to say.
‘Six years. He’s six years younger. I tried older men and that didn’t work out so well for me.’
He acknowledged the jab but didn’t poke back. He checked his watch and opened the door of the Avalanche. ‘I’ve got to pick up Cat at the clinic.’
‘Say hi to Steve.’
‘I will.’ Stride stepped down onto the street and looked back inside. He stared into the eyes of his best friend. ‘Can we really get past this? Are we good?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Yeah, we’re good.’
But they weren’t. He wasn’t a fool.
9
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Jonathan Stride,’ Steve Garske announced, glancing up from the computer monitor in his examining room. He stripped his half-glasses off his face and eased his lanky frame backward on the rolling chair. ‘Usually, I need a crowbar to get you into my office. As long as you’re here, how about you turn your head and cough?’
Stride chuckled. ‘You put on those gloves and I’m heading for the door.’
‘Uh huh. You’re overdue for your physical, buddy. Again. One of these times, you could save me the trouble of calling your assistant and scheduling an appointment for you.’
‘I can hardly wait.’
‘No, you can’t, and you won’t. We’re both turning fifty soon. You know what that means. The big poke. Or as the joke goes in the medical biz, “I told my doctor I didn’t need a colonoscopy, and he told me to shove it up my ass.”’
‘Funny.’
Steve crossed his arms over his chest and gave Stride his best I’m-the-doctor frown. ‘I
will
see you here before summer, end of discussion. Got it?’
‘Okay, boss.’
Stride knew better than to argue with his friend.
Steve got up and stretched his arms over his head. He was able to lay his palms flat on the ceiling. At six-feet-five, Steve was one of the few men who towered over Stride. He was lean and casual, wearing a T-shirt and ratty jeans under his white coat. He walkedwith a slight stoop from a bad back. He had blond hair that needed a trim, and his pale skin was burnt red from a week in the sun. His nose had started to peel. Steve was a workaholic like Stride, but he allowed himself a seven-night cruise to the Caribbean twice a year.
‘So how was Nassau?’ Stride asked, pointing to Steve’s T-shirt, which showed the sky bridge at the Atlantis Casino.
‘Paradise. A week down there feels like a month. Time stands still. I really need to do a Kenny Chesney and move down there permanently. Play steel guitar in my swimsuit and get drunk on mai-tais with the island girls. That’s the life.’
‘You say that after every trip.’
‘I know, but this time it’s different. This time I’m really going.’
‘You say that every year, too.’
‘All right, fine. I will live in cold, gray Duluth for ever. I will be shoveling snow when I’m ninety-two. Happy? Anyway, you should come with me in the fall. A getaway would do you good.’
‘Maybe.’
‘When was your last vacation?’
‘Every day in Duluth is a vacation,’ Stride replied.
‘Uh huh. Sure. This fall, buddy, clear your calendar.’
Stride smiled and held up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay.’
He knew that Steve was right. He was overdue for a vacation, and Steve was probably his oldest friend. They were life-long Duluth boys who’d met as teenagers in the mid-1970s while they were jumping off rocks into the deeps of the Lester River during a hot August afternoon. They’d bonded on late-night runs to the House of Donuts and down-and-back trips to the State Fair on Labor Day before school started. That was a time when Stride still imagined he’d spend his life on the ore boats and Steve had a dream of making it big in Nashville. Their dreams didn’t survive the end of high school, but their friendship did. They’d stayed in touch while Steve was in medical school, and by the time he’d opened a practiceat a clinic in Duluth, Stride had signed on as his first patient.
Steve had been his doctor through
‘Six years. He’s six years younger. I tried older men and that didn’t work out so well for me.’
He acknowledged the jab but didn’t poke back. He checked his watch and opened the door of the Avalanche. ‘I’ve got to pick up Cat at the clinic.’
‘Say hi to Steve.’
‘I will.’ Stride stepped down onto the street and looked back inside. He stared into the eyes of his best friend. ‘Can we really get past this? Are we good?’
Maggie shrugged. ‘Yeah, we’re good.’
But they weren’t. He wasn’t a fool.
9
‘Well, well, if it isn’t Jonathan Stride,’ Steve Garske announced, glancing up from the computer monitor in his examining room. He stripped his half-glasses off his face and eased his lanky frame backward on the rolling chair. ‘Usually, I need a crowbar to get you into my office. As long as you’re here, how about you turn your head and cough?’
Stride chuckled. ‘You put on those gloves and I’m heading for the door.’
‘Uh huh. You’re overdue for your physical, buddy. Again. One of these times, you could save me the trouble of calling your assistant and scheduling an appointment for you.’
‘I can hardly wait.’
‘No, you can’t, and you won’t. We’re both turning fifty soon. You know what that means. The big poke. Or as the joke goes in the medical biz, “I told my doctor I didn’t need a colonoscopy, and he told me to shove it up my ass.”’
‘Funny.’
Steve crossed his arms over his chest and gave Stride his best I’m-the-doctor frown. ‘I
will
see you here before summer, end of discussion. Got it?’
‘Okay, boss.’
Stride knew better than to argue with his friend.
Steve got up and stretched his arms over his head. He was able to lay his palms flat on the ceiling. At six-feet-five, Steve was one of the few men who towered over Stride. He was lean and casual, wearing a T-shirt and ratty jeans under his white coat. He walkedwith a slight stoop from a bad back. He had blond hair that needed a trim, and his pale skin was burnt red from a week in the sun. His nose had started to peel. Steve was a workaholic like Stride, but he allowed himself a seven-night cruise to the Caribbean twice a year.
‘So how was Nassau?’ Stride asked, pointing to Steve’s T-shirt, which showed the sky bridge at the Atlantis Casino.
‘Paradise. A week down there feels like a month. Time stands still. I really need to do a Kenny Chesney and move down there permanently. Play steel guitar in my swimsuit and get drunk on mai-tais with the island girls. That’s the life.’
‘You say that after every trip.’
‘I know, but this time it’s different. This time I’m really going.’
‘You say that every year, too.’
‘All right, fine. I will live in cold, gray Duluth for ever. I will be shoveling snow when I’m ninety-two. Happy? Anyway, you should come with me in the fall. A getaway would do you good.’
‘Maybe.’
‘When was your last vacation?’
‘Every day in Duluth is a vacation,’ Stride replied.
‘Uh huh. Sure. This fall, buddy, clear your calendar.’
Stride smiled and held up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, okay.’
He knew that Steve was right. He was overdue for a vacation, and Steve was probably his oldest friend. They were life-long Duluth boys who’d met as teenagers in the mid-1970s while they were jumping off rocks into the deeps of the Lester River during a hot August afternoon. They’d bonded on late-night runs to the House of Donuts and down-and-back trips to the State Fair on Labor Day before school started. That was a time when Stride still imagined he’d spend his life on the ore boats and Steve had a dream of making it big in Nashville. Their dreams didn’t survive the end of high school, but their friendship did. They’d stayed in touch while Steve was in medical school, and by the time he’d opened a practiceat a clinic in Duluth, Stride had signed on as his first patient.
Steve had been his doctor through
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