Prescription: Marry Her Immediately

Until that moment, the demands of studying and working combined with his own playful nature had kept Quent from paying much attention to his family’s problems. He’d assumed the people he loved would always be around, always be fine, always be able to manage.

He knew that his mother, Alice, drank too much, and that his father responded by withdrawing emotionally. He’d never understood why his older brother Jeffrey refused to acknowledge the seriousness of Alice’s drinking, but then, Quent had tried to persuade her to seek help and knew how futile that was.

That night changed everything, too late. He hadn’t known, at a gut emotional level, that the people you loved could suddenly be snatched away from you. And he’d never imagined the abyss that would open up inside.

At the hospital, he learned that Jeffrey, Jeffrey’s wife Paula, their infant daughter and young son had gone with Alice to a friend’s barbecue in the countryside. Quent’s father, Bruce, had declined, because he had brought home overflow work from his law practice.

At the barbecue, liquor flowed. Afterwards, even though Jeffrey must have known Alice had been drinking, he’d allowed her to take the wheel of her car. It was, sadly, typical “enabling” behavior.

Driving too fast at night, she’d swerved to avoid hitting the back of a slow-moving semi truck. The car had veered off a small bridge and into a swollen creek.

All three adults were killed. The truck driver and a passerby had managed to unstrap the children and bring them to safety, but they’d been unable to save the others.

In the months that followed, Quent had steered his father into treatment for depression while struggling with his own sense of helplessness and regret. He’d also done his best to help the children get settled.

At the time, Quent had been working rotating shifts that made parenting an infant and a preschooler impossible. Since his father was in no condition to raise them and Paula’s mother suffered from severe arthritis, Paula’s sister Lucy had become their guardian.

Single and a bit flaky, she was a good sport, but he wondered now if she’d realized what she was taking on. Although Quent had visited frequently while he lived in San Diego, he had to be on call most weekends since moving to Orange County and it was hard to find time to make the three-hour round-trip drive.

As another blast of rain hit the glass, he recalled with a guilty twinge that he hadn’t talked to his niece and nephew in several weeks. The last time had been when Lucy called to thank him for some gifts he’d sent Tara and Greg.

He took out his cell phone and dialed.

“Hello? Enlighten me.” It was Lucy, who, even at twenty-six, sometimes talked like a teenager. During the week, she was an assistant department manager at a large insurance company that provided child care. On the weekends, her passion was long-distance running.

“It’s Quent. How’s the weather down there?”

“Miserable, which is why I’m working out indoors.” In the background, he heard the squeak of her treadmill. “Man, I hate this humidity. If I wanted humidity, I’d move to Florida.”

“How’re the kids?”

“Going crazy from being cooped up. Hang on.” A moment later, she put Greg on the phone.

Sounding grown-up for a four-year-old, he filled Quent in on his day-care group’s adventures in making something called stone soup. Apparently it included numerous ingredients, although no actual stones.

“We heard this story about it. The man said he could make soup from a stone,” Greg explained. “He talked this old lady into giving him stuff to make it taste better. You know, like noodles and onions.”

“Very clever,” Quent said.

Next, Tara babbled away happily, interposing a few recognizable words with her baby talk. Child development fascinated Quent. He’d studied the physical and emotional facts of childhood, but it was much more striking to observe them outside a clinical setting, especially when you cared so much about the youngsters.

He wondered if Amy liked kids. As a counselor who spent her life helping people, surely she did, and she’d shown a marked interest in the newborns yesterday. Maybe someday she’d enjoy meeting Tara and Greg.

“I’ll come see you soon,” Quent promised before saying goodbye to each child in turn.

“They miss you,” Lucy said. She didn’t include herself. The two of them had been practically strangers until the tragedy and, although they got along fine, had little in common apart from the children.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“Okay. I’m not much of a mother type but we muddle along. Thank goodness they like macaroni and cheese,” she said.

“I’d like to come visit soon. When would be convenient?”

“I’m not sure. We’ve got a lot of changes at work and I’ve had to put in some extra hours,” Lucy said. “I’ll give you a call, okay?”

“Thanks.”

After he rang off, Quent was glad to see the rain slackening. It was growing dark, turning from daytime into Saturday night. After years of overwork, he loved to party, and rarely got the chance. Now where had he put that flier?

He dug through a handful of papers on the passenger seat. There was a staff memo from Dr. Fingger about the Thanksgiving holiday schedule, filled with exhortations not to be late or ask for changes. The guy really needed to loosen up.

Beneath it lay a reminder about the annual pre-Christmas soiree hosted by the Doctors Circle administrator, Patrick Barr, which this year was going to double as his wedding reception. It made sense to Quent that the guy was getting maximum bang for the buck.

Here it was! He pulled out the flier he’d been handed by Rob Sentinel, a new obstetrician at the clinic. Rob was hosting a bring-your-own bottle party tonight, promising loud music, lousy food and nowhere near enough chairs. Perfect!

It would be more fun if Amy could go, but he suspected she’d be busy settling in at her aunt’s. Well, the two of them weren’t joined at the hip.

After the grind of medical school, Quent had sworn to take it easy when he got the chance. He’d had less time for fun than he expected during his residencies, and now he seized every opportunity to blow off steam.

He put the SUV into gear and headed to a convenience store. He’d better pick up some taco chips and spray cheese in case Rob ran short. It wasn’t fair to let one guy shoulder the whole work of staging a party by himself.

Chapter Three

Amy was almost asleep when the cell phone rang on her bedside table. Thinking it might be one of her clients, she shook off her daze as she grabbed it. “Amy Ravenna,” she said.

“Quentin Ladd,” came the response. He sounded utterly mellow. The background noise of conversation and music gave her a clue why.

Amy checked the clock. Nearly midnight. “You went to that party of Rob Sentinel’s, didn’t you?” She tried to quell a spurt of jealousy that came from knowing plenty of single nurses must be present.

“Bingo,” he said.

“And you’ve had a few beers.”

“Two,” he said. “I never have more than two.” He made a point of never drinking to excess.

“Is something wrong?” she asked sleepily, and hoped the ringing phone hadn’t disturbed her aunt Mary or seventeen-year-old cousin Kitty, who’d both gone to bed an hour ago.

“Yes,” Quent said. “You’re not here.”

Warmth seeped through Amy. “I thought of going, but Aunt Mary and I were figuring out what to fix for Thanksgiving.” It was only a few days away.

“Throw on some clothes and come join me.”

She’d rather he took off his clothes and joined her. Uh-oh. She hadn’t said that aloud, had she? “I’d better not,” Amy said. “I’m tired and it’s raining.”

“It’s stopped. Besides, we have some unfinished business.” His tone wasn’t exactly suggestive, and he certainly wasn’t applying pressure. It was more of an open invitation, leaving the decision to her.

Amy knew how she had to respond. “It’s best left unfinished.”