Winter Wonderland Wishes
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‘Nancy Wilson?’ Phoebe called into the waiting room.
A young woman stood up and followed Phoebe into her consulting room, hobbling a little and clearly in pain.
Phoebe closed the door. ‘Let me introduce myself, Nancy. I’m Dr Phoebe Johnson and I’ve stepped in to help Dr Ken Rollins for the next few months. Please take a seat.’ Phoebe had briefly read the patient’s notes and was aware of her medical history of chronic heel pain. ‘I see you have undergone some reconstructive treatments with Dr Rollins.’
‘Yes, but it hasn’t made a permanent improvement.’
‘I see. Did you find any of them had long-lasting benefits? I know it was more invasive, but was the plasma therapy successful from your perspective? Or did you prefer the low-intensity shock wave treatment?’
‘Both were good—but only short term. I’m an ice skater. I hope to compete for Australia in Switzerland in nine months, so I need to be back on my feet and out of pain to train in Europe and then compete. At the moment it feels like there’s a pebble in my left shoe when I walk. On really bad days it’s like a shard of glass.’
‘They are common descriptions of the problem. Please come over to the examination table and I’ll have a look,’ Phoebe said, and assisted the young woman to the narrow table against the far wall. She moved a small step into place with her foot to help Nancy climb up onto the bed. ‘I appreciate you’ve tried the conservative approach, and to be honest, Nancy, sometimes after all else fails there’s no choice but to choose corrective surgical treatment.’
Phoebe eased the soft boot and sock from the woman’s left foot and then, slipping on surgical gloves, began her examination. Although the conservative restorative treatments to increase blood flow and break up scar tissue had assisted temporarily with pain management, Phoebe decided that surgery was the only option.
‘Unfortunately your plantar fasciitis has not improved with past treatments, and your ice skating training has, according to your notes, been compromised for a number of months now.’
‘Yes, I do train, but only for short periods, and then I require ice, cortisone, and when all else fails codeine to manage the pain—and then I lie in bed for hours some days.’
‘Heavy doses of pain relief or cortisone are not long-term options for anyone, but particularly not at your age, Nancy. Nor is being incapacitated in bed an option for an athlete. Your condition is almost epidemic in the United States, with one in ten people suffering from varying degrees of heel pain from scar tissue, and it appears this approach is no longer viable for you, considering your lifestyle. We’ll need to proceed to the next level on your treatment plan, so you can move forward with your career.’
‘Surgery is fine by me. I just want to get it over and finished and get back on my feet—literally.’
Phoebe gently put the sock and soft boot back on the young woman and helped her down from the examination table. She explained the risks of surgery, confirmed that Nancy was in general good health and a suitable patient for surgery, and then walked her out to the front desk for Tilly to make the hospital arrangements and for Nancy to sign the consent forms.
Heath had just seen off his first patient for the day, and was at the reception desk checking up on a late arrival.
‘Were you part of the medical team assisting the disabled athletes at the international games last year?’ Nancy asked Phoebe as they waited for Tilly to check the surgical roster at the Eastern Memorial, where Phoebe would be operating.
‘Yes, I was—but how did you know? The games weren’t held in Australia.’
‘My older brother Jason’s a weightlifter. He lives in Detroit with his wife and baby daughter,’ Nancy continued as she offered Tilly her credit card for the consultation payment. ‘He suffers from congenital amputation of his left leg below the knee, and he had a similar issue to me with his right heel the night before his heat. I remember he told me about a consultation he had with Dr Phoebe Johnson, the podiatric surgeon with the American team. Once I heard your accent I assumed that there couldn’t be two of you in the same specialty.’
‘No—not that I’m aware of anyway,’ Phoebe replied as she finished signing the notes so Tilly could book surgery the following week. She turned back to Nancy. ‘Being involved with the teams was a wonderful experience. Can you please give my best to Jason? If I remember correctly he won a medal—was it silver?’
‘Yes, and he was thrilled to win it. He swore that if it wasn’t for you and the treatment you provided to alleviate the pain he would have pulled out and wasted almost four years of training.’
Heath walked back to his office, unavoidably impressed with this experience that Phoebe had kept close to her chest and not put on her CV. She was even more unforthcoming than him!
