by Susan Sands
“What is it?”
“Looks like Mom’s got company. That’s Monica’s car.” He made to leave when a woman came rushing out of the house waving her arms.
“Well, shit.” He put the car in park and looked at Rachel for a second. “I can’t apologize enough for this.”
Nick appeared so upset, Rachel felt the need to comfort and support him in this nasty situation. “It’s okay. This isn’t your fault. It’s a setup. I’ll stay here. You go handle this.”
His look of relief was profound. “Thank you.”
He unbuckled his seat belt and walked toward the slim middle-aged blonde woman dressed in head-to-toe Lily Pulitzer. She could have passed for a woman fifteen years younger than Rachel knew she must be. That kind of upkeep took full-time work. Rachel recognized it from years of living in the Garden District of New Orleans.
Nick approached his mother and she turned her cheek to him for his kiss. The woman then focused on Nick’s car, where Rachel sat in the passenger’s seat. She wasn’t smiling.
Nick was speaking to his mother, who then pointed toward the house. His mom then spared Rachel one more glare before preceding Nick onto the front porch and into the house.
Rachel’s natural curiosity made her wish she’d been a fly on the wall with a camera in that house right now.
After about ten minutes, a tall, slim, dark-haired woman came out of the house, clearly sobbing. Monica. All Rachel could think was, she looks like me, but prettier.
It was a bizarre sensation. Rachel felt an urge to comfort this distraught woman who appeared uncertain whether to get into her car and leave or go back inside the house. Rachel was a voyeur to Monica’s pain. Then, suddenly, Monica focused directly on Rachel, and made a beeline toward the car. Once Rachel was in her sights, the woman’s expression turned furious. Rachel suddenly wanted to lock the doors and roll up the windows, which had been left partway down, as the weather was comfortable outside.
“You. You’re the reason Nicholas won’t talk to me.” Monica was pointing at her through the window.
Rachel wanted to deny her words, but part of her had a burning urge to not be a victim of this attack by a woman she’d never met. Where was Nick?
“Monica, right? You should calm down. I’m sure Nick would be happy to speak with you.” Rachel did her best to find words that worked here.
“We were supposed to be together when he got back. He just needed a little space. I can’t believe he brought you here.”
Rachel was becoming annoyed. “But he did bring me here. Look, I don’t know anything about your relationship with Nick, but you can’t go around screaming at people who didn’t do anything to you.”
Nick finally reached the car and tried to gently pull Monica away from the window. “Monica, leave Rachel out of this. She isn’t to blame for anything.”
“Nick, how can you do this to me? How could you insult me like this? By having her here?”
“When I last spoke to Mom, I told her I would call if I was coming in town for the game. I didn’t call, so I guess she hoped I would and asked you over just in case. She didn’t have any idea I was bringing Rachel, and that was my fault. I left her a message less than an hour ago to tell her we were dropping by. I guess she didn’t get it.”
“I guess she didn’t, did she? Because she never would have set me up like this. Like you did.”
“Monica, I never meant to hurt you. I hope you know that.”
“You’re only saying that because she can hear us. I really believed you would change your mind once you got back. I certainly never thought you would find someone else in the meantime. And I can’t believe you would come home and not call.”
Monica’s destroyed expression, Rachel truly felt sorry for the woman. “Monica, we haven’t spoken since we broke up. I’m not sure why you thought I would call when I returned. I didn’t leave any room for you to question my intentions. I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us, but I didn’t lead you on.”
Nick walked Monica to her car, and she drove away.
He returned to where Rachel was waiting, his posture defeated. Rachel had hoped he was over his ex, and now she saw that he still cared. He cared, but he didn’t seem to be in love with her.
He opened the door and sat down in the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
“I think maybe today wouldn’t be the best day to meet my parents.”
“Do you think your mom set you up, or that she really didn’t get your message?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I honestly don’t know. On the one hand, I don’t think she would put Monica in that situation. But she may have thought if I saw Monica again I would change my mind and come rushing back to her.”
“But, she’s you mom and thought she was doing you a favor.”
“Are you kidding? She was manipulating me either way. Depending on which scenario is how it went down, one is just a whole lot worse than the other.”
“I didn’t want to speak ill of your mother.”
“That’s kind of you, but I know the score. Mom was trying to help Monica’s cause because she wants us back together. Period. She’s inside sulking now because I let her have it for being so cruel to Monica and to you.”
“So, do you still want to go to the game?” Rachel asked.
“What? Of course. I hate that Monica was upset, and that you were as well, but I don’t want you to think I was upset because I still have feelings for her. I felt sorry that she was hurt, but not because I want to be with her. I hope you believe me.”
“She looks an awful lot like me. Don’t you think that means something?” Rachel asked.
“Are you kidding?” He appeared bamboozled by her question.
“You clearly have a type. I thought you might have singled me out because you missed her.”
He shook his head, still denying her words. “I see you so completely different, Rachel. You don’t resemble her at all in my mind. Any physical similarities are a coincidence. I guess we all have a type, but that doesn’t relate to who you are. I mean, I think you are gorgeous and sexy, but you are you. I don’t see her in any way when I look at you. End of that story.”
