Heart Failure by Richard L. Mabry

up his pen and began twirling it. “And you weren’t involved in this? It had nothing to do with you or, for example, an unhappy patient?”
    Carrie hadn’t given serious consideration to the possibility. Surely the attack was meant for Adam, not her. But she wondered for a moment if Phil’s eyes, eyes the color of winter rain, were seeing something that she missed. Then she thought of another pair of eyes, eyes that fixed her with a malevolent glare. Could a patient, Mr. McDonald or some other, go to this length to harm her? She’d have to think about that a bit. She hoped this was just Phil being Phil, making the moment melodramatic.
    Carrie struggled to keep her tone even. “So far as I can see, the episode didn’t have anything to do with me, except to scare me half to death. Now, are you through? I have patients to see.”
    Phil’s voice softened slightly, but his eyes still seemed toprobe her. “Carrie, I have to ask uncomfortable questions. It’s part of my job as the clinic’s managing partner.”
    No, it wasn’t. Not this way, anyway. Could Phil be fishing for what her employment contract called “questionable behavior,” trying to get rid of her? She wouldn’t put it past him. Stop it. You’re being paranoid .
    Carrie stood up. “Sorry, but it still makes me uncomfortable to talk about the incident. Is that all?”
    Phil rose and offered his hand across the desk. His smile was faint. She couldn’t tell if it was sincere. “Carrie, we all know the stress you’ve been under since John’s death. If there’s anything I can do to help you . . .”
    Phil let the sentence die.
    “Nothing, but thank you.” She drew in a deep breath. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have patients to see.”
    Phil nodded, eased into his chair, and picked up his pen once more, effectively dismissing her.
    As Carrie closed the door she decided that even if Phil weren’t the senior member of the group, he’d still be in charge. The other doctors in the group would see to that. Sure, the clinic was in business to heal the sick, but to keep it going took money. And Phil Rushton generated a lot of money for the group. She hoped she’d never reach the point where she practiced medicine solely for the monetary rewards.
    Going into medicine was a response to a call Carrie felt just as strongly as a call to ministry. Actually, it was her ministry, a ministry of healing. But Adam was trying to heal, in a manner of speaking, and so far she had done nothing to help him.
    Sure, she was hurt because he’d lied to her, but she could see why he did it. She’d been about to let him back into herlife, about to forgive him, when that firebomb came through the window. And what did she do? She ran away again. What did that make her?
    Her next patient was an elderly gentleman. His appearance brought several descriptions to her mind: thin as a rail, pale as a ghost. The smile he gave her was the very definition of “putting on a brave front.” His wife sat beside him, their hands touching.
    Carrie smiled back at them. “Mr. Atkinson,” she said, “I have your test results, and there’s good news. The treatment seems to be working. Your blood count is much better. I think the leukemia is headed for remission.”
    Atkinson’s face relaxed. Tears streaked his wife’s cheeks. They both spoke at once. “Thank God.” “Oh, Doctor, that’s wonderful.”
    First Atkinson, then his wife moved forward to wrap Carrie in warm hugs. She luxuriated in the moment. Phil could have his certificates and awards, the satisfaction of pulling in the largest share of clinic income. But this was her reward. This was what she’d been called to do. This was why she practiced medicine.

    Adam suffered through a restless night. He’d told Janice Evans he’d be there in the morning. After all, she had no idea the firebomb was meant for him. But weren’t two attempts on his life enough to send him on his way, leaving Jameson and his would-be murderer