Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Allison

A thousand feelings warred inside me as I drove the highway that led to Rosemary Mountain. It felt like I was seeing two realities—the real world, where the road was as unfamiliar as if I had never driven it before; and my childhood, where all the memories played against a backdrop of this very view. It felt like coming home again, in a way that brought happy tears to my eyes and a stab of pain to my chest. The memories here were the very definition of bittersweet. Childhood innocence and joy living side by side with the darkest days of my life.

But a lot had changed since I had been in this neck of the woods. The mountains were still the same, although they seemed smaller and softer than the ones that lived in my memory. The curves in the road were still familiar, curves I used to count every time my family drove back home after a trip to the city to visit my grandmother. Curves that marked the minutes until I could get out of the car, throw off my shoes, and run down to the creek to play with the friends I had missed desperately.

Everything else seemed different though. There were new housing developments, shopping centers, and restaurants on the outskirts of town. Rosemary Mountain had apparently become something of a tourist destination, a fact that triggered pride and heartache at the same time.

As a kid, I had felt like our town was isolated from the rest of the world, a poor little mountain town where nothing ever changed. That had been reason to despise it as a child and dream of the day I would leave and make my way in a more sophisticated part of the world. But then Mama and I had left, much sooner than I had ever imagined, without a chance to even prepare for it and say goodbye. The world had opened up for me. My life had improved in a thousand ways. But on nights when I longed for the stars or wanted nothing more than to splash in the creek, I suspected that the loss was greater than I ever would have predicted.

I slowed down, coasting into the city limits with a lump in my throat. The town square brought a genuine smile to my face, as it looked exactly as I remembered, only better. The old storefronts that had been boarded up when I was a kid had been revitalized and turned into something new. Here it was clear to see the benefit of tourism dollars at work.

I spied a cute coffee shop, an art gallery, and a clothing boutique I couldn’t wait to explore when I had more time. Just down from them sat the clinic where I would soon be working. I drove past slowly, pleased to see the cute black shutters and white sign I remembered from my childhood. As clinics went, this one was a relic from another age. But as long as the equipment had been updated, I was actually quite happy about it. It was as far away from the hospital in Memphis as I could possibly get, and it felt like the perfect fresh start.

With a smile on my face, I turned off the main road and followed the directions to my new house—a house I’d never even seen. The clinic had been in such a rush to get a doctor in residence that they had arranged temporary housing until I could find something of my own. It made moving easy, especially since the rental came fully furnished, but I couldn’t help but feel some trepidation about what the house might look like.

What I hadn’t expected was the location. The address was only a few miles outside of town, but it might as well have been a million. The narrow road wound its way through lonely hills, and when I finally pulled into the driveway, I took in a sharp breath.

The house was beautiful, with a long front porch, a white-painted brick exterior, and a new black metal roof. It had clearly been redone by someone who was a fan of farmhouse-chic style, and it looked like a picture sitting there, fully surrounded by the forest on all sides. The clinic had told me it was a vacation rental, and upon seeing it, I could understand why. It was the perfect place to escape from it all and enjoy feeling alone in the woods in something much nicer than the old hunting cabins that still dotted the landscape.

But as someone who was used to living in a townhouse in the city, I felt unnerved by the isolation. It was beautiful, but the idea of staying out here alone sent a shiver up my spine.

You’re being silly . I navigated Memphis every single day—a city recently ranked as the most dangerous city in the United States—and I was nervous about being alone in Rosemary Mountain ? The town where I had run around completely unsupervised as a young girl without a single issue?

I was perfectly safe here.

The moment I opened my car door, the aroma of the mountain hit, taking me straight back to my childhood. The warm summer breeze was perfumed with pine and fresh rain and a thousand memories. I took a few moments to close my eyes and just breathe it in, basking in the sheer quiet around me. No sounds of the highway, neighbors yelling, or music blaring. No roommates arguing about whose turn it was to mop or who got the TV that night.

