Saturday, 20th of Summer

It was another rainy day. Alma went first to her mailbox and saw she had two letters from "Demetrius?!" She shook her head as she tore open the first envelope. "This just gets weirder and weirder."

"I wanted to say 'thanks' for taking an interest in my work. Here's a cooking recipe that I like.

- Demetrius"

Attached was the recipe for fried mushrooms. It only required mushrooms and oil. How could it be that with just two ingredients, Alma still only had half of what she needed? She sighed and opened the next letter:

"Alma -

I'm gathering data on the correlation between soil alkalinity and crop fructose levels. Long story short, I need a fresh melon from your farm. If you brought me one, I'd be very grateful.

- Demetrius"

Alma looked over at her melons. None were ready yet. She thought maybe she could give him one of the ones she had already saved, but those were for the community center. No, he'd have to wait until the next - last - harvest for the season.

She looked over her other crops as she folded the letters and put them in her pocket. Wheat and tomatoes were ready to harvest in addition to the daily hops harvest. She took care of all of those, then, on the way to the coop and barn, saw that the tapper she recently put on a pine tree was full. She bottled it and tried to figure out what it might be. Tar? Sap? Resin? She thought she remembered needing pine tar for the community center, so she put it in one of her chests for now.

She stepped inside the coop and was happy to see that at least Robin was staying dry on this job. "Hi Robin!"

"Be patient," she said. "I still have a lot of work to do."

Alma should have known this would be the answer she'd get. She gathered her eggs, loved on her chickens, and went back out into the rain. She checked on the cows in the barn and gathered mushrooms too. She got what she needed for Pierre and the community center then went into town. She sold what she could, dropped off the other, and wondered what she should do with the rest of her day. It was now about one o'clock. Alma had several hours before needing to meet Harvey. She remembered yesterday and thought maybe she should try fishing again. So she made her way up to the mountain lake.

Alma cast out her line and waited patiently, and though she caught more fish than yesterday, after several hours, she still had no success with sturgeon. She was starting to lose hope. Where else could she get sturgeon for the community center if she couldn't catch it herself? Then she had an idea. "The traveling cart!" Now that she was getting more and more on her feet financially, maybe she could actually afford some of the things there. Hope started to come back. She gathered her things and made her way down to the saloon.

When Alma entered, she was surprised to see Harvey was not at the bar. She looked around and saw him sitting at one of the booths. She could tell something was wrong. He was hunched over his wine glass and propped up on one hand. His brows were tight, and he looked concerned and sad. She asked Gus for a glass of wine and approached the booth. When Harvey saw her, he pushed himself up and put on a quick smile. "Hi, Alma."

"Hey. Hard day?" she asked, scooting into the opposite side of the booth.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was," he said, looking back down into his wine glass.

"Can you talk about it? I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to, and I don't want you to break confidentiality."

"No, no, it - it's okay." He waited for Gus to place a glass of wine in front of Alma. "I think I told you just the other day that I have some old friends from med school who contact me every now and then?"

"Yes, you did," she said with a sip.

"Well, one friend, Paul, is an anesthesiologist in a Zuzu City hospital. He, uh … emailed me yesterday and asked if we could do a video call this afternoon after he got off his shift. I could tell from his email that it was something serious. Paul is the kind of guy who will email me to let me know about something interesting or unusual he saw, just to let me know he thought it was cool. But this time, he … seemed like something was wrong.

"So we chatted today, and he opened up to me about something that happened this week. There was a young girl - a recent high school graduate - who had a couple of treatable congenital heart problems that she wanted addressed before she moved away to college in the fall. She was going to have heart surgery to get some of the work done, and Paul was the anesthesiologist for the procedure. He was aware that she was young, thin, and weakened from her heart problems, so he knew she needed a lighter dose of anesthesia. One of her heart problems was an enlarged heart, which becomes more serious over time. He was aware of this, but he wasn't aware that her heart was as weak as it was. When he administered the anesthesia for surgery, she went into cardiac arrest, and she … she died before they even did an incision."

"Oh no …."

Harvey dropped his head. "Everyone was devastated. He said this girl was intelligent, popular, beautiful …. And Paul blames himself. He feels just … awful. He feels like he should have known, like it was a mistake he made."

"Is this a concern for malpractice? I mean, could he be facing legal consequences or - ?"

"No, not in this case. Her state was just too fragile. As I told him, I wouldn't call this a mistake; it was an accident because of the weakness of her heart - not the strength of the anesthesia. Realistically, an enlarged heart can cause cardiac arrest at any time."

"And do you think that helped him feel better?"

Harvey shrugged. "I tried to console him, but he seems … really broken about it. I reminded him that this happens in the medical field - and that he knew it would. But still … he can't seem to get over it. It's been haunting him. Her death is all over the local news, and he feels like he can't escape."

"Are you all trained for this in medical school? I mean, are there any recommended ways to deal with those kinds of feelings? I'm sure he's not the first one to have this problem."

