Page 35 of The Do-Over
ROB
The highway—the proper, four-lane highway, that was—ended about half an hour away from Deer Ridge, and from that point on, it was necessary to take a winding two-lane road that was poorly lit.
It wasn’t lit at all, really, Rob thought ruefully as he drove. Somehow, everyone had just decided that this was normal and fine. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought about before moving to the city, because it had seemed normal to him. When he had left Deer Ridge and journeyed to larger towns in Iowa, he’d been required to take these roads, and that had never troubled him.
Now, though, he was used to driving on proper roads, and this seemed downright insane. How did anyone do this without losing their mind?
I do not want to be here.
It wasn’t that he didn’t have respect for the Award for Achievements in Military Medicine. It was in recognition of the most important thing he had ever done in his life, and that mattered. What didn’t matter was standing up in front of a room full of people and accepting a trophy. That was a waste of time that frankly, he could have put to better use.
Still, he knew how seeing medical awards on his wall and on his shelves was reassuring to patients when they came to him for the first time. He wasn’t overly concerned about them, but anything that helped a patient feel more comfortable had to be a good thing.
If only they could have just mailed it to him.
I’m being ungrateful, though. These people want to honor me. The least I could do is show up at their ceremony.
He squinted through the windshield.
The snow was coming down in the fat, heavy way it never seemed to in Chicago. Not that it didn’t snow at home—of course it did, Chicago was one of the coldest places in the country—but somehow the city seemed to disperse the snow better, stop it from pressing in on you the way it did here. Rob felt as if he was driving into a tunnel.
Maybe I can justify turning around. If it’s this bad, I probably shouldn’t go, right?
He glanced at his phone, plugged into his car’s dashboard. “Call Bradley.”
The phone rang a couple of times, and then the familiar voice of his college roommate and closest friend answered. “Rob?”
“Hey,” Rob said.
“I thought you were back in Iowa this week,” Bradley said.
“Yeah, I’m on my way there now.”
“Oh. Well, what’s up? Why are you calling me?”
“I don’t know.” Rob squinted out the windshield again. “Do you think I really need to go to this thing?”
Bradley laughed. “Haven’t we had this conversation five or six times by now?”
“Yeah, we have,” Rob agreed. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just hoping you’re going to give me a different answer.”
“Well, run it by me again. They’re giving you an award for being a great military doctor. And, what, you don’t want it?”
“It’s not that I don’t want it.”
“You don’t feel like you’ve achieved anything in military medicine.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Of course I am. You’re being ridiculous. You worked insanely hard when we were in school together. You’ve had your own practice for ten years, and you treat service members. That’s like…actual hero stuff. You should be getting a medal.”
Rob laughed. “I don’t think it’s a medal,” he said. “It’s probably just a plaque or something.”
“Whatever. The point is that you’re acting all surprised and like someone made a mistake by choosing you for this award, but they didn’t. If I was giving out awards for military doctors, you would be the first person I’d think of.”
“Bradley, you don’t know any other military doctors. Do you even know any other doctors?”
“I know my doctor.”