A new stab of homesickness hit, but this time, it was for this right here—the home I had left as a child and nearly forgotten. A completely different world than the one I had lived in the last couple of decades. A world where time stood still and people still drank sweet tea on their front porches and women could take long walks through the woods without constant worry of someone waiting to attack them. I had missed this and not even realized it.

I headed up to the porch to check out my temporary home. The door opened to a small entryway with a table holding a fresh bouquet of roses. Welcome home, the card said. I smiled. It was a nice touch, presumably from the rental agency.

I wheeled my suitcases inside, locked the door behind me—some habits, I knew, would linger for a long time, no matter how unnecessary they were here—and took a look around.

The place gleamed, with real hardwood floors and those same farmhouse accents. There was a study on the right that would make a perfect home office. To the left was a small dining room with a gorgeous rustic table. Stairs in the entryway led to the second floor. There was a nice kitchen in the back, more than what I would need. Finally, there was a living room, complete with a fireplace. I was impressed. The house was beautiful.

I bit my lip, wishing I could hug the child I had once been—the child who grew up “on the wrong side of the tracks” in a rundown trailer, who dreamed of someday living in a home like this. I had already lived in much nicer homes than the one of my early childhood, obviously. My mother had made sure we never lived in that kind of poverty ever again, and my Memphis roommates and I had pooled our resources to live in a nice townhouse during residency.

But this? This was all mine. And I had earned it.

Upstairs was smaller, with two bedrooms—one on each side of the house—and a shared bathroom between them. I frowned at that, as I preferred an ensuite. But did it really matter? I lived alone—and this time the thought gave me a little thrill. Attached or not, the bathroom was all mine. I probably wouldn’t have visitors that often. My mother had made it clear she had no intention of ever setting foot in Rosemary Mountain again, my friends would all be busy with their new jobs, and Mike…

Well, Mike and I weren’t even speaking anymore.

The stab of betrayal hit again, making me feel very tired. I carried the suitcases upstairs and robotically unpacked the basics. Then I washed my face, put on a pair of pajamas, and fell deep into a dreamless sleep.

My alarm went off way too early the next morning. I was tempted to hit the snooze button, but I couldn’t. It was my first day at the clinic, and I needed to go in early to be prepared.

I dressed in the outfit I had selected in order to make the right impression—gray slacks with sensible flats, a soft-blue shell, and my lab coat—put on a touch of makeup, pinned my hair into a bun, and headed out the door, planning a stop at the new coffee shop I had noticed on the drive in.

Half an hour later, with a latte in hand, I felt prepared and even a little excited to start my new job. After all, this was the dream. My own private practice.

Sort of, anyway.

I didn’t own it, and the salary was a bit lower than what I would have hoped. But it was a start. I would be an independent provider, not a resident. I could practice medicine the way I wanted, answering only to myself. I could take time to get to know my patients and really help them make positive life changes. At a small clinic, I wouldn’t have to herd them though like cattle, trying to reach some big quota. It was going to be a good change. I could feel it.

Until I walked in the clinic door and felt tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

“Good morning,” I called out cheerfully, flashing a friendly smile at the receptionist, who stared at me across the room.

As I made my way toward her, she reluctantly slid open the glass separating us, rolling her eyes as she did. The woman was quite curvy and very pretty, with auburn hair cut in a cute bob, big brown eyes, and expertly applied makeup. She looked vaguely familiar and was close to my age, but I couldn’t place her.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a deeply Southern voice that suggested she would greatly prefer I not need any help at all.

My smile faltered, but I took a deep breath and tried again. “I’m Dr. Bell. I’ll be the new physician on site. Dr. Stone told me she would meet me here to get me set up.”

The receptionist gave me a cool smile. “Dr. Stone is in the office waiting for you.” She glanced at the clock. “Five minutes late. Not a great start, is it?” She shook her head and gave me a look of false sympathy. “Bless your heart.” Her voice dripped with sugar and sarcasm.