"Well, yes, of course, but knowing about it and experiencing it are two different things." Alma nodded. "I think Paul is actually doing all the right things to work through it. He's taken a few days off to grieve, he's reached out to the support team at the hospital, and he's reached out to me - a friend he wants as a sounding board. After this, it's just … time."

"I'm glad you could be there for him."

Harvey nodded. "Me too. But … it's also gotten me thinking about my own career. I have been fortunate in that I've never had a patient die under my direct care. I mean, in my residency, I-I saw patients die from old age or a long battle with a fatal disease, and I know I did my best to help them through their passing. I grieved for them - especially the first patient I witnessed die. But imagine having a patient's life in your hands, and failing to keep them alive …. That's something that will haunt you forever. I know it will happen, and I, uh … I don't know how I will handle it."

"Well," Alma started, looking at her glass, "you just mentioned a couple steps to help you cope, and I think you have all of those things in place." He looked up at her, listening intently. "In a small town like this, if someone suddenly passed away, you know the entire town would grieve. The town would get through it together, and they would understand if you needed some time to yourself. You have Dr. Katherine you can call on to help you find your way through your feelings, and just as Paul asked you to be a friendly ear for him, I'm sure he'd do the same for you - or maybe one of your other old friends would be a shoulder to lean on. Plus, you know I'm here to listen to anything you struggle with, if you're ever willing to share. You've talked with me through a lot, and I'm willing to return the favor too." She reached for his hand, and he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I appreciate that, thank you. And you're right. If that ever happens - when that happens - I have the resources in place, and I know how to use them. I would just need to give myself a little extra grace and patience." He turned his hand to hold hers. "Thank you."

She stroked his knuckles and asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

He looked up at her and smiled. Alma could still see the fear in his eyes. "Stay … a-and tell me about your day?"

"Sure." She squeezed his hand before pulling hers back. "There's not a lot to say, actually. Today was pretty boring. Those days happen, I guess." Harvey took a sip of wine and nodded. "Robin's working on the coop, I got some crops harvested, all the animals are good, sold stuff to Pierre, tried to do some fishing … that's about it."

"Tried to do some fishing? So you didn't get what you wanted?"

"No, I didn't. Sturgeon is hard. But it's needed for the community center."

"I'm sure you'll get it eventually."

"But you know, I've been thinking … I'm not sure if I should focus more on fishing or trapping. Like, should I try to get fish more with a rod or with something like a crab pot? What do you think?"

Harvey nearly choked on his wine. "Wha-What do I think?! Alma, you do not want my advice on fishing; you are already much better than I am - than I would ever be!"

Alma laughed and said, "Fair enough."

"But let me answer your question with a question: which one do you have more experience with?"

"Oh, the rod, for sure. I've never even used a crab pot."

"Well, then I'd say that's, uh … fairly obvious then, right?"

Alma lifted her glass to him. "A fisher then." He clinked his glass to hers, and they both took a sip. "Oh! I did get two letters from Demetrius this morning."

"Any more threats?" he said with a smirk.

"No, they were actually quite convivial. One giving me a recipe for fried mushrooms and one asking me for a melon for soil research."

"This is still sounding pretty consistently Dr. Demetrius. Also, fried mushrooms? Not, uh … not my thing, thanks."

"Noted!" She took a sip of her wine and asked, "What is your favorite cooked meal?"

"Mmm … I think it's called Super Meal. Gus serves it sometimes, with cranberries, artichokes, and bok choy. Light, refreshing, energizing … delicious!"

"Also noted."

"What about you?" Alma swirled her wine around while she took a minute to think. "Um … is the question that tough?"

"I'll be honest." He cocked his head to the side as he listened. "I've always loved Italian food - like, really good angel hair pasta primavera, chicken cacciatora, risotto …. But that's been ruined for me. My ex knew it was my favorite and would often cook it for me. So I don't eat a lot of Italian anymore."

Harvey nodded and took a sip of wine. "I-I'm sorry, Alma."

"No, it's okay." She smiled and said, "Not your fault." She sipped her wine too.

He watched her and looked down at his own glass. "You know, maybe it's the wine talking, but I feel I n-need to be honest too." She looked up at him, wondering what he was going to say. "You helped me tonight to work through my insecurities and fears. Maybe, uh … I can help you with yours."

"I'm listening."

"If there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you are resilient and brave. Maybe you sh-shouldn't let him ruin something that you loved before him. Maybe you need to reclaim Italian food - but in your own time, of course. Put your own twist on it, make new memories with it, that, uh … that kind of thing."

Alma laughed. "Maybe I will. 'Reclaim Italian food.' It sounds so silly, but you're right."

"Well, you've slayed monsters; you can take on pasta primavera too, don't you think?"

Alma held up her glass again. "I think I can." And again, he touched his glass to hers, and they both took a drink.