by R.S. Grey
“Can you take this home? It’s attracting flies.”
I smile tightly and nod my head, moving to the front door with the fruit display in hand. I parked my bicycle outside of The Brew earlier and it’s still there, its cheerful, mint green paint taunting me.
“Good work today, Dr. Thatcher!” Gina says from behind me.
“Great first day!” Casey chimes in.
They’re patting him on the back as he leaves and if I turn around, I will barf.
I push through the front door of the office and he follows behind me. For a second I think he’s up to no good, but then I remember he lives across the street. How convenient.
I pick up my pace, hurrying to put distance between us. The two-way street is small and my bike is so close; I can taste freedom.
I bound off the sidewalk and tires squeal. I hear an ear-splitting HONK and Lucas Thatcher is there, grabbing my elbow and tugging me back before I collide with the front bumper of the delivery truck careening down the street.
“Watch it!” the driver yells out the window.
I shake my head and blink rapidly.
My heart is jumping out of my chest. My breaths are short, quick gasps. I vaguely register that I’m shaking with shock.
“Don’t make this too easy for me,” Lucas teases.
His arm is still squeezing me and for one long second, I close my eyes and stand there, letting him hold me. The second passes quickly though and then my shock is replaced with white-hot rage, directed at myself. How stupid can I be, not even looking both ways before crossing the street?
I yank myself out of his hold. “It’s probably not the first time someone has jumped into traffic after spending a day with you.”
It’s a nice recovery, but I still can’t believe he just saved me. How disturbing.
After checking for traffic, I run across the street and stuff my bag and the fruit in my bike’s wicker basket. Fuming, I strap my helmet on and pull my bike off the rack a little more aggressively than intended. The evening sun is beginning to dip low on the horizon, and as I pedal west toward home, I’m nearly blinded. Somehow, this is Lucas’ fault too.
A half-mile in, my heart rate increases, and his words form an echo chamber in my head.
You haven’t changed one bit, Daisy…
The fruit is from Daisy…
I didn’t realize you were a puppet now…
I begin to take my frustration out on the bike, pounding against the pedals with as much force as my legs can muster, all while imagining them to be Lucas’ sensitive parts.
Powered by my rage, I build up an impressive amount of speed as I come upon my final turn onto Magnolia Ave. I lean into the turn to compensate for my momentum, and my worn tires bite into the pavement.
Until they don’t.
I hit an oil slick, a gift to the environment from one of Hamilton’s many old, leaky farm trucks. My back tire fishtails, and my handlebars wobble in a futile effort to right the floundering ship. Time slows down as my bike, now perpendicular to my direction of travel, buckles sideways and loads me up like a circus performer in a cannon. Time speeds up just before my impact with the street.
My brain jumps into action, forcibly volunteering my left arm to take the full brunt of the fall. Valiantly, the limb springs out at the last second as if to tell the road to talk to the hand. Sadly, the road has a lot to say. I hear a sickening crack just above the overall clamor of the crash, and then an abrupt silence settles over the scene.
Chapter Five
“Nice cast,” Lucas says the next morning.
“Don’t talk to me.”
“Did they let you pick the color?”
It’s neon green, my favorite.
“No,” I lie. “It’s all they had.”
“Morning,” Gina says with a smile, doing a poor job of surreptitiously ogling Lucas. He’s wearing a light blue dress shirt that compliments his tan skin, and apparently Gina thinks it looks good on him. I hadn’t noticed.
Lucas and I have been standing in the small kitchen for the last few minutes, waiting for the coffee to finish brewing. I swear it is percolating even slower than usual.
“Oh no! Dr. Bell, what happened?”
She has finally pulled her gaze off Lucas long enough to notice the lime green elephant in the room.
“Bike accident yesterday.” I shrug, holding up my fractured wrist. “The ground came out of nowhere.”
Other than that, I’ve got a few tender ribs and a nice gash across my forehead, which is currently covered by a matching neon green Band-Aid. As soon as I leave the kitchen, I’ll exchange it for a boring beige to throw Lucas off my scent.
Dr. McCormick steps up behind Gina and shakes his head. “Sorry to hear about the accident, Daisy. Your mom called, said you two were in the hospital for a good part of the evening.”
