“Hmm. So maybe there is some point to what you’re saying.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, it’s like magic. It’s like the first person on the scene is invisible. And the second person has that special voice that does the trick. I don’t know what it is, but it seems to work. It even happened with me and a couple of my brothers. Barrett and I got into fights all the time. One time he was irritating the shit out of me and I’d had enough, so I hauled off and punched him in the face. He went down, hard, and started bawling like a baby. Grant was nearby so he came in and got a towel for Barrett’s bloody nose and tried to get him to stop crying.”
“Let me guess,” Aubry said. “He wouldn’t stop, right?”
“You got it. And then Flynn, who’s the oldest, comes in—and you gotta understand, Flynn is one tough sonofabitch. But here’s this twelve-year-old kneeling down over Barrett being all soothing and telling him everything is going to be all right, which is basically what Grant had just said to him, but Barrett stopped crying.”
Aubry shook her head. “I’m going to make it a point to be the second person in the exam room from now on whenever I have a kid as a patient. I’ll send the nurse in first. She can deal with all the crying, and then I’ll be the savior.”
He laughed. “There’s a sound plan.”
“Also, you big bully. Punching your brother like that.”
“Hey. Do you have any idea how many times Barrett knocked me on my ass? He had it coming.”
“If you say so. Your poor mother. She was probably breaking up fights between you all the time, wasn’t she?”
“She did her share, and don’t do the poor mom thing. She managed us boys just fine.”
“Then poor—what’s your sister’s name again? Mia?”
“Yes. And don’t do the poor Mia thing, either. Being the youngest with four big brothers, she was a master manipulator. She had us all wrapped around her little finger.”
Aubry laughed. “Okay, then. I feel better about your little sister.”
They had coffee after dinner, but both of them passed on dessert.
“When do you have days off?” he asked.
“They vary. I work some weekends, and sometimes I have days off during the week.”
“Me, too. Well, except for the fact that I never have weekends off. Not during the season, anyway.”
“That must suck for you.”
“I’m used to it. It’s just part of the job.” He finished his coffee, then put his cup to the side. “You should come to a game.”
“I’ve seen plenty of games. I’m not really all that interested.”
“But you haven’t seen me pitch. I’m good.”
“You mean you’re good when someone isn’t kicking you in the balls, or stomping on your leg, or when you’re not falling over a pile of rocks?”
“Hey. You haven’t exactly seen me at my best. On the mound, when I’m throwing the ball? That’s my best.”
“Humble, aren’t you?”
“Athletes have to think they’re the best at what they do. Otherwise, what’s the point in playing?”
“I suppose.” She took a sip of coffee, wondering what it was about him that intrigued her so much she was actually entertaining the idea of attending a baseball game. Her parents had dragged her to so many baseball games that now she only did it with the greatest amount of reluctance, and only when her father insisted.
“Don’t you think you’re a great doctor?”
“I have good days and bad days, but I haven’t yet reached the God complex phase of my medical career yet.”
He laughed. “I see. At what point does that occur?”
“Hopefully never. There are already plenty of those types of doctors out there—mainly the surgeons. And since I’m not a surgeon, I don’t see me ever thinking of myself as godlike.”
“Good to know. But just FYI? You’re a really good doctor, Aubry. And I speak from experience as one of your patients.”
She looked down at her cup, then up at him, not sure how to react to his praise. It wasn’t something she heard often, since she mostly heard criticism, and since she saw her patients for a brief period of time, and typically only once. It wasn’t like most of them were repeat customers who offered feedback on services rendered. “Thank you. I’m glad you think so.”
“I think your boss, or attending physician or whatever, should tell you that more often.”
“It’s not his job to tell us where we’re doing well. It’s his job to tell us where we’re falling short. To make us better.”
“I guess. I don’t know. Seems to me he should give you the good parts as well as the not so good.”