Then He Kissed Me by Maria Geraci

medicine, oh, thirty-five years or so ago, there wasn’t a doctor in Whispering Bay. Everyone was going over to Panama City. I set up my shingle and I think I had ten patients that first week. Then Dan came to me on the pretense that he needed a physical. Told everyone that worked for him at his accounting firm that they needed physicals, too, and that the company would pay for them. Then he started sending over his whole family. And I don’t mean just Maureen. The whole Handy family started coming to me—Earl, and Margaret, rest her soul, and all their kids and all the aunts and uncles and cousins and, well, hell, you know them. Half the town is a Handy or related to one of them. Even though old Earl lives in Mexico Beach now, I’m still his doctor.”
    It seemed as if the anecdote concerning Dan Handy was winding down. But Nate wanted to make sure. “So…Dan Handy’s daughter didn’t come to you with any complaints about me?”
    Doc looked surprised. “No, should she have?”
    “Absolutely not.” Nate felt the knots in his stomach ease up. “You’re a fine physician. They’re lucky to have you care for them.”
    “I’m not looking for compliments. I’m telling you like it is. All those people I told you about? They don’t come to see me because I’m the best doctor in the area, they come to see me because they know I care about them. Because I know that Frances Kiefer isn’t going to be nagged into losing weight, so I joke about it with her and she laughs back and promises me that next visit she’ll be twenty pounds thinner. And I hope and pray for her sake that this is the visit that wakes her up. But mostly, I hope that she’ll never be too embarrassed or too nervous to tell me the truth about what’s going on, because then I really can’t help her.” He pointed to a framed cross stich embroidery next to his medical school diploma. “See that there?”
    YOU LIE TO THE POLICE. NOT TO YOUR DOCTOR.
    Nate had noticed it, of course. He had assumed it was a gift, but the saying hadn’t resonated with him.
    “One day, years ago when I was just a tadpole, I had this fella come see me whose blood pressure was too high. So I put him on some antihypertensive, can’t remember which one right now, and I tell him to come back in a month and we’ll see how he’s doing. So he comes back, and this time, his blood pressure is even higher and I can’t figure it out. I ask him if he’s taking the medication every day, and he looks me straight in the eye and says, ‘Oh, yeah, Doc, I’m taking my pills.’ So I double the dose and tell him to come back in two weeks. Same thing. Blood pressure’s still high. And I can’t figure it out, until Lola turns around and just out and asks him why he isn’t taking his medication.”
    “Let me guess,” Nate said, “he didn’t like the side-effects.”
    “Exactly. Only he was too embarrassed to tell me, and I wasn’t smart enough to sit down and ask him how he was feeling. How he was really feeling. So I’m sitting there, still kind of stunned, and Lola laughs and tells him, ‘We’re not here to arrest you, we’re here to make you feel better. You lie to the police, not to your doctor.’”
    Nate knew what was happening here. This was one of those touchy-feely moments when he was supposed to act as if everything suddenly became clear. It was a nice sentiment, this taking the time to chat with your patients, and it certainly worked for Doc Morrison. But Nate wasn’t Doc. He had his own skill set, his own way of talking to patients, and yes, maybe he was a bit blunt, but on the other hand, he didn’t keep patients stewing for hours in the waiting room, either. According to the latest patient surveys, long waiting room times were the number one reason for patient dissatisfaction.
    He glanced at his watch. “Is there anything else you wanted to see me about?”
    Doc sighed heavily. “Arlene talked me into one of those Mediterranean cruises. Apparently