At the post office, Elm Street curved north. Already that northwest wind was starting to blow in across the lake. It blasted through the narrow alleys between buildings, and walking along the sidewalk was like passing through a series of icy wind tunnels. In the window above the five-and-dime, a black cat gazed down at her, as though pondering the stupidity of creatures out in such weather.
Next to the five-and-dime was the yellow Victorian where Claire had her medical practice.
The building had once served as Dr. Pomeroys business and residence. The door still had the old frosted glass with the lettering: MEDICAL OFFICE. Although the name James Pomeroy, M.D., had been replaced by Claire Elliot, M.D., Family Practice, she sometimes imagined she could see the shadow of the old name lingering like a ghost in the pebbled glass, refusing to yield to the new occupant.
Inside, her receptionist, Vera, was yakking on the phone, her bracelets clattering as she flipped through the appointment book. Veras hairstyle was like her personality: wild and woolly and a little frazzled. She cupped her hand over the receiver and said to Claire, Mairead Temples in the exam room. Sore throat.
Hows the rest of the afternoon look?
Two more coming in, and thats it.
Which added up to only six patients all day, worried Claire. Since the summer tourists departed, Claires practice had contracted. She was the only doctor with an office right in Tranquility, yet most of the locals drove the twenty miles to Two Hills for medical care. She knew why; not many in town believed shed last through one hard winter, and they saw no point getting attached to a doctor whod be gone by the following autumn.
Mairead Temple was one of the few patients Claire had managed to attract, but it was only because Mairead owned no car. Shed walked a mile into town, and now she sat on the exam table, still wheezing slightly from the cold weather.
Mairead was eighty-one and she had no teeth or tonsils. Nor did she have much deference for authority.
Examining Maireads throat, Claire said, It does look pretty red.
I coulda told you that myself, Mairead answered.
But you dont have a fever. And your lymph nodes arent swollen.
Hurts wicked bad. Cant hardly swallow.
Ill take a throat culture. By tomorrow well know if its strep. But I think its just a virus.
Mairead, her eyes small and suspicious, watched Claire peel open a throat swab.
Dr. Pomeroy always gave me penicillin.
Antibiotics dont work on a virus, Mrs. Temple.
Always made me feel better, that penicillin.
Say ah.
Mairead gagged as Claire swabbed her throat. She looked like a tortoise, leathery neck extended, toothless mouth snapping at the air. Eyes watering, she said: Pomeroy was in practice a long time. Always knew what he was doing. All you young doctors, you coulda learned a thing or two from him.
Claire sighed. Would she always be compared to Dr. Pomeroy? His gravestone sat in a place of honor in the Mountain Street Cemetery. Claire saw his cryptic notes in the old medical charts, and sometimes she sensed his ghost dogging her on her rounds. Certainly it was Pomeroys ghost that now came between her and Mairead. Dead though he was, he would always be remembered as the town doctor.
Lets listen to your lungs, said Claire.
Mairead grunted and tugged at her clothes. It was cold outside, and she had dressed for it. A sweater, a cotton shirt, thermal underwear, and a bra all had to be pulled free before Claire could set her stethoscope on her chest.
Through the thump-thump of Maireads heart, Claire heard a distant tapping and she looked up.
Vera stuck her head in the room. Call on line two.
Can you take a message?
Its your son. He wont talk to me.
Excuse me, Mrs. Temple, Claire said, and went into her office to take the call. Noah?
You have to pick me up. Im gonna miss the bus.
But its only two-fifteen. The bus hasnt left yet.
Im in detention. I cant leave until three-thirty.
Why? What happened?
I dont wanna talk about it now.
Im going to find out anyway, honey
Not now, Mom. She heard him sniffle, heard the tears break through his voice.
Please. Please, can you just come and get me?
The phone went dead. Haunted by the image of her son, crying and in trouble, Claire quickly dialed the school back. But by the time she reached the secretary, Noah had already left the office, and Miss Cornwallis was not available to speak to her.
Claire had an hour to finish with Mairead Temple, see two new patients, and drive to the school.
Feeling pressured now, and distracted by Noahs crisis, she stepped back into the exam room and was dismayed to see that Mairead already had put her clothes back on.
Im not quite finished examining you, said Claire.
Yeah, yare, grunted Mairead.
But Mrs. Temple-
Came for penicillin. Didnt come to get no Q-Tip shoved down my throat.
Please, wont you just sit down? I know I do things a little differently from Dr. Pomeroy, but theres a reason for it. Antibiotics dont stop a virus, and they can cause side effects.
Never caused me no side effects.