by Robin Cook
“Regular burger and medium fries,” Roger ordered.
“Got it,” Paul said.
Paul was considerably older than Roger. His face was leathered and deeply creased; he looked more like a farmer than a cook. He had spent twenty years as a short-order chef on an oil rig in the Gulf. On his right forearm was a tattoo of a gusher with the word: Eureka!
Paul stood at the grill built into a central island behind the row of cash registers. At any given time, he had a number of hamburger patties on the cooktop; each one was in response to an order. He organized the cooking by rotation so that all the burgers got the same amount of grill time. In response to the most recent wave of orders, Paul turned around and opened the chest-high refrigerator directly behind him.
“Skip!” Paul yelled when he realized the patty box was empty. “Get me a box of burgers from the walk-in.”
Skip put his mop aside. “Coming up!”
The walk-in freezer was at the very back of the kitchen, next to the walk-in refrigerator and across from the storeroom. Skip, who’d only been working at the Onion Ring for a week, had found that a significant portion of his job was to carry various supplies from storage to the preparation area.
He opened the heavy freezer door and stepped within. The door was mounted with a heavy spring and closed behind him. The interior was about ten feet by twenty feet and illuminated by a single light bulb in a wire cage. The walls were surfaced in a metallic material that looked like aluminum foil. The floor was a wooden grate.
The space was almost full of cardboard containers except for a central aisle. To the left were the large cartons full of frozen hamburger patties. To the right were the boxes of frozen french fries, fish fillets, and chicken chunks.
Skip flapped his arms against the subzero chill. His breath came in frosted clouds. Wishing to get back to the warmth of the kitchen, he scraped away the frost from the label of the first carton to his left to make sure it was ground meat. It read: MERCER MEATS. REG. 0.1 LB HAMBURGER PATTIES, EXTRA LEAN. LOT 6 BATCH 9-14. PRODUCTION: JAN 12; USE BY APR. 12.
Reassured, Skip tore open the carton and lifted out one of the inner boxes that contained fifteen dozen patties. He carried them back to the refrigerator behind Paul and put them in.
“You’re back in business,” Skip said.
Paul didn’t respond. He was too busy setting up the cooked burgers, while his mind kept a running account of the new orders Roger had given him. As soon as he could, he turned to the refrigerator, opened the patty box and extracted the number of burgers he needed. But as he was about to close the door, his eye caught the label.
“Skip!” Paul yelled. “Get your ass back here!”
“What’s wrong?” Skip questioned. He’d not left the area, but had bent down to change the trash bag under the central island’s rubbish disposal opening.
“You brought the wrong goddamn patties,” Paul said. “These just came in today.”
“What difference does it make?” Skip asked.
“Plenty,” Paul said. “I’ll show you in a second.” He then called: “Roger, how many burgers you looking for after order twenty-six?”
Roger checked his tickets. “I need one burger for twenty-seven, four for twenty-eight, and three for twenty-nine. That’s eight total.”
“That’s what I thought,” Paul said. He tossed the eight patties he had in his hand onto the grill and turned around to get the box of patties out of the refrigerator. As preoccupied as he was, he didn’t notice that the first patty he threw ended up partially covering another patty that was already on the grill.
Paul motioned for Skip to follow him and spoke while he walked. “We get shipments of frozen hamburger once every couple of weeks,” he explained. “But we have to use the older ones first.”
Paul opened the door to the walk-in freezer and was immediately confronted by the carton Skip had opened. Paul wedged the box he was carrying back into the carton and closed the lid.
“See this date?” Paul asked while pointing to the label.
“Yeah, I see it,” Skip said.
“Those other cartons back there have an older date,” Paul said. “They have to be used first.”
“Somebody should have told me,” Skip complained.
“I’m telling you now,” Paul said. “Come on, help me move these new ones to the back and the ones in the back to the front.”
Kim had returned from the restroom and had managed to squeeze his six-foot-plus frame into the seat next to Becky. There were six other individuals at the same table, including a two-year-old whose face was smeared with ketchup. He was busy beating his half-eaten hamburger with a plastic soupspoon.
