Married in Haste. Roz Fox Denny

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      “Doctor, your next patient’s in room five.” Anita Sorenson stepped into the room. She was one of a staff of three that Ben and his partner, general practitioner Steve Thomas, shared. Marching straight to Ben’s desk, Anita straightened the books spilling out of his store bag. “What’s all this?” She rifled through the stack, reading titles aloud. “Is there something you haven’t told us? Are you trading pediatrics for child psychology? Or are you and Steve collaborating on another parents’ guide?”

      Ben didn’t want to tell his nurse how many times he woke in the dead of night worrying about the girls. “Anita, how did you raise six kids on your own? Is there a secret?”

      The nurse tipped back her head and laughed, but she must have seen the misery in her employer’s eyes, because she sobered midstream. “Gosh, I guess I never thought about it. Except I raised my kids from birth, so I set the house rules. Even then, there were months after Lorne died that I had to take it one day at a time.”

      “Time. That’s my biggest problem. I never seem to have enough hours to spend with Erin and Mollie. On short notice, with half the city in chaos, I spent two weeks locating a suitable housekeeper-caretaker. But Mrs. Clark still doesn’t understand that medicine isn’t an eight-to-five job. She wants a regular schedule I simply can’t deliver.”

      “According to an article in the newspaper, the quake did more damage to this side of town. Our death toll is sixty percent of the more than one hundred reported. Area schools have added crisis counselors. I don’t know which elementary the girls attend, but you might want to have a chat with school staff if you’re seeing behavioral changes. The article also said individual schools plan to form parent support groups.”

      Ben scowled. “How would that look, Anita? Half the parents at the girl’s elementary school bring their kids to me. Since the quake, my patient load has doubled. Most come for direction related to tantrums and other disruptive behavior.”

      “Oh, well, if you’re the expert…” Anita snorted, crossing her arms.

      Ben gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry. That sounded more like something my old man would spout.” At the mention of his father, and totally unexpectedly, Abby Drummond’s face appeared in his mind. Ben had last seen her at Marlo’s funeral. Abby looked harried, pale and drawn. Given her circumstances, it’d pleased Ben to see her there. He’d meant to call and thank her for the rosebuds she’d sent the girls. And she’d written each one a thoughtful note, too. All other expressions of sympathy had been directed to him. But he’d barely found time to scribble his name at the bottom of the gilt-edged thank-you cards his secretary provided.

      That was another issue that grated. He’d suggested his father’s current live-in take over thanking the friends who’d sent remembrances. Kirk threw a virtual fit. He let it be known in no uncertain terms that Millie or Lily, or whatever the hell her name was, served as arm candy and nothing more. Well—a lot more, Ben assumed. But nothing Kirk would ever discuss with him. And after the reaming out Kirk delivered when Ben proposed the blond bombshell collect the girls from Abby’s friend the day of the quake, one might think Ben would have learned his lesson. If not then, certainly after Kirk made it clear that his role as grandfather—a term he disliked—was confined to gifts at birthdays and Christmas. Foolishly, Ben had thought his dad might want to have a say in who took care of his granddaughters.

      Why Kirk’s response had surprised him, Ben didn’t know. After all, it was the way his old man had handled fatherhood—via his checkbook. Ben and Marlo had never been able to figure out why their dad went through a court battle to retain custody of them after their mom announced she was leaving. Eventually they’d decided it was a matter of pride to the great Kirk Galloway. No one left his exalted sphere except by his edict.

      Which Marlo did when she married a no-account who later walked out, leaving her pregnant, and with Erin a toddler. A self-fulfilling prophesy, according to Kirk.

      But Ben had dealt their father a blow when he chose a pediatric residency over the more prestigious orthopedic post he’d been offered at a hospital where Kirk pulled strings to get his son considered.

      Sweeping aside old irritants and unproductive thoughts, Ben closed the book on braids. Again he wondered how Abby was getting along. Admittedly he’d put her out of his mind once it became evident that his carefree bachelor days were over. Except, dammit, they weren’t over. The carefree part, yes. But he was still as single as single could be.

      Ben snatched the chart from Anita’s hand. “Would you see if Pat can get me out of here at a decent hour today? By two-fifteen. I’ll phone Mrs. Clark and tell her I’m picking Erin and Mollie up from school. I’m friends with one of the teachers. I haven’t wanted to bother her, knowing she’s in a similar spot—worse, since she’s been left to raise her brother’s five boys, one of whom was injured in the quake. I should’ve contacted her before this. If anyone has the lowdown on support groups, it’ll be Abby.”

      “Five boys, you say?” Anita shuddered. “The poor woman has my sympathy. I raised six of ’em. Frankly, Ben, I always thought girls would be a whole lot easier.”

      “From a woman’s perspective, maybe. From where I stand, two tearful girls and their finicky cat present the most daunting challenge I’ve ever faced.”

      This time Anita did laugh as they departed Ben’s office. “Maybe you ought to combine forces with your friend who has the five boys. You could help with her boys, and she could advise you on dealing with emotional girls.”

      Ben mulled over Anita’s suggestion as he greeted his next patient and her triplet daughters. If they’d been more than two months old, he might have asked her for advice. But the poor beleaguered new mother needed all the help she could get. Before she left, though, she said something profound that stuck with Ben. “Somebody missed the boat, Dr. Galloway. Every college should offer classes in parenting. At some point in life, most people become one. Yet the only people who get training are those going into early childhood education. Or maybe pediatrics,” she said, tossing him a tired sigh. “I think teacher training is best. Teachers have to be in control of kids six or more hours a day. No offense, but pediatricians only see kids ten minutes at a time.”

      He considered her words for the rest of the day. And he recalled the ease with which Abby Drummond had handled Erin’s class. She’d had twenty-two or so kids in that class. The few times Ben had dropped by at the end of the day, Abby appeared calm and unruffled. Who better to teach him the skills he needed to raise his sister’s girls than a woman he already knew and admired?

      “Anita!” He met up with her and traded charts. “Was Pat able to rearrange my afternoon schedule?”

      “Yes, she managed to clear your afternoon. Actually, she said if you used the time to relax and quit biting off everyone’s head, she’d blank out one afternoon a week.”

      “Ouch. Have I gotten that bad?”

      “In a word—yes. But the staff can suffer through for a while. We recognize the strain you’ve been under these last weeks, Ben.”

      “I’ll have to make a conscious effort to watch myself. I meant what I said during the initial interviews before Steve and I opened the clinic. People spend more hours a day at their workplace than at home. The environment should be pleasant. It shouldn’t contribute to a person’s stress.”

      “Yeah, but all work and no play makes guys like Ben and Steve cranky. I know it’s not your fault you both had to cancel your vacations. The staff think you should reschedule those trips.”

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