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“What’s this?” I sniffed.
“I'm awarding you the contract to refurbish the surgery. We can only close for two weeks for painting, carpeting and so forth. But I need to tell you something else. Stacey, you're the first person to be told this: I’m sorting out legal matters and financial issues to do with selling the practice. I have a buyer.”
The Doc paused, looking down at the second envelope.
“I am not at liberty to disclose who they are, but they agreed to your proposal with no changes and the dates as per the enclosed letter.”
I had no words. I had my first design job. I took the envelope with a trembling hand.
“The surgery is sold?” My mind was a rollercoaster of thoughts. “I’m going to miss you.”
“Stacey, I’ve learnt one thing since my diagnosis and operation. That is, I’d rather not see many sick people each day, and spend more time with my family instead. I didn’t become a doctor to be a doctor until the day I die, so I completely understand when you said you need to follow your dreams. I dream of a better golf handicap and going to the UK and Europe with my wife. Being sick was a timely wake-up call that our time here is finite. I'm telling you this because ... life’s too short not to take chances.”
I nodded, my stomach flipflopping at the thought of Harry.
“I liked your idea of a welcoming space to reduce anxiety for patients who are reluctant to seek medical help. I very much loved your sketch for a gum tree with the animals as a wall decal for the children’s space. I spoke about your ideas to other doctors while I was in the city undergoing treatment. They’re also interested in speaking to you about your ideas.”
“Oh.” I was overwhelmed. Tears stung my eyes again.
“If that’s okay for me to pass on your details, that is.”
“Oh yes, thank you. I’ll have a new phone soon, too.”
“Also, my wife wants to speak with you about refurbishing our living room and dining room.” He rolled his eyes, his mouth flashing into a quick grin. “Apparently, we need to do this in retirement for reasons that are elusive to me.”
I huffed out a laugh.
He leaned in with a false whisper. “When a doctor's wife is happy with the results, she will tell all her friends in the district of the wonderful designer who refurbished her home and this will lead others in her network to enquire after your services.”
The Doc outright grinned and sat back. “They talk and talk of the endless possibilities of chintz. I do not pretend to know what this is nor do I need to, but I hope you do enjoy working with Mrs Larcombe.”
He sighed and clasped his hands together. “But now, Stacey. You’re free to go.”
We both stood up and something occurred to me. “This is my last appointment with you as my doctor, isn’t it? That’s why you asked to see me today.”
The Doc nodded. “I think you’ll find the new owner a worthy replacement.” He patted my hand; his smile sad and his eyes glassy. “I helped the midwife deliver you into this world more than twenty-six years ago. I saw how the bushfire ravaged you, and I watched you build yourself back up again. And now, I get to watch you walk out of here and into a bright future. Oh, one last thing, I prescribe bed rest for a week before you start the refurbishment. Doctor’s orders.”
Several minutes and many tissues later, I left the ward arm-in-arm with the Doc to find Mum at the hospital entrance.
* * *
“Ryan’s dealt with the insurance company for the ute. How’d you go with the police?” Mum asked. “He said they stopped by early this morning before you were discharged.”
“They were nice. I answered all their questions about the car accident and the fire,” I said. “Forensics found my tyre marks on the road, and another set coming from the other direction.”
I fell silent. The time of my accident. My uncle’s call over the CB radio. The time of the fire and the time of an anonymous call to Triple Zero. “Can’t help but wonder if the guy who almost ran me off the road could be related to the fire.”
Police had told me that no one come forward about the near hit.
“Ryan said the same thing.” Mum cleared her throat. “He also said that police think the fire is suspicious.”
“Arson,” I whispered.
“Yeah, that.”
The idea of someone we knew, maybe even were friends with, was lighting fires was too awful to think about. But it was all I could think about.
“I wish I could remember who was driving the ute that almost hit me. I don’t even think I looked at the driver.”
