Heart Failure (38 page)

“In a few minutes,” Carrie said. “I don’t think this will take long.” She had successfully resisted Phil’s repeated requests for the two of them to get together. Now it was time to face the music. She searched her memory for something she might have done that would bring down the wrath of the clinic’s managing partner, but nothing came to mind. Oh well. She’d see soon enough.

Carrie tapped at the open door of Phil’s office. He rose and walked to her, enfolded her in a hug, and led her to one of the chairs in front of his desk. He took the one beside it and
turned it to face Carrie. So far this was a totally different Phil Rushton than the one she’d come to know, respect, and sometimes dislike.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Nothing, thanks. And I’m fine—thanks for asking.” She leaned forward in the chair. Might as well get this out of the way. “Phil, you need to know that strange message you got came from Adam.” She went on to explain about the three suspects in the shootings and why Phil was on the list. “Obviously you were innocent, and I want to apologize for suspecting you and for the way it might have influenced our relationship.”

Phil shrugged it off. “No problem. I can see why you might think that, with my Chicago connection.” He shifted in his chair. “And that brings me to the reason I’ve been wanting to meet with you.”

Carrie frowned. “O-o-okay.”

“You already know that I’m from Chicago, did all my training there. I’ve always wanted to go back, and now I have the chance. I’ve received an offer to head the division of cardiothoracic surgery at Loyola in Chicago. I’m going to take the job.”

Carrie had trouble processing that for a moment. Phil was leaving? Then again, this was a great honor, and he’d be foolish not to grab the opportunity. He deserved it.

“Wonderful. Congratulations.”

“That means we’ll need another cardiothoracic surgeon here.” Phil reached back to his desk and lifted three thin manila folders from it. “Here are three men we need to interview.”

Carrie wasn’t sure what to say. “What can I do?”

“You’ll head the search committee, along with two other clinic members of your choice.”

“Why me?”

“Because I’m suggesting that you replace me as managing partner. You’ve been here as long as any of the other doctors. You’re levelheaded. You’ve demonstrated that you can be cool in stressful situations, and this job has a lot of them.”

“I’ll need to—”

Phil held up his hand. “I know. I’ve sprung this on you without warning. Why don’t you and Adam talk about it over dinner tonight? I’ve made a seven o’clock reservation at The Grotto for you to have dinner on me. It’s all taken care of.”

Back in her office Carrie had the phone in her hand, ready to dial Adam, when it struck her. This was great news, but it was the kind to share face-to-face.

When Adam answered, his first words were, “I was about to call you. I have something I need to tell you.”

“Me too. But I’d like to see the look on your face when I share my news.”

“Can you spare some time at noon?” he asked.

“Sure,” Carrie said. “Come by my office and we’ll have lunch together.”
And
will
I
have
a
surprise
for
you
.

Keith—he’d have to get used to that name again—could hardly contain his excitement. He checked his watch every fifteen minutes, and finally at eleven twenty he couldn’t wait any longer. He grabbed his coat and told Brittany, “I have a luncheon meeting. See you in a couple of hours.”

Keith had trouble holding his car under the speed limit, he was so anxious to see Carrie, to share his news and hear hers. When he was halfway to her office, he reached a decision
that sent him on a detour. Despite the delay, he was waiting in Carrie’s office when she walked in at noon.

She kissed him and started to shed her white coat. “Where should we have lunch?” she asked.

“We’ll get to that in a minute. But before we do, let’s talk about our news.”

“Okay, you first,” Carrie said.

He told her about the offer from Janice Evans, his opportunity to resume his law practice and take back his real name.

“Wonderful.”

“You’re sure the name change won’t be a problem for you?” he asked.

Carrie didn’t hesitate. “This isn’t just a chance to reclaim your name. It’s the opportunity to reclaim your life.” She grinned. “I may call you Adam a couple of times, but I promise that from now on you’ll be Keith Branson to me,” Carrie said. “And I’ll love you, whatever you’re called.”

