This Time Is Different Read online

  This Time is Different

  Mae Wood

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Proofing by Marla Esposito at Proofingstyle, Inc.

  Cover design by Alyssa Garcia at Uplifting Designs

  Formatting by AB Formatting

  Copyright © 2017 Mae Wood All rights reserved.

  Atacama Books

  ISBN-13: 978-1977873156 (paperback)

  For Kiddo and Babe

  One day you’ll realize exactly what I was typing throughout your childhoods and look at me in a whole new way.

  Contents

  1. Amy

  2. Thomas

  3. Amy

  4. Thomas

  5. Amy

  6. Thomas

  7. Amy

  8. Thomas

  9. Amy

  10. Thomas

  11. Amy

  12. Thomas

  13. Amy

  14. Thomas

  15. Amy

  16. Thomas

  17. Amy

  18. Thomas

  19. Amy

  20. Thomas

  21. Amy

  22. Thomas

  23. Amy

  24. Thomas

  25. Amy

  26. Thomas

  27. Amy

  28. Thomas

  29. Amy

  30. Thomas

  31. Amy

  32. Thomas

  33. Amy

  34. Thomas

  35. Amy

  36. Thomas

  37. Amy

  38. Thomas

  39. Amy

  40. Thomas

  Epilogue

  Want more Pig & Barley?

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  1

  Amy

  “Dr. Forsythe, there’s a man up front with an emergency.”

  Orthodontists don’t have emergencies, which is part of the reason I became one. Nice, tidy business hours and equally nice, tidy paychecks. Ignoring the surly teenagers, who can’t talk anyway while I’ve got my hands in their mouths, it’s kinda my dream job.

  “Ball game injury?” I asked, turning away from my computer. Our combo family dentist-orthodontist practice sat across from the city’s baseball fields. Springtime meant a couple of evaluations for balls and bats to kids’ mouths. And the kids always seemed to get hit goofing around in the bullpens rather than actually playing ball.

  “Yes.”

  “Is Dr. Mordasini still in?”

  “No.”

  “Call her. I’ll do what I can until she shows up.”

  “The patient was bleeding, so I put him in the private room.”

  “Gotcha.” After wriggling my toes back into my beige ballet flats, I draped my white coat over my dress and headed into the room with doors we used for more serious procedures.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Forsythe,” I said, pushing through the door.

  “Doctor! This is all my fault!” My eyes spun to the man in my face, his eyes wide with panic. “I wasn’t looking and was taking some warm up swings.”

  “My mouff!” came a groan. In the chair sat not the child I expected, but a grown man. Head full of silver hair with a wad of paper towels held to his face, a mix of melted ice water and blood dripping onto his white jersey. Far from the gangly teenagers I was used to, his tall and muscular frame overtook the narrow exam chair.

  “Okay, I’m Dr. Forsythe. Let me take a look, Mr.—” I looked to the guilty party for guidance.

  “Popov. Thomas Popov,” the assailant supplied.

  “Mr. Popov. Let me take this icepack from you. I’m an orthodontist, but trained in general dentistry. My partner Dr. Mordasini is on her way in to take a look at you.”

  I began my exam, running my gloved fingers over his mandible, telling him to open and close his jaw and try to bite, checking for loose teeth, asking questions about seizures, loss of consciousness, dizziness. Physical exam looked promising. Just a few slightly loose teeth and a split lip. “Okay, let’s go get an X-ray. If your jaw is broken, we can patch you up here and then get you to a specialist. Let’s hope it’s not.”

  A slow nod and I finally looked at his eyes. Dilated pupils rimmed with light blue. Shallow shaky breath. He was being brave. I reached out to pat his shoulder and give him some assurance, but I stopped myself. I had no right to touch him now that my physical exam was complete. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, Mr. Popov. Once we do the X-ray, I can get you something, okay? But I need you to stand up for the X-ray, if you can, because we’ve got the one that spins around your head.” I wasn’t sure how much was getting through to him. I was used to dealing with kids. And kids could take pain. Grown-ups tended to shut down.

  “Misty, I want a panoramic. Any word from Dr. Mordasini?” I asked.

  “She asked for you to call her. Mr. Popov, if you’ll come with me. Mister, I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” said Misty.

  “McDaniel,” said the assailant.

  “Okay, Mr. McDaniel, I’ll need you to help me.” They shuffled out of the room, bracing poor Mr. Popov between them, and I flipped through the brief handwritten chart the staff had started, adding in my own notes as I went to prepare the pain meds. Assuming the X-rays didn’t reveal anything emergent, he’d be feeling better as soon as we got some meds on board. Back in my office where I sat awaiting the X-rays to pop up on my computer, I called Diana’s cell.

  “Eight-year-olds sword fighting in a batting cage again?” she asked, not bothering to say hello.

  “No, how about an old-man softball league for a change of pace? Patient was hit by a teammate who was taking a few warm-up swings and, who, from what I can tell, had been doing a few twelve-ounce curls at the same time.”

  I reviewed the X-rays live on my laptop screen while I gave her the run down.

