Page 77 of The Sandbar saga

Chapter 30

The door of the cottageshut with his last patient leaving. Race stood from his chair and walked to the cabinet in the back of the room and unlocked the drawer. He'd seen five patients today instead of four and needed something fortifying to forget what he'd heard.

Grabbing a bottle of bourbon, he poured the snifter full in hopes of ending the turmoil each patient left on his doorstep. Unbuttoning his shirt halfway down, he called his answering service and told them he'd be closed until Thursday. If there was an emergency, they were to contact Dr. Tennat at the hospital.

He pocketed his phone, shut the lights off, and locked up the cottage. Like most nights, he took his drink and sat by the pool until he grew sleepy enough to lay in bed. It was questionable whether he slept or not. Most mornings, he got out of bed feeling like it'd been five years since he had a decent night's rest.

He groaned as he sat in the patio chair. Kicking off his shoes, he used his foot to hold down the toe of his sock and pulled his foot free, repeating the action on the other sock. He stretched out in the chair, rotated his shoulders, and took a drink.

The back of his throat warmed, sending a trail to his chest, loosening his muscles. Glad he'd cut down to only seeing patients three times a week, he found he needed the extra downtime to regroup and be clearheaded for his patients.

Their diagnoses were some of the toughest he'd seen in his career. He'd grown selective over the years, preferring to stretch his mind and work harder on more selective treatments. It kept him busy on his off-hours, always researching and digging into their past. It helped him stay focused.

Too much downtime tended to beat away at him and gave him too much to think about regarding his own life.

He took another drink when a cloud blocked out the sunlight. Looking in the sky, he could see dark storm clouds rolling overhead, going Northeast. His chest tightened. Wherever Katie was, he hoped she was far away with sunshine on her shoulders.

She deserved calmness and predictability, no storms to cast her into her past. No sandbars to tempt her and no bridges to remind her of how her childhood innocence was swept away in the swift tide of tragedy.

He lifted his glass, drinking deeper. Memories came swiftly, as they had every day since she left him without a word. There wasn't a time when she was far from his thoughts.

Every patient reminded him of her. Every breakfast. Every blonde. Every laughter. Every day.

It was his penance to pay for what he'd done.

He'd gone over what he could've, should've, would've done differently, and in the end, Katie had made the decision for him.

He couldn't be angry at her for doing exactly what he wanted her to do. What he couldn't do himself.

All the years of counseling, he'd made her stronger. She'd held on to him longer and harder than anyone he'd ever treated, and he wanted the best for her.

But, through every step of her journey, no matter the reality of the relationship, no matter the professional distance that he'd sworn his integrity on, he'd crossed every line.

He hadn't only fallen in love with her. He loved her with every fiber of his being.

As a professional, he taught others that love is a feeling that is changeable and replaceable.

It wasn't.

He could no more stop loving Katie than he could stop breathing.

A motion in the woods caught his attention. He lifted his drink, unconcerned that he was outside, barely holding on. His friable state a regular part of his life now. He preferred to stay alone with his memories.

A deer walked out of the trees, hesitating at the edge of the grass, staring at him. Holding still, he showed no ill intent toward the animal.

Dainty yet agile, the graceful deer lifted one leg and stepped forward, keeping a steady gaze on Race. After several minutes, the deer lowered her head and ate the green grass.

He slowly reached into his pocket and took out his phone. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he took a picture of the deer.

Then, he thumbed through several hundred other photos of the deer he'd taken over the last five years and had no way of sending it to Katie.

But, he'd taken them as if holding hope that she somehow knew he continued to live for her, for their love, for what would never be.