Enable me to love you with all my strength that I may clasp your hand with all my heart.

Saint Augustine

Chapter Eight

Miles

After I drop Nerissa and Twila off, I set off for the twenty-minute drive home—Highway 1 through Fort Bragg, and then about ten minutes north, where Sarah and I built our home seven years ago. It was always Sarah’s dream to have a house overlooking the ocean. I’m grateful God allowed me to fulfill her dream before she died.

We didn’t buy the property or build the house on income from my Fort Bragg practice. The money came from my practice in Danville. I practiced there for nineteen years. That’s where we lived after we married, where we raised the boys. But once the boys left home, we decided to make a change that suited us both.

Sarah got her house on the ocean, and I found a community where I could practice medicine the way I wanted to—offering care to the residents of a community whether they could pay for that care or not.

In Danville, I was contracted with an HMO and I had to adhere to their guidelines. It wasn’t unusual for me to see twenty-five patients in a single day, which meant no patient received more than about ten minutes of my time. That didn’t suit me. I believe practicing medicine is as much about relationship as it is about treatment. But I knew what I was doing would facilitate what I wanted to do down the road.

And now, here I am. I love what I do, but I need some time—time to focus on what I want now. On my next step. Not professionally. But personally. That’s why I brought in Courtney—Dr. Norman. It’s time to build more friendships—male and female. I didn’t take time to do that when I set up the new practice. Besides, I had Sarah. She was my best friend, I didn’t feel the need for more. Which, in retrospect, wasn’t fair to her.

Nerissa is about my only friend in Mendocino County. I appreciate her. Sure, I have acquaintances, but I want more than that.

As I drive the dark stretch of highway, my mind goes back to what I witnessed tonight. After we finished dinner, I asked Rosa if I could say a quick good-bye to Ellyn. Rosa took my arm and led me back to the kitchen, leaving Nerissa and Twila waiting at the table.

“You go on back.” Rosa all but pushed me toward the kitchen. “She won’t mind.”

So I walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen—and stopped. No one noticed I was there, so I stood and watched.

Ellyn. In her element.

As witty and quick to speak as she is, I’ve noticed a reserve about her—when in my office, or when making the rounds in the dining room of the café. But in her kitchen—her place of comfort, I’d guess—that reserve was gone.

Though everyone in the kitchen hustled, Ellyn bantered back and forth with her staff. There was no tension in their busyness, just ease—the type of camaraderie you see between those who work together and enjoy what they do.

But then Ellyn spied me, and the shadow of reserve, at least that’s what I thought it was, returned. I saw her sous chef notice the change in her, and then he looked my direction too. I raised my hand and waved at her. “I just wanted to say good night. Thanks for another great meal. It had been too long.” I had to speak up to be heard over the clamor of the kitchen.

She’d smiled and nodded. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

I turned to go, but I knew I’d kick myself later, so I turned back. She was still looking at me. “I wonder if . . .”

Her whole staff was listening in.

She must have sensed my discomfort because she set the knife she had in her hand on the countertop and walked toward me. I wiped my palms on my slacks as she made her way across the kitchen.

When she got to me, she looked at me, eyebrows raised, those green eyes curious. I felt my heart rate increase.

“I”—Good grief. My voice hadn’t cracked like that since puberty!—“I wondered if I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime?”

“Oh . . .”

It was her turn to hesitate.

“Um . . . I—”

“—she love to have you buy her coffee. You jus’ call her tomorrow.”

Ellyn and I both turned to see Rosa, or at least what was visible of her on the other side of the swinging doors. Then she pushed her way in.

“You come now. She got work to do.” And to Ellyn: “He call you tomorrow.”

I looked back at her as Rosa led me out. “May I? Call?”

She looked blank—no expression on her face that I could read—but she gave a slow—and what? uncertain?—nod.

But it was enough. I smiled at Rosa on my way out. “Thanks.” I gestured toward the kitchen.

“You make sure you call her. And you be nice to her. You want me on your side. Si?”

“Si.” I laughed, and then bent and dropped a kiss on Rosa’s cheek. “I definitely want you on my side.” She’d swatted at my arm and giggled. “You go. Go home, Mr. Doctor.”