“Becky, please be reasonable,” Kim said while trying to ignore the two-year-old. “I told Ginger that we’d pick her up after we finished eating.”
Becky took a breath and exhaled, slumping her shoulders. She was sulking, which was uncharacteristic for her.
“I mean, we’ve done what you wanted,” Kim said. “We’re eating together, just you and me, and it’s not at Chez Jean.”
“Well, you didn’t ask me if I wanted to pick up Ginger,” Becky said. “When you said we were coming here, I thought you meant we didn’t have to see her tonight at all.”
Kim looked off and tightened his jaw muscles. He loved his daughter, but he knew she could be frustratingly willful. As a cardiac surgeon, he was accustomed to people on his team following his orders.
Paul returned from the rearranging in the walk-in freezer to face an exasperated Roger.
“Where have you been?” Roger demanded. “We’re way behind.”
“Don’t worry,” Paul said. “Everything is under control.”
Paul picked up his spatula and began slipping the fully cooked burgers into their respective buns. The patty that had been leaning up against another was pushed aside so that the one beneath could be removed.
“Ordering thirty,” Roger barked. “Two regular burgers and one jumbo.”
“Coming up,” Paul said. He reached behind into the refrigerator to get the meat. Turning back around he tossed them onto the grill. He then used his spatula to pick up the patty that had been draped over another. Flipping it back onto the grill, it again landed so that it was leaning on another and not flat against the cooktop. Paul was about to adjust it when Roger got his attention.
“Paul, you screwed up!” Roger snapped. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
Paul looked up with his spatula suspended over the grill.
“Number twenty-five is supposed to be two jumbos not two regulars,” Roger complained.
“Shit, sorry!” Paul said. He turned back to the refrigerator to get two jumbo patties. After he tossed them onto the grill he used his spatula to press them down. Jumbos needed twice the cook-time of the regular burgers.
“And number twenty-five was supposed to have a medium fries,” Roger said irritably. He waved the ticket as if he were threatening Paul with it.
“You got it,” Paul said. He quickly filled a paper cone with the potatoes.
Roger took the fries and put them on the number twenty-five tray and shoved it over to what was called the distribution counter. “Okay,” Roger said to Paul. “Number twenty-seven’s ready to go. Where’s the burger and fries? Come on Paul, let’s get on the ball.”
“All right, already,” Paul said. Paul used his spatula to scoop up the patty that had spent most of its grill-time on top of two other patties. He slipped it into a bun and placed it on the paper plate Roger had put on the countertop in front of him. Paul shoveled on some grilled onions, then filled another paper cone with french fries.
Within seconds the teenager on the distribution counter leaned over his goosenecked microphone and said: “Pick up, number twenty-five and number twenty-seven.”
Kim stood up. “That’s us,” he said. “I’ll get the food. But after we eat, we’re going to pick up Ginger, and that’s final. And I’m going to expect you to be pleasant. Okay?”
/> “Oh, all right,” Becky said reluctantly. She stood up.
“I’ll get the food,” Kim said. “You stay put.”
“But I want to fix my own burger,” Becky said.
“Oh, yeah,” Kim said. “I forgot.”
While Becky dressed her burger with an impressive layer of various toppings, Kim picked out what he hoped would be the least offensive salad dressing. Then father and daughter returned to their seats. Kim was happy to see the ketchup-besmeared toddler had departed.
Becky perked up considerably when the boy from her school asked for some of her french fries. Kim picked up his soupspoon and was about to sample the soup when his cell phone rang against his chest. He took the phone out and put it to his ear.
“Dr. Reggis here,” he said.
“This is Nancy Warren,” the nurse said. “I’m calling because Mrs. Arnold demands that you come in to see her husband.”
“What about?” Kim asked.
Becky used both hands to pick up her burger. Even so, a couple of sliced pickles fell out from beneath the layers of bread. Undaunted, she got her mouth around the behemoth and took a bite. She chewed for a moment, then examined the bitten surface.
