Twenty-nine

Kim, sitting beside Lily, touched her shoulder tentatively. “Hey, don’t cry.”

“N-not crying,” Lily choked out. She couldn’t cry in public. That would be just too embarrassing.

“Okay,” George said soothingly. “You’re not crying. But something’s wrong. Can we help?”

Lily shook her head.

“Sometimes just sharing the problem makes you feel better,” Marielle said.

“Have to go.” Lily dropped her hands from her face and fumbled for her coat. She didn’t share problems; she handled them herself.

Kim’s grip on her shoulder tightened and George said, “We can’t let you go home on your own when you’re so upset. Tell us what’s wrong.”

Lily shook her head and rested her hands on the table in front of her, trying to summon the strength to push herself upright and leave.

“Is it about Dax?” Kim asked quietly.

Lily shuddered and gave another hiccupy sob. If she could sink through the floor, she’d do it. If her parents were here, they’d be mortified. Thank heavens she was sitting with her back to the room.

Marielle reached across the table and took one of Lily’s hands between hers. “What did the bastard do? I know people. If you want to take out a hit on him, I can connect you.”

The comment was so out there, it actually stopped Lily’s tears. “What?”

“I’m kidding. But seriously, what’s going on? Talk to us, Lily. At least let us think we’re helping.”

George reached across to take Lily’s other hand. “Please.”

She felt surrounded, imprisoned. Kim’s hand rubbed her shoulder while Marielle and George squeezed both her hands. She felt . . . anchored. Not as much by their hands as by their caring. How about that? These women she’d met less than a year ago had turned into friends who cared. “All right, I’ll tell you.” She sniffled. “But I need my hands back. Have to blow my nose.”

Once released, she found a tissue in her purse and wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. “Dax and I have been having problems. We talked over the holiday and, well, we’re getting a d-divorce.”

“Oh, Lily.” Petite Kim gave her a one-armed hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“How horrible,” George said, touching her hand again.

Marielle took her other hand and squeezed it firmly. “You don’t know how to talk to girlfriends, do you? We need more than that.”

The brunette was so blunt yet so warmhearted. Lily returned the squeeze. “I’ll try.” The last time she’d shared her deepest feelings with girlfriends was in high school. “That sense of belonging we were talking about? We don’t belong together anymore.”

“Why not?” Marielle asked.

“Marielle, maybe she doesn’t want to share all the details,” George said.

“Lance the infection and it heals quicker,” Marielle retorted. “Right, Doc Lily?”

“Or you spread the infection. But all right, here’s the bottom line. He loves the wilderness and his idea of the perfect marriage is for me to live there with him. Without kids. My life is here and I do want children. Badly.”

“Ouch,” Marielle said. “That’s big stuff.”

Lily nodded vigorously.

Kim said hesitantly, “Ty was, like, rooted at Ronan Ranch. And I was sure I belonged in Hong Kong. But we worked that out. I just wonder . . . do you totally hate the wilderness? Does he totally hate the city? Or could you maybe find an in-between place that worked for both of you?”

An in-between place. The idea teased at Lily’s brain, but then she realized it didn’t matter anyhow. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk about that. Because the kids thing is what really counts.”

“Why doesn’t he want children?” George asked.

“He’s kind of a loner, wilderness sort of guy. And his parents and grandparents were pretty bad. My parents are”—she struggled for words, not wanting to be disloyal—“not the most supportive. In his book, the word family doesn’t have positive connotations.”

“But you and Dax could do better,” Kim said. “Doesn’t he see that?”

“He doesn’t want to,” she said bitterly.

“Doesn’t he think you’d be a good mom?” Marielle asked.

“Hah. No, he thinks I’d work all the time.” She pressed her fingers against the ache in her temples. “Which isn’t true. Things are really busy right now, but if I had a child, I’d reorganize my work.” How, she had no clear idea. “My baby would come first.”

George nodded. “Good. My mom was always focused on the guy in her life.”

“Dax’s parents were focused on each other, not him.” Her own parents had at least paid attention to her and Anthony, though she’d have preferred more support and fewer demands.

George’s brow wrinkled. “Lily, didn’t you two talk about whether you wanted children before you got married?”

“Yes, when we first got together, but after that, not really. We were both building careers. I always assumed we’d have children when the time was right. Turns out, he was deciding he didn’t want to have any, and he assumed I felt the same way.”

Marielle shook her head. “That’s sad, but people do change. It’s so much easier when you just have casual short-term relationships.”

“Beg to differ,” Kim said.

George nodded. “Me too. I want something deeper. I want a partner I trust to share the good and the bad, to plan and build a life with. Yes, Woody and I will both change but if we pay attention and talk, we can grow together rather than apart.”

“You’re smarter than I was,” Lily said.

George’s amber eyes softened with sympathy. “It’s really too late? You’re positive you and Dax can never agree on the important things?”

“Here’s another question,” Kim said quietly. “What about love? If two people love each other, they can find amazing solutions for their problems. If they don’t, there’s no point trying.”

“We do love each other.” She reflected on Kim’s comment. Had she and Dax given up too easily? Had the years of not paying attention, not communicating, handicapped them? If they tried harder, was there any hope they could find an amazing solution?

“You need to compromise in a relationship,” George said. “And be flexible, be willing to look at alternatives and—”

“Without becoming a doormat,” Marielle broke in.

