New York, New York — September, seventeen months later
Autumn in New York City was Beth's favorite time of year.
It was only her second season here, but it seemed as if
the leaves were falling earlier. She crunched through a
clump on the sidewalk, walking back to work after lunch.
Because it was her birthday, she'd just split a delicious
mile-high pastrami sandwich with a friend and indulged in
her very own piece of chocolate-ripple cheesecake. With
each lush, creamy bite, she'd told herself it wasn't so
bad, turning thirty.
Her lunch buddy was a doctor who volunteered part-time at
Manhattan Free Clinic. Beth volunteered there, too, but
full-time. As long as she was careful with her
grandmother's trust-fund money, she could afford to work
without pay.
She loved working at the clinic, mostly because they were
so glad to have her. No one hinted that she was on the
staff because she was somebody's relative. No one
suggested that she might not be able to handle the job.
She'd come here at her brother Ry's suggestion. He knew
about Manhattan Free Clinic from his years working as a
NewYork City paramedic. Since she hadn't known how long it
would take for her to find a new dream, she hadn't wanted
to sign a contract anywhere.
The work was a hybrid of ER medicine and private family
practice. If and when she decided to leave, she would be
taking more experience than she would have gained working
the same amount of time at Brennan Medical Clinic.
Home was a tiny apartment on the Upper East Side, close
enough to Central Park for her daily run. She'd wanted to
live near the clinic in lower Manhattan, but her brother
said she would appreciate a quiet neighborhood to go home
to.
He'd been right. The city was a noisy place, with millions
of people on the move. The infinite variety of sights and
sounds had been a culture shock, but she'd grown to love
it all. If it weren't for missing Ry and Meg, Beth could
stay here indefinitely.
Her cell phone rang, and the caller ID said Ry was about
to wish her a happy birthday.
"Ry!" she said, answering with a smile. "I was just
thinking about you."
"How's the birthday girl?"
"Lovin' New York, missin' you and Meg."
"How did you like my present this morning?"
"Very much!" she said, laughing. "Thank you!"
A trio of his buddies had shown up at the clinic to
sing "Happy Birthday." The best-looking one asked her to
dinner tonight and begged her to go since Ry was footing
the bill. She'd thought, why not? It wasn't as if she'd
met anyone who mattered, and she didn't want to be alone
on her thirtieth birthday.
"They called after they'd seen you," Ry said,
laughing. "Your date for the night thanked me. He said you
were the most attractive doc he'd ever seen."
"It must have been my yellow sneakers. They draw men like
flies." She caught a glimpse of herself in a store window.
Her yellow sneakers, blue scrubs and navy hoody sweatshirt
with the New York Yankees logo made quite the fashion
statement.
Her new hair cut was cool, though. The uneven blond length
was more of a frame for her face than a style. The stylist
had said he only gave this cut to pretty women with fine
features, but he'd also said she should have permanent,
tattooed eyeliner and lipstick. That wouldn't be
happening. She just wasn't that trendy.
"Have you heard from the rest of the family?"
"Not yet. Grandpa will call. Dad might, but I don't expect
to hear from Mom."
"It's not just you, Beth. Since she moved in with Aunt
Jackie, she's shut herself off from the rest of the
family," he said comfortingly.
"I ask myself, how could the things that happened on one
day tear Mom apart from her family so drastically?"
Ry cleared his throat. "You're not going to like this, but
I ask myself that every time I place a call to you a
continent away."
That stung. "I talk to Grandpa. He calls, I call him."
She'd gotten over her hurt feelings long ago.
"What do you tell Grandpa about coming back and working at
the clinic?"
"That I'm still looking for a new dream."
"What's wrong with the old one?" he said, reproof in his
voice.
Reproof? From the family rebel? "Isn't that the pot
calling the kettle black? You don't plan to work at the
clinic when you get your M.D."
"Right, but I never wanted to. You always did."
"Give me that phone." That was Meg's voice in the
background. "You don't nag a person on her birthday."
Beth grinned. Her favorite brother and her lifelong best
friend made a great pair.
"Beth, don't mind him," Meg said, just as sassy as
ever. "I wish you were here so we could celebrate your
birthday at the beach, like we used to do."
They ended the call as Beth neared the clinic. A chilly
breeze blew through her hair, and she thought about home.