I smile now as I pull into the long, paved drive leading to the house. I reach for the remote on the center console and punch a button. The garage door rises and the lights in the house come on. I knew there would be nights when I’d be at the hospital and Sarah would be coming home from somewhere alone. I never wanted her to walk into a dark house.

When I enter the house, I hear chatter from the television in the great room. I set the TV to come on with the lights after Sarah was gone. I don’t like walking into a silent house. But tonight, I go straight to the great room and turn the TV off. Then I head to the large kitchen and fill a mug with boiling water from the instant hot spigot on the kitchen sink, and take a tea bag from a canister on the granite kitchen countertop. I drop the bag into the water and watch it steep.

Nerissa’s comment tonight, after Twila had gone into their house, passes through my mind: “I think Sarah would approve of you getting to know Ellyn.”

I didn’t tell Nerissa that I knew she was right, Sarah would approve—had given her approval, in fact.

Exploring a friendship with Ellyn is all I’m ready for. I chuckle as I take the tea bag out of my mug. “Then why’d you feel like a junior higher when you asked her out for a cup of coffee, ol’ boy?”

I take my tea to my study and sit in the brown leather chair in the corner of the wood-paneled room. I put my feet up on the ottoman and then slurp the hot tea—a nighttime habit I picked up from Sarah.

The tea, not the slurping.

Now, in the still of the room, I consider the topic that’s bothered me for awhile.

Ellyn’s weight.

The issue isn’t her looks. She’s a beautiful woman. Period. My concern isn’t whether or not I could find her attractive. Truth be told, I already do. Have since I first met her in my office. Of course, it wasn’t something I dwelled on—it just was and is a fact. She’s an attractive woman—inside and out.

So am I hoping for more than friendship? I don’t know. The idea is still so new to me.

In our doctor/client relationship, Ellyn and I discussed her weight. Until the last year or so, her numbers were always good. Low cholesterol, low blood pressure, and normal blood sugar levels. The only time her weight came up was when she asked about it. Did it impact the arthritis developing in her feet and back? Did it affect the recent diagnosis of fibromyalgia?

I was honest with her—yes, her weight may exacerbate the symptoms of those diagnoses. Otherwise, her weight didn’t seem like much of an issue.

But now . . .

I’m not looking at her from a medical standpoint anymore. If we become friends, or more—especially if we become more—how will I handle the issue of her weight? I set the mug on a coaster on the side table next to the chair and push the ottoman out of the way.

I get up from the chair and pace. Time to face the real question: Am I willing to risk my heart with a woman who might face potential serious health issues because of her weight?

Your heart is Mine, Miles.

Yes, Lord. But can I let myself care about her, if . . .

Could I talk to her about it? Ask her to consider the future ramifications of her weight? Why hadn’t I done that as her doctor? Why hadn’t I suggested she lose weight? Maybe I could talk to Courtney, she’s her doctor now, and make certain she’s having those conversations with her.

I sit in my desk chair and put my head in my hands. Lord, how do I handle this? I sit in silence, hoping for an answer. But nothing comes. I’ve learned enough through the years that when God is silent, it’s my cue to hold tight. Do nothing. Wait on Him.

I sigh and lift my head. When I do, I see the family picture that sits on my desk—Sarah and me with the boys. It was taken the Christmas after we moved into the house and the kids were home for the holiday. I feel the familiar stab of grief. For myself. And for my sons.

I can’t go through that again, Lord.

I stand, walk back to the corner of the room, and retrieve my mug. Then I walk out of the study, turning off the light as I go.

Trust Me.

I stop in the hallway outside my study, and an image of Ellyn, the way she looked in the kitchen tonight, comes back to me. There, in the dark hallway, in my quiet house, the answer to my earlier question comes to me. How do I handle Ellyn’s weight and potential health issues?

Simple.

I don’t.

Some would disagree. Friends speak truth in love, they’d say. I believe that too.

But, as a medical professional, I know that just because someone is overweight it doesn’t always mean they’re unhealthy.

Anyway, Ellyn belongs to God. She’s not mine to fix. That was a hard-won lesson I had to learn with Sarah.

But I did learn it.

I trust You, Lord. Strengthen me for whatever You hold in store. I want to follow You with an undivided heart.

Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.