The Hero (Page 9)

It was time to go back. She turned and went back across the beach to town. She peeked in the diner and when she saw Sarah and Lou sitting there with another woman, she went in. She was introduced to Ray Anne, a small, compact blonde about the same age as Lou but so different in appearance—bleached hair, sexy clothes and flashy, while Lou was attractive in a much more sedate and conservative way.

“Sarah, I want to talk with the doctor for a second before we leave. I’ll be right back.”

“Sure, Devon,” Sarah said, looking a little bewildered.

Taking a couple of deep breaths as she crossed the street, she went back into the open house. The crowd had thinned a little. Dr. Grant was talking to Mac, Lou’s nephew. Dr. Grant held his daughter on his hip. She stood back a bit, a little nervous, until both men stopped talking and turned her way, their brows raised in question.

“Dr. Grant, I’ve been looking for openings, for work, and as it happens I’ve worked in a doctor’s office. It’s been a long time, just over five years, and I was only part-time, but I know how to do all the things a medical secretary does. I answered the phones, I’m up to speed on HIPAA regulation, have filed insurance claims, scheduled appointments, all that. The doctor said I did a good job, but she closed her practice. It was just less than a year of experience but it was an ob-gyn practice and there are hardly any crazier, more demanding patients, especially with a doctor who gets called out a lot for deliveries, leaving people waiting. So, if you’re looking for someone... I mean, would you consider me? If there’s no one else? I heard you say you didn’t have anyone and...”

He smiled at her. “I’d love to talk about it,” he said. “Can you come to the office Monday morning?”

She let out her breath. Even though she was well aware he might not find her qualified, she felt as though she’d just shed thirty pounds! “Yes,” she said. “If you’re sure...”

“I’d love to hear more about your short career in obstetrics,” he said with a laugh. “I’ll be here by eight and stay till five or so. Anytime you’re free.”

“Thank you,” she said in a breath. “I’ll, ah, see you. Monday. Yes. And thanks for letting me come to your open house!”

“I’m glad you stopped in.”

* * *

After better than a year of pounding the pavement looking for work in Seattle, followed by four years in a commune, Devon had a job interview. All those old feelings of vulnerability and fear rose to the surface once again.

She had worried all weekend about what to say, how to say it, how to talk about her work history with that long five-year gap and not come off looking like some freak or loser. She had learned during her struggle to find employment that many people thought the poor, jobless, homeless citizens were all drunks, addicts, lazy or lunatics. They didn’t recognize how many of them were senior citizens, war veterans and other victims of the failing economy. The high rate of business closures and escalating unemployment rate made it tough for anyone to find work. Many of the jobless were well educated and hardworking, just like herself.

Though she was very nervous about her meeting with Dr. Grant, she was also determined. And it was Rawley who gave her the courage to see it through. He said, “Listen here, miss. If you find yourself a job, it’s a start. And if you don’t get the job, it don’t matter. We’ll go on the same, and you’ll just try again.”

“I just don’t know why you’re so kind to me, a perfect stranger,” she said.

“Like I told you before, I been on your end of things and I have a lot to pay back. And two, you ain’t hardly a stranger anymore.”

She left Mercy with Rawley at the beach bar. Cooper gave her a lift across the beach to town first thing in the morning. She was waiting when Dr. Grant unlocked his office door. He was surprised and seemed pleased to see her. While he brewed some coffee in that tiny break room, they chatted about general things—how she liked the beach, the town, the people she’d met. She asked him how long he’d been in Thunder Point and was very surprised to learn he’d only been in Oregon for about a year, working in Bandon, and had found a house to rent in Thunder Point only a month ago. He had come from Vancouver.

“And I’m originally from Seattle,” she said. “That’s where I grew up.”

When the coffee was brewed they sat down at the small table and Dr. Grant explained that he needed someone who was comfortable doing a wide variety of tasks. He was looking for someone who could manage the office; field phone calls; keep ahead of the paperwork; schedule patients; call in prescriptions and keep the office open six days a week, even though he would only be in for four of those days.

“I have two small children, my wife is deceased and I have another part-time job in Bandon. I need someone with good management skills to help me make the best use of my time, so that I can take care of my family responsibilities. And it goes without saying I need someone who’s good with people.”

“The woman who brought your children to the open house—I thought she must be your wife?” Devon asked.

“My babysitter,” he said with a laugh. “I’d be lost without her. Her name is Gabriella and I’ve known her and her family for a long time. So—this job? Is this something you think you can do?”

Devon stood and pulled a piece of paper from her back pocket.