He wondered what else he didn’t know about his temporary associate. And he still wondered if this small inner-city practice would prove enough of a challenge for her …
The morning was steady, and by lunchtime Heath was preparing to leave for his afternoon surgical list at the Eastern Memorial. Aware that Phoebe’s last patient for the morning had left, he knocked on the open door of Phoebe’s consulting room.
‘Come in, Tilly.’
Heath paused. ‘It’s not Tilly.’
Phoebe turned from her computer screen, where she was reading through the notes for her first afternoon patient.
‘Sorry, Heath—come in.’
With only fifteen minutes before he had to leave for the hospital, he wanted to catch up and see how her morning had progressed. And he just wanted to see her but couldn’t admit that even to himself.
Before he had a chance to open his mouth, Tilly knocked on the door.
‘This time it has to be Tilly,’ Phoebe remarked as she watched Heath cross his arms across his broad chest.
‘Yep, you’re running out of alternative suspects now.’
Phoebe smiled, then asked Tilly to join them.
‘Sorry to interrupt, Phoebe, but your afternoon patients have both cancelled due to the extreme weather,’ Tilly told her. ‘So it looks like you’ve got the afternoon off.’
‘Oh, no. That’s disappointing,’ Phoebe said, slumping into her chair and not masking her feelings. ‘I feel so guilty, being here and doing nothing.’ She had a strong work ethic and that made sitting around seem a complete waste of time for her and a waste of money for the practice. ‘I’ve had more time off since I arrived than I’ve worked.’
Heath considered her for a moment and then came up with a suggestion. ‘I have an idea to appease your misguided sense of guilt. Why don’t you assist me in Theatre over at the Eastern Memorial this afternoon? I have three on the surgical list and I could do with an extra set of hands—but we’d need to leave immediately.’
Phoebe sat bolt-upright and answered with an unhesitating, ‘Yes!’ as she reached for her bag. ‘Let’s go … I’m all yours.’
Heath nodded, but his body abruptly reminded him that if his life had played out differently and Phoebe really was all his there would be far more pleasurable things he would do with her that afternoon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE SCRUB NURSE greeted Heath as he prepared for the first patient.
‘Abby, we have Phoebe Johnson, a podiatric surgeon from Washington, joining us this afternoon,’ Heath announced as he turned off the tap with his foot and shook the water from his hands into the scrub room trough.
‘Hi, Phoebe, welcome aboard.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Abby.’
Phoebe slipped her freshly scrubbed hands inside some surgical gloves. Her long dark hair was in a flat bun and neatly secured inside a floral cap, and like the other two she was already dressed in sterile blue scrubs. They entered the theatre just as the patient was drifting off under anaesthesia.
‘So, today’s patient is a thirty-five-year-old professional skateboarder. He’s here for a lateral ankle ligament reconstruction. The ankle has not responded to non-surgical treatment and has been unstable for over six months,’ Heath informed the surgical team, including two observing third-year medical students as he began marking the stained sterile area. ‘Would you like to lead on this one, Phoebe?’
Phoebe was both flattered and pleased to be asked. Heath was a complex man, but a man who treated her as his equal, not only in words but in actions.
Quietly she declined. ‘I’d prefer to assist today. We can switch it around another time, perhaps.’
‘Certainly.’ Heath looked over his surgical mask at Phoebe for slightly longer than required before he averted his eyes back to the patient. ‘I routinely use the modified Brostrom procedure.’ He confidently made a J-shaped incision over the outside of the patient’s left ankle with his scalpel, identified the ankle ligaments and began the process of tightening them, using anchors that he placed on to the fibula bone.
Phoebe appreciated the way he led the students through the procedure by describing the steps clearly and precisely.
‘I’m stitching other tissue over the repaired ligaments to further strengthen the repair,’ he said as he continued, with Phoebe holding the incision open with forceps.
Phoebe had done many of these operations over the years. ‘That looks great, Heath. Very clean and tidy. I’ve had a few when I’ve needed to use tendons to replace the ligaments. I’ve woven a tendon into the bones around the ankle and held it in place with stitches, and occasionally a screw in the bone. I’ve utilised a patient’s own hamstring tendon before. But it made it a much longer operation as I had to take the hamstring tendon through a separate incision on the inside part of the knee.’
