Jen's Legacy.

After no more than ten minutes waiting (feeling like an hour), and with a feeling of relief, Royce saw a dark car turn into the front of the motel and two older women and a man get out of it as they looked around, not sure what awaited them, concerned.

They all began to walk toward the motel, until the older woman stopped them and had some heated words with them; pointed; seeing them return to the car. She still had authority.

Royce could see that-- as Claire had told him-- her grandmother had firm control of that family. Her son might be the CEO of one of the biggest corporations in America, but his mother had put him there, and was still the controlling voice.

The two returned to the car and waited.

Royce smiled. He’d had her figured out, right from the very beginning.

Claire’s grandmother walked toward him, carrying a small carry-all.

She could see in the first of the morning light, that he looked healthy and fit, in shorts and a heavy shirt, but he’d had a tough three months of it after losing his wife, as she well knew.

She had no time for beating around the bush with politely shaking hands--not after what he’d done and had obviously been doing to her granddaughter with her eager encouragement--but just reached out and hugged him. They’d sit down in a few days and share notes on more easy terms.

They spoke for a few moments as he pointed to the room where Claire still slept, then he turned and walked quickly away.

When he saw them again, most of the questions would have been asked and answered, but he’d still be put on the spot.

It didn’t matter. Claire was worth it.

Both of the Mrs. Prescotts and her son, watched him go. He knew exactly where he was going and how much he was needed. He’d get where he was going faster on foot, with traffic being controlled even that early because of that accident, otherwise, Alfred could have driven him, and have come back for her and Claire in twenty minutes. The problem with that, was that her son and his wife would have been able to ask too many questions that she didn’t want them asking him. Especially not with Royce needing a clear head for what was about to greet him.

She took out her own cellphone and made a two-minute call.

When Royce walked into the door of Culver General, they’d now be expecting him, with the only question asked, being his name, unless he said it first.

From there he would be dragged without ceremony or delay into the system which was expecting him in another week, though not at this very moment; an utter stranger to them all (except for his reputation which had preceded him) and he would be swallowed up into the bowels of the hospital, never to get out of it again until he had done what he was superbly qualified to do.

She could sense the questions.

This was the doctor; Healey, the surgeon they’d been told to expect? Impossible! He was far too young to have done all of those things and to have that reputation follow him.

They’d soon find out for themselves. This was to be their immersion into a different kind of world; a real baptism in fire, starting right now, and he was the one who would do it.

From this moment forward, his life would not be his own for quite some time, two; maybe three days, until they could get enough other emergency room doctors and surgeons brought in to work with them, and had dealt with every last patient.

What a way to greet a new employee on not even his first day of work. That, wasn’t supposed to be for another week. By the time they learned about him and what he could do, he would have been elevated to the stature of a god.

Mrs. Prescott walked up the steps to the door, picked up the phone where Royce had left it, turned the key silently in the door and walked into the dark room, closing and locking it behind her in case her son and his wife decided they would not wait.

She had a fair idea what would greet her after listening to that call on Thursday evening. They hadn’t been shy with each other for long, and hadn’t let any grass grow under their feet before they had become intimate. Just like her and her husband, forty-five years earlier.

She knew she would see a very different Claire, than the girl she’d taken up to that rafting outing nine days ago, but was still not sure how different she would be. What did a young woman defiantly in love, look like?