Adam beamed. “Now what’s your news?” he asked.

Carrie shared what Phil Rushton told her. “All this time I was worried that he wanted me out, but instead I have a chance to become the managing partner of the clinic.”

“Sounds like good news all around.”

“It amazes me,” Carrie said. “There were times when I couldn’t see any way out of the predicament we were in. But God brought us through it . . . and brought me back to Him in the bargain.”

“So what did you tell Phil?” Keith asked.

“Nothing, yet. He thought you and I could talk it over at dinner tonight,” Carrie said. “He made seven o’clock reservations
at The Grotto, his treat. Want to pick me up at a quarter to seven?”

“Sure.” Keith pointed to the picnic basket on the floor. “And as for lunch, I figured you’d be pressed for time, so I thought we’d eat here. I have deli sandwiches, chips, and soft drinks.”

Carrie smiled. “As I recall you put together a mean picnic lunch.” She pulled a pile of medical journals off the small table in the corner of her office and dropped them on the floor. “Want to spread it out there?”

“I wish we could go back to that farmhouse and have a real picnic.”

“So do I.”

Keith arranged the food on the table. Then he brought over one of the chairs from in front of Carrie’s desk and gestured to her. “Have a seat.”

She did so. “Now join me.”

“Just a second. There’s one more thing in the basket.” Keith reached in and pulled out a paper napkin twisted into a small bundle. “I guess this is sort of corny, but after all we’ve been through, I wanted to do it right this time.” He dropped to one knee in front of Carrie. “There are no secrets anymore. And it’s never been a secret that I love you.” He unfolded the napkin and held out the engagement ring. “I hope you’re ready to accept this now. Dr. Carrie Markham, will you be Mrs. Keith Branson?”

At first, Carrie’s eyes glistened. Then tears ran down her face, but the smile that accompanied them told Keith they were tears of happiness.

There was a catch in Carrie’s voice when she said, “Yes.” Then her kiss told Keith that everything was right with the world once more.

READING GROUP GUIDE

1. What was Carrie’s relationship to the Lord at the beginning of the book? Do you think the chasm was justified? Can you put your finger on the factor(s) that brought her back?

2. Contrast where Carrie and Adam were in their Christian walks at the beginning of the book. What do you think was the cause of the difference? Do you think you might have felt the same in their situations?

3. Was there any justification for Adam hiding his past from Carrie? Is there ever a valid reason for a lie or partial truth? Why or why not?

4. What is your mental image of Adam’s older brother? What was their relationship? Why?

5. Phil Rushton is a complex character. What was your overall opinion of him? If you didn’t know about Phil’s marital and family status, what would you guess it was? Why?

6. For a long time, Adam resisted getting a gun. What pushed him over the edge? Do you think he would have used it?

7. What was your takeaway message after finishing the book?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

READERS MAY HAVE THE IDEA THAT NOVELS SPRING, FRESHLY formed and complete, from the fertile minds of writers. Far be it from me to disillusion you, but it doesn’t happen that way. For instance, here’s what it took to put this novel in your hands.

I’m privileged to have a wife who is my first reader, my biggest fan, and my most discerning critic. Kay helped me shape this story from its inception to the final step along the way. Thank you, dear. I truly couldn’t do it without you.

My fantastic agent, Rachelle Gardner, has believed in me when others didn’t. She presented this concept, and the novel that followed, to my editor, Amanda Bostic, who applied her editorial talent to point me in the right direction. Then Traci DePree exercised her special touch to help me improve the story even further. I appreciate all of these ladies so much. They deserve chocolate . . . or at least a round of applause.

While I was writing, Kristen Vasgaard was designing a
dynamite book cover. After the edits were completed, Becky Monds and the rest of the Thomas Nelson crew shepherded the novel through production. Meanwhile, Katie Bond and Laura Dickerson got the word out so readers would know about the book. My sincere thanks go to every one of these good folks.

