The Clinic

It was a balancing act she had perfected over the past six years. She unlocked the main door, gathered the newspapers from the walk below, swung her body inside and tapped out the code to disarm the security system. All the while her purse remained slung over one shoulder, coffee cup absolutely upright. The reception area was still and quiet. Sunlight streamed through the windows. The plants on the shelf seemed to reach for the light so tantalizingly close. Sharon delayed turning on the overhead fluorescent lights, preferring instead the natural light for the time being. Her time, as she liked to call it. Passing the thermostat she carefully edged the dial to the prescribed 21 degrees and not a degree over. Doctor Peterson saw to that. The man has more money than a bank but God forbid he spring for enough heat in the winter.

It will be eight years next month since she started working at the clinic. And six years of opening. That honour was bestowed after Carol retired and Sharon was elevated from the uncertainty of temp to full time receptionist. Since that time it was only on the rare occasion this fluid dance was interrupted. The lock on the front door would stick the odd time. And there was that time the bakery next door had the propane leak. But other than that her morning ritual played out as it always had.

She was glad to have this job. With her working these past few years and Frank closing in a modest but secure pension they were thinking lately that they had 'made it', so to speak. Despite what seemed like a never ending tide of bad news in the economy they had managed to squeak by without having suffered. Their little world remained calm. She had never really wanted for anything. Frank had seen to that. And Crystal was taken care of as best they could. There were those times though, Christmases mostly, that Frank and Sharon knew that helpless feeling of having failed their daughter when not able to buy her the latest and the greatest of some bit of clothing or toy. Those same things that some children in town would awaken to on Christmas mornings. Even on the day of her daughter's wedding when Crystal, swept up in a wave of emotion, poured her heart out, thanking her mother for always being there for her, for the love, the shelter, the security, the guidance, Sharon harboured the feeling that she had not done enough, not provided enough. At least she and Frank could stay among their own people and not have to move away just to survive. Crystal and Tony and little Emily are not so lucky. Uprooting themselves and their newborn, traveling to the other side of the blessed country.

Settling in behind her desk, behind that sliding pane of glass you always come up against in any clinic, Sharon clicked her computer on and it began its familiar hum. The monitor flickered to life. Less and less of Sharon is visible to arriving patients as the days and weeks go by as more and more pictures of her granddaughter crowd the ledge on either side of the pane. Adjusting the glasses on her nose the script on the screen came in to focus. The ever-present stack of paperwork piled to her left seemed to edge its way into her field of vision. It could wait two minutes. Another part of her morning ritual was to check for emails from Crystal.

A new message! New baby pics from Crystal! Sharon fumbled with the mouse, hurriedly opening the email.

"Little baby.....little angel."

There was Emily trying to make sense of her first encounter with a pumpkin. There were the little mittens she had knitted for her.

"How she's grown," Sharon managed. A flush came over her. The pictures softened as her eyes began to tear up.

Crystal had written just a few lines to accompany the pictures. It was the usual "the baby's fine, I'm fine, Tony's fine, weather's getting cold here" message. It frustrated Sharon that she had raised such a stubborn child. "Why did she have to take after me?", she asked no one. She knew full well that even if her world was falling apart Crystal would never let on to her mother. No hint of homesickness ever crept into her messages. Of course Sharon was just as guilty. After all, isn't always that "Dad's fine, Mom's fine, the dog's fine and that the weather sure is getting cold here too"? Mother and daughter were doing their best to shield each other from the reality of the situation.

Aside from her conversations with the patients her work day was pretty well mapped out. Truth be told those conversations were just as predictable. After six years Sharon still got a kick out of how a typical conversation would start out with agreeing how too hot or too cold it was and in an instant become hushed and switch to scheduling a prostate exam. Of course there were always those souls in town that not only did not care who knew his or her detailed medical history but made it a point to get the word out to everyone about it whether it was here or at the coffee show or at the rink.

The clinic door opened. Fluorescent light flooded the room. The joy of seeing the pictures drained from her being and sank into the cold air that now suddenly swirled at her feet. Without raising her head, moving a few sheets of papers to the desk in front of her, Sharon fixed a smile to her face and rallied her spirit.

"I noticed before leaving last night that the paper towel roll in the washroom is empty."

Cold. Direct.

"I was just on my way in there, Doctor Peterson," Sharon managed as he strode by. She added the obligatory "Good morning". It went unmatched.

"Doing that does not mean the invoices are to be neglected," he added.

"Oh, no, no," she said, the fake enthusiasm in her voice making her cringe. The slamming of the doctor's office door muffled the curse that left her mouth. Sharon turned back to face her desk. Her eyes fell on the pictures on her computer screen, feeling guilt for having uttered such words while her granddaughter looked on.

"Good morning," came a voice from the door.

The wave of negativity Sharon felt herself being swept up in suddenly broke and rolled back as Will breezed in the door and across the reception room.

"Chocky chip?" he offered, pushing a small brown paper bag through the opening in the glass.

Sharon hesitated, smiling.

"Peanut butter then?"

"C'mon, life's too short," he teasingly pressured.

"Any Irish coffee to go with this?" she asked, accepting the gift.

Will laughed that Will laugh. That laugh that came to you as you sat by yourself and coaxed you to join in the fun with the others. "I drank it all on the way in this morning. I have a full schedule of snotty nosed little ones to face today. Anything to take the edge off," he deadpanned.

Will made his way behind the barrier.

"New pics?" he asked, motioning with a chocolate chip cookie toward the computer screen.

Sharon instantly dropped into proud grandmother mode. A Hollywood agent never sang the praises of a client as passionately as Sharon of her granddaughter.

After flipping through the pictures a half dozen times Sharon reigned in her enthusiasm, sensing that she had bombarded Will with too much grandmother.