She would take him at his word, if she could. But that wasn’t her stong suit. She’d mistrusted so much over the past several years since her father’s sins and secrets had been revealed by the dozens. Rachel needed to shove her doubt aside, at least for the rest of their trip. She would have all the time in the world to be her suspicious self when they got back home.
It wasn’t that she believed he was still hung up on Monica, it was something about their strong physical resemblance that bothered her. Maybe he went for their dark coloring to avoid anyone who resembled his own mother. Now, that was something to discuss with her therapist sister when she got home.
“I was planning to stop by the hospital where I worked before we had dinner, but I don’t feel up to it. So, we can head down to Ponce City Market if you want until our reservations.”
He said, worked, in past tense. “Oh, are you moving to a new job when you get back?”
“Not right away, though I’ve negotiated for a job at Emory once the head of their trauma department retires next year.”
“Negotiated, as in agreed to come to Ministry if they give you the big job you want.”
He smiled tightly. “Something like that.”
“Do you hate it so much? Our little town? Because you don’t seem to.” She tried to keep her hurt feelings from bleeding into her voice.
He glanced over at her. There was emotion in his eyes. “No. I don’t hate being in Ministry. In fact, I feel more relaxed and at peace there than I have anywhere in a very long time. All the years in medical school, internship, and during my residency were stressful and competitive. Even working in a big level I trauma hospital is a non-stop adrenaline dump. So, spending time in Ministry, treating patients for gout and appendicitis has been a we
lcome break.”
“Oh. Well, that’s nice to hear.” But how long would he be content with that kind of lifestyle?
“And spending time with you. That’s been the best part.”
A warm, happy feeling spread through her and she tried not to slide into a puddle on the floor of his car. “Me too.”
He reached over and put his big, strong healing hand over hers.
“Are you sure you don’t want to stop by the hospital?” she asked. “I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do something.”
“Nah. I thought I wanted to go, but I really can’t think of a single person there I miss enough to go to the trouble.” He smiled. “I’d rather walk on the greenspace and go to the market. I think you’ll like it. The restaurant is nearby.”
“Okay. Sounds nice.”
As they arrived, he played the role of tour guide. “This is the beltline. It used to be the old rail line that connected commerce, and now city planners have turned it into a greenspace, and they’ve begun a huge renovation of the old, abandoned warehouses and buildings along the rail system and turned them into a residential district.”
He suggested she bring her camera when they parked. She soon understood why. They walked on a greenway trail beside huge, beautiful murals painted on the sides of buildings. Like graffiti, but obviously allowed by the city. “This is amazing,” she said as she snapped photos as bikes whizzed by, and people walked at a quick pace for exercise, or just ambled hand-in-hand. There were all ages and races represented here: from babes in strollers to the eldest of citizens, using walkers and canes for aid.
The Ponce City Market, she discovered, was housed in the historic Sears and Roebuck building in downtown Atlanta. It was a mixed-use development with shops, restaurants, offices, and loft apartments. “Wow, how cool.” It was also an artist’s dream—from its open-air food market to Skyline Park on the roof, complete family fun with games and a carnival that offered a spectacular view of the city.
She was suddenly quite glad they hadn’t taken the time to stop by his hospital and done this instead.
After dinner, they were heading to the new Falcon’s stadium, which had just been completed last year. It was supposed to be a state-of-the-art facility.
It was almost dark by the time they walked toward the restaurant, which was two blocks down from the market, and Rachel got a strange sensation upon entering. Maybe it was the odd stare from the hostess because she was wearing her Saints jersey. It wouldn’t be the first one of the day.
“Right this way, Dr. Sullivan.” The wispy girl motioned for them to follow.
They were seated at an impossibly tiny table for two beside a window with a fantastic view of the city. “Are we under dressed?” Rachel asked Nick.
“No. I don’t think so. I checked when I made the reservation if they had a dress code.” They looked around at the other diners. Some were dressed far nicer, but there were several who appeared to be doing the same as Nick and Rachel, based on their red and black Falcons attire.
Rachel tried to make heads or tails of the food choices on the menu in front of her, she really did.
“What is this place? It was tops on Atlanta Magazine’s fifty best restaurants in the city. I can’t even figure out what chanterelles are to save my life.”
Rachel laughed, relieved she wasn’t the only one. “What’s vadouvan and sorrel?”
“Beats me.”
“I see they have duck, but I’m sorry to say that I don’t eat duck.”
“I don’t eat food I can’t pronounce or have to ask what it is. I consider myself a pretty educated person who’s been to more than a few nice restaurants, and I don’t know what most of these dishes are. I made this reservation months ago when I got these tickets to the game because I wanted to try the place, and I’ve heard they are nearly impossible to get, but I don’t want to eat here in the least.”
He stood and reached for her hand. “How do you feel about a game dog?”
She exhaled her relief and took his hand. “Thank you.”
