Bad Ideas (First & Forever 4)

After a while, he whispered, “He didn’t have to die, Casey. His appendix burst and he wasn’t given treatment in time, so the infection spread through his abdomen and killed him.” His voice caught, and it was a moment before he could continue. “My brother was in so much pain, but our foster mom thought he was exaggerating. She didn’t take him to get help right away, and when she finally did he was misdiagnosed. It was a case of appendicitis! That’s not uncommon, and it’s not hard to identify. But that incompetent doctor wrote it off as gas pain and sent him back home.”

“That’s why you became a doctor, isn’t it? And why you went into pediatrics.”

He nodded. So much about him made sense all of a sudden—not just why he’d selected that field, but the long hours, the dedication, the way he sacrificed so much of himself for the job.

“I’ll never let that happen to any child under my care,” he said softly. “I do all I can to ensure every patient gets an accurate diagnosis and the right treatment. I might suck at the interpersonal stuff, the pleasant bedside manner and all that, but I’m great at the science. I studied hard in school, and I make a point of keeping up with all the latest research, to make sure I’m providing the best care I possibly can.”

I stroked his hair as I told him, “You’re a wonderful doctor, Theo, and I’m so proud of you.”

A choked laugh slipped from him, and he murmured, “Damn it, Lassiter. I’d almost stopped crying, and then you had to go and tell me you’re proud of me.”

“Let it all out.”

He stepped back and wiped his eyes. “That was enough of a public meltdown for one day. Now, let’s find some yarn for your patient, so we can get out of here.”

I could see why he wanted to change the subject—telling me about his brother must have stirred up so many painful memories. I quickly redirected our attention to the shelves, and together we picked out several thick, soft, yarns for the little girl in the hospital. Then we made our way to the registers.

Once we’d checked out and loaded our purchases into the back of my car, we continued on down the peninsula. After a while, he said, “I’m sorry to just dump that story on you out of the blue. I wasn’t sure how to tell you about Freddie, and then all of a sudden, there was my chance.”

“I’m so grateful you told me.”

He paused before saying, “I’ve had a lot of bad things happen to me in my life, but that was the worst by far. Freddie was everything to me. He wasn’t just my twin, he was my best friend, and my only family. He was all I had, and then he died, and I didn’t have anyone at all.”

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“I almost didn’t survive it,” he said. “Actually, the main thing that kept me going was my anger. I was furious at our foster parents, and that incompetent doctor, and the whole world. Gradually, I directed that anger into a call to action. I made the decision to study medicine, so I could give other kids the chance at life that Freddie was denied.

“Once I had a direction, I became single-minded in making it happen. I didn’t waste time with friends, or dating, or any of the stuff you’re supposed to care about in your teens and twenties. It made me seem like a freak to my classmates and later to my colleagues, but I didn’t care. I had a job to do, for all the kids out there like Freddie. Everyone else could just fuck off.”

“I get why you put up walls between yourself and everyone else.”

“Almost everyone. I’m trying so hard to let you in, Casey. I want you to know that.”

“I know you are, baby, and I think you’re doing great.”

“You do?” When I nodded, he shifted and put his head on my shoulder, and I squeezed his hand.

A few minutes later, we arrived at the nursey. I tried to lighten the mood by exclaiming, “Your favorite place on earth has not one but two puns on its sign, and yet you criticize my awesome T-shirts!” It was called You Grow, Girl, and the slogan said, “We’ll knock your stalks off.”

He grinned at me and admitted, “Maybe I don’t hate your shirts as much as I claim to.”

We started in the funky main building, which held a random assortment of houseplants. Theo rushed all around, commenting on a bloom here, a particularly fetching leaf there, and radiating excitement. I stood back and watched him, marveling at how adorable he was.

Every now and then, he’d grab a plant off the shelves and decide he just had to have it. I wasn’t sure what distinguished those particular plants from all the others he had to choose from, but to him they were something special.