“Mr. Arnold is very anxious,” Nancy said. “And he says his pain medication isn’t holding. He’s also had a couple of PVC’s.”
Becky reached out and tugged on Kim’s arm, trying to get him to look at the bitten surface of her burger. Kim motioned for her to wait while he continued his cellular phone conversation: “Has he had a lot of PVC’s?”
“No, not a lot,” Nancy said. “But enough so that he’s aware of them.”
“Draw a potassium and double-up on his pain meds. Is the intensivist there?”
“Yes, Dr. Silber is in the hospital,” Nancy said. “But I think you should come in. Mrs. Arnold is insistent.”
“I’ll bet she is,” Kim said with a dismissive chuckle. “But let’s wait for the potassium level first. Also check and make sure there isn’t any marked abdominal distension.”
Kim disconnected his call. Mrs. Arnold was turning into a bigger pain in the neck than he’d imagined.
“Look at my hamburger,” Becky said.
Kim glanced at Becky’s burger and saw the ribbon of pink in the middle of the meat patty, but he was preoccupied and none too happy about the call he’d just gotten from the hospital. “Hmmm,” he said. “That’s the way I used to eat my hamburgers when I was your age.”
“Really?” Becky questioned. “That’s gross!”
Deciding it was best he speak directly to the intensivist himself, Kim dialed the hospital page number. “That was the only way I ate my hamburgers,” he said to Becky as the call went through. “Medium rare, with a slice of raw onion, not with those reconstituted grilled onions, and certainly not with all that slop.”
The hospital page operator answered, and Kim asked for Dr. Alice Silber. He said he’d hang on.
Becky looked at her burger, shrugged her shoulders, and then took another, more tentative bite. She had to admit, it tasted fine.
FOUR
Saturday, January 17th
Kim’s car rounded the bend in his street and approached his house. It was a large Tudor-style home sited on a generous wooded lot in a comfortable suburban township. At one time it had been an admirable house. Now it looked neglected. The previous fall none of the leaves had been raked up, and they now covered the lawn area with a layer of wet, dirty brown debris. Most of the house’s trim was badly peeling and sorely in need of paint, and some of the window shutters were awry. On the roof a few of the slate shingles had slipped out and were angled into the gutters.
It was nine o’clock on an overcast, wintery Saturday morning; the neighborhood seemed deserted. There was no sign of life as Kim turned into his drive and pulled up to the garage door. Even the next-door neighbor’s morning paper had yet to be retrieved from the front walk.
The interior of Kim’s house reflected the exterior. It had been mostly stripped of rugs, accessories, and furniture since Tracy had taken what she wanted when she moved out. In addition, the house hadn’t been cleaned in months. The living room in particular had a dance-hall feel, with only one chair, a tiny scatter rug, a side table with a telephone on it, and a single floor lamp.
Kim tossed his keys onto a built-in console table in the foyer before passing through the dining room into the kitchen/family room combination. He called out Becky’s name, but she didn’t answer. Kim glanced into the sink. There were no soiled dishes.
Having awakened a little after five that morning, which was his custom, Kim had gotten up and gone to the hospital to make his rounds. By the time he got home he’d expected Becky to be up and ready to go.
“Becky, you lazy bum, where are you?” Kim called out while mounting the stairs. As he crested the top he heard Becky’s bedroom door open. A moment later Becky was standing in the doorway, still dressed in her flannel nightgown. Her hair was a dark mop of tangled curls, and her eyes were heavy-lidded.
“What’s going on?” Kim asked. “I thought you’d be raring to get to your skating lesson. Let’s move it.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Becky said. She rubbed her eye with her knuckle.
“Oh?” Kim remarked. “How come? What’s wrong?”
“I have a stomachache.”
“Well, it’s nothing, I’m sure,” Kim said. “Does the pain come and go or is it steady?”
“It comes and goes,” Becky said.
“Where exactly do you feel it?” Kim asked.
Becky made some vague movements with her hand around her abdomen.
