The Doctor's Redemption. Susan Carlisle

clean. If you see any infection, call a doctor right away or take her to the ER.”

      Laura Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m a nurse, remember?”

      “I remember, but sometimes when it’s someone we love our emotions get in the way.”

      That was something close to what her father had said when she’d announced that she was marrying Phil. “He’s only interested in your last name and money.” Her father had gone on to say that Phil certainly wasn’t worth giving up her education for. When she’d asked how her father knew so much about Phil he admitted to having had someone check into his background. That Phil had already been married once and couldn’t seem to hold down a job. “He’s not good enough for you. Not welcome in our home,” had been her father’s parting words.

      She’d chosen Phil. Even though she’d soon learned that her father had been right, the situation had created a rift between Laura Jo and her parents that was just as wide today as it had been nine years earlier. She had sworn then never to ask her parents for help. She had her pride.

      Taking Allie’s hand, Laura Jo said, “Let’s go, honey. I’m sure we have taken enough of the medic’s time.”

      “Bye,” Allie said.

      Mark bent and picked up the doubloons off the pavement and placed them carefully in Allie’s hand. “I hope you find a baby in your next cake. Maybe it’ll bring you luck.”

      Allie grinned back at him with obvious hero worship.

      “Thank you.” She led Allie through the barrier. “Bye.”

      That would be it for the reappearing Mark Clayborn. He had been a part of her life that was now long gone. She wouldn’t be seeing him again.

      Mark had never planned to return to Mobile to live permanently, but that had changed. He’d worked hard to make LA home. Even the few times he’d come back to Alabama he’d only stayed a few days and then gone again. When his father’s houseman had phoned to say Mark Clayborn, Sr. had suffered a stroke, Mark could no longer refuse not to make southern Alabama his home again. His mother was gone and his brother was in the military with no control over where he was stationed. Mark was left no choice. Someone needed to live close enough to take care of his father.

      Pulling up the circular drive framed by a well-manicured yard in the center of the oldest section of homes in Mobile, Mark stopped in front of the antebellum mansion. This house had been his home for the twenty-five years before he had moved to LA. Now just his father lived here. Mark had chosen to take up residence forty-five minutes across the bay in the Clayborn summer house in Fairhope, Alabama. He had joined a general practice group made up of five doctors. The clinic was located in the town of Spanish Fort, which was halfway between Mobile and Fairhope. He lived and worked close enough to take care of his father and far enough away that memories of the past would remain murky instead of vivid.

      It had been carnival season when he’d left for LA. He’d been riding high on being the king. His queen had been his girlfriend for the last two years and one of the most beautiful girls in Mobile society. He’d gotten his pick of medical fellowships that had allowed him to only be a few hours away in Birmingham. Gossips had it that he and his queen would ride off into the happily-ever-after as soon as he finished his fellowship. Mark had not planned to disappoint them. That was until he and Mike had decided they needed to drive to the beach after the krewe dance on Fat Tuesday night.

      How many times since he’d been back had he picked up the phone to call and see how Mike was doing? How many times had he not followed through? He’d seen Mike a few times over the years. Those had been brief and uncomfortable meetings. Mark had always left with another wheelbarrow of guilt piled on top of the mountain that was already there.

      He and Mike had made big plans. They had both been on their way to Birmingham, Mark to complete his fellowship and Mike to earn his Master’s in Business. They would return to town to set up a clinic practice, Mark handling the medical end and Mike overseeing the business side. They’d even talked about their families building homes next door to each other. But after the accident Mike’s longtime girlfriend had left him. Those dreams vanished. Because of Mark.

      As time had gone by it had become easier to satisfy his need to know how Mike was doing by asking others about him. Often when Mark had spoken to his father he’d ask about Mike. His father had always encouraged him to call and talk to Mike if he wanted to know how he was doing. Mark hadn’t. That way the guilt didn’t become a throbbing, breathing thing.

      Mark pushed the front doorbell of his father’s house then opened the door. He was met in the high-ceilinged hall by John, the man who had worked for Mark, Sr. since Mark, Jr. had been a boy.

      “Hi. How’s he doing today?”

      “Your dad has had a good day. He’s out by the pool.”

      Mark headed down the all-too-familiar hall that led through the middle of the house and out onto the brick patio with the pool beyond. His father sat in a wheelchair in the sun, with his nurse nearby, reading a book. Mark winced at the sight. It hurt his heart to see the strong, commanding man brought to this by a stroke. Only with time and patience and massive amounts of physical therapy would he regain enough strength to walk again. At least his father had a chance of getting out of the chair, unlike Mike, who had no choice.

      Mark circled his father so he faced him. “Hi, Dad.”

      His white-haired father gave him a lopsided smile. “Hello, son.”

      Fortunately his mind was still strong. His nurse closed her book and after a nod to Mark made her way toward the house.

      Mark pulled a metal pool chair close so he could sit where his father could see him. “How are you doing today?”

      “Fine. Emmett has been by to tell me what went on at the board meeting. He said you didn’t make it.”

      “No, I had patients to see. We’ve talked about this already. You’ve put good people in place to handle the company. Let them do it.”

      “It’s not the same. We need a Clayborn there.”

      “I know, Dad.”

      His father continued. “I’m glad you stopped by. I wanted to talk to you about attending the krewe dance next week. I can’t go and our family needs to be represented. You’re the only one to do it.”

      Mark had always enjoyed the fanfare and glamour of The Mystical Order of Orion dance, the visit from the king and queen and their court. But after what had happened twelve years ago he was hesitant to attend. He took a deep breath. “It’s not really my thing anymore but I know it’s important to you to keep up appearances.”

      “You were king. That is and was a high honor. You owe it to the krewe, to the Clayborn name to attend.”

      “I know, Dad. I’ll do my duty.”

      “This used to be your favorite time of the year. You need to let yourself off the hook, son. It wasn’t your fault.”

      Maybe everyone thought that but Mark sure didn’t. He carried the horror of what had happened to Mike with him daily. Now that he was back in Mobile it was more alive than it had ever been. Time hadn’t healed the wound, only covered it over.

      Mark had dinner with his father then headed across the bay to Fairhope, a small township where the family summer home was located. When he’d arrived in Alabama he’d needed a place to live. Staying in Fairhope gave him a house of his own, a safe haven. Since he was working at a clinic in Spanish Fort, a city just north of Fairhope, living there was convenient.

      Entering the large dark room with hardwood paneling, Mark walked through to the family-style kitchen. There he pulled a drink out of the refrigerator and went out to the deck. Mobile Bay stretched far and wide before him. He could see the tall buildings of the city in the distance. The wind had picked up, rustling the shrubbery around the deck. A seagull swooped down and plucked a fish out of the water near the end of the pier. No, this wasn’t LA anymore.

      Mark