dusty wicker and sisal and faded pastels hunched together on scabrous floors in the large gathering room, every surface obliterated by their grandmother’s “collections.” Dusty paintings hung askew on walls gone cobweb-gray; mismatched shelves bowed under the weight of hundreds, if not thousands, of books and DVDs and videotapes. At least there weren’t any cats.

  That they’d found, at any rate.

  “I had no idea the place had gone to seed like this,” April whispered to Mel as they loaded the bags onto the now disinfected pine table in the middle of the oversize kitchen. Quinn dumped her bags, as well, then took off to continue exploring. Mel was half tempted suit up the kid in hazmat attire. And maybe a cross.

  “Seed, hell,” Mel muttered as she hauled two gallons of milk onto the top shelf of the fridge, which at least was no longer toxic. “The ancient Greeks had nothing on the civilizations growing in there.”

  “So you’re saying it was worse?”

  “Heh.” April stared at one of the kitchen chairs; Mel chuckled. “Your butt might smell like Pine-sol when you get up, but you’re good.”

  “The lawyer said Nana died virtually broke,” her cousin said, sitting. “That the house...this was all that was left.”

  “Because she clearly spent everything she had on crap she didn’t need,” Mel said. “Have you been upstairs yet?”

  “After seeing the gathering room? I didn’t have the nerve. Not alone, anyway. And you let Quinn go up there?”

  “She’s an intrepid soul, she’ll be fine.”

  April sighed. “I cannot imagine how long it’s gonna take to sort through all this junk. Although I don’t suppose it was junk to Nana. And who knows? There might be some valuable stuff in amongst all that...” She waved her hand, searching for the right word.

  “Trash? I seriously doubt it. Frankly, my vote is for lighting a match.” Mel lifted her hands. “Oops.”

  “Bite your tongue,” her cousin said, coloring. “And you know she used to have good things. I remember the crystal. And the china. And some of the furniture dated back to when the house was built—”

  “And sometimes, old is just old. April—the place is about to collapse, from what I can tell—”

  “I’m sure most of it’s cosmetic!” At Mel’s snort, she added, “You mark my words, once we get it all cleared out...” Her eyes filled. “We can bring it back to life, Mel. I’m sure of it.”

  Too tired to argue, Mel changed the subject. “So...you’re married, huh?” April frowned slightly. Readying the veggies for slaughter on a cutting board in the middle of the kitchen table, Mel pointed to her cousin’s left hand with one of the knives she’d hauled from Baltimore. Because some things, a real cook doesn’t leave home without.

  “Oh,” April said, touching the rings. “I am. Or rather, was. Clayton—my husband—died a few months ago.”

  “Oh, God, honey—”

  “It’s okay, he’d been ill for a long time.” Then she squinted up at the forlorn schoolhouse-style fixture dangling in the center of the room. “That has got to go.”

  “And it will, when the flames reach the kitchen.” Mel clanged her iron skillet onto the gas range, turned the heat on high, then returned to the table. “I take it you don’t want to talk about your husband?”

  “Not any more than you do the house, apparently.”

  “I did talk about the house, I suggested we level it and collect the insurance. That, or turn it into an annual Halloween attraction.” At her cousin’s silence, she frowned. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing, my hiney.” Mel waved the knife in April’s direction. “I remember that look. All too well. That look spells trouble.”

  On a soft laugh, April reached across the table to briefly squeeze Mel’s wrist, before grabbing a red pepper slice and nibbling on it. “It’s nice, being here with you again.”

  “Ditto. Although...I’m not the same person I was then.”

  “Who is?” April said on a sigh. “Even so, despite the clutter and the filth and wildlife I don’t even want to think about, being back here...it’s like time stood still. Not that I feel like when we were kids—and heaven knows I wouldn’t want to—but it’s like the me I am now can feel the me I was then looking over my shoulder. Didn’t expect that.” She paused, then said, “So did you keep up with Ryder or what?” When Mel shot her a what-the-hell look, April grinned. “It’s hardly an illogical question, Mel. Well?”

  “No.”

  “Really? I mean, I know how close you two were—”

  “We were childhood buddies, that’s all,” Mel said, wondering if it was too late to bake something. As if that was a serious question. “Besides, he went off to med school, and Mama and I moved to Baltimore after Dad died, and...we lost touch—”

  Quinn bounded into the kitchen—Mel h
ad often wondered if the child had springs on the soles of her feet—and straight to the table to snatch a carrot slice. “When’s dinner? I’m about to expire from hunger.”

