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middle ground.”
    “Sounds as if you’re planning to stay here long-term then.” My father picked up his glass of Glenfiddich and swirled the ice around.
    “Yes, I’m planning to stay. That’s why I took the job.” I straightened in my chair as if titanium had suddenly surged through my spine, Wolverine-style.
    My parents had always encouraged me to make my own decisions and pursue my own dreams—as long as that meant becoming a doctor, like them, and working at a prestigious university hospital, like them. Not only had I let them down by refusing to become a cardiothoracic surgeon, but I’d chosen a practice not affiliated with any major medical school, where my vast potential would surely erode faster than the dunes sinking into the lake.
    But I had fallen in love with this town the first time I’d come to visit with Hilary and her family. Something about the beach and the dunes and smell of the water. It was all so peaceful and serene. Bell Harbor had a tranquility to it so unlike my crazy, hectic day-to-day life as a resident. I’d thought living here would be like a vacation. Of course, I hadn’t fully comprehended the impact of moving to such a small community. I was still getting used to the well-intentioned busybodies and their fascination with my personal life.
    “The hospital is a level-one trauma center,” I added tersely.
    In spite of my steely resolve, and the fact that one of them must be dying, I felt the need to defend my choice, which irked me. I was thirty-five years old, after all. Just barely. But still, too old to have to explain my actions to my parents.
    My father nodded. “Well, it’s your choice, if that’s what you want.”
    “Yes, it’s what I want.” And it was. I was happy here. Very happy. I’d prove that to them even if it killed me.
    My mother cleared her throat. “And how are things with your practice? Is everyone pleasant?”
    Pleasant? Pleasant was a word for a Sunday afternoon drive or a midwinter’s nap, neither of which were things our family indulged in. It wasn’t a word I associated with my mother in any way. Skilled. Determined. Competitive. Even brilliant. Those were words that suited her. But not pleasant .
    “Yes, they’re very pleasant.”
    “I’m glad to hear that, darling.” She toyed with the edge of the paper napkin resting under her wineglass and wiped at another smudge. “Are all of your partners married?”
    “Married?” Was my chair tippy? Because I felt a little dizzy all of a sudden. “Um, most of them are married. One has a partner.”
    At least I think Chloe had a partner. There wasn’t a lot of time for chitchat while we were seeing patients in the office or spending time in the operating room. All I really knew of her was that she was a good surgeon, loved to travel, hated golf, and tolerated staff meetings by playing video poker on her iPhone.
    “Are they men or women?” my mother asked.
    I crossed my arms and wondered if Tyler Connelly was having a better time right now than I was. It seemed we were both up for interrogation.
    “Three men and three women. Why?” This awkward banter was making me twitchy, like when you think sandwich meat has gone bad but you smell it just to make sure. The truth was, the Rhoades family was not prone to tiptoeing around an issue. And even though my parents probably loved me in their own restrained, dysfunctional ways, we were not a nurturing, chitchatty bunch. We didn’t mind sticking our fists into someone’s open gut, but exploring another person’s emotional state was far too risky. And this line of questioning was bordering on personal.
    My mother pressed her lips together for a moment, then finally blurted out, “Here’s the thing, Evelyn. Your father and I are a little worried you might get . . . bored. Bell Harbor is so small, and you’ve always been so driven and competitive. Things around here might get monotonous for you.”
    That’s what this was about? The lack of