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“Ma’am. There is nothing wrong with Fred.”
“I’m so relieved,” Mrs. Abbott says. Mrs. Abbott, whose Pekingese, Fred, has no symptoms of any kind, though she insisted he wasn’t feeling well, is watching me very carefully.
“You seem like quite a catch. How is it that you’re single, dearie?”
If I didn’t know any better, and I don’t, I’d swear Mrs. Abbott, who is Stella’s great-aunt, is only here to try and get gossip from the newest bachelor in town. “I probably work too much, ma’am.”
“That’s not good for a man. You know what they say about all work and no play. I hope you like the cookies I made.” We both glance at the platter of heart-shaped cookies on the counter.
“That was very thoughtful of you. I better not eat them all myself though.”
Like several of the townspeople this week, Mrs. Abbott is trying to make me feel welcome, and I appreciate it, though I’m not sure how a single man could be expected to eat this entire platter of cookies by himself.
She winks at me. “There’s plenty there to share. You’re such a handsome young man. I’m sure you’ll find just the right person to share the cookies with. My special recipe you know. These cookies helped me lure the love of my life to me. Maybe they’ll do the same for you. Very romantic. There is a lovely spot in the park under the trellis...perfect to share cookies with someone special. Maybe the love of your life? You never know.” She winks at me. “Or maybe we do know, yes?”
The love of my life?
I’d known, on some level, that practicing in a small town would be different. I’d expected some concern and some curiosity and some welcome. But I hadn’t expected it on the level to which I’ve been subjected. Everyone is very concerned with my bachelor status. And they all seem convinced I’m dating someone they know.
Fishbowl.
Mrs. Abbott, though, stands out. Not only because of the cookies, but because she’s also dressed in head-to-toe leopard print. Her jaunty little hat is pinned in place to a helmet of shellacked red hair that matches perfectly to the shade of red on her lips. I can’t help but wonder if Stella spends a lot of time with her because their sensibilities are very well synced.
“You seem like a very nice boy, Dr. Lockwood.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Abbott. I’ll pass that on to my parents.”
She squints at me. “A little cheeky, though.”
I hold my arms up in mock surrender.
“We could use more nice boys in this town. You should move here permanently. You’d fit in nicely.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. For now, I’m just here temporarily. My life is in the city.”
“You young people always think life is better in the city.” She shakes her head. She’s packing Fred back into his leopard print carrier. “I expect I’ll see you at my nephew’s wedding. The whole town is coming. Toodles!”
I scoot my rolling stool over to the little writing desk to finish my notes on Fred and think about what she said. I love to kayak the bay in the mornings, just as dawn is breaking and painting the horizon pink. I wouldn’t make as much money here, but I’m practicing real medicine as opposed to some of the more cosmetic things I’m expected to do to pets in the city.
Maybe it’s a good time to put down roots. I’m past thirty now. Maybe when I get back to the city, I’ll start the search a little more seriously. I could offer my wife and children a very stable life—something I never had growing up, despite the neighborhood and money I grew up with. Because my parents are unsuited to each other in every way. They love each other, yes. But they fight constantly.
I open a file for my cancer patient coming in next. Shadow, a yellow lab. The last entry is written in pink glittery ink. I try to tamp down my reaction, but I feel my heartbeat in my temples. Pink, glittery ink is bordering on ludicrous and no way to run a medical office. I slam the jacket closed and stride out the door with it in my hand.
“Stella, we need to have a talk.”
The guileless expression on her face makes me inexplicably more upset. She is pink today. Her lips, her hair scarf, her dress. Well, pink with white polka dots. The dress is tight in the bodice, but how could it not be? Her breasts challenge every bodice they meet. Despite the dots, which seem a bit juvenile to me, but she apparently adores as fifty percent of her wardrobe is spotted similarly, the color isn’t as bold as usual. It’s almost neutral. Calming.
Beguiling.
Like she wore it to put me off balance.
I notice the folder in my hand and remember why I marched out. I shake it in her direction, and she gifts me with raised eyebrows. Which makes me notice her eyes again. How impossibly blue they are. I bet she uses one of her glitter pens on them every morning.
“We need to talk,” I repeat.
“That’s the rumor. What’s up, doc?”
“No more rainbow pens. And stop calling me doc.”
She tilts her head to her shoulder and studies me. “Are you all right? There’s a tic in your jaw.”
“I’m fine. Blue or black ink only. No more colors.”
“Excuse me?”
I open the file and point to the offending ink. “This is an important medical file, not a smash book or seventh grade love note. Pink glitter is not professional. Blue or black ink only.”
I pause and wait for her rebuttal. She blinks at me like maybe I’m speaking another language. And I am. It is called Grown Up and she’s not fluent.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your paper clips also.”
She stands and I get the full view of all those damned curves. “Do you need some water or something? You look kind of sweaty. What’s wrong with my paper clips?”
“They are cute.”
She picks one up and pretends it’s walking across the desk like a toy figure. “I know. I love these, with the puppy ears.”
“Stella...”
“Christopher...” she mimics and rounds the counter. “You are not my boss. I’ll use whatever paper clips or pens I want. I run the office; you fix the critters. I am not your employee; I am your colleague with my own department to run. And it runs very, very well.”
“I am the veterinary doctor here.”
“Yep. And do I tell you how to do that? No. That’s your department.”
“The way of the world is that the doctor is in charge and the receptionist...”
She covers my mouth. “Please don’t finish that statement. You’ll regret it later.”
I remove her hand, but don’t let go. I’m about to tell her more, but I inhale that damned cherry scent.
My gaze travels to where I’m holding her hand in mine. I turn it over, examining the way it fits so well in my own and that’s when I see it. “What’s that?” I ask about a small red mark.
“It’s just a little burn. No big deal. I should stick to salads, huh?”
I don’t like the way it marked her flesh. “You should be careful.” I want to say more, the words are balled up in my throat, but I know they’ll sound stupid and won’t make any sense at all. I can’t tell her I wish she had a life of no pain or small scars. I can’t tell her that I wish I had been there to make sure she had a proper oven mitt or that I would have jumped in front of her to save her from errant grease splatters.
But I would have. At this moment, this moment that stretches until it feels like the rest of the world blurs around me, I would do any ridiculous thing life requires of me to protect her. I don’t know why. I don’t want to know why. She exacerbates me. I don’t think I even like her. Why is it that I want to wrap her in bubble wrap and slay her dragons?
I’m standing in my place of business, holding my receptionist’s hand and fighting the urge to kiss a burn to make it better. The front door chimes, and she pulls away from me when I don’t want to let go.
Come back.
This is ridiculous. I don’t know what Mrs. Abbott put in those cookies, but I won’t be eating any more of them.
I shake hands with the woman who entered and say hello to Shadow. Shadow’s collar is pink with gold, glittering thread. When she sees Stella, she gets animated, showing me promise of a hopeful prognosis. It becomes obvious the way the dog and my receptionist roll around the carpet together that the two are old friends and that Stella most likely picked out the collar as a gift for the dog and wore her dress today to match our patient.
I’m equally confounded and in awe.