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on my next problem: How was I going to convince Max to go to a medical center and have reconstructive hand surgery?

CHAPTER 10
    When Paul came in with a number of parcels, Maggie was still at the front desk. “Any problems?” he asked, not really expecting any. In tranquil Bayfield, there was rarely any trouble—except when bikers came to call. But that had only happened once.
    She yawned and shook her head. “Have you seen Jo?” she asked.
    â€œNot since this morning. Why?” He glanced at her sharply. Paul had developed a fondness for the young woman doctor, and he knew she had a habit of getting into trouble.
    â€œWe were supposed to go to the farmers’ market this afternoon, but she didn’t come. And when I called her room, there was no answer.”
    Paul shrugged. “She probably had an emergency.” But he felt anxious.
    â€œMaybe, but she usually calls …”
    â€œWant me to take over now?” he asked, changing the subject. He didn’t want to hear any more worrisome news about Jo.
    â€œOkay. Then I can go to the store before dinner.” She gathered up her knitting and a tote bag full of paperbacks, the survival kit of a motel proprietor, and planted a kiss on her husband’s bald pate.

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    Tom pulled into his driveway and unloaded his archery tackle. Then he unloaded a second tackle, the one he had prepared for Jo to use—had she turned up for her lesson. He wondered if she was done with her emergency. Falling for a doctor had its drawbacks. His best-laid plans were often blown to smithereens. However, this particular doctor was worth it. He had recovered from his earlier disappointment. Jo was the first woman he’d met who didn’t play games. She was absolutely honest—to a fault, sometimes—and she never teased or cried or played the coquette. Three attributes that were worth their weight in gold. If he had to put up with an occasional disappointment, they were a small price for the benefits of being her man of the moment.
    Of the moment? Tom grabbed a beer from the fridge and ambled onto his screen porch to enjoy the sunset. Was that all he was? A passing fancy? There had been a time when he had thought differently. But with Jo, it was hard to tell. Not because she was fickle. Not at all. But because she didn’t seem to know her own mind. It had to do with that misdiagnosis in Manhattan. He stretched his legs in front of him and sipped his beer. She still hadn’t come to grips with the death of that child—Sophie. She still blamed herself. Until she makes peace with her past, he thought, she won’t be able to plan her future. He, of all people, should know about that.
    Across the fields, the red disk paused on the horizon for a split second, then—as if pulled by unseen hands—disappeared. When all that remained was a salmon stripe, Tom stood up. If she needs time, he told himself, I’m a patient man. I can wait. He went inside to eat a lonely supper.
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    Tom was not the only man thinking about Jo over a lonely supper. A hundred miles north, in Queens, in an apartment over a print shop,
her father stared with a melancholy expression at the silent phone on his kitchen wall. He had learned not to call his daughter too often. It annoyed her. He had trained himself to wait for her to call him. But the waits were long and it was hard. During the days, it wasn’t so bad. He still had the remnants of his printing business. Despite the change in technology, some loyal customers continued to patronize him. And recently he had landed a new printing job—a semiannual bulb and seed catalog. But the evenings seemed endless. He wasn’t a big TV fan and his eyes were too weary after a day in the shop to read much. When the weather was fine, he’d go for long walks. He lived on a busy thoroughfare and he liked to join the bustle—trucks loading and unloading, shoppers, mothers