“Please?” she asked, every day of their stay in Maine.
And each day, he just shook his head and made plans to do something else. Something that would take them off of the small island and into the park, onto the mainland, on the ocean, at the shops in Freeport, even.
He’d do it just to distract her. He was a doctor, a successful doctor with an over-busy practice and not nearly enough time to breathe, much less take this vacation. He’d pay for it later in overbooking, days and days of fifteen-minute-or-less appointments. To relocate here?
That would be career suicide.
Still, he did have to admit that he loved it here. Every time they came on vacation, he toyed with the idea, never voicing it aloud, of staying. His wife did more than toy with the idea, openly talking about how nice it would be to raise children here, how quiet and peaceful it was. She was an artist, and he knew that she got most of her inspiration for the entire year on their month-long stays in the small island community.
She often ended these speeches with a single word. “Please?”
And he couldn’t tell her no, but he could dismiss the idea as impractical, too impractical to merit more than an incredulous shake of his head. She’d sigh, and that would be the end of it for another day.
Even if he did feel guilty for it, even if he did ask himself each day why he wanted to go back to the practice so badly. He didn’t even know most of his patients’ names, couldn’t name more than one or two when he was away from the office.
As the end of the month approached, along with their departure date, he felt more and more depressed. Why didn’t he stay? he asked himself. Why couldn’t he?
He couldn’t answer those two questions. Money wasn’t really an issue. It wasn’t like there was much time to make a life back where he had his practice. They’d put off having children time and time again, and they’d been married ten years. He always had to work.
Why couldn’t he try it here?
His wife came out and sat on the chair beside him on the shoreline, and together they gazed out over the stormy blue sea. “It would be so nice to live here,” she sighed.
“Mmmhmm,” he said, noncommittally.
She sighed again, and didn’t speak. He wondered if she’d finally given up, if the heart had gone out of her speeches after a month of trying. He looked over at her.
“You know,” he began, “they don’t have a doctor at all over here in the winter months.”
“That’s so.”
“It’s got to be hard trying to get over to the main island when someone’s sick. And it’s got to be scary for parents with children.”
Silence. He heard nothing but his wife’s steady breathing and the lap of waves against the shore.
506 words: Original.
And each day, he just shook his head and made plans to do something else. Something that would take them off of the small island and into the park, onto the mainland, on the ocean, at the shops in Freeport, even.
He’d do it just to distract her. He was a doctor, a successful doctor with an over-busy practice and not nearly enough time to breathe, much less take this vacation. He’d pay for it later in overbooking, days and days of fifteen-minute-or-less appointments. To relocate here?
That would be career suicide.
Still, he did have to admit that he loved it here. Every time they came on vacation, he toyed with the idea, never voicing it aloud, of staying. His wife did more than toy with the idea, openly talking about how nice it would be to raise children here, how quiet and peaceful it was. She was an artist, and he knew that she got most of her inspiration for the entire year on their month-long stays in the small island community.
She often ended these speeches with a single word. “Please?”
And he couldn’t tell her no, but he could dismiss the idea as impractical, too impractical to merit more than an incredulous shake of his head. She’d sigh, and that would be the end of it for another day.
Even if he did feel guilty for it, even if he did ask himself each day why he wanted to go back to the practice so badly. He didn’t even know most of his patients’ names, couldn’t name more than one or two when he was away from the office.
As the end of the month approached, along with their departure date, he felt more and more depressed. Why didn’t he stay? he asked himself. Why couldn’t he?
He couldn’t answer those two questions. Money wasn’t really an issue. It wasn’t like there was much time to make a life back where he had his practice. They’d put off having children time and time again, and they’d been married ten years. He always had to work.
Why couldn’t he try it here?
His wife came out and sat on the chair beside him on the shoreline, and together they gazed out over the stormy blue sea. “It would be so nice to live here,” she sighed.
“Mmmhmm,” he said, noncommittally.
She sighed again, and didn’t speak. He wondered if she’d finally given up, if the heart had gone out of her speeches after a month of trying. He looked over at her.
“You know,” he began, “they don’t have a doctor at all over here in the winter months.”
“That’s so.”
“It’s got to be hard trying to get over to the main island when someone’s sick. And it’s got to be scary for parents with children.”
Silence. He heard nothing but his wife’s steady breathing and the lap of waves against the shore.
Then: “Please?” Her voice was trembling a little.
“Yes.”