“Whew,” Devon said, dialing the phone. “I thought I was about to learn a few things.”

“From me? Not likely.”

Twenty minutes later Peyton was looking at Carrie’s knee. “Wow. I think wrecked is the operative word.” She manipulated it a bit to the patient’s discomfort. “My money is on a meniscus tear, maybe some ACL damage, but you’re going to need an MRI to be sure.”

“I’ve had trouble with my knees before, but this seems really bad. I take pride in the fact that these problems are usually experienced by athletes, but then my work is just as challenging, if not so competitive,” Carrie said.

“How’d you do it?”

Carrie explained her fall off the step stool, twisting her knee painfully, landing buried in pots.

“Ouch. Did you hurt anything else?”

“I have a nasty bruise on my butt and upper thigh. It doesn’t hurt, but it is in the shape of Florida.” She turned wide eyes up to Peyton. “What am I going to do? It hurts like the devil. I’ve had my knees and ankles swell before, but this is terrible. It looks just plain scary.”

“You can get beyond this, but Carrie—you can’t stand in that deli kitchen for ten hours a day on this knee. You’re going to have to rest it.”

Carrie got an angry look in her eyes. “It’s how I pay the bills.”

“I assumed so. I’m sorry, but this injury has to be dealt with, and we’ll have to get an orthopedist involved. But in the meantime, I can help with the pain.”

She was shaking her head. “I don’t want to take a lot of drugs. I don’t like the way they make me feel.”

“I understand. I think we might try an injection in the knee. I haven’t done a lot of that, but I bet Scott has.” She looked at her watch. “He’s probably here by now.”

“Injection?”

“Steroid. Cortisone. Sometimes it works wonders and can last for weeks.” Peyton leaned close. “You still have to heal it. Rest it and heal it.”

“I don’t know how I’ll manage.”

“Get past that panicked voice telling you you’re doomed, and think about a plan. I know you have help in the deli kitchen from time to time. You might have to cut a few things, like the fabulous dinner meals. Oh, I would grieve that! You might have to make do with part-time help for a few weeks. It wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen. You’re very fit, young, healthy, strong....”

“I’m sixty-one!”

Peyton smiled. “And a powerful woman. My mom is sixty-two, had eight children and works a farm with my dad. She’s like you—she works hard, and her fitness is enviable. But hard work takes its toll sometimes, and for my mom, her back gives her trouble now and then. Holding her down is nearly impossible, but it’s the only thing that works. You have to heal the knee. Let me go see if Scott is in.”

Scott came into the exam room right away. “So, you want to try the cortisone injection?” he asked.

“If you think it’ll help,” Carrie said.

“Can you get yourself over to Bandon for an X-ray? I’d really like a film to be sure the injection is in the perfect site. And even though we’re going to treat this injury conservatively and get you back on your feet, I’d like to set you up with an orthopedist, get an MRI to be sure of the extent of the damage and get his recommendation. We can do that when you’re getting around a little better.”

“Okay,” she said, clearly dispirited.

“Listen, if you’re having trouble moving around or driving, I can take an hour off and drive you over there,” Peyton said.

“I’ll manage,” Carrie said, shifting to get off the exam table.

“Hold on,” Peyton said. “Let me wrap that knee for support. Devon will call the hospital and arrange for your X-ray. Be sure to bring the films back with you and we’ll get that shot. Before you leave, I’m going to have you take an ibuprofen, and regular doses of that along with ice packs and elevation should get this swelling down.”

“I need it healed before noon,” Carrie said, her voice very grumpy.

“I know,” Peyton agreed. “Unfortunately this time it’s up to the knee....”

* * *

Peyton had a very busy afternoon in the clinic. Right after Carrie had returned with her X-ray film and received her injection, Scott took off to spend a few hours in the Pacific Hospital ER Before he left, Peyton stole a moment of his time in his office. “By the way, thanks again for dinner last Friday night. I enjoyed that,” she said.

“So did I. Think you’re going to let me be your friend?” he asked, his tone teasing.

“I think so. But I’m still leaving after three months.”

“You’re a hard sell,” he said. “But I understand.”

“You need an X-ray in here,” she said. “You need quite a few things.”

“I’ll need money first,” he said. And then he cut out for the day.

Devon stuck her head into the office to say goodbye. “Need anything before I go?”

“Nothing at all. I’m going to stay a little while and finish charting, but I won’t be too long.”

“I’ll lock the front door. You get the lights. See you in the morning.”

It took the better part of an hour to get nearly caught up, and Peyton found herself wondering what she should do for dinner. Since she couldn’t avail herself of one of Carrie’s premade dinners, she thought she might just wander down to the marina and treat herself to a nice dinner at Cliffhanger’s. She’d only been in there once since moving here, and just for a glass of wine. But she had looked at the menu and had seen a few good possibilities. She looked at her watch; it was nearly six.

Her cell phone chirped, and she looked at the number. She smiled as she picked up for her friend, Amy, the triage nurse in Ted’s practice. Amy was about Carrie’s age, a seasoned, sixtyish cardiac care nurse who was worth her weight in gold to any heart doctor. Amy had taught Peyton as much as Ted had. And Amy had been her only confidante while she was going through her worst trials with Ted. “Well, hello, my dear,” Peyton said. “How are you?”

“I’m not the happiest right now, Peyton,” Amy said. “I have to do something I find very distasteful.”