M&M’s.
“I’m sorry, Sandra.”
Anne looked up to see a tall man breeze past her. His blue windbreaker hung open, and he thumped down the hall in hiking boots.
Sandra rose and started to follow him but stopped when he reached the end office and slammed the door shut. She whirled, and silence hung from her open mouth. Anne frowned.
“That was Dr. Simpson.” Sandra cleared her throat. “I’ll inform him you’re here.”
Anne watched the nurse creep down the hall, knock on the door, and poke her head in.
“Go ahead, Anne,” Sandra said when she returned. But her face had lost a shade of color.
Anne’s heart hammered. She somehow made it to her feet. She fought to hear Aunt Edith’s positive assessment of the good doctor above the cacophony of doubts. She shuffled down the hall and licked her lips as she stood outside the door. It was open a crack.
Inside, Dr. Simpson was talking on the phone. He motioned for her to enter. “I want to keep it under our hats for now,” he said, “but you should know the situation, Sam.”
Anne sat on the edge of a straight-backed chair, taking in her surroundings. She hid her revulsion at the sight of a fish, its jagged teeth bared, mounted on a block of wood. Books had been crammed into a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and piled atop a filing cabinet. A rickety coat tree laden with two sweaters, a white lab coat, a down jacket, and a compact umbrella looked dangerously near collapse, and a rather coarse carving of a bear inhabited the corner. She turned and nearly died of fright at the sight of a moose mounted above her, dripping fur onto the back of her neck. She scooted her chair forward.
“Thanks for your assistance, Sam. We’ll be in touch.” Dr. Simpson hung up the telephone and smiled at Anne. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Lundstrom.” He reached across the desk and offered his hand. She found it warm and gentle. “We had a hospital situation I had to deal with.”
Anne felt her pulse slow. “No problem. I met Sandra.”
“She’s the glue that keeps this place together.” Dr. Simpson pulled a manila file folder from a tall stack on his desk. “Dr. Meyers sent your transcripts and evaluation. She speaks highly of you.”
“She’s been a big support.” Dr. Roberta Meyers was a prime reason Anne had stayed in the nursing program after her injury. It took a woman with experience fighting for a place in the medical society to pull Anne back to the land of the living. Anne would never forget the sight of Roberta’s chocolate brown hand holding hers when she’d awoken from surgery.
“You’ve made a remarkable recovery, Miss Lundstrom.” He put down the folder. “But I have to wonder why you chose to finish your internship here. Dr. Meyers expresses regret at losing you.”
Anne folded her hands on her lap. “I’m just looking for a change. I did my time in the city, and I need some fresh air.” She smiled. “I am hoping Deep Haven has some to share. And, frankly, I’m hoping to make my stay here . . . permanent.” She hoped he could read between the lines to her desire for a full-time job.
Dr. Simpson quirked a brow. “I see.” He looked out the window. “How do you feel about spending some time at a camp?”
Anne blinked at him. Camp? She pictured ten-year-olds with scraped knees lining up for Band-Aids. She fought a swell of panic. “I thought I’d be visiting the elderly or teaching mothers how to care for their babies.”
“You’ve been doing quite a bit of that these last few months. I think your time at the University of Minnesota Hospital gave you sufficient experience in community education. If you want to work in this community, a knowledge of the wilderness is a must.” He reached for a pad of paper. “I’ll assign you to visit members of the Granite River Indian Reservation. Meet with Jenny Olson. She runs the clinic on the reservation.” He grabbed a pen.
Anne’s voice caught in the back of her throat. She