Heath nodded in agreement. ‘On more than one occasion I’ve needed to use a cadaver tendon and had to weave it into the fibula bone. There’s many ways to solve a problem like this, and as we know each has its merits.’
Phoebe and Heath worked together as if they had been operating as a team for years—or at the very least months. Their effortless collaboration would be deceptive to any external observers, who might not think that this was their first time together in the operating theatre. Phoebe was able to pre-empt Heath’s next move, and neither of them could deny their natural synchronisation.
‘That went well.’
Phoebe nodded her agreement with Heath’s statement as they scrubbed in for the second operation. Each was exceptionally happy with how well they’d worked together but not wanting to state the obvious.
They made a great team.
The afternoon progressed well, with the other two patients’ procedures completed successfully and on time. Phoebe felt a great deal of satisfaction working with such a skilful surgeon as Heath. His dexterity and knowledge in the field was second to none and, while she was confident in her own abilities, she felt there was still much she could learn from him.
After only a short time in the operating theatre with Heath she could see that he had a level of skill that must come close to his father’s. The knowledge Heath had casually and without ceremony imparted to her already was amazing, and she was excited for the next few weeks until he left for Sydney.
‘I really hope we can do this again.’ The words rushed from her lips with unbridled honesty as she removed her surgical gloves and cap.
Heath watched as her long dark hair tumbled free and fell over her shoulders. In the harsh theatre lights she still looked gorgeous, and he knew that in any lighting her stunning smile and sparkling eyes would bring a glow to the room.
‘I’d like that,’ he said, and again kept his eyes focused on her for a little longer than a casual glance.
Phoebe flinched and felt something tug at her heart. Was it pity for the man? Or desire? She wasn’t sure, but there was something stirring inside.
‘Would you like to grab some dinner? My way to say thank you for assisting in there this afternoon.’
Heath had surprised himself with the invitation, but he enjoyed spending time with Phoebe and it seemed a natural progression for the day. They had a professional connection, and he told himself it was nothing more than a dinner invitation to a colleague.
‘I’ll have to go out and eat anyway. Oscar will be eating at Tilly’s, and Dad will more than likely defrost a TV dinner, so I will need to pick up something or eat alone at a restaurant. You’ll be doing me a favour by sharing a table with me.’
‘If you put it that way …’ she replied.
‘That’s settled, then,’ Heath said as he left to change into his street clothes. ‘As you know, I have your address, so what say I pick you up at seven?’
‘Sounds perfect.’
‘I’ll put Oscar to bed early, since last night was a late one for him, then you and I can have a nice dinner somewhere—maybe even in the foothills. I’ll show you something of Adelaide. It should be a little cooler out tonight, so I’ll find a good alfresco restaurant.’
Phoebe walked into the female change room. There were two other young doctors also changing from their scrubs to day clothes, but they didn’t notice Phoebe and continued their conversation.
‘Did you know he’s back in town?’ an attractive redhead asked the other woman. ‘He’s been here for a week already.’
‘The doctor with the no second date rule?’ the blonde doctor replied as she ran a brush though her short bobbed hair, then put it back on the shelf and closed her locker. ‘Yes, I heard he came back last week and that he’s here for a month.’
‘I wonder how many hearts he’ll break in that time, with his hard and fast rules. And don’t forget the never meet his son rule. There was another one too, but I can’t think of it now.’
‘I think it’s to leave before the sun comes up.’
‘That’s right. Pity he’s so damned gorgeous—if he wasn’t he’d never get away with it.’
They both slammed shut their lockers. ‘But despite all that he doesn’t hide the rules. I hear he’s upfront with all the women he intends to bed. They all know what they’re getting into and not one has ever met his precious son. Dr Rollins is a player, but he’s an honest one.’
Almost two hours later there was a knock on Phoebe’s front door.
Thank God, she thought as she sprayed a light fragrance on her neck and wrists, that this wasn’t really a date. It had the makings of a date, and to others observing it might even look like a date, but to Phoebe it most certainly wasn’t a date. She wasn’t ready for anything close to a date. And after what she’d heard in the locker room she never would be. They would only ever be friends—because she had already met his son, so clearly he wasn’t thinking about bedding her.
