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PEONIES
Two hours later, I pull up at my uncle’s house. Henry was able to drag my Jeep out of the ditch without a problem. He inspected my vehicle, checked the wheels, and made sure the rims weren’t bent. The bumper needs to be replaced, but there isn’t any other damage.
He stayed while I turned the motor over and had me pop the hood to make sure everything worked as it should. He even followed behind me, making sure I made it into town safe.
Henry refuses to charge me for the service, gives me a business card, and tells me to bring the car around when I want to get the bumper fixed. I give him a peck on the cheek and wave as he pulls away.
With a deep breath, I stare at my temporary home. Until I can find a place to live, Uncle Pete opened his house to me. It feels a little like coming home and finding a piece of my younger self.
I was always close to my aunt and uncle. My parents brought me here nearly every summer. It was something I looked forward to. Once school ended, there wasn’t much for me to do in Redlands. I loved the small-town change of pace. It was so different from the crowded concrete jungle I grew up in. For that reason alone, Peace Springs always felt like a second home.
Now, I’ll be calling it home for real. Although, it doesn’t feel real yet.
There’s a part of me that still believes this is temporary. Like when summer ends, I’ll have to leave. After meeting Drake, Bert, and even Henry, I really want this to work.
Medical school and residency are behind me, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t have a lot to learn. Being a small-town doc is much harder than a family practice physician in a big city.
In Redlands, when I had a difficult case, it wasn’t a problem referring my patients to see any number of different specialists. Not that I can’t do that here, but instead of a ten-minute trip across town, my patients will be looking at upwards of a two-hour drive, and that’s just to get to Billings.
All that’s to say, I need to be on my A-game all the time. There’s no room for error. At least, I’ll have my uncle to lean on for a few years. By the time he’s ready to retire, I should hit my stride.
So, I have a job, a place to live, and it looks like I have a romantic interest. Not to mention, I’ve met two incredibly helpful men. It feels as if everything is going better than planned.
Things couldn’t be more perfect.
I tried calling my uncle on the way over, but he didn’t pick up.
The country house lacks the white picket fence but it has a cobbled walk up to the door, a covered porch with the requisite porch swing, rocking chairs, and despite the snow covering the front lawn, the flower beds boast a riot of peonies in bloom. The doormat is one of those thick fiber mats. Instead of Welcome, it says, Peace.
I knock on the white-washed door of the little one-story home.
A tribute to the town perhaps, but Aunt Martha always said a home should not only welcome visitors but strive for peace and tranquility for those who live inside.
There’s no answer at the door.
I knock harder and then peek through the windows.
Maybe he’s out back, working in the shed?
I step off the porch and pick my way across the melting snow. The sun climbs high, and the temperature steadily rises from the chill of morning. At this rate, all the snow will be melted and gone within a day.
The door to the shed is locked. Uncle Pete always says a doctor needs a hobby, something to engage the creative side of the brain and give the scientific one a break. I have yet to find my creative side, too engaged with learning how to be the best doctor possible.
I miss sitting with him in the shed. He used to give me a blade and taught me to whittle. Never any good at it, all I ever managed was sharpening sticks, but it wasn’t about making anything. It was all about hearing his stories. Because of his stories, I decided to pursue medicine.
My visits to Peace Springs stopped eight years ago when my focus shifted from kicking back to getting good grades and preparing for college. Little did I know that would be the year all our lives changed.
Uncle Pete diagnosed Aunt Martha’s breast cancer that fall. Four years later, Aunt Martha lost her fight with cancer. My parents died in a car accident on the way to the funeral. Pete stayed in Peace Springs with his medical practice. I returned to Redlands to bury my parents and pick up the pieces of my life.
I haven’t been back since. I regret that now.
Not much has changed in the town. My uncle's house looks the same as it did when Aunt Martha was alive.
I look forward to working with him and reconnecting. In his late fifties, he keeps talking about how much he looks forward to retiring and was thrilled when I pursued a family medicine residency because his dream was always to pass his practice on to his goddaughter.
Pete and Martha never had children of their own. They showered all their affections on their only niece, and I ate up the attention.
I walk to the back door, open the screen, and knock.
