“I think you were.”
“I’m going to be stuck in Denver for at least a couple of days.”
“I’ll check on Sully, get you some clean clothes and a couple of overnight supplies and come back. I’ll stay with you, if you like.”
“I might be mostly at the hospital, but I’d like it if you were in Denver. If I have any time at all, I want to spend it wrapped around you.”
He grinned largely. “I don’t have any pressing appointments.”
“This,” she said. “This is who I am. I have to find a way to be this person.”
“As long as it doesn’t involve a lot of cliff scaling, it’s doable,” Cal said. “It’s just details. I’m really good with details.”
*
The leaves began to change in mid-September and by the second week in October, the hillsides were resplendent with color. The crossing had just about twenty weekend guests in residence, most in RVs and cabins. They were seasoned leaf peepers, all. They toted around their cameras, binoculars and wore thick sweaters and socks.
Most people regarded spring as the fresh new start but Maggie didn’t. Her favorite season had always been the fall—the color, the crisp air, the new snow on the tallest peaks. She loved it this year, more than ever before because she had started her life over, something she had wanted to do for quite a while and didn’t really understand was possible. But California Jones, as it happened, was an expert. He showed her the devil is in the details.
As they were driving back to Sully’s after a couple of days in Denver, Maggie described each case she’d handled. She was seeing patients on Wednesday and Thursday mornings in her friend Dr. Morris’s office. There were several neurosurgeons in the practice and they were more than happy to add her name to the marquee, even though their contracted agreement was still being studied by Maggie’s lawyer, one very detail-oriented California Jones. Maggie would see patients and operate from Wednesday to Friday afternoon, two to three days a week. She would be on call for emergencies one weekend a month. It was a very manageable part-time schedule, leaving her plenty of time off. But there were a couple of doctors in the office who were spending some time in small towns that served rural areas, seeing patients who didn’t have any other access to neurosurgeons. They provided services at a reduced fee scale, giving back. Maggie knew at once she’d like to be involved in that.
Filling the well.
Cal was taking a few clients besides the eminent Dr. Sullivan. A variety of simple cases—things like real estate sale and purchase, rental agreements, one prenup, a couple of wills and a couple of misdemeanor defenses. His office was Sully’s front porch or kitchen table. Now that fall was here, he went to Denver with Maggie whenever he could, which was most of the time.
He did snag a weekend to fly to Minnesota to visit his youngest sister, who agreed to speak with him. As it happened, her issues were limited mostly to addiction. Their family life and dysfunction certainly didn’t help, but she didn’t suffer from schizophrenia. In fact, Sierra had been in touch with Sedona and together they had laid down the family roots—it seemed probable Jed Jones was among that number of schizophrenics, some 63 percent, who had no family history.
“Tom told me Jackson is getting along great,” Cal told Maggie as they drove to the crossing. “You’d never know he had some whacko woman drill holes in his head out in the wild.”
“Did Tom ever get his drill back?” she asked.
“I have no idea. But Jackson is the star of PT. He’s taking a semester off from school, maybe two. He wants to get caught up. He’s still having some memory and cognitive issues. Not serious though. He’s about as infirm as someone who had a very mild stroke and it looks like full recovery is just around the corner. You do good work.”
“That’s my first and last time doing something like that,” she said.
“You were never sexier.”
“How would you know? You fainted!”
“That’s a lie!” he said. “I got a little woozy. That’s all.”
“Hey. You turned too soon,” she said. “You’re lost.”
“I’m not lost, I want to show you something,” he said. “Have you ever been out here?”
“Probably,” she said. “We’re not all that far from Sully’s. Nothing much out here.”
“Pretty though,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
“You can’t find a part of Colorado that isn’t pretty.”
“Did you know Tom was raised in this area? His dad was a rancher. Tom said when he was a kid he expected to grow into that job, but then his life took a different turn and in the end it was probably better because he said his dad had to sell the property.”
“I didn’t know all that,” she said.
He turned down a pretty, tree-lined lane and followed it until it opened up into a pasture with a big barn. He stopped the car. “Are we on private property?” she asked.