I inwardly groan. Of course my mother thought it was appropriate to contact my boss. In her eyes, I am a 28-year-old toddler.
“It was nothing. Distal radius fracture, quick reset, cast for six weeks.”
He nods solemnly. “Even still, you two will have to see patients together until that comes off, I’m afraid.”
I turn around to check if there is another person in the tiny kitchen, anyone other than Lucas.
“What?!” we exclaim, equally disgusted by the idea.
“Dr. McCormick.” I try to recover quickly. “I assure you, I don’t need his help seeing patients. I’m perfectly capable of continuing on by myself.”
To prove my point, I reach for the patient chart I brought into the kitchen and stuff it beneath my arm. I put my unopened granola bar between my teeth and then reach down for my empty mug with my free hand.
“Voila.”
The granola bar slips out with the word and lands with a splack on top of Dr. McCormick’s brown leather loafers.
He shakes his head and turns, not nearly as amused as he should be.
“Diane is waiting for you two in room four,” Mariah says. “No rush. I just put her in and she’s still getting her robe on.”
Lucas and I look at one another and then book it out of the kitchen in tandem.
“Look, bike safety is not something to ignore,” he says, pointing to my cast. “I think my parents still have Madeleine’s old training wheels in the garage. I’d be happy to install them for you.”
I roll my eyes and let his words deflect off my bullshit force field. When all of this is over, it will be doubly satisfying knowing I out-doctored him with one arm tied behind my back.
“I can’t believe we have to see patients together like we’re first-year interns.”
I elbow him out of the way so I can nab Diane’s chart first. “Oh please. You should be so lucky to go into an exam room with me.”
He nearly smiles and then covers it up with a hard cough. My heart soars and I cover it up with a cough of my own. We are two hacking doctors standing in the hallway, moments away from being locked in padded rooms.
“So how do we want to play this?” he interrupts, changing the subject and reaching down to angle the chart so he can read it as well.
“Let’s alternate taking the lead,” I suggest diplomatically. “I’ll go first.”
“Of course.”
My time in the hospital waiting room the day before gave me a lot of time to consider my three-phase plan. Dr. McCormick went out of his way to lay down the criteria he’s looking for: community engagement and patient satisfaction. The latter will come naturally, over weeks of working in the office and worming my way into our patients’ hearts. The former will take some engineering, but I already have a brilliant idea.
Every year, Hamilton High hosts a fair that celebrates the founding of the town and gives kids of all ages an excuse to eat cotton candy until they puke. The PTA invites businesses to rent out booths and I plan on hosting one for McCormick Family Practice. Community engagement: check.
“Dr. Bell, are you nearly finished reviewing her chart? I’ve never s
een such medical devotion to a case of the sniffles,” Lucas says, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I flip Diane’s chart closed and open her door. “Ms. Pecos, how are you feeling today?”
“Terrible,” she replies with a congested Texas accent.
“What seems to be the trouble?”
“Stuffy nose, watery eyes, you name it. I have a terrible headache that only goes away when I sleep. It’s been this way for the last three days.”
I check to confirm she has no fever.
“Ms. Pecos, we’ll run a few tests to confirm, but it sounds like it could be a nasty cold. You might just have to let it run its course—”
“No! That won’t work!” She wrings out her hands. “You see, there’s this guy. We’re supposed to be going on a third date tonight.”
“Well if you’re worried it might be contagious, you can always reschedu—”
“No, you don't get it. This is the sexiest guy I've ever dated, and I think he wants to take the relationship to the next level. Tonight.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“I can’t do…that…with a runny nose and puffy eyes!” She looks frantic.
"Well if he’s a good guy,” Lucas says. “He’ll understand a little cold."
She looks between the two of us like we’re idiots.
“No! Haven’t either of you been with someone you’re so attracted to you can hardly stand it?”
I swallow.
“Almost like you can’t even handle standing in the same room as them. Your hands sweat, your heart rate goes up, and”—Lucas and I meet each other’s eyes and then immediately glance away—“and I just want everything to be perfect. You have to help me.”
I push Lucas closer.