Deep in thought, she smoothed her hands over her long white summer dress as she made her way from her room. The halter-style dress, cinched at the waist by a thin gold belt, was made of soft cotton that flowed as she moved. She wore simple flat gold sandals to match. Her hair fell in silky curls around her bare shoulders.
‘Hi, Phoebe,’ Heath greeted her as she opened the door.
‘Hi, Heath. Let me grab my bag and I’ll be right with you.’ She picked up her purse and keys and locked the door behind her as they left.
‘It’s a little cooler this evening, like I predicted, so I’ve left the top down to enjoy the fresh air on the drive but if you’d prefer I can put it up again.’
Phoebe looked past him to see his silver convertible sports car parked by her front gate. Then her gaze quickly returned to him. His white T-shirt was snug across his toned chest and he wore khaki trousers. A single, handsome medic with a sports car would be every woman’s dream. But not hers—not after what she’d heard.
She reached into her purse for a hair tie. ‘You can leave the top down,’ she said and she pulled her hair into a high ponytail.
Heath had to remind himself that he was doing the right thing and providing dinner for a colleague who had done a great job in Theatre that afternoon. And not that she was a woman whose company he was very much beginning to enjoy.
‘So, I thought we’d head up to Hahndorf for dinner. It’s a German town in the Adelaide Hills.’
‘Sounds lovely,’ she said as they walked to his car.
Heath held open the car door and, after lifting the flowing hem of her dress safely inside, closed and patted it, as if he had secured precious cargo. It did not go unnoticed by Phoebe and it made her feel torn—almost like jumping back out and telling him that it was a mistake and she wasn’t hungry.
The car suddenly felt a little like a sports version of a fairytale carriage, and she was not looking for Prince Charming—and by reputation he was far from that gallant. But he was in the car and the engine was running before she could muster an excuse.
‘Hahndorf—is that how you say it?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and moments later had pulled away from the kerb and into the traffic. ‘It’s about twenty minutes up the freeway. Something different—I hope you like it.’
As he said this he turned momentarily to see Phoebe look back at him with her warm brown eyes. She was a conundrum. He sensed so many layers to the woman who sat beside him, and one layer appeared to be a lack of trust. He wondered why. What had caused Phoebe to be outwardly happy and yet as distant as himself on a personal level?
Except around his son. She seemed to let her guard down around him very easily.
Had her heart been broken? he wondered as he entered the freeway and picked up speed.
The drive in the warm evening air was wonderful and their chatter was intermittent as Phoebe admired the scenery of the foothills.
‘It was a pity you didn’t bring our work to Tilly’s the other morning. We could have gone over the patient notes by the pool,’ Phoebe suddenly announced as he slowed a little to take the turn-off to Hahndorf.
Guilt slammed into Heath. ‘I thought it would be easier at the office,’ he said, clearing his throat. He had to keep it simple, when in fact it was so far from that.
Phoebe surveyed the scenery, dotted with massive gum trees that enveloped them as they drove into the quaint town. This evening would be a no-strings-attached walk in the park—or in this case a walk in a German town.
‘I’m looking forward to visiting this town and to eating authentic German cuisine. I’ve never had the opportunity to travel to Germany—or the time, to be honest—so this is my chance to sample it.’
Heath pulled into a restaurant car park. The breeze had picked up but there were no rain clouds, so he left the top of his car down. ‘There are great reviews about the food here, although I’ve not been. Tilly says it’s very nice.’
Heath looked down at his watch. Their dinner reservation was not until seven forty-five, so they had fifteen minutes to spare.
‘Would you like to walk for a few minutes? Take in the sights of the town? It’s not quite the size of New York, so fifteen minutes should have it covered.’
Phoebe turned to catch what she thought was a smile from Heath.
They walked along the narrow footpath and stepped inside the small antiquity shops still open for the tourist trade and window-shopped at those that had closed.
Heath was enjoying the time with Phoebe.
