12. Chocolate Chip Pancakes

CHOCOLATE CHIP PANCAKES

B ack at Uncle Pete's house, I make sure he's comfortable and then clean the mess in the kitchen. The pan goes into the garbage. There's no way to salvage it. I'll buy him a new one later.

A glance around the house eases my mind. I equate cancer with disability, and assume my uncle fell behind in his chores, but there isn't any reason to be worried.

What concerns me is why he passed out. I have a feeling he's sicker than he's letting on. He lost a lot of weight, and that worries me more than anything else.

I put a cartridge in the coffee maker and grab two mugs from the cupboard. Like me, he takes his coffee black. It's a much easier and cheaper alternative for those used to long days and even longer nights on call.

"Here you go." I hand him his cup and settle on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me. "Is there anything you need me to do work-wise?" Being that it's Monday, I worry about any patients scheduled to see him.

He waves off my questions. "Don't worry, Angie will see to the appointments. She's the receptionist."

"What about the urgent care patients? If you're not there, where do they go?"

"A lot of urgent visits aren't that urgent at all. I have two nurse practitioners who help run urgent care."

"Well," I say. "I can see them if you want."

We discussed giving me a couple of weeks to get settled after my move, but I prefer staying busy. The sum total of my possessions is packed inside three suitcases.

"If you're feeling up to it, I'd like to check out the clinic."

He smiles. "I'm happy you decided to take a chance on Peace Springs." Rising from his chair, he gathers my empty coffee cup. "I think you're going to find it's a great place to live. Let me shower, and I'll introduce you to the clinic staff."

"I think I'm the one who needs to get cleaned up." I'm still wearing the same clothes from my accident. "I'm going to get my things from outside. Am I staying in the library?"

During my summer visits, my aunt and uncle put me in the library. They have a Murphy bed I thought was cool as a kid, but as an adult, I'm not excited to sleep on the overly firm mattress.

"No, hun, the guest room is yours." That's the room my parents stayed in.

"Thanks."

"Do you need help with your bags?"

The thought of him carrying the heavy luggage makes me pause, but he doesn't want to be treated any differently.

"Um, yeah. Thanks."

I give him the dilapidated fern and the smaller suitcase. Time will tell about Boston, but it doesn't look like the freezing temperatures killed it. At least not yet. A few minutes later, we have my bags in the guest room. It's almost eleven.

"Let me change, and maybe we can grab lunch before we head to the clinic?" I suggest.

"Sounds like a plan." He glances around the room. "You know where everything is. Towels, soap, and shampoo are in the bathroom closet."

"I got it. You take a shower and freshen up. We'll make it a day on the town."

A crooked smile lights up his face. "You have a hankering for milkshakes?"

I shake my head. "Actually, I was thinking of hitting up Shelly's Diner."

"Ah, yes, best pancakes in town. It'll be lunchtime, but I bet we can convince her to whip some up."

"Chocolate chips?"

"I delivered all of Shelly's kids. I can talk her into a few chocolate chip pancakes."

I would prefer the shake. As a kid, I begged to go to Eddie's retro-themed soda shoppe almost every day. Maybe it's silly heading to Shelly's and foolish to think I'll run into Drake. Maybe I confused that kiss for something more. But I want to know if that kiss was all in my head.

There are a lot of maybes in my life, but one thing is certain. I need a shower.

It takes a little digging to find my makeup. Normally, I wouldn't bother, but this is my first time meeting the clinic staff. I want to make a good first impression, especially since I'll soon be their boss. What I really wish is that I had Drake's number.

Wait.

Henry gave me his card. My car needs repairs, and Henry knows Drake. Maybe I can work around to a reintroduction to Drake.

My uncle waits in the living room when I finally emerge. My long hair is pulled back into a ponytail. I don't like how it accentuates the angles of my face or draws attention to what I consider to be overly large green eyes. Given a choice, I prefer my hair loose, but I don't have time to dry it. I'm eager to poke around town, not to mention I'm starving.