The somewhat snooty hostess looked at them in horror as they approached. “Is there a problem, Dr. Sullivan?” She hadn’t even addressed Rachel besides the snide glance at her jersey when they’d arrived.
“I realize you don’t make the menus, but there are too few selections, and we don’t recognize half of what’s listed. If you would pass that on, I would appreciate it.”
The woman’s expression changed to total comprehension. “You know, you’re not the first person to tell me that. I’ve tried to tell the owner and the chef, but since that Atlanta Magazine food critic came through and ranked us at the top of their restaurant list, enough people fight to get in just to say they ate here that nobody is listening. I’m sorry you weren’t pleased. I will pass it along—again.”
“I guarantee it won’t last long if they don’t make the menu for the mainstream and customer-friendly with so many other great restaurants opening up in the area. Good luck.”
The hostess nodded.
They headed out, and Rachel was relieved to be on their way to a big, fat game dog and fries.
“I hope you didn’t think I was nasty to the poor girl,” Nick said once they were back in the car.
“Nope. She was in total agreement with you. Obviously, we aren’t the first or the last who’ve gone in thinking we were getting a great meal and left before ordering. The food might be fantastic, but for those prices, I wouldn’t take a chance on ordering something I don’t even know if I like.”
He smiled at her then. “We really do think alike, don’t we?”
“We seem to agree on a lot of things. Definitely about game dogs being a better choice tonight. Chili-cheese with onions and mustard for me.”
“Relish, mustard, and onions for me. Hold the chili.”
She made a face at him. “Party-pooper.”
Chapter Twelve
Nick and Rachel arrived at the brand-spanking new Mercedes-Benz Stadium at least an hour before kick-off, which gave them plenty of time to wander around and have a look at all the snazzy upgrades. All Nick could think, as he noticed the obvious multi-millions spent on such a facility, was that the Falcons better kick butt this year. If they didn’t, the population of Atlanta, in general, wasn’t going to appreciate their hard-earned tax dollars being spent on such an over-the-top display when there was a perfectly good stadium sitting right next door that was about to be imploded.
There were plans for the old Georgia Dome space, which would be turned into a green space and parking area to be used for tailgating on game days, and as a culture, arts, and music venue during other times. Nick hated to see the dome go, but hopefully, the city would do all they promised to make good use of the area once it was demolished.
Atlanta was his city, and he cared what happened here.
“Wow. This place is amazing. I hate to admit it, but it’s even more impressive than the Superdome in New Orleans, even after they re-did it after Katrina.”
“Now, that is a hostile fan environment.”
She ignored that. “How did you manage to get tickets on the fifty-yard line in the new stadium?”
Nick shrugged. He would save her the gory details. “I saved a guy’s life. He appreciated it.”
“Now that sounds like a story.”
“Let’s just say, he didn’t have much of a chance at surviving a gunshot wound when he came into the emergency room. We gave him our best efforts, and he made it. Now, I have some sweet seats to this game.”
“Sounds like a lot of excitement, and maybe a little danger here,” she said.
“The danger is usually over by the time we get them. We deal with the consequences of whatever bad decisions and poor choices people make that brings them to us. Sometimes our patients are just in the wrong place at the wrong time or wind up in terrible circumstances, like traffic accidents. Lots of traffic in Atlanta. And lots of trauma from the accidents.”
“Have you missed the pace? The exc
itement of wondering what might come crashing through the door at any moment?” Rachel asked.
Nick hadn’t really thought about that. “No. I guess I don’t. I’ve enjoyed the reduced stress. Not losing patients daily to senseless tragedy has been a relief, quite frankly, and very easy to get used to.”
They purchased their game dogs and fries, along with two giant drinks, then found their seats. “These are incredible seats.”
“Yeah. They’re sold out for the season already if you look on the website. I think these are the kind of season tickets you can’t get unless somebody dies and you inherit them,” he said.
She nodded. “My dad had those kind of season tickets at the Superdome when I was growing up. Being a political bigwig, we were always able to get tickets to anything anywhere. That’s one of the few things I miss about that lifestyle. We were recognized almost anywhere we went because of my dad, so he and Mom always knew what we were up to. I don’t miss that.”
“Where’s your dad now?”
“He bought a house on the shore in Orange Beach. Cammie asked me the other day if we had invited him for Christmas. I felt somewhat guilty because I hadn’t given it a thought.”
“I know what you mean by feeling guilty about discounting someone for Christmas. I’ll be in Ministry, and I don’t have any intention of coming home during the holidays, even if I get a day or two off at Christmas. I just can’t stomach the idea of going back for one of those family dinners where we all dress up, speak politely and pass the potatoes. Mom pretends the entire time there’s a camera in the room recording us. It’s her way of proving to herself that we can all behave properly, and that she did a good job as a mother raising us.”
“Holidays are a lot more fun now that we live in Ministry. All that formality fell right off us as if we never lived in a household like that. And we did live in a household like that, though my mother never expected us to behave perfectly or stiffly, even when we dressed up and trotted out the good china every Sunday at the dining room table.”