It would be summer-hot there and very dry. The leaves
wouldn't change color until close to Thanksgiving, and, if
it had been a very dry year, they would just go brown.
Here, the trees were a glorious riot of red, orange and
gold.
She'd learned to love the changing seasons. Each one made
her more aware of her Creator. She'd been a brand-new
Christian when she'd arrived a year ago last spring, but
she'd studied the Word and knew Him much better now. He'd
become her friend, someone she could talk to any time, any
place — even now on the streets of New York.
Father God, it's my birthday. You've given me the best
presents anyone could have — a relationship with You,
satisfying work, good health, friends — everything,
actually, but a man of my own...and a baby!
I'm ready for them, Lord — the man and the baby! I'm more
than ready. I won't say I'm desperate, because no self-
respecting woman admits that, but I can't fool You. You
know my heart.
Beth's last patient of the day was a tough eleven-year-old
kid with a long gash on his arm. She sutured the wound
while the boy's mother paced the small examining room and
complained that he was nothing but a gangbanger, just like
his brother.
The woman reminded Beth of her own mother — far less
cultured, but just as hateful. In moments like these, it
was hard to remember that a Christian prayed first and
reacted second. The instinct to stand up for this boy was
strong, but God could do more for him than she ever could.
Father, you know the need. Help this child and his family.
Please silence this woman's words. If you want help from
me, I'm your willing servant.
The boy threw his mom a cocky smile. It might have been
sheer bravado, but his mother threw up her hands and
stormed out of the room.
Wow! If that was an answer to prayer, it came with the
speed of light.
"So, tell me, Stevie, how did you get this cut?" Beth
said, praying again, this time for words that might make a
difference in the boy's life.
"Me and my brother was practicing fighting."
"With real knives? Isn't that kind of dangerous?"
"My brother says you gotta keep it real if you're gonna be
ready when somebody comes at you with the real thing."
What a philosophy! She would make sure he saw the staff
social worker before he got out of here. Not only was it
her duty to report a wound like this, somebody should
think of this kid's safety.
"Am I gonna have a scar?" He sounded hopeful.
"Not unless you want one. I'm good at this." She hadn't
been much older than Stevie when her grandfather had begun
teaching her suturing techniques.
"Scars are kind of cool," the boy said, watching her
work. "You're kind of cool, too, even if you smell like
baby puke."
"You don't like my perfume?"
He grinned at her little joke.
"I was about to change into fresh scrubs when you came in
here, bleeding all over the place."
"Is that my blood on your shoes?"
"Probably."
"How come you wear yellow shoes?"
"They make me happy."
"Aren't you mad that I got blood on 'em? It made my mom
real mad when I got blood on her towel."
She smiled, hoping he would see the love of Jesus in her
eyes. That's what she was here for. "Do I look mad?"
He smiled back. "No, you look pretty. I think I could go
for you."
Maybe she'd overdone the smile. "I dig blond chicks, even
if you are kind of old."
Stevie needed a little work on his pickup lines. "You've
got pretty eyes."
That was better. "I never seen anybody with that eye
color. They're kind of gold or brown or somethin'. And you
got long eyelashes. Are you seeing anybody?"
Kids hated when they were treated like kids. If she could
hang in here and talk to him as if he were an adult, there
might be an opening to talk about Jesus. "I'm still
single, Stevie. How about you?"
"I'm not with anybody either. You wanna go out some time,
Doc?"
There it was. "I might if we went to church. You wanna
take me to church?"
"Nah. I mean, like on a real date, like a movie."
"Sorry, but I can't go on real dates with my patients."
"Oh, sure. I understand."
"But the invitation to church still holds." She described
the store-front church near the clinic and their cool
program for kids.
"I might try it some time," Stevie said, maybe to
please. "You know, you're a really good doctor. The best
I've ever seen."
One of the male volunteers popped his head in. "Doctor,
we're having your surprise birthday party in the lounge
now. Can I finish up with this patient, and can you go act
surprised?"
She glanced at Stevie, caught his quick look of
disappointment and said, "Would you mind bringing a couple
of pieces of cake in here?"
"No problem."
"Stevie, I want you to talk to our social worker for a few
minutes, and then we'll have cake together. Okay?"
"No way! I ain't seeing no social worker." Stevie scooted
off the table, fast as a wink. She grabbed for him as he
bolted for the door, but he was gone.