"You ready?" My uncle dresses for comfort, jeans and a button-down shirt.

I prefer jeans, but dress in black slacks and a pale-yellow blouse, professional, but not stuffy. "You clean up well," I tease.

We pile into my Jeep and head into town. During the drive, childhood memories bubble to the surface, hitting me, not in the gut, but in my heart.

When I came to Peace Springs, I envied the children who grew up together in grade school, still knew each other through junior high, and matured into adults in high school. The kids were friendly, but I was always an outsider. Despite that, Peace Springs feels comfortable.

Not home yet, but maybe someday soon.

I turn the Jeep onto Main Street

It doesn't take long to drive through town. Nor is it difficult to find a parking spot. I pull up right outside Shelly's Diner. I walk into the busy diner and inhale the mouthwatering aromas coming from the open kitchen. The clinking of silverware and glass slows somewhat as Uncle Pete enters. Several people give him a nod, a polite acknowledgment of respect.

He guides me to an empty booth by the window. When our waitress arrives, he orders two short stacks with chocolate chips and a pot of coffee. The girl doesn't bat an eye, making me think his order isn't as unusual as I think.

"It looks exactly like I remember." I lean back and peer out the window.

"Not much changes here. Of course, there's town politics and such, the never-ending feud, the occasional scandal, who's sleeping with whom. You're going to learn way more than you ever wanted about the residents. People in this town seem to think their doctor is a stand-in for their confessional."

"Really?"

We talk about his practice, touching on the business aspects, but when our food arrives, I broach something that is bugging me.

"Uncle Pete," I begin, "how did Aunt Martha get ten thousand acres?" More importantly, how will I manage a ranch that size? The real estate taxes are going to be fierce.

"Accumulated through the generations," he says. "As a matter of fact, it is your namesake who homesteaded the very first parcel." His eyes brighten. "Oh, and you're in for a treat."

"How's that?"

He takes in a deep breath. "Well, Abigale McPhearson's journal is waiting for you. I don't know how much your mother told you, but Abigale immigrated to the United States during the great potato blight in Ireland when she was a teenager."

"I remember a little bit about that." I take a sip of the dark-roast coffee, closing my eyes at the decadent flavor. "I couldn't imagine picking up your whole life and leaving everything behind."

He laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"Says the woman whose entire life is packed into three suitcases."

I roll my eyes. "Tell me about my great-great-great- whatever grandmother."

"I'll do better than that. Remind me when we get home, and I'll give you the journal."

"A journal? Wow, thanks. What's in it?"

He shrugs. "I have no idea. Martha says it is a McPhearson-women-eyes-only kind of thing." He shoves a bite of pancake into his mouth and wipes his chin with a napkin. "Abigale was the first to settle down here. Back then, women weren't allowed to own land in most states, but Montana has always been progressive. As long as someone was the head of household, they could apply for a homestead. She moved out west and put down roots. Her daughter and her daughter's twins homesteaded as well, doubling the size of the homestead parcels."

"Twins?" I know little about my family's history.

He nods. "Yes, can you imagine delivering twins in the late 1800s?" He pushes his food around his plate, his appetite seems to have disappeared. "Anyway, they added to the homestead and later filed the deeds to own the land. They raised cattle and bought up the surrounding homesteads as they were abandoned. Soon, they turned a thousand acres into two, and then more. Every generation continued the tradition. The land went into trust somewhere along the way. It can't be broken down and sold off. It was one of Abigale's wishes for the land to stay in the family. Martha mentioned something about it being spelled out in the diary."

"How am I going to manage ten thousand acres?"

"The arable plots are leased out to farmers who grow feed for cattle. Cattle ranchers lease out the pastureland for grazing. It's practically self-sustaining and makes more than enough to pay the taxes. As far as managing it, there's a manager who takes care of all that."

"Well, if it's supposed to stay in the family, I won't sell it."

Ten thousand acres? What the hell am I going to do with that?