"My heavens," she said sheepishly. "Look at me, taking up all your time."

Will softly chuckled.

"Nonsense."

"Ah, you just light up when you talk about her."

"She is a blessing," she said. "But this conversation is a little too one-sided."

Sharon looked forward to the few minutes that she and Will spend together each morning. He is new to the profession, splitting his time between two clinics in an effort to latch onto a permanent position. Will and Doctor Peterson are two sides of the same coin. Two very different sides of the same coin. Will has such a way with people. Dr. Peterson, on the other hand, wouldn't know what good bedside manners were if they jumped up and bit him. She often wonders if his personality got more wicked over the years or if he was this way from the start. Will took the time to speak with her, treat her like a human being. There was no talking down to her. If Sharon was good friends with patients seeking an appointment she would do her best to arrange for them to see Dr. Will instead of Peterson.

Regardless of how terrible he could be, the practice was growing, slowly but surely. Doctor Peterson has managed to establish this clinic as THE clinic in the area purely by default, having outlasted his colleagues. With the aging population he had decided to offer a junior partnership to a new graduate. This is where Will enters the picture. A third doctor, another new kid on the block, a young lady named Erica, had also chosen to set up shop in town and is in the hunt for a share of the clinic as fiercely as Will. Two doctors, one spot.

"I've been hearing good things from a lot of the patients these days about you," Sharon said in a half whisper.

"Erica is a sweet girl but she's a bit young."

"Besides," Sharon added, "she doesn't bring me cookies in the morning."

Will laughed and jokingly offered up another cookie to Sharon.

"I need all I can get," he said, reaching for his wallet and pretending to open it.

"What's your price?"

Will's broad smile broke out on his face. Abandoning his breezy manner a moment later Will said, "The pressure is definitely increasing."

"He'll be making his decision to name his partner soon."

The front door of the clinic opened once more. An attractive young lady entered, turning slightly at the waist to thank the man following behind for his polite act of opening the door for her. She made her way to the reception desk, closely followed by the older gentleman.

"New boyfriend, Erica?" Will called out. The older gentleman, removing his hat, shook his head, familiar with Will's sense of humour.

Sharon let out a soft gasp, playfully smacking Will on the forearm. "You are so bad."

"Oh, Mister Hatcher is a married man," she said with faked exasperation. "Don't go starting rumours now," Erica added, playing along with Wills jab. Mr. Hatcher cleared his throat. "I've got enough to deal with with the arthritis and that," he said, "without adding broken bones to it if my wife heard you go on like that."

"You never mind these youngin's, Mr. Hatcher."

"What brings you in today, Erica?" Sharon questioned, turning to face Will's female counterpart. "You're not scheduled for a shift until next week."

"I left my glasses here the other day," Erica answered.

"Forgetful, eh? Tsk, tsk," Will teased.

"Plus I wanted to study articles that Doctor Peterson had submitted to journals earlier in his career," she added more seriously. "He brought them to my attention recently and I find the subjects quite fascinating."

A little tension suddenly elbowed its way into the conversation. Both new doctors knew the significance of the statement. Outwardly friendly, the pair had an undeclared war on their hands. In a bid for professional advancement each one sought to outdo the other in every imaginable category under the sun. Weekends and free time were terms that had been abandoned long ago. An acceptance of Doctor Peterson's disposition was perhaps the most bitter pill to swallow. It was obvious from the start that to do so was the first step toward the goal. Holding their noses both young doctors pressed ahead. To the victor go the spoils. Ingratiating oneself with Doctor Peterson was key.

From the rear of the clinic Doctor Peterson emerged from his office and headed for the reception area. The sound of his hard-soled boots on the tiled floor echoed down the hallway, ricocheting off the cold, sterile walls. If Erica's earlier remark had been a cloud passing in front of the sun the sound of Doctor Peterson's imminent arrival was dusk. Sharon's shoulders slumped slightly. Will wasn't blind. He sensed from the start the cold manner with which Doctor Peterson treated his staff. Raising her head slightly she locked eyes with Will. He winked reassuringly.

"Doctor Dolittle," he whispered.

Sharon stifled her laugh just as Doctor Peterson rounded the corner. His face seemed almost as if cast in concrete, expressionless. He took a bead on Sharon. "The washroom, Mrs. MacLeod," he said firmly.

"Just on my way there, Doctor Peterson," Sharon answered, eyes downcast, moving quickly to the rear of the building.

All eyes in the room fell upon him.

"A chain is only as strong as its weakest link," he admonished, moving his gaze to Will and Erica.

Sharon heard the remark, cocked her head slightly but continued on to her appointed task. Her jaw clenched. Out of the corner of his eye Will sensed Erica was about to speak. An image of Erica and Doctor Peterson conversing over his articles flashed before his eyes.

He reacted.

"Doctor Peterson, perhaps it is time we consider removing those liabilities."

Down the hall Sharon heard the words Will had just spoken. An arrow passed through her heart. She felt only the blow.

Doctor Peterson looked at Will. He paused.

"Yes, William. I think it has come to that," Doctor Peterson said.

"Would you take care of those arrangements," he said coldly, motioning down the hallway.

"I trust you will follow our companies HR guidelines in doing so."

"Yes, sir." Will was dazed.

The pain which had been delayed took hold of Sharon.

"And," Doctor Peterson added, "perhaps you could offer suggestions to fill the imminent void."

"Yes, Doctor Peterson."

Erica then realized her fate had been sealed. Revulsion for the events that had just taken place and those that were about to unfold would come to her later. For now, she cursed whatever sense of morality had made her hesitate ever so slightly.

Will turned and followed after Sharon. The sound of his shoes on the tiled floor echoed down the hallway, ricocheting off the cold, sterile walls.