Chapter 11

Chance

A week after my dinner with Lucy, the morning sun winks at me through the blinds on Saturday morning, promising a day free from the perpetual beeping and buzzing of emergency-department machinery. My first weekend off in what feels like an eternity, and Lucy's already got it mapped out—a road trip to Whistler.

When she arrives, I sling my duffel bag into the backseat of her car, glancing over at my motorcycle with a twinge of longing before shutting the door.

It's kind of her to offer to show me around Vancouver and spend the weekend in Whistler with me. Just the two of us. I know I was clear about my boundaries, but something within me remains unsettled. I enjoy her company, and I hope I'm being fair to her. This is uncharted territory for me.

"Ready for some spectacular views?" Lucy grins from behind the wheel, her excitement infectious.

I nod, settling into the passenger seat.

She drives us to the Sea-to-Sky Highway. The route is known for its beauty, but I've never actually driven it. There's something about being an ED doctor—always focused on the destination, the next critical case—that makes you forget to enjoy the journey.

"Check this out," Lucy says, pointing to the landscape unfurling outside the window. We're approaching Horseshoe Bay, and I press my forehead against the glass, taking in the beauty of my newly adopted home.

The quaint village strikes a contrast with the vastness of Howe Sound stretching beyond it. Lucy launches into an impromptu tour guide's speech. "Did you know this fjord is the farthest south in all of North America?"

I conjure images of ancient ice shaping the land, leaving behind deep waters hemmed by rugged cliffs. It's hard to imagine such a serene spot was born from violent geological upheavals.

"Too bad we aren't seeing any marine life today," Lucy muses.

Even without wildlife, the views are impressive. It's a reminder of how small the problems within the hospital walls are compared to the vast, enduring beauty of the world outside.

"Thanks for driving," I say. "I wouldn't have wanted to miss any of this."

"I love this drive," she replies with a knowing look.

For the first time in a long while, I allow myself to just watch the scenery unfold, no distractions, no responsibilities—just the open road and an unseen horizon waiting to be explored. Lucy and I are bound for Whistler, but for once, the destination seems secondary to the journey itself.

Lucy suddenly veers off the highway, the tires crunching over a gravel path. "Surprise detour," she announces with a mischievous glint in her eyes. The sign ahead reads Shannon Falls Provincial Park , and I have to wonder what we're in for .

"Thought you might enjoy stretching your legs by climbing to one of BC's highest waterfalls," she says.

We park, and within minutes, we're on the trail. It's more of a stroll than a hike, and the sound of cascading water grows louder with each step.

"Come on!" Lucy beckons, already ahead. She's got her phone out and waves it at me. "Selfie time!"

I have to laugh, joining her. Our faces, framed by the thunderous backdrop of Shannon Falls, fill her screen. We try out several poses—serious explorer faces, then wide grins that speak to the joy of this moment.

"Let's see who can do the most ridiculous face," Lucy challenges, and I accept without hesitation. We contort our expressions into exaggerated displays of shock, awe, and mock horror, the waterfall roaring its approval in the background.

The next leg of our journey takes us back to the Sea-to-Sky Highway. Lucy drives on, the landscape rushing by in a blur of greenery and rock. Then, something makes me sit up straighter, my eyes narrowing as I try to be sure.

"Stop the car," I say abruptly, pointing toward the sky. "I see a bald eagle."

Lucy pulls over, and we look out to the water's edge. A bald eagle is perched on a pier post, its white head regal against the blue sky above. Then we see a second one not too far away on another pier post. They're looking us over, even as we're looking at them. It makes me a little uneasy to see the sharp point of their beaks and their laser-focused eyes. They're massive—bigger than some three-year-olds I've seen in the emergency department.

"Wow," I breathe, stepping out of the car for a better look. These majestic creatures seem unfazed by our presence. I guess with talons as big as my hand, I wouldn't be too scared of much either. "Never thought wooden poles could serve as thrones," I muse, snapping pictures with my phone.

"Nature's royalty," Lucy agrees.

I watch, captivated, as one of the eagles spreads its wings and takes flight, powerful and poised. For a few heartbeats, I follow its ascent, riding the current of wind.

"I don't think I'll ever get used to scenes like this," Lucy says, leaning against the car.

"Hope not," I reply, tracking the eagle until it becomes a speck in the distance. "Some things should always feel like the first time."

She smiles, and we climb back into the car.

The hum of Lucy's engine is a soothing background for the swirl of greenery and mountains that frame the Sea-to-Sky Highway. As we pull into Squamish, my stomach reminds me that it's been a while since breakfast.

"Ready for some food?" Lucy asks.

"Starving," I admit as she finds a parking spot near what looks like a hub of local eateries.

We settle on a small bistro with outdoor seating.

"Can you believe people do all those activities around here?" Lucy gestures with her menu toward the posters on the wall that showcase windsurfing, rock climbing, and mountain biking.

"We're definitely coming back for a hike," I say, already visualizing us navigating a steep trail, that sort of adrenaline rush a welcome change from what I experience in the emergency department. "Maybe even try climbing."

"Deal," she says. "But no cliff diving, okay? I don't want to end up bringing an ED doctor to an emergency room."

I laugh, the sound feeling foreign yet right, and then the server arrives to take our order—local fish for her, a burger for me. We continue to chat about everything and nothing until our meals arrive.

Fully sated once our plates are clean, we resume our journey, leaving Squamish behind as the road snakes farther north and inland toward Whistler. When we reach the village, there's a palpable shift in energy with the bustle of tourists and locals enjoying what's left of the afternoon.

