10. Peonies

PEONIES

T wo hours later, I pull up at my uncle's house. Henry was able to drag my Jeep out of the ditch without a problem. He inspected my vehicle, checked the wheels, and made sure the rims weren't bent. The bumper needs to be replaced, but there isn't any other damage.

He stayed while I turned the motor over and had me pop the hood to make sure everything worked as it should. He even followed behind me, making sure I made it into town safe.

Henry refuses to charge me for the service, gives me a business card, and tells me to bring the car around when I want to get the bumper fixed. I give him a peck on the cheek and wave as he pulls away.

With a deep breath, I stare at my temporary home. Until I can find a place to live, Uncle Pete opened his house to me. It feels a little like coming home and finding a piece of my younger self.

I was always close to my aunt and uncle. My parents brought me here nearly every summer. It was something I looked forward to. Once school ended, there wasn't much for me to do in Redlands. I loved the small-town change of pace. It was so different from the crowded concrete jungle I grew up in. For that reason alone, Peace Springs always felt like a second home.

Now, I'll be calling it home for real. Although, it doesn't feel real yet.

There's a part of me that still believes this is temporary. Like when summer ends, I'll have to leave. After meeting Drake, Bert, and even Henry, I really want this to work.

Medical school and residency are behind me, but that doesn't mean I still don't have a lot to learn. Being a small-town doc is much harder than a family practice physician in a big city.

In Redlands, when I had a difficult case, it wasn't a problem referring my patients to see any number of different specialists. Not that I can't do that here, but instead of a ten-minute trip across town, my patients will be looking at upwards of a two-hour drive, and that's just to get to Billings.

All that's to say, I need to be on my A-game all the time. There's no room for error. At least, I'll have my uncle to lean on for a few years. By the time he's ready to retire, I should hit my stride.

So, I have a job, a place to live, and it looks like I have a romantic interest. Not to mention, I've met two incredibly helpful men. It feels as if everything is going better than planned.

Things couldn't be more perfect.

I tried calling my uncle on the way over, but he didn't pick up.

The country house lacks the white picket fence but it has a cobbled walk up to the door, a covered porch with the requisite porch swing, rocking chairs, and despite the snow covering the front lawn, the flower beds boast a riot of peonies in bloom. The doormat is one of those thick fiber mats. Instead of Welcome, it says, Peace .

I knock on the white-washed door of the little one-story home.

A tribute to the town perhaps, but Aunt Martha always said a home should not only welcome visitors but strive for peace and tranquility for those who live inside.

There's no answer at the door.

I knock harder and then peek through the windows.

Maybe he's out back, working in the shed?

I step off the porch and pick my way across the melting snow. The sun climbs high, and the temperature steadily rises from the chill of morning. At this rate, all the snow will be melted and gone within a day.

The door to the shed is locked. Uncle Pete always says a doctor needs a hobby, something to engage the creative side of the brain and give the scientific one a break. I have yet to find my creative side, too engaged with learning how to be the best doctor possible.

I miss sitting with him in the shed. He used to give me a blade and taught me to whittle. Never any good at it, all I ever managed was sharpening sticks, but it wasn't about making anything. It was all about hearing his stories. Because of his stories, I decided to pursue medicine.

My visits to Peace Springs stopped eight years ago when my focus shifted from kicking back to getting good grades and preparing for college. Little did I know that would be the year all our lives changed.

Uncle Pete diagnosed Aunt Martha's breast cancer that fall. Four years later, Aunt Martha lost her fight with cancer. My parents died in a car accident on the way to the funeral. Pete stayed in Peace Springs with his medical practice. I returned to Redlands to bury my parents and pick up the pieces of my life.

I haven't been back since. I regret that now.

Not much has changed in the town. My uncle's house looks the same as it did when Aunt Martha was alive.

I look forward to working with him and reconnecting. In his late fifties, he keeps talking about how much he looks forward to retiring and was thrilled when I pursued a family medicine residency because his dream was always to pass his practice on to his goddaughter.

Pete and Martha never had children of their own. They showered all their affections on their only niece, and I ate up the attention.

I walk to the back door, open the screen, and knock.

No answer.

It's Sunday.

He keeps crazy hours, makes house calls at all hours of the day, but he doesn't usually work on the day of the Lord, as Aunt Martha used to call it. I bang against the door and call out.

"Uncle Pete? Are you home?"

I should call again, but in the excitement of last night, I forgot to charge my phone. Henry was kind enough to let me borrow his, but I won't be calling anyone until mine's recharged. The poor thing was at five percent when my ordeal in the snow began. It's way past dead now and needs a deep recharge.

