Ignoring Marjorie’s protest, Lydia pressed the phone to her ear and turned her back to her friend. “What’s crazy,” she said, twisting her head around, her eyes sparking with impatience, “is suffering for days because you’re afraid to see a doctor.”

“I am not afraid! And a gynecologist is the last person I want to see.” Marjorie couldn’t seem to get it through her friend’s thick skull that a queasy stomach was unworthy of all this fuss. From the way Lydia was behaving, Marjorie fully expected her friend to dial 911 to report a minor pain that came and went without warning. She’d lived with it for the last few days—a little longer wasn’t going to matter. More than likely, it would disappear as quickly and unexpectedly as it had come. Or so she continued to hope.

“Today, if possible.” Lydia spoke firmly into the telephone. She placed her hand over the receiver and turned to Marjorie. “Listen, I had a friend once with similar symptoms, and it ended up being female problems and—” She broke off abruptly. “Five o’clock would be fine. Thanks, Mary.”

Although Marjorie knew it wouldn’t do any good, she tried again. “Lydia…”

The telephone was replaced in its cradle before Lydia turned around. “And something else. Dr. Sam isn’t your run-of-the-mill doctor. He’s wonderful! If you need to see someone else, he’ll refer you, so stop looking so worried.”

“But I’m sure this pain is nothing.”

“Then checking it out won’t be any big deal. Right?” Marjorie shrugged. “He has an opening this afternoon at five.”

“His name is Dr. Sam?” Now Marjorie had heard everything. “Will Nurse Jane be there, too?”

“He’s really terrific,” Lydia announced with a loud sigh, obviously choosing to ignore Marjorie’s sarcasm. “I think I fell in love with him in the delivery room just before Jimmy was born. He was so gentle and understanding when I was in labor. He made me feel like I was the most noble, heroic woman in the world for enduring the pain of childbirth.”

“Hey, I’ve got a stomachache. I’m not looking to find Prince Charming.”

“But he’s handsome, too.”

“Does Dr. Sam have a last name?” She wasn’t bothered by the thought of seeing a physician, exactly, but the simple truth was that Marjorie hated relying on anyone else. She could take care of herself very well, and relying on another person went against her fiercely independent nature.

“His name is really Sam Bretton, but everyone calls him Dr. Sam.”

Marjorie rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “I don’t know if I can trust a man who sounds like he keeps an office on Sesame Street.”

“Wait and see,” Lydia claimed, writing out directions to the medical center on a piece of paper and ripping it free of the tablet before handing it over to Marjorie. “He’s marvelous—trust me.”