AN: I have read so many Jessica/Seth fics that they've begun to blur. One in particular made note of William Windom's love of chess and his habit of playing simultaneous matches against himself. I've included that detail here with apologies for not being able to properly credit the author and the story in which I read this insightful nugget. I've not been able to find that story again, but I'm still looking and will post the link if I do find it.

Tell Me Now

Seth listened to the rapid, uneven heartbeat through his old stethoscope. He dropped the drum, removed the earpieces from his ears, and stared thoughtfully into space for a long moment.

"Frank, if I were you, I'd get myself over to Portland just as soon as possible."

Frank grinned. "That bad, Doc?"

"A-yuh." He gave Frank a shrewd look. "And I don't think you needed me to tell you that. Apart from nitroglycerin tablets, there's nothing I can do for you here. You can get better care over there. It's practically a brand-new hospital."

"I expect that's so."

"I know it's so. Any reason you're reluctant to take my advice?"

"No particular reason, Doc." Frank grinned at him again, but the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Seth knew Frank only tangentially. He'd been in school with a couple of Frank's older brothers. They, like Seth, had enlisted during the waning days of World War II; Frank, he knew, had been a pilot in the Korean conflict. Seth privately refused to call it a war, seeing as how the United States had never actually declared one in that instance. Not that he would disparage anyone's military service. He just preferred to be accurate, if only to himself.

"You think about that wife of yours, Frank. You think about her, then you get yourself on over to Portland. Might be you've got a leaky valve or might be you've been eating too much rich food for too long and your arteries are sluggish. Either way, not something I can tell you conclusively. And not something I could fix regardless." He stared at Frank for a long moment as the man buttoned up his shirt. "What say you, Frank?"

"A-yuh. I'll do that. Jessie and I'll go over to Portland on Monday. I've just got a few things to tie up here."

"Don't leave it too long, Frank," Seth warned. "Heart trouble can be tricky."

"I won't, Doc." Frank finished buttoning his shirt, then he hopped off the examination table and reached out to shake Seth's hand. "I'll get over there first thing Monday morning."

But Frank was gone by Monday morning.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

He attended the funeral, even though it damn near made him sick to do it. He didn't think he'd ever forget Jessica's face: her fair complexion thrown into stark relief by the severe black dress she was wearing, an expression of shocked disbelief like a mask over her face and her normally brilliant blue eyes dull and lifeless. He supposed he'd looked much the same at Ruthie's funeral, but that wasn't at all a comforting thought. He clasped her hand as he stood in front of her in the receiving line, but the words wouldn't come. The difference in this exchange was enough to capture her attention, and she gazed right through him with suddenly piercing blue eyes. Seth cleared his throat.

"Mrs. Fletcher, I…I'm sorry for your loss." She nodded once, slowly, and he squeezed her hand; he was surprised to feel the pressure of her hand against his.

"Thank you, Doctor Hazlitt."

Seth nodded curtly, dropped her hand, and beat a discreet retreat. It was the best he could do.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Seth went offshore fishing with Caleb as often as time and money permitted. Lately, it had been more difficult than usual to get away. Somehow, some blessed how, Beverly managed to clear his Thursday morning. He'd mentioned earlier in the week that the weather was supposed to be particularly fine Thursday morning and hinted that he might go out on the water if everything worked out. Beverly was such a superb organizer that, by Wednesday, she had worked everything out and he found himself on Caleb's boat fishing about 30 miles out on that fine Thursday morning. It was almost enough to make a man smile.

It was a beautiful September day, the kind of day that made him glad to be alive, a thought that surprised him as it scudded across the calm sky of his mind. He was filled with unexpected gratitude and turned to Caleb with a smile.

"You ok, Doc?"

"A-yuh," said Seth. "Pretty near perfect. Why'd you ask?"

"Ain't never seen you smile before without a fish in your hand."

Seth barked out a laugh. "Well sir! Maybe I've turned over a new leaf."

