The Family Doctor. Bobby Hutchinson

that simmered in her. She’d made a point of reminding Scott about the party, and the fact that she wouldn’t be able to drive Eliza because of the meeting. He’d promised he’d do it.

      Why, just once in his life, couldn’t he carry through on the promises he made so glibly and then never kept?

      You know he’s unreliable, so why do you go on expecting him to change? They’d been divorced four years now, after five troubled years of marriage during which Kate gradually and painfully gave up her illusions, admitting at last that Scott Bauer didn’t want to be anything other than what he was, an unemployed bum.

      Kate was the one with dreams, the one who’d chosen to believe his oft-repeated promises about getting a job, buying a house, trading in the battered car for a decent one.

      She realized now that she had only herself to blame. Scott had been a means to an end for her. She’d liked the amiable young man, but she’d fallen head over heels in love with Eliza, six months old when she met Scott. The baby needed a mother so desperately it almost broke Kate’s heart to look at her, dressed in mismatched and discolored clothing, sucking on a pacifier, her huge blue eyes staring hungrily into the face of every stranger. To this day, Kate couldn’t read the Dr. Seuss book, Are You My Mother? without crying.

      Eliza’s teenage mother had died of a drug overdose when Eliza was two months old. Scott had sworn he hadn’t known his wife was using, but Kate thought now that he probably had, and in his usual fashion, simply chose to ignore it.

      Thankfully, there was no indication that Eliza’s natural mother had used drugs during her pregnancy. Eliza was bright, usually cheerful, the most normal of little girls.

      Because of the baby, Kate overlooked things she should have noticed, such as the fact that Scott, who had a degree in chemical engineering, was out of a job when she met him. He’d never had a steady job, and Kate knew now he probably never would.

      But during the years of their marriage, she’d continued working as a nurse, volunteering for night duty several times a month so she could afford classes at university. She’d gone on believing that when the right job came along, he’d take it. She’d been patient and understanding when one opportunity after the next came to nothing. She’d agreed that Eliza needed a parent around, and she’d been willing to work so that Scott could be their daughter’s caregiver. But it hadn’t taken long to realize that although he took reasonable care of Eliza during the day, he did absolutely nothing else.

      Arriving home exhausted after a twelve-hour shift on the geriatric ward, Kate would find the breakfast dishes still on the table, clothing scattered wherever he’d seen fit to drop it, no groceries in the house. He never once made dinner, cleaned the house, did the laundry or mowed the lawn. All household tasks were left for her to do. She paid all the bills and she also did all the housework, indoors and out. The moment she was home, he handed over Eliza, as well.

      When Eliza started kindergarten, Kate had had enough. She gave Scott an ultimatum. Find work in three months, or the marriage was over.

      By this time Scott was grossly overweight and made no effort at all to look for a job. Kate at last faced the facts. She was married to a man who had no ambition and who had never really loved her—at least not in the way she wanted to be loved. Somewhere during the five years of their marriage, she’d lost all respect for him, as well as any affection. He refused to move out of the apartment they shared, so Kate packed her belongings and left, but the pain of leaving Eliza had nearly killed her. She saw a lawyer, explaining that she and Eliza adored each other. She was the only mother the little girl knew, and Kate wanted custody.

      The lawyer explained that she had a fair chance, but it might mean a long and costly court battle. Scott was the girl’s biological father, and despite his laziness, he did take reasonable care of her. Kate couldn’t deny that Scott loved his daughter. The apartment they’d shared, which she’d painted and decorated, wasn’t in any way an unsuitable home for a child.

      After three months of painful visits with Eliza and tearful partings, Kate came up with a plan. Her own parents, dead for some years, had left her a small legacy, so Kate took the money and bought a house on Vancouver’s east side, one with a bright and spacious basement apartment. Banking on his laziness, his cheapness, and his penchant for always taking the easiest route, she’d offered the suite to Scott at a reduced rent. He and Eliza had moved in and had lived in Kate’s house ever since.

      The arrangement was far from ideal. Scott took flagrant advantage of the situation, using Kate as a built-in baby-sitter, relying on her to buy the majority of Eliza’s clothes, even borrowing Kate’s car to drive his daughter to the dance classes Kate paid for. She tried not to get angry with him, but it was a challenge.

      When Kate drove up in front of her house, Scott’s ample rear end protruded from under the hood of his car.

      No blame, she reminded herself. The problem is the problem. Errors are just opportunities to learn and forgive. But the mantra wasn’t working. She remembered Eliza’s tearful little face and wrath took the place of reason.

      Slamming the car door unnecessarily hard, Kate stalked over to Scott. “I’ve just taken Eliza to her birthday party,” she snapped. “She was crying her heart out when I got home, and she was late by the time we got there. I thought you said you’d take her to buy a gift and make sure she made it to the party?”

      Slowly, like a turtle emerging from a shell, Scott’s jowly grease-smeared face appeared from the car’s innards. He had the nerve to smile at her. “Oh, hi, Kate, how’s it going? That’s good you took Eliza, because I couldn’t get Mike’s van. He’d promised to deliver furniture with it.”

      His nonchalance infuriated her.

      “Eliza was excited about that party. You let her down.”

      “I knew you’d get her there. No harm done.”

      Don’t blame. Don’t accuse. Kate knew her own rules, but somehow Scott pushed her into situations where she couldn’t apply them. “How can you do that to your own daughter?” Her voice rose. “You just assume I’ll come along and pick up after you. Well, Scott, I’ve had enough of it.”

      It felt good to explode. But they’d been down this path before, and Kate knew more or less what was coming.

      “Chill out, Kate. If you feel that way about it, I’ll take Eliza and go. My cousin called about a job in Nova Scotia. He promised me a place to live.”

      Did he even have a cousin in Nova Scotia? Kate had never been certain, but the very possibility of his taking Eliza away made her stomach tighten. She’d never see Eliza again, and she couldn’t bear that.

      As always, she backed down. Trembling, she stabbed a finger at the greasy auto parts now littering the lawn. “I want you to get this mess off the grass and find another place to work on this wreck of a car. The neighbors are complaining—the whole front yard is an eyesore this way.”

      “Hey, hey, temper, temper. Aren’t you the one always preaching patience?” His grin was snide, and for an instant Kate longed to bring her hand up and smack him hard. With every ounce of self-control she possessed, she walked around him and up her front steps. Closing the door behind her, she collapsed in an armchair as the full effect of the quarrel washed over her.

      She’d engaged, breaking rule number one. She’d accused, and she’d blamed, and she hadn’t listened. How could Scott push every single button the way he did? And not once, but every single time something like this came up.

      At least she could take a cool bath and eat some dinner before she went to pick up Eliza. She tried to concentrate on those pleasures and ignore Scott’s goading. She hadn’t asked him to pick up his daughter, because she knew he’d simply borrow her car to do it.

      Times like these, she felt trapped and hopeless. Also defeated and a failure, she admitted as she kicked off her shoes. Whatever made her think she could defuse anger? She couldn’t even manage it in herself. She thought of Dorothy, of the deep-seated anger that had surfaced when she mentioned her husband deserting