Page 84 of Meet Me on Greenwood

There was a brief light in his eyes, recognition sparking in them. His skin paled as if he was seeing a ghost. "Is it really you?" he asked hesitantly.

"It is. Come home," she said, opening her arms. "I’ve missed you."

I readied myself as he approached, unwilling to let Paul harm Gema again, but he turned away at the last moment. "I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry."

"I forgive you. Paul, look at me. I forgive you."

Paul shook his head as if clearing his mind, then looked around. "Where am I?"

Before I could respond, she said, "You are in the Oaklawn Cemetery. It is Thursday evening. You left the hospital earlier today. Houston and I are here to help you." Her voice was both soothing and deliberate. Whatever she was doing seemed to work because he finally seemed to recognize her.

"The hospital? I don’t want to go back there."

"You can’t go back to your home," I said. "It wouldn’t be safe."

"Perhaps," Gema offered, "you could go to Dr. Whitaker’s home, just for tonight. He could watch you, and I could come visit you during the day." She glanced at me to see if I opposed.

"Yes," Paul agreed. "I will go to Houston’s home. I don’t want to go back to the hospital. I don’t like the drugs. I started spitting them out."

I weighed my options. They’d have sedate him intravenously now that he was noncompliant with the medication, but as Gema pointed out, he wasn’t going to get better and he didn’t have anyone. Just us.

"Yes, you can come home with me."

I was not sure why I felt such kinship with this man. It was beyond comprehension. I’d seen Paul and his wife at church a few times, and they were friendly enough. When I’d given Beth the diagnosis of Bright’s disease, I knew I would never forget it. She came to her appointment alone, even though I’d insisted she bring Paul.

When I broke the bad news, she asked how I was holding up, after having to deliver her prognosis. I’d never been asked that question before. I’d never had a patient comfort me when it was she who needed to be comforted.

"I hope you find a nice girl to distract from the work you do," she said before making me promise not say a word to Paul. She said she would come twice a week for appointments and tell him she was shopping with a friend. As a doctor, I was bound by confidentiality, though I knew many doctors that would not have abided by it so strictly, given her gender.

When Paul came in for his annual physical, my tongue burned to tell him the truth. In the end, I only asked after her and said I hoped she was doing well.

The night Paul found out that Beth was dying was the same night she’d collapsed at home. I’d met them at the hospital, and she’d told him the rest from there. He’d been so hurt. She had made me promise to look after him in her final days. Beth Hatley really was a saint, always looking after others. The day that she’d passed, she’d encouraged me to give up medicine to pursue something that made me happier.

The thing was, at the time, nothing made me happier than medicine. I felt fulfilled helping others, especially those who could not be cared for otherwise. I strived to be the physician my mother needed. That had been enough for me, until I met Gema, and yet somehow Beth knew before I did.

I watched as Paul slept on the couch in the great room. He'd been disturbed by the sounds that occurred on the property at night—the low, guttural calls of bullfrogs down by the pond, the occasional shriek of an owl and the creak and settle of an old house cooling after a hot day. Even Gema struggled to sleep. I thought about her laying in my bed all those weeks ago. I hadn’t even changed the sheets after she’d left, though Lettie had tried. If I couldn’t have her, I intended to enjoy the fantasy of us together in my head.

Paul sat up on the couch and looked around. "Where am I? Where is Beth?"

"You are home. Beth went to grab something from the cellar. She will be right back."

He nodded and pulled the covers back up to his chest. This was the fifth time he’d asked me where we were. I’d tried to orient him at first, and when that didn’t work, I tried Gema’s approach. I didn’t argue, and I gave him an answer that would satisfy him—until he asked again.

It was a good thing my practice was closing. I’d have plenty of time to spend with him as he stayed awake during the night.

I’d managed only a few hours of sleep before I heard a knock on the door. I looked out the window. The sun was just now rising.

"Lettie!" I called.

Paul stirred, but didn’t wake completely. I didn’t dare call out again. It had to be Edmund. I would usher him away and grab a few more hours of sleep.

I opened the door before another knock could wake Paul, and the words I planned to say got caught in my throat. Gema Cross stood on the threshold in a pretty yellow dress, holding a carpet bag.

She smiled, noting my appearance. "I came to help you."

32

Gema