My writing journey has been long and, at times, difficult. Along the way I’ve received encouragement, instruction, and mentoring from lots of people, including (but not limited to): Karen Ball, James Scott Bell, Colleen Coble, Brandilyn Collins, Alton Gansky, Jeff Gerke, Dennis Hensley, Randy Ingermanson, DiAnn Mills, Michael Palmer, Gayle Roper, Barbara Scott, Terry Whalin, and too many more to mention.

And, of course, I’ve been blessed with the support of my family and friends through it all.

Finally, I’m grateful for my loyal readers and the opportunity to share these words with you. Thanks for coming along for the ride. I hope you enjoyed it.

AN EXCERPT FROM
STRESS TEST
ONE

DR. MATT NEWMAN KNEW ALL ABOUT THE HIGH. HE’D EXPERIENCED it many times. The high was intoxicating, even when the low inevitably followed. Of course, sometimes there was no high at all, no pleasure, only the sadness, the melancholy. How many times had Matt asked himself if it was worth it?

It began tonight, as it frequently did, with a phone call that rolled Matt out of bed after less than an hour’s sleep and sent him speeding to the hospital. A teenager lay bleeding to death from internal injuries, the victim of a car crash that killed the girl riding with him.

Tonight Matt’s efforts were rewarded with a high unmatched by anything from a glass, a bottle, or a syringe. Tonight there would be no heartbreak of telling a grieving family his best hadn’t been enough to save their loved one. Tonight Matt could savor the high—at least for a little while. This case was a good way to go out, to leave private practice behind.

But already Matt’s exhilaration was giving way to fatigue. His eyes burned. His shoulders ached. His mouth was foul with the acid taste of coffee left too long on the hot plate. He was running on fumes.

The pneumatic doors closed behind him with a hiss like an auditory exclamation point. As Matt moved from the brilliance of Metropolitan Hospital’s emergency room into the mottled semidarkness of the parking garage, he imagined the weight of responsibility slipping from his shoulders. Tomorrow Tom Wilson would take over his patients and his practice. Tomorrow Matt would assume his new position as assistant professor of surgery at Southwestern Medical Center here in Dallas. He’d teach medical students at Southwestern and instruct residents at Parkland Hospital, always emphasizing not only the science but the art of medicine. Matt knew he had a lot to give. He could hardly wait.

One of the benefits of the new job was supposed to be a more structured life: less on-call time, responsibilities shared with other faculty members, assistance from residents in patient care. Matt was looking forward to the change, not just for himself, but for the way it might benefit his relationship with Jennifer.

Matt couldn’t give up medicine entirely—he’d invested too much of his life in it, and it remained a passion with him—but he also felt a passion for Jennifer, perhaps even loved her. She was beautiful, witty, and fun to be around. She might be “the one.”

It wasn’t hard for Matt to spot his silver Chevy Impala in the darkest corner of the deserted garage. There weren’t many cars still there at two a.m., and soon there would be one
fewer. He fished his keys from the pocket of his white lab coat and thumbed the unlock button on his remote. His hand was on the door handle when something yanked him backward and cut off his air in mid-breath. Matt dropped the keys and reached up with both hands to pry at the arm that encircled his neck.

In an instant Matt was slammed facedown to the cement floor. He heard a crack and felt the knife-like agony of breaking ribs. The searing pain in his chest made each labored breath more difficult. A weight pinned him to the ground like a butterfly on a specimen board.

Matt struggled, but his assailant held him fast. Fire shot through his shoulders as his arms were yanked together. There was a quick rip of tape, and in seconds his wrists were bound tightly behind him. Rough hands encircled his ankles with more tape, leaving him helpless and immobile. At the same time, someone else grabbed his hair and lifted his head. Matt gave a shrill cry before three quick turns of tape muffled his voice and turned the world black.