Where's my uncle?

Something acrid tickles my nostrils. A burning smell, not wood, floats on the air. Something pungent. And it's coming from inside.

I bang on the door, harder and more insistent this time.

Nothing.

Even though my aunt and uncle live in a small town, considered by many as one of the safest communities, Aunt Martha insisted on gardening for safety. That meant planting the thorniest bushes beneath every window to keep burglars out.

I climb over a holly bush, desperate to peek through the window because whatever is burning is coming from inside.

Barbs of pointed stems and holly leaves poke through my jeans and scratch my skin. I bite back a squeal as a thorny branch slices my upper arm.

The kitchen window perches a tad too high. I grip the windowsill and leverage myself up by bracing against the trunk of the offending bush. Branches break. I fall.

I scurry up again.

Peering into the house, thick black smoke curls up from a skillet on the stove. Bacon grease and the putrid smell of burned eggs creates the horrendous smell.

Where is Uncle Pete?

I twist left and right, trying to see inside.

There.

On the floor.

His feet poke out from the hallway.

I drop to the ground and race to the back door. My palm slams against the door.

"Uncle Pete!" My shrill cry rings out through the air.

The neighbor next door steps out onto her back porch. "What's all the hollering about?"

I recognize Mrs. Leesum and run to her. "Mrs. Leesum, it's me, Abigail Knight, Doctor Bateman's niece. Something's wrong. Can you call 9-1-1?"

"Is Doctor Bateman okay?" Mrs. Leesum's face pales, and I clutch at my chest.

"I don't know. Can you please call?"

Mrs. Leesum turns to duck back inside her house, but I call out. "Do you have a key?"

My aunt never believed in leaving a spare key outside. Too risky. Dangerous even. But maybe she gave a copy to the neighbors.

"Oh, yes," Mrs. Leesum says. "Let me grab it."

"Please, and then call 9-1-1."

Mrs. Leesum disappears inside and reappears a few moments later with a key in her hand and a cell phone pressed to her ear. I run back to the house as Mrs. Leesum speaks to whoever is on the other end of the line.

I shove the key in the lock. My pulse pounds with adrenaline, making my hands shake. It takes three tries before the lock turns. I barge in. My eyes cut to Uncle Pete's unmoving form. Acrid smoke fills the kitchen and burns my lungs.

Why didn't the fire alarms go off?

I turn off the gas to the stovetop and put a lid on the pan, then rush to my uncle. He lies face down on the floor. My fingers tremble as I feel for a pulse, terrified because I can't find one.

Where are the emergency response vehicles?

Then I pause, remembering who and what I am. I take a steadying breath. I'm trained for this.

I roll him over, placing him in the recovery position. I force my emotions to the background and focus on being the doctor I've trained to be.

Placing my fingers over his neck, I feel for his carotid pulse. Faint, but steady, his pulse thumps against my index finger. His chest moves with the slow rhythm of breathing.

So, why did he fall?

As far as I know, he isn't a diabetic. There's never been a reason for him to disclose his medical history, but low blood sugar is something I can fix. I leave him in the recovery position and rush to the kitchen.

Sugar. What kind of sugar does he have on hand?

Opening the fridge, I find what I need. Strawberry preserves. Perfect.

Returning to my uncle, I dip my finger in the jam, take a big scoop, and rub it inside his cheek. If his fall was the result of low blood sugar, that should raise it quickly enough.

Sirens sound. I run to the front door, unbolt the latch, and throw open the door. Walking onto the porch, I wave to the paramedics, urging them to move faster.

Two men jump out of the rig. One comes toward me, orange bag slung over his shoulder, while the other pulls a stretcher out of the back of the rig.

"Ma'am," the lead man says. "What's the problem?"

"It's my uncle. He passed out."

I follow him inside. "I gave him sugar, but I don't know what's wrong with him."

The man crouches beside my uncle and feels for a pulse. "Don't worry, ma'am, we'll take good care of the doc." He scrunches his eyes at me. "Hey, wait. You're Doctor Knight, aren't you?"

I nod. "That's me."

He breathes out a deep sigh. "Glad to meet you."

"You know me?"

He rolls up my uncle's sleeve and looks for a vein to place an IV. "Whole town has been waiting on you to arrive."

"You have?"

"Don't worry about Doc Bateman. He's given us instructions."

"Instructions?" What the hell is this guy talking about?

"We'll make sure he's comfortable. He's got a doctor in Billings and hospice has been arranged."

"What do you mean hospice?"

He pauses. "He didn't tell you?"