Invisible by Ginny L. Yttrup Page B

the way I wanted to—offering care to the residents of a community whether they could pay for that care or not.
    In Danville, I was contracted with an HMO and I had to adhere to their guidelines. It wasn’t unusual for me to see twenty-five patients in a single day, which meant no patient received more than about ten minutes of my time. That didn’t suit me. I believe practicing medicine is as much about relationship as it is about treatment. But I knew what I was doing would facilitate what I wanted to do down the road.
    And now, here I am. I love what I do, but I need some time—time to focus on what I want now. On my next step. Not professionally. But personally. That’s why I brought in Courtney—Dr. Norman. It’s time to build more friendships—male and female. I didn’t take time to do that when I set up the new practice. Besides, I had Sarah. She was my best friend, I didn’t feel the need for more. Which, in retrospect, wasn’t fair to her.
    Nerissa is about my only friend in Mendocino County. I appreciate her. Sure, I have acquaintances, but I want more than that.
    As I drive the dark stretch of highway, my mind goes back to what I witnessed tonight. After we finished dinner, I asked Rosa if I could say a quick good-bye to Ellyn. Rosa took my arm and led me back to the kitchen, leaving Nerissa and Twila waiting at the table.
    â€œYou go on back.” Rosa all but pushed me toward the kitchen. “She won’t mind.”
    So I walked through the swinging doors into the kitchen—and stopped. No one noticed I was there, so I stood and watched.
    Ellyn. In her element.
    As witty and quick to speak as she is, I’ve noticed a reserve about her—when in my office, or when making the rounds in the dining room of the café. But in her kitchen—her place of comfort, I’d guess—that reserve was gone.
    Though everyone in the kitchen hustled, Ellyn bantered back and forth with her staff. There was no tension in their busyness, just ease—the type of camaraderie you see between those who work together and enjoy what they do.
    But then Ellyn spied me, and the shadow of reserve, at least that’s what I thought it was, returned. I saw her sous chef notice the change in her, and then he looked my direction too. I raised my hand and waved at her. “I just wanted to say good night. Thanks for another great meal. It had been too long.” I had to speak up to be heard over the clamor of the kitchen.
    She’d smiled and nodded. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
    I turned to go, but I knew I’d kick myself later, so I turned back. She was still looking at me. “I wonder if . . .”
    Her whole staff was listening in.
    She must have sensed my discomfort because she set the knife she had in her hand on the countertop and walked toward me. I wiped my palms on my slacks as she made her way across the kitchen.
    When she got to me, she looked at me, eyebrows raised, those green eyes curious. I felt my heart rate increase.
    â€œI”—Good grief. My voice hadn’t cracked like that since puberty!—“I wondered if I could buy you a cup of coffee sometime?”
    â€œOh . . .”
    It was her turn to hesitate.
    â€œUm . . . I—”
    â€œâ€”she love to have you buy her coffee. You jus’ call her tomorrow.”
    Ellyn and I both turned to see Rosa, or at least what was visible of her on the other side of the swinging doors. Then she pushed her way in.
    â€œYou come now. She got work to do.” And to Ellyn: “He call you tomorrow.”
    I looked back at her as Rosa led me out. “May I? Call?”
    She looked blank—no expression on her face that I could read—but she gave a slow—and what? uncertain?—nod.
    But it was enough. I smiled at Rosa on my way out. “Thanks.” I gestured toward the kitchen.
    â€œYou make sure you call her. And you be nice to her. You