  “If the gums look fine and the teeth aren’t about to come out, there isn’t much more I can do that you haven’t already done. Sounds like he got lucky with that pop. I’ll see him tomorrow,” she said.

  “But I need you,” I protested. I had no good reason to need her. I could take care of his teeth by myself, but seeing this big man in so much distress, I didn’t like it. It made me want to nurse and tend to him, to offer him comfort and pet on him. And that wasn’t my job. That was the job of the wife he’d be taken home to. My job was to get him stable and comfortable so he could go home to her.

  “You don’t. And it’s Mia’s dress rehearsal,” she replied, shutting me down. We’d started our practice together based upon two tenets. One, the office was closed on Fridays. Two, our kids came first. I hadn’t worked a Friday in nearly a decade and it felt damn good.

  “Gotcha. Enjoy the drama and Aqua Net high. I’m going to tell Mr. Popov the good news and get him on his way.”

  2

  Thomas

  I heard it in the distance, and followed the sound down the hall. I knew I should have stayed at home rather than drag my ass to work. But I needed to make an appearance to keep us on track for next week’s initial meeting with the survey team. Ava’s laugh spurred me on and I lengthened my strides.

  “An angel. She’s an angel. She’s an angel,” I heard myself slur.

  “You are high, my friend,” said a voice I knew but couldn’t quite place.

  “Those lips. So pink. An angel.” More words from me, echoing off the long corridor’s walls.

  “She looked like a dentist to me.” Max’s joking voice rang out from a tinny speaker. The bastard had recorded me last night while I was on pain meds.
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  “You better not be looking at her. She’s only for me. My angel. Mine. You get your own angel.” My own ridiculous words, captured for posterity and being replayed for someone’s enjoyment.

  “Again, you’re going to be so pumped that I’m recording this, so tell me more about your angel,” said Max, his chuckle caught on the recording.

  “She tastes like candy.”

  “What kind of candy?”

  “Malted milk balls,” I slurred after a pause.

  “Malted milk balls?” Max asked, his recorded voice breaking with laughter and his live laugh joining in to form a duet.

  “So good. And when you find one that’s soft in the middle and not crunchy, those are the best.”

  “What’s your angel’s name?”

  “Angel. Doctor Dentist Angel. Oh, I love her. Like with my whole heart, man. So much it hurts. It hurts! You’ve never felt this way. No one has because no one else has my angel.” My voice was fierce and assertive.

  “You’re starting to creep me out some, man.”

  “Doctor Dentist Angel on a magic carpet. We fly all over the world,” I heard myself moon.

  “Holy shit, now this is what I was waiting for. It’s not the skiing penguin, but it’s good. Aladdin, right?”

  I was close enough now to see what was happening. My assistant Ava and the hospital’s IT director huddled in the hallway, looking at a phone.

  “No, she’s mine. Not Aladdin’s. He’s a street rat. I’m a genie. Genie and Angel. We’re going to Paris. I’m going to kiss her at the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower.” My statement garbled, but forceful.

  I snatched the phone out of Max’s hand. “You fuck up my face and then record me while I’m on pain meds? You are a sick SOB.”

  “Aww, come on, I want to see the rest,” whined Ava, wiping a few tears of laughter from her cheeks.

  “No. And it’s deleted,” I muttered, gleefully pushing the trash icon.

  “It’s on my cloud,” Max replied. Of course it is. Fucking IT guy.

  “Damn softball league,” I cursed, my aching face sporting a busted bottom lip and a rainbow of colors and scruff on my jaw. Quite the look for a hospital’s chief operating officer.

  “You didn’t think it was stupid when you decided that the hospital should have a team this year,” protested Max.

  “I thought our leadership could do with a little team building.”

  “There’s a better way for us to bond, if that’s what you’re after,” said Ava.

  Playing into her hand, I answered, “What?”

  “Popcorn and a screening of Thomas Gets High.” I ignored her response.

  “And, what about your angel?” Max asked.

  Daggers flew out of my eyes. “The Joint Commission is coming next week. I’d like to keep our accreditation. We’ve got important things to do.”

  “Like taking Doctor Dentist Angel some flowers,” said Ava, gigging me.

  “Or one of those candy baskets from the gift shop. I’m pretty sure they’ve got Whoppers down there,” joined in Max.

  I ignored him and addressed Ava. “I’m going to try to get some work done and then I’m headed over to get my teeth checked. A few are loose.” This time I narrowed my eyes, turning the daggers into scalpels and directing them at Max.

  “Okay. I’ll be here while you spend some time with Doctor Dentist Angel,” she chirped.

  I shut the door to my office, shrugged out of my suit coat, and took in my reflection in the flea-sized private bathroom in my office. I looked like a hungover loser from a bar fight. And I felt like one, too. Scanning my email for anything critical and determining everything could wait, I placed calls to my kids—Miller in Boston, Cassie in Dallas, and Claire in Portland.