“Any chills?” Kim asked. He reached out and put his hand on Becky’s forehead.
Becky shook her head.
“Ah, nothing but a few cramps,” Kim said. “It’s probably your poor stomach complaining about last night’s junk food. You shower up and get dressed while I see to some breakfast for you. But snap it up; I don’t want your mother complaining to me about you being late for your skating.”
“I’m not hungry,” Becky said.
“I’m sure you will be after your shower,” Kim said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
Back in the kitchen Kim got out cereal, milk, and juice. Returning to the base of the stairs, he was about to call out to Becky when he could hear the unmistakable sound of the shower. Returning to the kitchen, he used the wall phone to call Ginger.
“Everybody’s okay at the hospital,” Kim said as soon as Ginger answered. “All three post-ops are sailing along fine, although the Arnolds, particularly Gertrude Arnold, are driving me bananas.”
“I’m glad,” Ginger said tartly.
“What’s wrong now?” Kim asked. He’d had another minor run-in with one of the nurses on rounds that morning and was looking forward to a stress-free day.
“I wanted to stay over last night,” Ginger said. “I don’t think it is fair . . .”
“Stop right there!” Kim snapped. “Let’s not get into this again, would you please. I’m tired of this nonsense. Besides, Becky is a little under the weather this morning.”
“What’s the matter with her?” Ginger asked. Her concern was genuine.
“Nothing much, just a stomachache,” Kim said. He was about to elaborate when he heard Becky coming down the stairs. “Uh-oh,” he intoned. “Here she comes. Listen, meet us at the rink at the mall. Bye!”
As Becky came into the room, Kim hung up the phone. She was dressed in Kim’s bathrobe, which was so big it dragged on the floor and the arms came down to midcalf.
“There’s cereal, milk, and juice on the table,” Kim said. “Feel any better?”
Becky shook her head.
“What do you want to eat?”
“Nothing,” Becky said.
“Well, you have to have something,” Kim said. “How about a shot of Pepto-Bismol?”
Becky screwed up her face into an expression of pure disgust. “I’ll have a little juice,” she suggested.
Th
e stores in the mall were just beginning to lift their shutters to start the day as Kim and Becky made their way along the corridor toward the skating rink. Kim hadn’t asked again, but he was certain Becky was feeling better. She’d ended up eating some cereal after all, and in the car she’d been her usual, talkative self.
“Are you going to stay while I have my lesson?” Becky asked.
“That’s the plan,” Kim said. “I’m looking forward to seeing that triple axel you’ve been telling me about.”
As they approached the rink, Kim handed Becky her skates that he’d been carrying. A whistle sounded, indicating the end of the preceding intermediate class.
“Perfect timing,” Kim said.
Becky sat down and started to unlace her sneakers. Kim glanced around at the other parents, mostly mothers. Suddenly he found himself locking eyes with Kelly Anderson. Despite the early-morning hour she was dressed as if she were about to go to a fashion show, and her hair looked as if she’d just emerged from a beauty salon. She smiled. Kim looked away.
A young girl about Becky’s age skated over and exited the rink. She sat down next to Becky and said “hi.” Becky returned the greeting.
“Ah, my favorite cardiac surgeon!”
Kim turned, and to his distaste he found himself face-to-face with Kelly.
“Have you met my daughter?” Kelly asked.
Kim shook his head.
“Caroline, say hello to Dr. Reggis,” Kelly said.
Despite his reluctance to get into a conversation with Kelly, Kim greeted the young girl and introduced Becky to Kelly.
“What a delightful coincidence running into you again,” Kelly said to Kim as she straightened up from shaking hands with Becky. “Did you see my segment last night on the eleven o’clock news about the hospital merger anniversary?”
“Can’t say that I did,” Kim responded.
“Shucks,” Kelly said. “You would have enjoyed it. You got some good airtime, and the consensus is that your ‘bottom line’ quote stole the show. It lit up the phone lines, which the station manager loves.”
“Remind me not to talk to you again,” Kim said.