Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77120 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Student loans?” she asks.
“Unfortunately, yes. But being a surgeon is my dream, so I’ll do whatever it takes. My parents taught me that, if nothing else. Work toward your goals. Work as hard as you can, and do the best that you can.”
“Those are pretty amazing values, I’d say,” Marjorie says.
I take another sip of coffee. “They are, and I know Mom and Dad feel badly that they can’t help more with medical school. They do what they can, but for the rest I have to take out loans. It’s not like I have a job like I did in college. Med school takes all my time.”
“Yes, Angie has told us about how rigorous the study is.” She lays a hand on my forearm. “You know Bryce and I are always here for you if you need anything.”
Did Marjorie Simpson just offer to pay for my medical school?
No, of course not. She’s just being nice.
“That’s very kind of you,” I say, “but I’ll manage. I always have.”
She smiles. “So you’re hoping to be a surgeon?” She takes a sip of orange juice. “Like Jason.”
“Yes, it’s been my dream forever.”
“Funny,” she says. “You and Angie couldn’t be more different. She hates the idea of surgery, yet she’s marrying a surgeon. She’s always dreamed of following in my sister-in-law’s footsteps and becoming a psychiatrist.”
“Dr. Steel is an amazing psychiatrist,” I say. “Very well known. I’d heard of her even before med school.”
“I know she would want you to call her Melanie,” Marjorie says.
“Yes, she told me to do that when I was here last time, but it still feels so… I don’t know.” I shrug. “She’s top in her field, top in the country. To me she’ll always be Dr. Steel.” Then I frown. “Speaking of her… How is your brother doing?”
Marjorie draws in a breath. “Good, actually, and thank you for asking. He’s fatigued and ill a lot of the time, but he’s responding well to his experimental treatment, and though he’s still bald as a cue ball, he’s keeping a good attitude.”
“I’m so sorry for what your family is going through.”
Her jaw trembles slightly, but she quickly steadies it. “We’ll get through it. We Steels always do. I do adore my big brother. All my brothers, actually. They’re so much older than I am, but they were always so good at letting me tag along at all the big-boy things they did even though I know I drove them crazy. Joe’s the one who taught me how to shoot a gun. And Talon taught me how to ride a horse.”
“I’m sure if anyone can get through this, your brother can,” I say, hoping I’m telling the truth.
She nods. “Everyone in the family is determined to stay positive. Bradley’s having the hardest time of it, which has upped the responsibility on Henry to run the foundation. And now Henry… Well… He hasn’t been himself.”
I nod. “I will certainly always be indebted to him. He saved our lives that night.”
“I know he did. And he doesn’t feel any guilt about that, but he took a life, and that’s difficult for anyone.”
“I can imagine that it is.”
“But Melanie is working with him—when he takes the time to see her, that is.”
“I thought she specialized in childhood trauma,” I say.
“She does, or did, since she’s technically retired. But she’s the best at any kind of trauma.”
I nod.
I’m not sure what to say.
Turns out I don’t need to say anything, though, because Henry—his ears no doubt burning—walks into the kitchen at that exact moment.
Twelve
Henry
My mother’s pretty face lights up when she sees me. She has that same look whenever she sees one of her kids. She’s always treated me as if I’m her full-blooded son. And I feel like she’s my mother. My birth mother could never take her place.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” she says. “Join us. Anya’s frittata is almost ready.”
“Coffee, Mr. Henry?” Anya asks.
“Yes, please. Thanks, Anya.”
Anya pours me a mug of steaming black coffee and hands it to me. I inhale, letting the robust fragrance drift into my body. I love coffee. Always have. The stronger the better, and always black.
Anya pulls out a hot frittata from the oven. She’s a great cook, though not as good as my mom. But Mom lets Anya handle breakfast. She says she doesn’t have time for such trivial meals.
“Smells wonderful,” Mom says. “Garlic, onion, bacon, and cheese…” She inhales. “I think it’s a smoked Gouda.”
Anya smiles. “No one has a better nose than you, Miss Marjorie.”
“Aren’t you going to sit down?” Mom asks me.
I look at the table. “Where are the girls?”
“Sage and Dad had to go into work early to get some stuff done so they can take the rest of the weekend off for the wedding festivities,” Mom says. “And Angie’s not up yet.”
“Yes, I am.” Angie enters the kitchen with a yawn. She has a short bathrobe pulled over her tank and boxers.