‘I think we can head back to the restaurant, if you’re ready,’ he told her as they stepped from a bric-a-brac shop where Phoebe had been admiring the vintage hand-embroidered tablecloths and runners. ‘The sauerkraut is probably primed to go.’
Phoebe laughed and followed his lead to the casual eatery, where the maître d’ showed them to a table outside and provided them with menus. There were lights strung up high across the alfresco dining area, and their small table had a lovely street view. She felt more relaxed the more she thought of Heath as a colleague. A very handsome colleague, who bedded other women but would never bed her.
‘I love that all the speciality dishes are served with creamy mustard potato bake, sauerkraut, red wine sauce and German mustard. It seems so authentic. Hahndorf really is Adelaide’s little Germany,’ Phoebe said as she looked over the menu.
Heath ordered a crisp white wine and some iced water while Phoebe tried to focus on the menu. It all looked wonderful, and there was a varied selection within the list of traditional German fare. Her mouth twisted a little from side to side as she carefully considered her options. Her finger softly tapped her bottom lip as she weighed up her decision.
Heath fell a little further under the spell she didn’t know she was casting—one he was finding it almost futile to ignore.
‘I think …’ She paused to reread, and then continued. ‘I think I would like the smoked Kassler chops, please.’
‘Sounds great. I’ll go with the Schweinshaxe—crispy skin pork hock is a favourite of mine.’
With that he signalled the waiter and placed their order. The waiter returned moments later with the drinks, before leaving them alone again.
Phoebe was staring at the people walking by and at the cars slowly moving down the single-lane road that meandered through the town. She was thinking about Washington, covered in snow, while she was enjoying a balmy evening in the foothills on the other side of the world.
‘A penny for your thoughts?’
‘It will cost you a quarter.’
‘A quarter of what?’
‘A quarter of a dollar.’
Heath rubbed the cleft in his chin and considered her terms. ‘Tell me honestly—are your thoughts right now worth twenty-five cents?’
‘I guess unless you pay up you’ll never know,’ Phoebe returned with a cheeky smile.
Heath decided to call her bluff and, reaching for his wallet, found a twenty-cent and a five-cent coin. He placed both on the table and pushed them towards her with lean strong fingers. ‘Well, your thoughts are officially mine now.’
‘I was thinking about Washington …’
‘International thoughts are always more expensive, so I can see why there was a price-hike from a penny to twenty-five cents,’ he teased. ‘So go on.’
Phoebe bit the inside of her lip. ‘That’s it.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Yep. I’m afraid you probably didn’t get your money’s worth after all,’ Phoebe said with her head at a tilt. ‘It was always going to be a gamble. When the stakes are high and you play big … sometimes you lose.’
Heath’s lips curved a little at her response. He suddenly had the feeling that spending time with Phoebe would never be a loss.
‘That was delicious—thank you so much.’
‘You’re most welcome,’ he replied as they made their way along the now darkened street.
Street lamps lit their way, but the sky was dark and dotted with sparkling stars. The breeze had picked up a little over the almost two hours they had spent eating and conversing, but it was refreshing, not cold, and it carried along with it the gentle wafts of eucalyptus and other native bushes.
Phoebe filled her lungs with the beautiful fresh air. Both had purposely steered the conversation away from their personal lives and discussed issues aligned to their careers.
‘We can head to my father’s home, if you like, to have a coffee with him.’ Heath wanted to prolong his time with Phoebe, but in a way that was safe for both of them.
‘Isn’t it a bit late to be calling on your father?’ she asked as they left the freeway and headed towards the city residence.
‘My father is a night owl. He has been for many years. He was always the last to bed. I remember coming home in the early hours of the morning sometimes, maybe from a pub crawl with uni friends, and he would still be up reading.’
‘And your mother didn’t mind?’
Heath drew a shallow breath. Although it had been a long time since his mother had died he still felt the loss.
‘My mother was killed in a light plane crash returning from Kangaroo Island. She was a social worker and had been over there consulting about issues with the high rate of school truancy. She was working on strategies to keep the children on the island engaged, and she called my father just before she boarded, very excited with the outcome. She told him that they had made significant progress and that she would tell him all about it when she arrived home. The plane went down ten minutes after take-off from Kingscote, in bad weather that had come in quickly.’