  When I’d moved to Memphis two years ago to take the job at Methodist, Miller hardly noticed, his nose was so far into his first year of medical school. Cassie and Claire kept their own counsel, as they often had since their mom passed. Selling the house and leaving Milwaukee was a hard thing to do, but they accepted it. And with the kids all spread out, as long as I was near a major airport and in the middle of the country, it worked.

  Each call reflected the chocolate-vanilla-strawberry contrast that was my kids. Miller asked pointed questions and demanded a copy of my chart, including X-rays. Cassie cried and chastised me for being an old man but playing like a young one. Claire, my sweetness. Claire congratulated me. On playing softball. On getting “out there.” Wherever “out there” was she didn’t say and I didn’t know.

  But I’d seen her watchful eyes. When Laurie passed, the girls were just twelve and Miller was fifteen. Cassie showed the most grief, but was resilient through her tears. Claire took it the hardest. A tough candy shell guarding her marshmallow of a heart. My cell rang and I answered, thinking it was one of the girls calling me back to chat more.

  “Mr. Popov, I’m Kristin Martinez,” said a woman. I went to hang up on what sounded like a sales call when I heard the rest of her opening spiel. “Nick Palca gave me your name.” Her dropping Nick’s name was the only reason I continued to listen to her speak. Nick. CEO of one of the country’s most prestigious hospital systems, who I met when we’d put together some programming on hospital revenue cycles for students at our shared B-school alma mater. He’d become a mentor to me and, over the years, a friend.

  “I’m calling you about an opportunity with a regional hospital system. They are looking to replace the incumbent COO and are undertaking a confidential search for a decisive leader, so I’m not at liberty to say who at this time. I can say that your résumé and Mr. Palca’s recommendation make you very attractive to my client. If you’d be interested in learning more, I can set things up for you.”

  “Away from Memphis?” I asked, wondering where I might call home next.

  “I can’t say, but I can say that since you’re at the top-drawer hospital system in Memphis, I’m talking about a step up. Client is a very well-respected university system with a large research component. Compensation package is of course negotiable, but attractive and commensurate with the responsibilities.”

  This was it, right? The reason I’d taken the job in Memphis. Another rung on the corporate ladder.

  I tucked the phone under my chin, listening to the headhunter paint grand pictures of the opportunity she was setting before me, but I wasn’t listening to her chatter. My plan was exactly what this phone call brought about. Memphis for a few years before moving to either a CEO position or a COO position at a nationally-recognized facility, preferably attached to a research university.

  With Laurie, that had never been a discussion. My work, and my passion for it, dictated our life. After I got my MBA, she left the hospital she’d been working at and came with me as my wife to Nebraska. Miller was born and we moved again to rural Oklahoma, to my first COO gig. Then next to Wisconsin where we’d put down roots. After she passed, I turned down every headhunter call, every off-the-cuff, casual inquiry at conferences or reunions or lunches. The kids needed a home. They needed stability and a community, and I gave them that.

  Now things were different. My nest was empty. And my life was my own. There wasn’t even a question. After telling the headhunter that I was interested, I dug into my own work until it was time for my dental appointment.

  A fish tank, random magazines, a suspended flat screen that streamed Headline News—I sat in an exam chair for my appointment with the dentist. The instruction sheet they’d sent me home with said I would need daily check-ups on my teeth for a week to make sure they were firming up and gave the time of my first follow up with Dr. Mordasini. It also looked like I was sentenced to soft foods for a few days.

  “Mr. Popov,” came a woman’s voice behind me. I craned my neck to look at her. “I’m Doctor Mordasini and I’m going to check you out.”

  As she examined me, I looked at her face. Was this the angel from the day before? Between the trauma, pain, and then the meds, I wasn’t sure.

  She had
a kind face, a sleek haircut, and a sweet voice, but nothing really angelic. I must have been so high.

  “Thank you so much for helping me yesterday,” I said. She righted the exam chair, and I grimaced at the pain, trying not to flinch because my whole fucking face hurt.

  “Oh, that wasn’t me. That was Dr. Forsythe.”

  Another woman’s voice floated in from the doorway. “Need me, Diana?”

  “Your slugger is here.”

  “Oh, Mr. Popov!”

  Dr. Forsythe came into view and there was my angel. A massive ponytail of curls swinging around her shoulders. Big green eyes. Pink lips. Damn. I hadn’t lied about those pink lips. Soft and full and stretched into a wide smile. “So glad you’re back for a check-up. I know you must be really sore. But you’re in good hands with Dr. Mordasini. I hope you feel better soon.”

  And with that, before I could say thanks, Doctor Dentist Angel left the room.

  The next day I was prepared. Brought flowers from the hospital’s gift shop. Ostensibly, they were for the practice as a whole. But they were for Amy.

  I’d Googled her and after checking out the practice’s slick website, confirmed that a very nice figure paired with that wide smile. Vanderbilt, residencies in Denver, then opened this practice with her dental school classmate. Her bio mentioned her Boy Scout son, but not a husband. I dug around more and confirmed that Forsythe was her married name, but couldn’t find out if she was married. That left me playing the ring game.