  “Ten minutes,” Mel said, carting the chopped veggies to the stove to dump them into the sizzling oil. “You can set the table. Dishes are up there.” She nodded toward the cupboard next to the sink. “Used to be, anyway.”

  After filching a pepper slice, Quinn swung open the cupboard door, nearly gagging when she pulled down an avocado-green Fiestaware plate that looked like it hadn’t been washed in twenty years. “Gross!”

  “Hey,” April said with a laugh. “When we were kids we’d’ve rinsed it off and called it good.”

  “And you, child of mine,” Mel said as she stirred, “used to lick the kitchen floor.”

  Shock and horror bloomed in Quinn’s blue eyes. “Did not!”

  “Got the video to prove it. You apparently have the immune system of an android. Palmolive’s right on the sink, baby. Go for it.”

  After dinner, during which they talked, and laughed, and reminisced more than Mel had any idea they could, Quinn disappeared again to poke through those ten thousand books—heaven!—while April and Mel cleaned up. Her hands deep in Palmolive suds, April looked over at Mel, drying the dishes and stacking them on the counter rather than putting them back with their disgusting little friends.

  “Dinner was fantastic. You always cook like that?”

  “Thanks. And yes. Cooking’s my thing.”

  “Really? Huh.” Behind her, Mel heard sudsy swishing. “So...is Quinn’s father in the picture?”

  “Nope,” Mel said lightly. “Never has been.”

  More swishing. Then: “Is she Ryder’s kid?”

  Yeah, she’d expected that. Still, the assumption needled. Especially since there were other people in town who’d be all too eager to leap to the same conclusion. “No. As I said, Ryder and I were friends. Good friends.” She felt a tight smile tug at her mouth. “There was no way anything untoward would have happened between us. He would have never let it.” At her cousin’s silence, Mel turned. “What? You don’t believe me?”

  “Oh, I believe you. But I also remember that last summer we were all together, when Ryder took the three of us out on his dad’s boat.” Hauling the clean skillet onto the drainboard, April slid Mel a devilish grin. “I also remember the way he looked at you when he thought nobody would notice.” A wet hand pressed to her chest, she released an exaggerated sigh. “And I thought if a boy looked at me like that? I’d absolutely die of happiness. Die, I tell you.”

  “And how many romance novels did you read that summer?”

  April belted out a laugh, the sound unexpected from her delicate frame. “Best. Summer. Ever,” she said, and even Mel had to smile, at how they’d discovered their grandmother’s stash of old, yellowing Harlequins in a trunk on the porch, clandestinely stashing them in their beach towels to read aloud to each other as they sunbathed. Damn books were probably still in the house somewhere. If they hadn’t completely disintegrated by now—

  “However,” her cousin went on, “I also caught the way you looked at him. And don’t you dare try to deny it. These eyes know what they saw, yes, they do.”

  Overhead, Mel heard the floorboards creak. “Fine,” she said with a quick glance toward the ceiling. Either Quinn had changed rooms upstairs or there was a raccoon the size of Cincinnati up there. “So I might have had a little crush on him. I mean, I suppose it was inevitable, considering how kind he’d always been to me.”

  April laughed again. And flicked water at her.

  “He was my friend, April,” Mel said, zapping her cousin with the damp towel. “And that was the only thing that mattered.”

  Wringing out the sponge and laying it on the edge of the sink, April turned to her with a frown. “Then why’d you two stop talking to each other?”

  “Because we just did!” Mel slammed the last plate a little too hard on the pile, then shut her eyes, thinking, Yeah, hand her the gun to shoot you with, why not?

  She heard April dump the sudsy water into the sink, yank another dishtowel off the old “finger” rack under the counter.

  “That’s probably not dry yet,” Mel muttered. “I just washed it this afternoon.”

  “It’s fine.” April wiped her hands and hung the towel back up, then leaned closer to the sink to look out the window at the plum-colored sky. “I didn’t mean to upset you, honey. But being back here...guess it’s made me a little melancholy. Like I want to recapture a little of that magic, you know?”

  “I do, actually. But it’s not possible.”

  “I know. Still, it’s sad. You and Ryder losing touch.” She turned to Mel. “Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t. Think about it, I mean.” Or at least she hadn’t until a five-minute phone call once more snatched the rug right out from under her.

  “You think you’ll see him while you’re here?”

  “Not planning on it. And can we please change the subject—?”