Surprised, I took a step back, recognizing the “blessing” for the Southern insult it was. “Actually, I’m twenty-five minutes early. She asked me to be here at nine.”

“Oh,” the receptionist said, her eyebrows shooting to the sky. “I see. The rest of us have to be here at eight thirty, but I suppose that’s too much of a hardship for you, isn’t it? The office is straight through the doors, last doorway on the right. I trust you can find your way there on your own? Or do I need to hold your little hand and walk you down there myself?”

“I can find it,” I replied, too stunned to say anything else. I blinked a few times, then turned and walked through the doors, shocked beyond belief by her unprofessionalism. This did not bode well for the clinic.

Or for me.

“Ah, you must be Dr. Bell,” a sharply dressed lady said from behind the desk as I walked through the doors into the office.

“Yes,” I said, grateful to see a friendly smile. “You must be Dr. Stone.”

“I am. Welcome,” she said, sliding out from behind the desk to shake my hand. “That’s your seat now,” she said, pointing to the seat she had just vacated.

“Thank you.” I took her place behind the desk and put my bag on it, wishing I could have a moment alone to simply take it all in. This was the first office that was all mine. It was a moment begging to be marked in time instead of passed over so quickly.

“Your trip was alright?” she asked, gracefully taking the chair opposite mine.

“It was uneventful,” I said, forcing myself to focus on her instead of running my fingers along the edge of the gorgeous maple desk. It was clear whoever had furnished the office had exceptional taste, and I was dying to explore my new space. “The house is lovely, by the way. Thank you for arranging it.”

“Of course. We’re glad to have you here.” Dr. Stone smiled warmly.

I hesitated, then went ahead with it—no sense in wasting time. “I get the impression the receptionist isn’t. She was actually quite rude.”

“Ah,” Dr. Stone said, shooting me a sympathetic look. “Beverly is exceptional at what she does, but if you’re on her bad side, she’s got quite the attitude.”

“Beverly?” I asked as the name dawned on me. “Beverly Kirkwood?”

“That’s right,” Dr. Stone confirmed. “Do you know her?”

“We went to school together,” I said, letting out a breath. “We didn’t get along well.”

That was the understatement of the year. Beverly had been quite competitive, furious any time I was chosen for anything over her. The final nail in the coffin was when I got my first boyfriend at twelve—a silly, innocent little school relationship—only to find out later he had been her boyfriend first and had dumped her when I agreed to go out with him.

She had been so angry she had literally slapped me in the hallway. I later found a nasty poem about me scribbled on the walls in the school bathroom, which I assumed was her work. We never made up, and frankly she was one part of Rosemary Mountain I had been glad to leave behind.

I couldn’t believe I was now working with her. Worse, I was in a position of authority over her. She would never forgive me for it.

“Sorry to hear that,” Dr. Stone said smoothly. “I’m afraid you have a little work ahead of you to win everyone over. May I be frank?” She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the desk, making a triangle with her arms as she tapped her fingertips together.

“Of course. I hope you will be.”

She leaned her head back and tapped her fingertips together three more times before speaking, clearly weighing her words. “This position’s been vacant for awhile,” she finally said, sighing. “As I’m sure you know, this clinic used to belong to Doc Rogers. When he retired, he sold the practice to the hospital. We’ve kept it open by having a rotation of doctors take shifts here, hoping one of them would want to make it their own. None of them wanted to, unfortunately.”

“Why not?” I asked, curious. “It seems like this would be an excellent opportunity for someone who wanted to leave behind hospital schedules to work regular hours, maybe start a family. I’m honestly surprised the position wasn’t snatched up immediately.”

She removed her arms from my desk, draping them gracefully over her legs, and nodded. “You and me both. Doc Rogers was incredibly popular and beloved by his patients, and I think that contributed to it being a difficult role to fill. His patients were—are—loyal, and they still haven’t adjusted to him being gone.”

