Eleven
The aroma of brewing coffee emanated from a battered blue enamel pot, which rested on a small wood stove. The scent mixed with the odor of quinine and carbolic giving the physician's office a unique, yet strangely comforting smell.
Doc Adams sat at his desk, a medical journal was opened in front of him but the text went unread. His thoughts were for Matt Dillon sitting alone with Kitty's letter back at the Marshal's office. After all of these years he reckoned he knew his old friend as well as he knew every word and nuance of the Oath of Hippocrates.
Shortly after he sat down he was rewarded by the sound of heavy tread against the open wooden staircase leading to his office. There was a perfunctory knock before the door opened and Dillon entered announcing, "Doc, I need to talk."
The old man nodded to the confessor chair beside his desk. "I've got fresh coffee on the stove, sit down and I'll get you a cup."
"I didn't come here for coffee." Dillon protested glumly, but nevertheless, he took the cup when it was offered.
"You read the rest of Kitty's letter?" Adams asked, slowly easing his old bones back into his seat. There was a squeak as the chair adjusted to his weight.
"I read it." Dillon admitted.
"And …" Doc prompted. When Matt didn't respond, he voiced the question, "Are you going to do what Kitty wanted?"
Dillon took a sip of coffee burning his tongue in the process. He ignored the pain. Leaning forward, he earnestly asked, "What do you think?"
The doctor ran a hand across his face, stalling for a moment's worth of time. He knew what he had to say was not what his friend wanted to hear, "I think for a lot of years you've used the excuse of a higher calling to justify your commitment to that badge you wear. But, Matt, there's no higher calling than what you're faced with right now. Like Kitty said, that little girl deserves a real family. You owe it to her and to her mother."
Without hesitation, Matt responded bitterly, "I owe Kitty nothing - not after she lied to me for eight years."
"That's a matter of opinion." Adams responded.
Dillon stared at his boots. Memories flashed in front of him, for the length of a heartbeat, he could hear the sound of her voice and the smell the sweet scent of her fragrance. His voice was utterly sad and honest, "What kind of marriage would it be?" He was quiet, not waiting for Doc to answer but rather waiting for his own mettle to give him the strength to say what both men believed in their souls, "It wouldn't be a real marriage. I could never feel that way about a woman again."
Adams reached out and laid a gentle hand on the lawman's arm. "From what I've observed over the years, some of the most successful unions have had their start as marriages of convenience. Two people working toward a common goal could produce a more solid footing, than a pair of lovesick fools."
Matt looked up, squinting in Doc's face, "Is that what you think we were?"
"Yes. There were times when you were a dang fool! You both were." Adams took his hand back, "It's not fair that Matilda has had to pay the price for her parents' foolishness."
Dillon was quiet again, his heart ached with the enormity of grief, his feelings were a jumble, and he couldn't have described them had he tried. He loved Kitty. He hated Kitty. But above all, he felt utterly lost without her.
Matt's sorrow reached Doc's heart. Seeking to disrupt the obvious flow of emotions, the old man pushed the coffee mug in Dillon's hand and Matt took a second drink. The brew seemed to stabilize his thoughts, "I wouldn't know where or how to begin." He admitted.
"Kitty must have known it would be hard, that's why she took the time to write down a few suggestions. I guess if it was me, I'd start at the top of the list and see where it takes you."
A shadow of a smile worked its way across Matt's sad face. Kitty had a favorite saying, one she'd used time and again, when life's obvious lessons seemed to pass him by. He could almost hear her voice, low and suggestive, "Come on over to the bar Cowboy, and I'll show you how it works."