probably need one.”
“This is going to hurt.”
“It usually does.”
While Dr. Egan injected lidocaine around the jagged edges of the cut, Lacey gritted her teeth and took inventory of the room and the new doctor. The room had been repainted a soothing blue, a great improvement over the sour, paint-chipped yellow that was Doc Holland’s brand. Also, the supply closet appeared to have been either scrubbed or replaced, and the entire examination room had the sterile scent that one comes to expect from a doctor’s office if, say, your doctor isn’t Doc Holland. The improvements didn’t end there. Other than the dark circles under his eyes and a nose that had clearly been broken once, maybe twice, the new Doc Holland, Dr. Egan, could easily be described as handsome. Also, unlike Doc Holland, there was no discernible odor emanating from the new doctor, except maybe the smell of fresh toothpaste. She guessed his age to be about thirty-five.
Right about then was when Lacey got suspicious.
While Dr. Egan waited for the lidocaine to take, he tried to make casual conversation, a skill Lacey never quite got the knack for.
“So, Lacey, how long have you lived in Mercer?”
“Too long.”
“You have family?”
“I live with my brother.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Why? Oh, I see. You got it all wrong. Paul doesn’t have special needs or anything. Well, sometimes it seems like he does.”
“I see.”
“It’s just a convenience.”
“Sometimes that’s a good thing.”
“Sometimes it isn’t. What happened to Doc Holland?”
“He wanted to retire.”
“He never mentioned it before, and he sure skipped town quickly.”
“Sometimes people make snap decisions.”
“Did you make one?” Lacey asked.
“I’m going to start stitching now. You should just feel a tug. No pain.”
“This isn’t my first time.”
“I didn’t think so,” Doc Egan replied. “First-timers expect the stitches to hurt, not the painkiller. You gripped the side of the table when you saw the lidocaine needle.”
Lacey looked directly at the wound while Egan started stitching.
“Do you regret your decision yet?” Lacey asked.
“Excuse me,” Doc Egan replied.
“You know, moving here.”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because everybody wants to get out of here. But you, you move from a perfectly nice city like San Francisco to a town like Mercer.”
“Maybe I needed some clean air and some country living.”
“There’s better country than this. In fact, you could probably throw a dart at a map and find it.”
“Doesn’t seem so bad to me.”
“You must be running away from something,” Lacey said.
Doc Egan looked her in the eye and sighed.
“You sure get to the point, don’t you?”
“Not always. But I like a good story when I’m getting stitched up.”
“No story. I got divorced,” Doc Egan explained. “It was unpleasant. The city reminded me of . . . everything, so I decided to get out. Now does it make more sense?”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that.”
An uncomfortable silence set in. Lacey felt bad for digging until she hit a nerve, so she decided to dig where the new doc probably didn’t have any nerves.
“You’re better at this than Doc Holland,” Lacey said, commenting on the repair job.
“Thank you.”
“You should see the scars he’s left behind in this town. Sometimes you had to wonder if he was really a doctor. Where is he now?”
“He asked me not to tell,” Doc Egan replied.
Lacey got the feeling she was playing with a puzzle where half the pieces were missing. She was pretty sure Doc Holland fit into it somewhere, but she couldn’t construct a scenario that fit with the few pieces she already had.
“Did you ever meet Doc Holland in person?”
“Of course,” Egan replied.
“What did he look like?”
“You know what he looked like. Are you feeling okay, Lacey?”
In truth, she wasn’t. She hadn’t had dinner, and the blood and the pain and the vague
“This is going to hurt.”
“It usually does.”
While Dr. Egan injected lidocaine around the jagged edges of the cut, Lacey gritted her teeth and took inventory of the room and the new doctor. The room had been repainted a soothing blue, a great improvement over the sour, paint-chipped yellow that was Doc Holland’s brand. Also, the supply closet appeared to have been either scrubbed or replaced, and the entire examination room had the sterile scent that one comes to expect from a doctor’s office if, say, your doctor isn’t Doc Holland. The improvements didn’t end there. Other than the dark circles under his eyes and a nose that had clearly been broken once, maybe twice, the new Doc Holland, Dr. Egan, could easily be described as handsome. Also, unlike Doc Holland, there was no discernible odor emanating from the new doctor, except maybe the smell of fresh toothpaste. She guessed his age to be about thirty-five.
Right about then was when Lacey got suspicious.
While Dr. Egan waited for the lidocaine to take, he tried to make casual conversation, a skill Lacey never quite got the knack for.
“So, Lacey, how long have you lived in Mercer?”
“Too long.”
“You have family?”
“I live with my brother.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Why? Oh, I see. You got it all wrong. Paul doesn’t have special needs or anything. Well, sometimes it seems like he does.”
“I see.”
“It’s just a convenience.”
“Sometimes that’s a good thing.”
“Sometimes it isn’t. What happened to Doc Holland?”
“He wanted to retire.”
“He never mentioned it before, and he sure skipped town quickly.”
“Sometimes people make snap decisions.”
“Did you make one?” Lacey asked.
“I’m going to start stitching now. You should just feel a tug. No pain.”
“This isn’t my first time.”
“I didn’t think so,” Doc Egan replied. “First-timers expect the stitches to hurt, not the painkiller. You gripped the side of the table when you saw the lidocaine needle.”
Lacey looked directly at the wound while Egan started stitching.
“Do you regret your decision yet?” Lacey asked.
“Excuse me,” Doc Egan replied.
“You know, moving here.”
“No. Why do you ask?”
“Because everybody wants to get out of here. But you, you move from a perfectly nice city like San Francisco to a town like Mercer.”
“Maybe I needed some clean air and some country living.”
“There’s better country than this. In fact, you could probably throw a dart at a map and find it.”
“Doesn’t seem so bad to me.”
“You must be running away from something,” Lacey said.
Doc Egan looked her in the eye and sighed.
“You sure get to the point, don’t you?”
“Not always. But I like a good story when I’m getting stitched up.”
“No story. I got divorced,” Doc Egan explained. “It was unpleasant. The city reminded me of . . . everything, so I decided to get out. Now does it make more sense?”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that.”
An uncomfortable silence set in. Lacey felt bad for digging until she hit a nerve, so she decided to dig where the new doc probably didn’t have any nerves.
“You’re better at this than Doc Holland,” Lacey said, commenting on the repair job.
“Thank you.”
“You should see the scars he’s left behind in this town. Sometimes you had to wonder if he was really a doctor. Where is he now?”
“He asked me not to tell,” Doc Egan replied.
Lacey got the feeling she was playing with a puzzle where half the pieces were missing. She was pretty sure Doc Holland fit into it somewhere, but she couldn’t construct a scenario that fit with the few pieces she already had.
“Did you ever meet Doc Holland in person?”
“Of course,” Egan replied.
“What did he look like?”
“You know what he looked like. Are you feeling okay, Lacey?”
In truth, she wasn’t. She hadn’t had dinner, and the blood and the pain and the vague
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