“Resume?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I made a list of all the things I remember doing for Dr. Stadler. Imogene Stadler, if you want to try to locate her. She closed her office and joined an OB group, which left several of us out of work.” Then Devon detailed for Dr. Grant her extensive list of experience—filing; transcribing; writing prescriptions for the doctor to sign; taking patient histories; processing referrals; answering phones, to name a few. “There were times I was needed in the exam room as a chaperone and I learned to hand instruments to the doctor. I also went through lab tests, put results in charts and generally made sure Dr. Stadler had what she needed. Then there were things that just happened unexpectedly—the doctor’s seven-year-old threw up at school and I went to get her. We had an elderly patient suffer a stroke in the waiting room—and I swear it was nothing I did! I called more than one ambulance—a good number of OB patients want to see the doctor to ask if they’re really in labor. Never a good idea. If you have to ask...” She shrugged. Then she handed him the paper. “That’s everything I can remember. It’s been five years.”

He took the page and glanced at it. “Great. You appear to be well qualified.”

“I have a degree from the University of Washington—early childhood development. I was a teacher’s aide in kindergarten very briefly. It was a private school and it closed when funding ran out.”

“Is that your goal? To teach again?”

“I did love it, but these days any job is a good job. And I also liked working in the doctor’s office very much.”

“I think you’re just the person I’m looking for,” he said with a smile.

“Well, maybe not,” she said, bolstering herself. She sat straighter in her chair and lifted her chin. “I have a three-year-old and no babysitter. Yet, that is—I decided to find work before I looked for a sitter.”

He smiled at her. “That isn’t going to be a problem. I can help you with that.”

“Oh. That would be amazing. There is one thing I think you should know, though. My lifestyle before coming here wasn’t...typical. I lived with a group of people for four years. I worked very hard, and was very motivated, but I was mainly a domestic and a mother. And when I left, I left with no money and the clothes on my back. Mr. Rawley Goode, a distant cousin, has given us a place to stay.” Then she looked down.

Dr. Grant said nothing for a while. When she looked up, his face was gentle. “I take it you left a bad situation.”

She nodded. “I left before it became worse, before my daughter paid the price.”

“We’ll keep this between us if you like. But a word of advice, Devon. Never feel embarrassed about taking your life back.”

“Thank you.”

“I’d like to hire you for a trial period. I have to protect the practice, so I’ll have to do a background check, just to make sure you’re not a criminal or wanted or anything that would put us in jeopardy. You’ll have access to prescriptions and drugs and I have to be diligent.”

She smiled at him. “I’ve never even had a traffic ticket. And I never have taken drugs—unless you count beer. I was a college student once, after all.”

“Understood,” he said, smiling back. “If you check out and if you do a good job of managing the office, we’re a team. All of this could take as long as a month. I’ll start you at this salary,” he said, writing a figure on a notepad, sliding it toward her. Six hundred a week! Her mouth fell open and she blinked. “If all goes well and everything checks out, I’ll double your pay in a month.”

Her hand actually went to her heart and she fought the urge to go limp. “But...but what about work clothes...I don’t... I can’t...”

“I’ll get you a uniform. A couple of sets of nurse’s scrubs. You’ll need white tennis shoes.”

“I can do that.”

“Do you need an advance on your pay?”

“No, but... Well, to do a background and check my employment and college transcripts, you’ll have to look for the name Devon Anne McAllister. I’ve been concerned that someone is looking for me. I don’t know that for sure, but someone...the man I lived with could come looking for me. If he were to ask people...”

Scott Grant was frowning. “Were you abused, Devon?”

Clear-eyed and calm, she answered, “He forbade me to leave. We weren’t married but he said I was free to go without my daughter. Of course I couldn’t do that. I left without his approval.”

Scott Grant folded his hands on the small table. “You’re clear now, aren’t you? That’s abuse? Right?”

“It could be a lot of things, I guess.”

“Should you talk to Deputy McCain about your experience?” he asked.

“No, I should try to get on with my life.”

“If I understand the law, you are, as the mother, the assumed custodial parent in an unmarried situation. The biological father has rights, and he can assert those rights legally. But preventing you from removing your child from his home would be considered custodial interference. Now, if you refused to acknowledge his legal rights, you would be guilty of the same. But this is a court matter.”

She shook her head. “He will never go near a lawyer or courtroom.”

“I see. Well. Before we start working together, I’d like us to make an agreement. I’ll help you as much as I can. I’d like you to give me your word—if you discover this man is looking for you, I want you to talk to Mac. He’s a good man. You can trust him. He would know what advice to give you.”

She nodded. “I can agree to that. I’d rather just put it all in the past.”

“Understandable.” He sipped from his cup. “So? Tomorrow at eight?”

“You weren’t planning on working on Tuesdays,” she reminded him.

“Tomorrow will be different. We’ll call it orientation. Bring your daughter and we’ll take her to my house together to meet Gabriella. I’ll check with her tonight, but I have no doubt she’ll be happy to take on one more three-year-old. I think the kids will like having a playmate. I think it will work for you.”

“Do you know how much she’ll charge?” she asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know, but Gabriella is very nurturing and reasonable. We’ll talk about it with her in the morning.”