A Wedding on Lilac Lane Hope Ramsay (general ebook reader TXT) 📖

Dylan ground his teeth in frustration. Dad meant well. He was always concerned about the whole patient, not just their symptoms but their finances and their job status and whatnot. He had a knack for knowing everything that was going on in a patient’s life.

Dylan not so much.

But this time Dad’s compassion was blinding him to the truth. Besides, Dad had handed him this patient presumably to teach him a lesson. He didn’t have the right to second-guess him now, did he? He tried to tamp down on the anger that flared, but he failed, lashing out at his father.

“You know, Dad,” he said in a hard voice, “maybe if you weren’t spending your time painting Brenda’s beach house, you’d realize that Mrs. Whittle has been losing weight rather precipitously. I’d suspect cancer were it not for her reported symptoms. So maybe, if you were paying more attention to the patients you are forever telling me to get chummy with, you’d recognize an illness when you see one.”

Dad stood up and leaned on Dylan’s desk. “That was a low blow.”

“Was it? Dad, you need to get your head on straight. I’m sure you came in here to read me the riot act about something Brenda is unhappy about. But now that’s morphed into you second-guessing my opinion about Mrs. Whittle.”

“One thing has nothing to do with the other,” Dad said, straightening and folding his arms over his chest. Wow, he and Dad were having a rare fight. But then, maybe this was exactly what Dad needed in order to come to grips with reality.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you might be stressed out?” Dylan asked. “Maybe you’ve been burning the candle at both ends trying to please that woman. You should hear the stuff Ella has to say about her.”

“Oh really, and what does Ella have to say?”

“Evidently Brenda is never happy. Ever. And Ella had to bear the brunt of that growing up. It’s messed with her mind.”

“So it’s true, then. You two had dinner at Cibo Dell’anima.”

Who had told him that? Did Dad know the rest of what happened on Saturday? Crap.

“We did. We were checking the place out for the party. It’s a no go. Too dark. Too expensive. Too East End.”

“And she spilled all this stuff about Brenda at dinner? Or did you pry it out of her?”

Oh boy. Dad was ticked off. “I didn’t pry anything,” Dylan said. But he had willingly refilled her wineglass. Did that count as prying? Maybe.

“I’ve had it with you, okay?” Dad’s voice got low and soft, which was a surefire indication that Dad wasn’t just annoyed, he was furious. “First, you will not send Ginny Whittle to an endocrinologist for tests she doesn’t need and can’t afford,” he continued, counting points on his fingers. “And second, you will stop trying to mess with Brenda by bullying her daughter. So step away.”

“Bullying? I haven’t bullied her. I’ve paid attention to her. Maybe Brenda should do the same thing.”

“Dylan, the whole idea is for us to make one big, happy family. So stop trying to screw things up and get with the damn program. Is that clear?”

Dylan said nothing as Dad turned and strode from his office. But the moment the door shut behind his father, Dylan picked up the phone and called Ginny Whittle. He told her about her lab work, as well as his long-shot hunch, and then he advised her to make an appointment with the endocrinology practice affiliated with the hospital in Georgetown. He was honest with her about the costs and the rarity of the condition known as diabetes insipidus.

Dad wasn’t in his right mind if he thought Dylan would keep something from one of his patients. In fact, he was going to follow his instincts from now on. He respected Dad’s opinion, but he had to stop living by it as if it were the holy word of God. Doctors often disagreed about things. This was why people got second opinions. Science could be cut-and-dry, but patient care was a whole different thing entirely.

So he defied his father for the first time in his life. He did it even though some of what Dad had to say came perilously close to the truth. Dylan hadn’t bullied Ella on Saturday night, but he had manipulated her in order to get dirt on Brenda. And that wasn’t right.

But then Ella had turned the tables on him, hadn’t she? He’d certainly kissed her back when she’d thrown her arms around his neck. Even worse, he’d thoroughly enjoyed every moment.

*  *  *

On Wednesday afternoon, Ella strolled up the curving path to Grace Methodist Church under a canopy of live oaks, which filtered the surprisingly warm March sunlight. The rain earlier in the week had departed, leaving behind enough humidity to wilt her cotton dress.

Sweat was beginning to dampen her back between her shoulder blades. She should have worn a tank top or something cooler than the dark-blue India-print dress that sucked up the sun’s heat. But the dress seemed more appropriate for a meeting at a church than shorts and a tank top.

She was here to take a tour of the reception hall with Dylan. Over the last few days, they had eliminated at least five possible venues for the engagement party, including a couple on the mainland, mostly because of availability. Grace Church was available.

She headed toward the church’s front doors as the sweat poured down her skin. In truth, she couldn’t blame the perspiration entirely on the sun. Some of this heat came from her insides, driven by embarrassment, or worse yet, desire.

She remembered far too much about last Saturday night and that moment when she’d thrown her arms around Dylan’s shoulders. If only she’d been just a little more buzzed, maybe she could have excised the memory. But no. She remembered it all.

So far, in their brief phone conversations, Dylan hadn’t mentioned the kiss at all. Would he