Single Dad's Triple Trouble. Fiona Lowe

was in town.

      It shouldn’t matter a jot to her that he was in ‘the Cove’, but her brain mocked her by spinning that one thought around like a scratched CD.

      More importantly, how long is he in town? She lowered her mug and groaned. Why hadn’t she asked him that last night? But she knew the answer—she’d been petrified that if she did ask she’d sound too desperate. Desperate for him to leave or desperate for him to stay, she wasn’t certain, and both ideas had actively competed for a brief moment. So when he’d suggested coffee, she’d panicked and the ‘ice queen’ had come out to protect her.

      Boy, did she need protection. She didn’t trust herself not to go down the self-destructive path of wanting to spend time with him, which was completely ironic given his response.

       Me being here is not in any way part of an attempt at reconciliation.

      Gabe was nothing if not honest. He was right, too. Reconciliation wasn’t an option because nothing had changed between them and their lives were on two different trajectories. She took another sip of her tea. She still couldn’t believe he hadn’t trekked in the Himalayas because it had been the idea of that trip that had precipitated their demise as a couple.

      She could remember his excitement clearly as he’d organised the delivery of Nepali food—a meal of dhal with roti and curried vegetables—before making her a cup of chai and presenting it with the glossy brochures. It would have been the third trip they’d taken in a year and it wasn’t that she didn’t love to travel, she did. But she’d also had an overwhelming need to stop and settle down.

       I’m not interested in settling down, El. Come travel the world with me, it will be more fun.

      And here she was in Midden Cove, working, and he was still travelling, although not to the places she’d expected.

      The past is over, move forward. Giving herself a quick shake, she picked up her phone and got an update on Will, who was still critical and in ICU at Royal Hobart after skin graft surgery to his hands and feet. As she rang off, a text came through from Dev, suggesting lunch. She should go. She started to key in a reply when her phone rang.

      ‘Sorry to call you, Elly, but we’ve got an elderly tourist here with shortness of breath.’ Sandy, the experienced RN, sounded apologetic.

      She swallowed a sigh as she glanced at the postcards on her fridge. Her medical practice partner, Jeff, and his family had taken off for a few months’ camping around Australia and although she was thrilled they were having such a great trip, the timing for her was lousy. She hadn’t had a complete day off in three weeks. ‘I’m on my way.’

      ‘How long have you been feeling unwell, Mr McGovern?’ Elly’s fingers gently probed under her patient’s jaw, feeling for raised lymph nodes.

      ‘My name’s John, love, and I’ve had the blasted cold for over a week. It started just as I got off the boat from Melbourne. We’ve come to visit the grand-kiddies and the new baby, but getting sick has put a bit of a dampener on things.’ He sighed. ‘Rachel, my daughter, she’s not too happy with me now the baby’s got the sniffles too.’

      Elly felt for the poor bloke. ‘Viruses are in the air all the time. So you’re Rachel Morgan’s dad?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      Rachel was Jeff’s patient so she wasn’t really familiar with the family. ‘How are you sleeping?’

      ‘That’s why I’m here. My cold’s pretty much on the turn but it’s this damn cough that’s really bothering me. The wife’s complaining I keep her awake at night.’ The grandfather winked at her. ‘I thought it prudent not to mention she’s snored for years.’

      Elly laughed. ‘Sounds like a very wise move, John. Did you have a sore throat with this cold?’

      ‘A bit of a sore throat but that’s all gone now. I just feel tired, you know, run down.’

      She nodded as she picked up a tongue depressor. ‘I’ll check your throat. Open wide, please.’ She peered into the back of his throat, which didn’t look inflamed. ‘Can you lift up your shirt, please, so I can listen to your chest?’

      ‘Go for your life, Doc.’

      Elly pushed her stethoscope into her ears and listened to John’s breathing. The lower lobes were clear with no rales, and she ruled out pneumonia. ‘You can have a post-viral cough that lingers after a cold.’

      John nodded. ‘Thing is, this cough seems to be getting worse, not better.’

      Elly’s radar went on alert. ‘How do you mean?’

      ‘Well, when I cough, I can’t seem to stop and it’s hard to get my breath.’

      She checked his pulse, which was regular and ruled out any cardiac issues. ‘What about your breathing when you stop coughing?’

      ‘That’s fine.’

      ‘Do you or have you ever suffered from asthma?’

      He shook his head and gave a tired smile. ‘They say Tassie’s got the cleanest air in the country but here I am hacking away like I’m a packet-a-day smoker.’

      Her phone buzzed. ‘Excuse me for just one minute, John. ‘ She took the call from Sandy, who told her that she had four more people with similar symptoms to John waiting to see her. So much for a quiet Sunday.

      Elly dropped the receiver back onto the cradle and returned her attention to John. She couldn’t smell any cigarette smoke on him but she asked the question anyway. ‘Do you smoke?’

      ‘Cancer sticks?’ Again he shook his head and started to cough. ‘No way.’

      The last words were forced out amid a coughing fit that had John leaning forward, his shoulders hunched as he struggled to get in a breath. When it finally passed he slumped in his chair. ‘I tell you, Doc, it’s wearing me out.’

      Elly rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘How many times a day do you cough like this? ‘

      He scratched his head. ‘A couple of times an hour, I reckon.’

      She suddenly thought of his baby grandchild and with three clicks brought up the Morgan family’s medical history on her computer screen. ‘You said the baby had a cold too.’

      ‘Yeah. Told you I’m in the doghouse.’

      Elly quickly scanned the date of birth of the baby and calculated the age. Three months. ‘Has your daughter come in with you?’

      John nodded. ‘She drove me.’

      Elly reached for the phone. ‘Sandy, please send in Rachel. ‘ She had a very strong suspicion that the baby had more than a cold.

      ‘John, have you been out much in Midden Cove while you’ve been here? To the pub or cafés?’

      ‘The wife and I took a cruise the other day, which was lovely, and most days I’ve walked down to the pub for a beer. You know, get out from under the wife’s feet.’

      Elly stifled a groan. John had probably coughed over half the town.

      Rachel walked in, cradling her baby, followed by an older woman Elly assumed was John’s wife.

      ‘Is there something wrong?’ The young mother sat down in the chair Elly had pulled up.

      Elly spoke slowly. ‘Your dad says the baby’s had a cold so I thought while you were here I could examine her.’

      Rachel relaxed. ‘Thank you. Yesterday I thought it was just the sniffles but Millie’s not feeding very well at all today.’

      Elly laid the baby on the examination table. As she unwrapped the bunny rug, the wave of longing for a child of her own slugged her under the ribs in the same way it had done for the last three years.

      The