The Family They've Longed For. Robin Gianna

intern asked a few more questions.

      “Listen, I have to board my plane. I’ll call when I get to Fairbanks. You need to follow my instructions. Yeah, I get that Dr. Jones is filling in for me while I’m gone, but I already talked to the parents about the plan. I don’t want anyone deviating from that and confusing them. They know I’ll be seeing their daughter as soon as I get back, and that they only need to contact Dr. Jones if something seems wrong.”

      Rory shoved her phone into her backpack, grabbed her carry-on bag and ran to hand her boarding pass to the airline attendant, ignoring the disapproving frown the woman gave her. Being late to board wasn’t catastrophic, but messing around and changing her orders for a patient post-op absolutely might be, so she couldn’t worry about being the last on the plane.

      After four years of med school, five years of residency and finally getting the board exam under her belt, she’d damned well earned her title: Doctor of Pediatric Orthopedic Medicine. She knew all this second-guessing from the intern was because she wasn’t yet an attending physician. But having her orders followed was supremely important—not only for the patient, but for her future on the doctors’ roster. If all went well, she’d have a permanent position there in a matter of weeks, and she’d never have to think about uprooting her life again.

      She wrestled her bag into the overhead compartment and apologized as she squeezed her way past the two people in her row before finally plopping into the window seat. She drew a calming breath and pulled out her phone again, calling a nurse to give her instructions about a couple of other patients before they were told to turn off all electronics for takeoff.

      Why they insisted on that, she had no clue, since people used computers and phones around all kinds of electronic medical equipment and not once had it interfered with testing and diagnostics. Then again, she thought to herself, she wasn’t an engineer, so she should stick with what she knew instead of offering opinions—something a few people in her past had frequently pointed out...one of whom she’d be seeing again this week whether she wanted to or not.

      That painful realization had her stomach twisting like a terrifying tornado. Seeing him again, being in her hometown at all, was going to be torture; it would bring back all the horrible memories, all the guilt, all the sorrow she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

      The plane lifted, propelling her toward the one place she absolutely didn’t want to go. She swallowed hard, trying to control the sickly feeling in her stomach, and tipped her forehead against the window to stare down at what had been her home for the past nine years.

      The dizzying concrete mass of freeways connecting the hulking city of Los Angeles and all its suburbs couldn’t be more different from where she’d grown up. Where she was heading now.

      With serious effort she managed to move her thoughts to the patients she’d just performed surgery on, and the others she was scheduled to see in her office the rest of the week. It wasn’t going to happen now. Because a different kind of patient needed her help. The woman who’d always needed some kind of care or guidance throughout Rory’s whole life.

      Her sweet, wacky, childlike mother.

      The plane rose higher above the clouds, leaving LA far behind. Rory dropped her head against her seatback and closed her eyes.

      It would be okay. It would. Being with her mother for the next week would be really nice, since she’d spent so little time with her these past nine years.

      Her mom loved her life in Eudemonia, Alaska, and hadn’t been too interested in visiting Rory in LA. The few times her mom had come to Southern California had been a joy, and a huge source of entertainment to everyone she’d been in med school with, and later her friends in the hospital. There weren’t too many people like Wendy Anderson, and her unique way of dressing was startling even in a big city like Los Angeles.

      A smile touched her lips at the memories—until reality hit her like a hard fist all over again. Taking care of her mom would be the easy part. The hard part would be being back home. The worst part would be seeing Jacob Hunter again.

      Yesterday, the sound of his voice on the other end of the phone had made her heart jolt hard in her chest, then hammer wildly—even after she had found out the reason he’d been calling. He’d been letting Rory know about her mother’s emergency surgery for a ruptured appendix, telling her that she was fine, and now just needed some nursing and recovery time.

      Unbidden, the face that had fascinated her since the fourth grade appeared in her mind and memories of him spread to her heart, bringing a melancholy pleasure and unrelenting pain. Though their friendship—and more—was long over, she would always cherish the memories of their childhood together, and their years as lovers in college.

      But theirs had been a love that had resulted in the worst thing ever to happen to either of them.

      She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, as though she could squish the memories right out of her brain. It hadn’t happened in nine years, so clearly there was no point in trying now. Still, she worked to think, instead, about her mother’s idiosyncrasies, which made her laugh and sometimes drove her crazy, even though she loved her to bits.

      From the time Rory had been barely more than a toddler, she vividly remembered her mother insisting that she call her Twinkle-Toes or Twinkie instead of Mom. Possibly because she adored wearing dance and fairy costumes, but mostly because actually acting like a mom had never been on her radar.

      There were memories of the two of them doing all sorts of unorthodox things—like painting every lampshade in the house neon so they’d glow in “pretty colors”; like deciding that creating rock sculpture Voodoo talismans all around the house would keep them safe after Rory’s father died. Rory had helped with all that to make her mom feel more comfortable even as she had inwardly rolled her eyes—as she had when her mother danced spontaneously whenever the mood struck, not caring if there were other people around or not.

      So many of the things her mother did were adorable and funny. But sometimes embarrassing—especially once Rory had become a teen. She found herself managing to smile in anticipation of what might greet her today at the house she’d grown up in, knowing that spending time with her unique mother was the only thing that would make this trip bearable.

      The moment the plane touched down at the Fairbanks Airport, Rory felt like a ten-pound weight had dropped onto her shoulders. Looking out at the snowcapped peaks of the Alaska Range, she felt the memories she’d tried to stuff down flood back. They forced her to think about what had happened the last two times she’d been home.

      One thing had turned out to be the biggest mistake of her life, which had left her with a shredded heart she knew would never be repaired. The other had been her father’s funeral, two years later. He had bravely suffered through diabetes, then kidney failure, for more years than she could remember. Neither one of those memories were things she wanted to revisit and remember, but being here again thickened her throat even as she promised herself she wouldn’t fall apart.

      The forty-five miles from Fairbanks passed way too fast, and soon she was driving into the city limits of Eudemonia. The moment she saw the familiar stores and homes, and the trees which were now mostly naked except for a few straggling golden yellow leaves still clinging to the branches, her chest squeezed even tighter.

      Finally the tiny house she’d grown up in came into view, surrounded by birch, aspen and spruce trees that were bigger than she remembered. Cozy and charming, in a worn sort of way, the house stood atop the small hill she’d rolled and sledded down as a kid, her mother rolling and laughing along with her while her dad watched and applauded—the hill she’d run down nine years ago, stumbling and falling, somehow getting in her car, tears making it hard to see, grief making it hard to breathe, to leave for LA.

      God, she had to get these feelings under control before she went in to see her mother.

      She hit the brakes and sat there, waiting for the sickly feeling to pass. She gulped in a few breaths, admitted she was as ready as she’d ever be, then turned her rental car off the road to bump across the uneven grass.

      She