They fished a few more minutes in easygoing silence.

"Shame about Frank Fletcher," Caleb remarked. "Good fisherman." He paused. "Good man. Did you know him, Doc?"

"Not well. I knew him to speak to. Course I went to school with his brothers."

"''Spect you did. I guess ol' Frank was a few years younger than you."

"A-yuh."

"Shame about his wife."

"What do you mean?" asked Seth sharply...more sharply than he'd meant to. Where had that come from?

"Widow, I shoulda said. She's awful young to be a widow. All alone, with no children to comfort her." Seth grunted. What business was it of either of theirs? "Though they did have a pile of nieces and nephews." Caleb nodded comfortably. "Sure did. Summers were hoppin' at the Fletcher place."

"That so," answered Seth noncommittally.

"A-yuh. Revolvin' door of kids every summer for years. I think she liked it." He laughed. "Not so sure about Frank, but he was foolish over that woman. Do anything she asked, he would." Caleb stared out into the sea. "Fine-lookin' woman, she is. A-yuh."

Seth was growing increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to get out of it.

"Fish are awful slow today, Caleb! You sure you picked the right spot?"

"Gotta be patient, Doc." He laughed at his own joke. "Patient, Doc...get it?"

"A-yuh. Just don't find it funny is all."

"You got no sense of humor, Doc. You're too serious. Been a widower too long, I suppose."

Seth looked at him, surprised. "Can't see you turning your hand to matchmaking, Caleb. Confirmed bachelor that you are."

"Never wanted no wife, did I? Didn't care to drop anchor in only one port all my life."

Seth snorted. "Can't imagine you've had all that many offers, Caleb. We'd best get off this topic, anyhow."

"A-yuh. Just seems to me that a man who's been married generally marries again. You're a decent looking fella, Doc."

"Thanks very much," replied Seth dryly.

"Educated man. Got a good job. Course you do live in those rooms above your office. No woman's gonna like that."

"Caleb," said Seth firmly. "Dry up your drip. We're here to fish. Nothing more."

"A-yuh. Thought I was doin' a little fishin', Doc." He grinned at Seth and turned back to the water.

Seth stifled a sigh. Caleb was pulling him into deep water in more ways than one.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

That first year in Cabot Cove drew to a slow, uneventful close, thanks be to a God he couldn't bring himself to believe in any longer. He settled into his routine, developed a surprisingly satisfying relationship with Beverly, on whom he'd come to rely to organize his work life. He knew enough to draw a firm boundary around his home life, such as it was.

During the long winter, he alternated between playing multiple, simultaneous chess matches against himself, with boards set up in various strategic locations throughout his spartan rooms above the office, and cultivating an unexpected talent for cooking. Boredom was what he attributed it to; he'd finally grown tired of the limited menu at the diner. Although his means were still straightened, to a degree, he indulged in a subscription to Frugal Cuisine of the World. It had been a dream of his and Ruth's to travel when Seth retired, and preparing meals from other cultures was a way to experience a small part of that dream. Those first few meals he attempted were simply awful, but he soldiered through them. What else was he to do? He had to eat and he couldn't see throwing out a perfectly good meal in all but taste. Gradually he improved, and he grew to enjoy following the recipes and ultimately tinkering with them to see if he could get better results. It was nice to know he could still surprise himself.

A less surprising habit he developed was conversing with Ruth. Perhaps it had happened gradually, perhaps not, but he began talking with Ruth nightly, conversing with her about his day, musing on his next chess moves, consulting with her about particular recipes and what he might need to procure from the market, if he could even get his hands on some of the more exotic ingredients in the sleepy backwater that was Cabot Cove. He found himself storing up anecdotes during the day to share with her in the evenings.

He recognized that this was a harmless indulgence borne of loneliness; harmless at least until he started talking to Ruthie in the market or, God forbid, his office.

He could use a friend.

AN: I appreciate the reviews! I'll post Chapter 3 next Sunday.