  The doorbell rang. After a fashion. “Oh! I bet that’s Blythe,” April said, heading out of the kitchen. “Last time we talked she said she didn’t know if she’d get in tonight or tomorrow...”

  Not at all sure if she was ready to deal with her older, bossier cousin, Mel turned on the old radio that had been in that same spot on the counter forever, fiddling with the dial until she picked up some oldies rock station from Dover...the same music her mother had listened to while cooking in the Caldwells’ kitchen when she’d been growing up. Over Simon and Garfunkel’s “The Sound of Silence”—heh—she heard April’s cheery, non-stop prattle coming closer. Steeling herself, Mel turned, a forced smile stretching her cheeks.

  And nearly passed out.

  “That last thing you were saying? You might want to revise that,” April said, clearly enjoying the heck out of the moment before she vanished, leaving Mel to face Ryder all by her little self.

  Ridiculously handsome, all-grown-up, obviously angry-as-hell Ryder.

  Yippee-skippy.

  * * *

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  Mel had left Quinn with her cousin—since no way was she going to have this little reunion in her daughter’s presence—but it’d taken her a good ten minutes to work up to the question. This being the awkward moment from hell and all. Now she sensed Ryder—who hadn’t exactly been chatty, either—glance over as they strolled, bundled up against the frigid night air, along the marina at the edge of town. A trek they’d made innumerable times as kids, at all times of the day and night, in every imaginable kind of weather. Mostly just for something to do away from the adults, sometimes on their bikes or inline skates when there weren’t too many people around....

  And cocooning herself in the used-to-bes wasn’t going to do a blessed thing to stop the vague nausea brought on by having to face the right-nows.

  “Phil Paxton told my dad,” Ryder said, that comfortingly familiar voice conjuring up so much of what she’d made herself forget, and there it was, the past colliding with her present, boom. Even his obvious irritation provoked memories, of when he’d get ticked off over some dumb prank or other she’d pulled as a kid. Man, this was doing even stranger things to her head than walking back into her grandmother’s house. “Said Amelia’d left you three her place, that you were coming down to get everything in order.”

  “Big mouth,” she muttered.

  “Was it supposed to be a secret?”

  At the word “secret,” Mel flinched, then dug a tissue out of the down vest she’d thrown over her hoodie to wipe her drippy nose. “I don’t suppose.”

  “Anything else you’d like to share?”

  No need to ask what he meant, since the disbelief icing his words said it all. Even so, she had no idea what she was and wasn’t a
llowed to say, to admit to, even now. “Depends. What’ve you heard?”

  “That you and Jeremy had a kid together.”

  She stuffed the tissue back in her pocket. “Jeremy may be Quinn’s biological father, but to say we had her together is a stretch.”

  Silence crackled between them, far more biting than the damp air, until Ryder finally broke it with, “God, Mel—why?”

  “Because I was a mess and he was there.” And you weren’t, she thought, startled at the residual anger after all this time. “Sad, but true.” More silence, punctuated by the soft clattering of the docked boats, Ryder’s steady footsteps against the wood. “When did you find out?”

  “Late this afternoon.”

  “I don’t mean that I was coming down—”

  “Not talking about that.”

  “You really had no idea?”

  “Nope.”

  “Wow,” she said on a strangled half laugh, her breath misting around her face. “I can’t believe they actually took it that far. I assumed you knew.”

  Ryder raised his arms to flip the collar of his jacket up around his neck. “Because I never contacted you again?”

  “Yeah.”

  He shook his head, then thrust his hands into his pockets. “That wasn’t the reason.”

  When no further explanation seemed to be forthcoming, Mel wandered out underneath the gazebo-like structure at the end of the marina to fold her arms across the top railing, deeply inhaling the tangy, bone-chilling breeze. Moonlight flicked at the black, rippling water below. Pretty. When Ryder mimicked her pose, the wind ruffling his short, dark hair, she said, “I can’t even imagine how ticked you must be right now.”

  “No. You can’t.” He glanced at her. “My folks said Jeremy knows.”

  “He always has.”

  “And he’s never—?”

  “Nope. Far as he’s concerned Quinn never happened.”

  He leaned harder on the railing to press his head into his palms, then dropped them again. “Does she ask? About her father?”

  “Until recently? Not as much as you might think. Although...” Mel forced air into her lungs, annoyed that she still felt like she was breathing through broken glass. “I was seriously involved with someone for two years. Thought...this was it. He was it. Quinn became very attached. Enough that she didn’t ask about her daddy because she’d assumed she’d found one.”