Our rented condo is a cozy haven tucked away at the northern edge of Whistler Village, surrounded by tall pines. We unload our bags, and I take a moment to appreciate the privacy and tranquility before we lock up and venture out again.

"Let's explore over here," Lucy suggests, leading the way down cobblestone paths lined with boutiques and galleries.

"Never took you for a window shopper," I tease, watching her survey all the handmade jewelry and local art.

"It's the best way to manage my budget," she retorts.

As we meander through the village, soaking up the vibrant culture and diverse culinary scents, I feel a sense of belonging. Here, without the constant reminder of life-and-death decisions, I can breathe a little easier. Lucy's presence, already a beacon of friendship and fun, now feels like something more—a connection. And I have to admit, if timing had been different, that connection might be more than what it is.

"Tomorrow's going to be epic," she says, her hand brushing mine as we walk.

"Today's not over yet," I remind her. I've planned the evening for us.

"I've set the bar pretty high," she taunts.

"I don't think you'll be disappointed." I pull a pair of tickets from my pocket. "Ever been on a gondola with a glass floor?" I ask.

"Can't say I have," she admits.

"Let's check it out. A doctor I work with said it's pretty spectacular."

We walk to the other end of the village, following the signs, and approach the sleek cabins suspended on a cable, like beads on an enormous necklace strung between the mountains. The doors open with a soft whoosh, and we step into one of the clear-bottomed gondolas. As the sun begins its descent, we climb higher on the mountain, and Whistler recedes beneath us. The vastness of Canada unfolds in every direction.

I look down between my feet on the transparent floor, a thin barrier between me and the world below. It's exhilarating, witnessing the rugged landscapes from this vantage point—forests spreading like emerald quilts, lakes glinting like scattered jewels, and peaks that pierce the sky. I'm struck by the beauty and also the sheer scale of the land that surrounds us. "It's breathtaking," I murmur.

"I remember little of Ireland, but I know it is nothing like this," Lucy says, leaning close to the glass.

Hours later, we find ourselves at the summit and stepping into Christine's, a fine-dining oasis perched high above the world at the mountaintop. We're seated by a window, with a view that competes with the artistry on our plates.

We order a bottle of wine to share and enjoy the view as we sip in comfortable silence. "Thank you for organizing this weekend," I tell her.

"I did the easy part. This…" She looks around. "…is incredible."

The server arrives to take our order.

"Crab-stuffed salmon," I tell him. Lucy's choice of lamb chops seems just as enticing, and I make a mental note to steal a taste when she's sufficiently distracted by the scenery.

"Tell me about your class this week," I request once we're alone again.

Lucy becomes animated as she talks about her students—the disagreements she needs to mediate, the nonstop talkers, and the kids she's worried about. Even if I hadn't met her class, I'd know she's a wonderful teacher.

When the meal arrives, it surpasses expectations. Each bite is an echo of the landscape, wild and refined all at once. And the robust notes of our BC wine complement the delicate seafood and rich lamb perfectly. There's something about mountain air that sharpens the senses, making every flavor more vivid.

"Outstanding," I declare after savoring the last forkful, and Lucy nods in agreement .

"Any interesting cases this week?" she asks.

"Well, on a grand scale, I'm struggling with the chief medical officer."

She chuckles. "And that's Charles Johns, right? Kent's father."

"Yes. He's difficult."

She nods.

"We don't see eye to eye on safe-use clinics."

Her brow furrows.

"Several medical personnel on my team volunteer there, and he wants me to put a stop to it."

"Why does he care if they volunteer their time?"

"He's worried about the malpractice insurance, getting sued if something goes wrong there. But the clinics offer so much to us. In addition to helping the users, we see new drugs on the street before they hit the ED. And we save lives by keeping people out of the ED."

"Is he worried that they're not getting money for seeing the patients?"

I ponder a moment. I hadn't thought of that. Healthcare is no cost to us here in Canada, but the government pays the hospital for every patient we see. "That could be a factor, but it's not like we don't have lines of people twenty-four hours a day." I take a sip of my wine. "I think the hospital is doing fine, but maybe I can make that part of my proposal to him."

"What are you proposing?" she asks.

"A truce."

"Well, if anyone can do it, you can." She nods as if the matter is settled.

I'm moved by her words. She seems so confident in me. That feels good.

The conversation shifts to the drug trial. I give her all the background and explain my challenge in sorting it out.

She looks a bit concerned. "Are they experimenting on the unhoused?"

"When drug trials make it to this phase, human testing is the final step. But from what I can tell, they've signed waivers."

"What is the drug?"

"I don't have the name. The contract would have that information, but we can't find a copy of it. I sent a sample to the lab, though. I don't want us giving them battery acid."

"How do you know they're paying you? Where is the money going?"

"They always pay, but so far I can't find records, so I don't know what the money's being used for." I shrug. "So far I don't even have anyone to call and ask."

Her brow furrows. "Are you compiling the data? Someone must show up to collect."

I raise my wine to her. "Excellent point. That's another avenue I can explore."

We linger over our glasses, the sun sinking behind the peaks, casting a warm glow. This dinner, this moment, it's more than a meal. It's a celebration of the day, of the unexpected turns that lead to unforgettable experiences.

The stars are out in full force by the time Lucy suggests we head back. The descent from the mountain top is quiet, reflective. We're both lost in the afterglow of dinner and the day's adventures. When our gondola touches down, though our weekend is just beginning, I feel a reluctance to leave the heights, where the world seems simpler. But I'm grateful all over again to have made this move, brought this change into my life.