“Doctors retire,” I said, shrugging. “It happens. It can be hard, sure, but the patients will accept it eventually.”

She nodded, and I got the feeling she hadn’t told me the entire story.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Well, to be honest with you,” she said, giving me a tired look, “he didn’t just retire. He left due to some legal trouble. That’s a complicated story,” she said, waving it off, “but part of it involved handing out narcotics like they were candy.”

“Gotcha,” I said, nodding. “And patients are unhappy because they lost their supplier?”

“I think that’s part of it,” she confirmed. “When I’ve spoken with some of the people who have filled in here, they’ve mentioned that the patient population was more frustrating than they expected. I think the narcotics issue is part of what you’ll be facing.”

“Okay,” I said. “That’s something I’ll keep in mind.”

“Also,” she said, avoiding my eyes, “the clinic is a mess. It’s currently running in the red by a significant margin.” She turned her gaze back to me, an unreadable look on her face. “The clinic needs someone to turn it around, and that’s where you come in. One of our highly respected hospital physicians saw your CV, printed it out, and put it on my desk, telling me you were the one for the job.”

I cocked my head. “Really? Who on earth?”

“Dr. Johnson,” she said, smiling.

It took me a minute to place the name with a childhood memory of an emergency room doctor who had set my arm when I had broken it at age eleven. I remembered talking excitedly to him about how I wanted to be a doctor someday too and how impressed he was—or pretended to be—that I never looked away while he set my arm.

“Dr. Johnson is still here?” I asked. “Wow. That brings back some memories. He was very kind to me when I was a kid.”

She nodded. “Yes, he told me he knew you as a child and that you were bright, friendly, hardworking, and determined to be a doctor from a young age. He has friends at the hospital where you did residency and has apparently kept up with your progress from a distance. He has a lot of pull at the hospital, you understand. When he picked you, that sealed the deal.”

“I’ll have to thank him,” I said, remembering the handsome doctor who had seemed like a superhero to me. His confidence had made me brave despite the pain, and he had kept me so distracted with conversation that the whole episode had felt positive. I was touched that he remembered and vouched for me. So often, getting a good job in healthcare seemed to require those personal connections—connections I didn’t have in Memphis.

“He’ll be glad to see you,” she said. “But…”

“Uh oh,” I said, bracing myself. “You’re making me nervous.”

“Well,” she said, shrugging. “I told you I would be frank. I’ve only been here in Rosemary Mountain for a couple of years and was unaware at the time of calling you that there were people in town who seemed to, well, think poorly of your family.”

My face immediately went flat. It had been so many years. This could not still be an issue. Could it?

“I’m not my father,” I said carefully. “I haven’t even seen him since I was thirteen. He didn’t raise me. My reputation stands for itself.”

She raised her hands in defense. “I’m not here to get in the middle of it. Frankly, I couldn’t care less about who your parents were if you can turn this clinic around and make it profitable again. The town needs a good family doctor. Without one, too many people are just using the emergency room instead. That’s cost prohibitive and ties our ER docs up with things that should be handled by a primary care physician. There’s also some federal funding at stake—some big money available if you help us put the right programs into place here. So we need you, but we also need you to put this clinic back in the black. If you’re not capable of that, this isn’t going to work.”

“I understand,” I said, setting my mouth in a firm line.

“I hope you do,” she said gently. “I’m not sure what it’s going to take for you to convince people to give you a shot. A lot of the townsfolk seem pretty set in their ways. Including your receptionist, Beverly.”

“Then maybe I need a different receptionist,” I suggested.

She shook her head. “Firing someone on your first day isn’t going to help you make friends here, Dr. Bell. Beverly has worked at this clinic for twelve years. Win her over. Win them all over. You’re going to have to.”

I blew out a breath. What had I gotten myself into?