Kim nodded. “You both have to do it. It has to balance out.”

“Right,” George said. “Lily, you know I support you and care about you, so please don’t be offended. But it seems to me maybe you and Dax are very alike in—”

“No, we’re totally different.”

“Let me finish. Alike in being strong-minded and independent. You’re both used to running your own lives and not so used to sharing them. With my Woody having a job that takes him out of town, I see how that can happen. We do our best to Skype or at least phone every day, so we keep connected. I wonder if you and Dax have forgotten how to share, compromise, make decisions together?”

Compromise, share. Be flexible, look at alternatives. “Perhaps we have,” Lily said slowly.

“Then maybe there’s hope,” George said. “Maybe you can both learn.”

Hope. A tiny word with such huge import. “Thanks, all of you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“Phone or text this week,” George said. “Let us know how things are going and if there’s anything we can do.” Kim and Marielle both nodded vigorously.

They settled the bill, pulled on coats and scarves, and headed outside, where they scattered in different directions. Walking past a Thai restaurant, the delicious aroma drew Lily in. She had an appetite after all, and got takeout tom kha gai soup.

Once home, she opted for jasmine tea rather than another martini, and sat down with her meal. The spicy chicken, mushroom, and coconut milk soup heated her and somehow felt cleansing, like it was driving the numbness and sorrow out of her. The flowery fragrance of the tea soothed her. By the time she’d finished, her headache had gone and the ache in her heart wasn’t so bitter.

She had to make changes in her life. For the past year, her strategy for dealing with pressures at the clinic had been to put in more of her own hours. Not only hadn’t she solved the problems, but if she kept working horrendous hours and stressing out, it might have a negative impact on the thing she valued most: patient care.

Dax had suggested she hire a manager. Admit she needed help. Well, damn it, she did. She wasn’t a superwoman. If her parents considered her a failure, so be it. When they disapproved, it hurt, but she was tired of twisting herself out of shape to win a pat on the head. Yes, Dax was right; they disappointed her too. She wished they were more like her book club friends, willing to comfort and support rather than judge.

She found a notepad in the kitchen drawer, choosing paper and pen over technology. On the pad, she wrote: What do I want?

Words flowed: Children—and the time to spend with them. I want to be a good mother. A loving, supportive one who encouraged her children rather than pressured them.

On the next line, she wrote: To heal people. Was there anything she wanted to add to that? She studied the three simple words. They were the reason she’d chosen family medicine. Yet now she was as much an administrator as a practitioner. As Dax had pointed out.

Without allowing herself second thoughts, she wrote on the third line: Dax.

Tapping the pen against the pad, she studied the three lines. At thirty-two years old, these were the things she wanted from her life. To date, she’d messed up on achieving any of them. Obviously, she was nowhere near as smart as she’d thought she was.

But tonight she’d come this far—and it wasn’t because of her own brilliance, it was because she’d listened to someone other than her parents. She’d listened to Dax, even if she hadn’t been ready to hear at the time. Then she’d listened to her friends, and she had let herself hear. They had no vested interest; they only wanted to help. When she opened herself to that, she’d discovered it wasn’t so horrible to admit that she wasn’t perfect, she was only human and she needed help.

An idea struck her and she examined it from all sides. It was scary, but it felt right.

She took her notebook computer from her bag, but rather than set up in her home office, she went into the living room and flicked on the gas fire. Though it was a pale imitation of the real wood fire Dax had tended in Whistler, the dancing flames gave a touch of coziness.

Notebook on her lap, feet up on the coffee table, she started an e-mail to the distribution list that included everyone who worked at the Well Family Clinic.

As you all know, the practice is expanding, Dr. Brown is moving to half-time, and our resources are stretched. I want to cut back my own hours, particularly when it comes to administration. Others of you have asked about the possibility of flex time and job sharing. It’s time that I—

She backspaced over the “I” and carried on:

—we develop a different model for the clinic. Perhaps we need an office manager or a management committee. Let’s brainstorm. I want to hear all your ideas as to how to make the Well Family Clinic a place that not only provides top-notch service to our patients but is a healthy, happy place to work.

Let’s meet at 8:00 a.m. on Wednesday, for an hour. (Yes, there will be muffins and Danishes!) All patient appointments during that time period will need to be rescheduled. I’ll gladly come in earlier or later any day this week in order to accommodate those patients.

She pondered how to finish then typed:

Together, we’ve built something to be proud of. I thank all of you for your hard work, your enthusiasm, and your patience. We are a team and if I’ve been slow to recognize that and to thank you for it, I apologize. Well Family Clinic is not my practice, it’s ours. And from now on, that’s how it will be run.

Lily read back over the message. It was a little stiff and clumsy, but so was she when it came to reaching out to others. The message wasn’t perfect and neither was she. There was something amazingly liberating about admitting that she’d never be perfect enough to satisfy her parents.

From now on, it was about satisfying herself, about being the kind of person she wanted to be. About being a woman who might possibly find a way to rebuild her marriage with the man she loved.

She was tempted to e-mail Dax, but what would she say? Today, I took a baby step? No, she’d wait until her feet were firmly planted on a new course. Then she’d tell him she hoped that, rather than being on two parallel paths, they could find a way of making their paths join up.

Before shutting down her computer, she sent another e-mail—cancelling her appointment with the divorce lawyer.