The Doctor's Devotion

Something unsettling oozed out of him, like suds from the sponge he squeezed over a dish. She’d said “this week.”

She must not realize his eating with Lem was an every-morning ritual, even when they didn’t have a mile-long chore list. She was liable to go from zero to mad and stay there the second she found out. And she’d find out soon enough.

Days before Lauren told Lem she was coming, Lem had given Mitch the summer to-do list. Much-needed home-improvement projects, knowing Mitch had limited time before the trauma center took off full force in the fall. Mitch wasn’t about to neglect Lem’s requests, because in addition to worrying about Lauren, Lem fretted over things breaking down in and around his house.

Mitch regretted that her warmth would cool and her smile dim when she learned how tightly his life was twined with Lem’s, but it seemed inevitable. Jealousy was the only reasonable explanation why her beautiful eyes radiated anger every time he interacted with Lem.

Didn’t she know she didn’t have to always live like the outsider or waste one more breath believing she didn’t belong? How sad was that?

Mitch studied her as she dried the dishes he set in the drain. Water glistened off her hands as she rescued a spoon he missed in the rinse water before the disposal gobbled it.

She hit a switch and the noise faded. Citrusy clean scents permeated the kitchen. Horses clomped and pistols pop-popped from Lem’s favorite vintage Western show on a TV Mitch had set up in Lem’s living room.

She peered over her shoulder at Lem and smiled. It plied his heart like putty and softened it to clay.

Out of respect for Lem’s care concerning Lauren, how could Mitch reach out and pull her in? Pulling away from Lem wasn’t the answer, even though that’s probably what Lauren would prefer Mitch do. Loneliness plagued Lem enough, and Mitch wasn’t about to abandon him on purpose.

On the spurs of the rowdy Western show came a comedy, as evidenced by Lem’s whooping laughter. The sound made Lauren’s face beam like a thousand moons at midnight. Her iridescent eyes and effervescent expression mirrored happiness he felt inside.

Their gazes connected then darted to the floor.

She poured Lem a fresh cup of coffee. Mitch resisted the urge to tell her Lem preferred the red chipped cup. She’d learn.

Mitch’s penchant for being helpful put him in trouble at times. Lauren obviously knew how particular Lem was about certain things. She stacked plates and organized dishes exactly how Lem liked it, which was “how he had always done it.”

Coffee cups came and went, but the cherished never left.

Lauren would learn that in time. He refused to infringe on the sacred, and she and Lem had shared losses that immortalized them from ever letting the importance of one another go.

She was just insecure right now, was all. Hopefully.

The lower cabinet creaked as she opened it. Haphazardly stacked pans toppled out onto her toes. Mitch hunkered next to her to help restack the storage space.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“Sure.” He lifted heavy pans as she held the cranky-hinged cabinet door. “I’ve been meaning to fix that. Time gets away from me.”

“I know the feeling,” she said softly, surprising him. Vulnerable eyes flitted to his then to where Lem cackled at the TV. Then her gaze lowered to the floor.

She needed to know Mitch wasn’t a threat. He had no intention of stealing her grandfather away from her. He also had no intention of pulling back on the reins of his and Lem’s familylike relationship just because it rubbed her wrong.

The solution was to share Lem. The problem was on her end. She needed to come to the realization of how irrational her ire was. Even still, compassion tried to take up residence next to Mitch’s resolve not to let her anger influence his actions.

Disarmingly quiet, she hung the damp dish towel on a rack affixed to the wall then joined Lem. Mitch found a screwdriver. He grew intent on working the creaks and kinks out of the cabinet. And from this uncomfortably tense and trying situation.

Mitch would be here long after Lauren left. Lem needed stability in his life. Lauren had made it perfectly clear she didn’t intend to stay past summer’s end. That reality made Mitch sad for Lem, who desperately wanted Lauren close. Had she any idea how deeply Lem ached for her and her nearness?

Hopefully Lauren didn’t have the kind of self-absorption that his ex possessed which led her to decimate important relationships in her life.

He shouldn’t liken Lauren to Sheila. But the recent breakup still smarted. Perhaps he should withhold judgment and extend grace, as Lem taught him growing up.

Lauren reentered the kitchen with a funny expression. “Trash runs tomorrow. He asked us to clean out his fridge.”

On the way to it, Mitch caught sight of Lem, sniggering over his coffee cup as he eyed the pair. “I’m sure he did.” Mitch shook his head.

Lauren reached in and started checking dates on goods while Mitch peeled the lids of leftover dishes and looked with fear.

Lauren set about helping him. Only, she popped the tops off, poked her nose inside and smelled the contents.

“You are brave.” He indicated the containers. “No telling how long some of that stuff has been in there.”

“Ew!” Lauren’s nose pinched as she clamped a lid back on a bowl. “I don’t think those beets were supposed to be pickled.”

Mitch laughed and tried not to enjoy her response too much.

She shook her head and surveyed the fridge contents. “I’ve never seen anyone with so many butter containers in one place.”

“He likes using them for storage. Not just food. He has an entire garage wall lined with shelves of butter tubs. Full of batteries, bolts, nuts, nails and everything imaginable.”

Her lovely smile dimmed, making him wish he’d kept quiet. Last thing he wanted to do was cause her to have to contend with more hurt. He was just trying to make conversation.

All these containers and no way to butter her up? Think, Mitch.

“Wanna help me wash?” Mitch lifted a dozen empty tubs.

“Of course.” She also took an armload to the sink and they began doing the dishes. Again. This time the silence between them leaned toward sweet instead of stilted.

What gave him the nerve, Mitch didn’t know, but he rested his elbow against hers as they worked together. Just as in surgery. Like a team. Surprisingly, she didn’t resist.

Joy rose when she squeezed the detergent bottle and giggled. He loved the sound and intended to ensure Lem heard it more. Lem worried himself sick over Lauren.

Not only that, laughter seemed to deter her from the frank jealousy she possessed over his friendship with her grandpa.

Lauren stilled then stiffened. He peered at what she did.

Photos on the fridge. As many of Mitch with Lem fishing and doing other recreational activities as there were of her and Lem.

She narrowed her gaze, turned fiercely on Mitch.

“Yeah, we like to have fun,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”

“There lies the problem. You don’t see.” She swept her hand toward the fridge surface as though tempted to sweep the photos away, but stopped and eyed Lem. Her hand dropped with defeated finality. “Fishing was our thing. Always. Just me and Grandpa.”

“This isn’t a competition, Lauren.” Mitch touched her arm gently.

She jerked it away—not so gently. “He isn’t your grandpa.”

He was, though. Sort of. Not by blood maybe, but by tears and time invested and years of talks of dreams and fears. “How about next time we go fishing, you go with us?” Mitch offered.