One time he had said “places to go, people to see” to Lorna and she had said, “Don’t ever say that to me again. I hate things like that.”
“Me too!” he’d said. But hadn’t meant it. He liked them, actually. Maybe later in the day he’d call Lorna and say, Hey, sweetheart, how about reconsidering me? You’re a moron, she’d say. I know, I know, what’s up, Lorna? he’d say. And she’d say, I don’t know, stuff, and slowly they’d get back on track the way they always did.
He had to find out how Mrs. Cherniski was, see if it was true that Dr. François was thinking about leaving town, confirm that Max was back in town, and find out if Knute had done anything about that darn dog, Bill Quinn. Oh, and he had to put Johnny Dranger back in town limits so he could be crowned fire chief of Algren. Fair enough, thought Hosea.
Hosea straightened the framed picture of Lorna he had sitting on his couch, and then kissed it lightly. Soon, he thought, I’ll carry you over the threshold. We’ll ride off into the sunset, you and me. “I want to grow old with you, Lorna Garden,” he said out loud. “Will you marry me?” Or, he thought, would she prefer, Marry me! It was hard to know. Hosea wondered how Tom had asked Dory to marry him. Or had Dory asked Tom? Or had they mutually, silently agreed to marry at precisely the same moment, opened their mouths, out of the blue, and said, “Yes!” in unison, knowing exactly what the other was saying yes to and falling into each other’s arms, laughing, knowing, happy.
Probably, thought Hosea. Very likely.
He went out to his car and had a look at the tires. Years ago he’d attended a convention of mayors and town reeves in Sudbury, Ontario, and one of the conventioneers had warned him that hostile townspeople do things to their mayors like slash their tires and throw eggs at their houses. Since then he checked his tires every time he drove. Each time he found them intact and full of air, Hosea congratulated himself on the fine job he was doing keeping everybody in Algren happy — at least happy enough not to slash his tires. He took off his hat and put it on top of the car so he could bend down and have a real good look, from every angle, without his hat falling off his head and onto the dusty driveway.
Hosea was on his way to the hospital when he saw Max driving down Main Street with his little girl. What was her name? Summer Time? Summer Feelin’, that was it. He and Max were stopped side by side at Algren’s only traffic light. “Hello there,” said Hosea through his open window. Max was wearing dark sunglasses and singing, and banging on the dashboard from time to time. Hosea thought he might also be pretending to play a guitar. An imaginary electric guitar hanging down low, on his hips. His fingers were moving very quickly and his left hand slid wildly up and down the neck of the imaginary guitar. His right hand yanked at imaginary strings like somebody trying to start a lawn mower.
Summer Feelin’ was laughing and waving her hands around like a symphony conductor, but she noticed Hosea and smiled.
“Your dad likes to rock,” said Hosea, smiling back at S.F.
“It’s my grandma’s car,” said S.F. in response.
Hosea knew that but he said, “Oh, I see,” and smiled again. Max’s song was over and he looked at Hosea.
“Hey, hi,” he said. “How are you?” Hosea nodded and smiled.
“Pretty good,” Hosea said. “Welcome back to Algren.”
“Thanks,” said Max, grinning. “Taking your hat for a ride?” Hosea smiled and wondered what Max meant. The light had turned green and Hosea was moving ahead, slowly, through the intersection. He didn’t hear Max yell, “Hey, your hat’s on top of the car!” As he drove down Main Street, Hosea looked right into the sun and breathed deeply.
He turned his own tape deck up loud and sang along with Emmylou. He got to the chorus and said “Guitar” along with Emmylou to her band mate.
Hosea parked his car in the hospital parking lot and glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. Where was his hat? Damn, he thought, and Lorna says I look good in it. He got out of the car and began to laugh. “I am such an idiot,” he muttered. He grabbed the hat from the top of the car and put it on his head. So, he thought to himself, I drive down Main Street singing and crying, with a hat on top of my car. He scratched his forehead and shook his leg a bit to realign his parts. “I could be senile,” he said out loud.
Hosea walked through the front doors of the hospital. There was nobody around. He walked over to the front desk and peered at the posted list of patients. He was looking for the name Cherniski.
“Hello, Hosea, making your rounds?”
“Oh, oh, hello, Dr. Bonsoir.” Hosea tugged viciously at his windbreaker and then stopped abruptly and stroked the brim of his hat. “How are you?” he said.
“Fine. Just fine. Call me Dr. Trèsbien, Hosea. How are you? How’s the chest pain?”
“Oh, it’s gone. It was nothing. Something I ate.”
“Hmmm. So, Hosea, mind if I ask you a question?”
“Go ahead, shoot. What’s on your mind?” Hosea coughed.
“What were you doing at the Cherniski residence the day she had her heart attack?”
“Me? Well, I was helping to rescue her dog.”
“Yes, but how did you know her dog was in trouble? How is it that you just showed up at that exact moment when her dog needed rescuing?”
“Well, I don’t know. Chance, I suppose. Coincidence? I was on my way to Johnny Dranger’s.”
“I see. Is he a friend of yours?”
“In a way. Yes.”
“Hmmm …” said Dr. François.
“How is she?” said Hosea.
“Hard to say at this point.”
Hosea told himself not to ask another single question. Why was the doctor acting this way? He stared hard at his shoes and tried to stop himself from opening his mouth. He put his hands in his pockets and felt the hard edge of his hips. He looked up and saw the doctor glance at his watch and then at something behind the desk.
“Do you think she’ll make it?” he blurted out and cursed himself inside. The doctor stared at Hosea. He opened his mouth and closed it. He smiled.
“What would you say if I told you I was thinking of leaving Algren?” said the doctor. He began to pace back and forth, his hands behind his back.
“Leaving Algren,” said Hosea. “But why?”
“For a better paying job in the States.”
“The States! Why would you want to go to the States?”
“More money, like I said. And other reasons. Genvieve won’t leave Montreal to live in a place like this.”
“But what about us? We need you!”
“Well, don’t worry, Hosea. I won’t leave until you have another doctor. You organize a hiring committee, put an ad in papers across the country, and see how it goes. I’m sorry, Hosea, I need to live in a bigger place. I need to move on.”
“It’s because of the Epps, isn’t it?”
“What about them?”
“Talking about suing you over the baby with the breathing problem.”
“No, no, Hosea. That was unavoidable. Any doctor has to be prepared for potential lawsuits and disgruntled patients. That’s not the problem. I’m a young man! I need a change! I want to practise in a large hospital and experience as much as I can. That’s all.”
Dr. François looked at Hosea. Hosea didn’t know what to say. He needed to get rid of a few more people, but if the doctor left he’d have to replace him. He couldn’t expect the Charlie Orson Memorial Hospital to function without a doctor. At least not for any length of time. Could he get away with not hiring a doctor just for, say, a month or two? Until after July first? The doctor put his hand on Hosea’s shoulder. “Don’t worry so much, Hosea. You’ll kill yourself with worry.”
“I hope you change your mind,” said Hosea quietly.
“Well,” said the doctor, “we’ll see.” He paused. “Hosea,” he said, “I’ll keep you posted on Mrs. Cherniski’s condition.” The doctor removed his hand from Hosea’s shoulder and cocked his head. “Okay?” he said. Before Hosea could respond, three men came bursting through the front doors of the hospital. Two of them were helping Johnny Dranger walk and yelling at the doctor.