“Sophie,” I say carefully. “Good to see you.”
“You too!” she enthuses, with a bright smile that suggests she’s genuinely pleased to see me.
There’s an ID badge clipped to her scrubs that identifies her as Dr. Sophie Kaminsky. “You’re a doctor here now?” I ask.
“Yeah, in the ER.”
“That’s great, Sophie.” Like Luke, she’s wanted to be a doctor since high school.
Troy clears his throat to remind me of my manners, so I perform introductions. I hesitate a moment over how to introduce Troy;my ex-husbandsounds antagonistic, andthe father of my childrenjust sounds silly. I end up just calling him Troy, and I can tell Sophie assumes we’re still together.
“My shift’s about to start, so I should run,” Sophie says. “But if you give me your number, Melissa, maybe we can get together sometime?”
“Sure. Of course.” We swap numbers before she rushes off across the lobby.
“That could be a good number to have,” Troy remarks as we head out to the parking garage. “An ER doctor, I mean. She might be able to help if Claire has more issues.”
“I guess.” Something about Troy’s comment rubs me the wrong way; it’s like he’s implying the only reason to renew the friendship is to benefit from Sophie’s medicalconnections. But the stress of the past few days has made me punchy, so I’m probably reading too much into it.
Troy waits with the kids while I bring the car around to the hospital entrance, then buckles Liam into his carseat while I help Claire. I’m extra careful with her seatbelt, loosening it as much as I dare so it won’t pull across her appendectomy wounds. Troy kisses the kids goodbye before heading off to find his own car.
And finally, after the longest four days of my life, we leave the hospital.
Claire recovers quickly. The day after we get home, she’s bored and begging to go back to school, but I keep her home another two days to be safe.
On Claire’s first morning back at school, my mother comes by shortly after I get home from the drop-off. She’d texted late last night to say she and Dad were home from Italy, but I didn’t know she was planning to come over. I’m still getting used to having her close enough to drop in spontaneously.
“Where are the kids?” Mom asks as I lead her into the kitchen.
“Liam’s at preschool, Claire’s at school.”
“You sent her toschool?” Mom asks incredulously. From the look on her face, you’d think I’d sent my sick child out to run a marathon. “Right after she got home from the hospital?”
“Her surgery was a week ago, Mom,” I say mildly. “Let me put on some coffee.”
“The doctor said Claire could go back?”
“Yeah. She should avoid vigorous activity until he sees her in follow-up, but there are no other restrictions. Italked to her teacher this morning, and they’re going to excuse her from gym class. And if she has any issues, they’ll call me and I’ll pick her up.”
“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell us she had appendicitis,” Mom says.
“I emailed, Mom.” A carefully worded email, sent two days after Claire was home from the hospital, that made no mention of anaphylaxis, the ICU, or Luke Carlton.
“Yes, but not until after it happened,” she points out.
“She was only in the hospital a couple of days.” I spoon coffee into the machine and flip the switch. “I didn’t want to worry you while you were on your trip.”
“Why did she get appendicitis?” my mother asks. “Did the doctors say?”
“I don’t think they know why anyone gets appendicitis. It’s one of those things that just happens.”
“But do you think it could be related to stress? With your divorce?—”
“Divorce doesn’t cause appendicitis, Mom.” I’m carrying enough guilt from the divorce without adding Claire’s appendicitis to the load.
“But moving to Somerset on top of everything,” my mother continues. “A new house, a new school; it’s a lot of upheaval.”
I take a deep breath and focus on pouring our coffee. I struggled with the decision to move back to Somerset, and my mother knows it. In fact, she actually encouraged the move. I was worried about uprooting the kids and making them shuttle back and forth to Toronto every other weekend.
