I laugh because only my mother could find a silver lining that doesn’t make sense. However, it’ll ensure that I work so hard that the hospital becomes not only a success but the destination for people who need to see a neurosurgeon. I know the place will become one of the best hospitals.
He’s not only creating the best hospital and practice in the world, his brothers plan on making this one of the country’s favorite destinations in the Northwest.
“Way to be supportive, Mom. You were more encouraging when I toyed with the idea of getting a Prince Albert piercing.”
“I knew you wouldn’t do it. It was just nonsense. And that’s not the point of this conversation. I want the best for you, but you moved to a small town without asking for our advice. If you were unhappy with your current practice, I—”
“Mom, I got a patient,” I interrupt her, pretending that I’m still working. As a matter of fact, I’d rather go back to the practice than continue listening to her.
“I thought you said the hospital isn’t ready.”
“It’s not, but as I explained to you, I work at a private practice.”
“You’re playing with your future, Darren. It’s time for you to realize that you’re thirty-five.” She repeats my age the way she used to do it when I was ten and still collecting Matchbox cars.
“I love you, Mom. Say hi to everyone.” I hang up, not waiting for another round of nonsense.
I love her dearly, but she needs a hobby. My sisters are behind this mothering. How to redirect Debbie Russell’s attention? Focus it on the child that’s failing at something. In this case, I’m the one not giving her grandchildren. Maybe I need to do something to get her attention away from me.
Chapter Ten
Vance
As promised, on Friday, I go to Dr. Sanders’s house. I arrive around noon and bring a couple of casseroles. Since Hayes had the baby, everyone in town has been dropping off food. No, that’s a lie. The dishes have been coming in since Beacon’s studio exploded. It’s not a daily occurrence, but they do it often enough that there are times we don’t have the space to put them in the refrigerator.
When I knock on the door, the good doctor opens it. His blue eyes glance at the dishes I carry and then at me. “You showed up.”
“Why do you think that I’m not going to turn up?”
“You don’t like to be confronted with emotions. In my experience, those who are faced with the thing they hate, quit. They leave things unfinished.”
“I’m not a quitter.”
“Is that why you’re back?” He gives me a challenging look. “Or is it because I’m in H.I.B.’s approved list of counselors?”
I frown. What is he talking about? “H.I.B?”
“The Organization is a subsidiary of H.I.B.,” he answers.
I knew that, I think. “So, how did they find you here?”
“They didn’t,” he answers. “When I got a call asking if I was available to take you in, I decided to come over instead.”
“This isn’t your house?”
“It belonged to my grandparents.”
“You seem like a man who knows a lot about the town. I just assumed you were from here.”
He shakes his head. “I grew up in Happy Springs. My parents worked in the factory for a long time. I stopped visiting the area after I graduated from college,” he answers.
“Well, that explains why I haven’t seen you before. I appreciate you coming over, but you didn’t have to uproot your life.”
“I’ve been thinking about visiting for the past couple of years. The day I received the call I thought it was a sign. The perfect excuse to take some time off and do something I’ve meant to do for years. Do you want me to take that off your hands?” He grabs the dishes I carry and walks toward the kitchen, setting them in the fridge. “Shall we go to the backyard?”
“Sure,” I say, instead of asking him when he lived here and how well did he know my father. He mentioned that Grandmother called him Billy. What if he has the answers we’ve been looking for? I choose not to do it. Getting the green light to work for The Organization is more important.
Mason Bradley agreed to give me a chance to work for him, but only if I got this guy to sign off that I’m mentally stable to be part of the team.
How do I convince this man that I’m qualified to do the job I was born for when he keeps talking about his family and making me do chores around the house?
He should call one of his children so they can help him. He said he had six, or was it thirteen? How can he have that many kids? I shouldn’t judge him. My father had seven. At least seven that we know about. Beacon, who has been digging into Dad’s past, confirmed there’s no other known person attached to William Aldridge.
What changed? After fathering seven children, suddenly he remembered how to use a condom? Doubtful. Something must’ve happened that he stopped. Maybe he was a sex addict who got help after six of his women discovered the truth. As soon as Beac is back, we should start investigating our father, find other clues.
“What are you thinking?” Dr. Sanders asks.
I blink a couple of times and look at him. “Nothing in particular.”
“Did a memory snatch your attention?”
“Is that even a term, memory snatchers?”
“Ha,” he chuckles. “That’s a good one. You can be funny.”
Remembering what Darren told me the other day, I ask, “You think so?” I pause, thinking about Beacon. “My youngest brother is the funny one of the six. Carter was just as funny. I guess, if he hadn’t died, he’d be the funniest of us. Maybe not. Living here reminds me a lot of him.”
“You miss him.”
“The few times I was seriously injured, I dreamt of him. He gave me hope. I want to think he was there for me. The same happened to Beacon,” I say, not sure if I’m ignoring his question or expanding the answer.
“How did you deal with his loss?”
I didn’t deal.
I look at him and finally unglue my feet from the floor and walk outside. How are all these questions related to my current issue? Aren’t we supposed to discuss why I killed men from my former unit without giving a fuck?
The planks of wood are on the ground. I realize I’m going to need a table saw or something to cut them with.
“Where are your power tools?” I ask.
He gives me an innocent look. “I assumed you had some at home, and you’d bring them over.”
“We have some, but it’ll be weird to bring them over.” I sigh. “Do you own any tools?”
“Not at the moment. I’ve been moving around for the past few years,” he mentions.
“How about your children?” I look at him, horrified. “Shouldn’t you be close to them instead of here?”
He laughs. “They’re old enough,” he assures me. “The two youngest are twenty-seven. They’re pretty independent.”
I nod, wondering about him. He seems like a guy who doesn’t have roots. Maybe he has foster children. What if, after the last children left his house, he and his wife felt so lonely they began to travel. Where is his wife? And maybe he’s drifting because he lost her and doesn’t have a place to call home.