“I understand. Don’t worry Ms. Pecos, we’re going to do everything we can to help. My assistant here is going to swab your throat so we can rule out a bacterial infection.”
Lucas gives me annoyed side-eye, but still reaches for the long cotton swab.
Once he’s swabbed her throat, he hands the sample off to Mariah in the hallway to prep. “How long have your eyes bothered you?” Lucas asks. “Were they irritated before you got sick?”
I hold my arm out to separate him from Ms. Pecos. “I apologize for the twenty questions—he’s shadowing me today, and he’s still learning how to interact with patients. Sit up straight for me and let’s have a listen to your lungs.”
I move around the exam table and maneuver into position, only to realize my cast will make it nearly impossible. I try to put my stethoscope on one-handed and Lucas steps closer.
“I don’t need your help,” I mutter.
He tilts his head and watches me struggle.
After ten long seconds, I get the stethoscope in place. “Right, okay. Deep breath for me.”
I press my good hand to her back and try to maneuver the chestpiece with my casted hand. My attempt is futile.
Lucas grows impatient and steps closer so he can replace me. I don’t budge, and there are suddenly too many cooks in the exam room.
“If you’d just step aside, Dr. Bell, I can listen to our patient’s lungs and rule out any pulmonary issues.”
“I’m fine right here.”
He reaches over, grabs my biceps, and shifts me out of the way like I’m filled with air.
I step right back to where I was before. He will not edge me out of this office. Ms. Pecos shifts uncomfortably.
“Dr. Bell, would you please join me in the hallway for a moment?” Lucas says in a measured voice. “I think Mariah might be back with the slide results.”
He doesn’t wait for me to reply, just walks to the door and holds it open like a parent who’s caught me breaking curfew. I smile softly at Ms. Pecos and walk out, dejected.
When we’re alone in the hall, he turns to me.
“What’s your game plan, Daisy? We can’t do this dance with every patient for the next six weeks.”
“You are absolutely right. Here’s a plan: you give your resignation and I go on with my life, happier than ever.”
“You have one hand—”
“Lucas, you of all people should know how much can be accomplished with only one hand.”
I flick my eyes down to his slacks—not because I care what lies beneath them, but because I need to shove the double entendre past his thick skull.
He steps closer, sustaining my taunt.
“You sound like you know from experience.”
He’s wearing a knowing smile and it’s not the smile he wore as a teenager. That was easy to deflect. This little smirk holds dark promises and I realize suddenly that Lucas is a man now—a man who enjoys crowding my space and getting inside my head. I try to look past him, but his shoulders are too broad and he’s waiting for a comeback so I open my mouth and speak.
“Um…Ms. Peni—MS. PECOS, I mean, needs us.” I clear my throat and look down the hall, praying for Mariah to round the corner. HOW LONG CAN IT TAKE TO READ THE TEST STRIP? She’s nowhere, I am alone with Lucas, and the office is suddenly hotter than Hades. I pinch my lapel and air out my blouse. “I think we should…be doctors—stop looking at me like that. Just turn around while we wait for Mariah.”
“You’re blushing,” he says, sounding pleased.
I’ve had enough; I turn on my heel to find Mariah and that godforsaken test strip.
She’s in the lab and when she sees me, she tilts her head and her eyes assess me warily.
“Is everything all right, Dr. Bell?”
“Yes.”
“You look really flushed.”
“It’s the A/C in this place. What’s the thermostat set on?”
“62.”
“Is that in Fahrenheit?”
“Do you want to sit do—why are you fanning yourself like that?”
She’s handling me the way I handled the patients during my psych rotation, and sadly, she is smart to give me a wide berth.
It’s day two and Lucas is already starting to unnerve me.
After the longest work day of my life, I stand on the curb, waiting for my mom to pick me up like I am back in the third grade.
“Yoohoo, paging Dr. Bell!”
HONK HONK.
My mom swerves in front of me like she’s a soccer mom in a sporty hatchback commercial. For the next six weeks, she is my chauffeur. My cast has not only impeded my ability to see patients on my own, but has also forced me into vehicular dependency courtesy of my loud mother. There’s no way I could ride my bike one-handed.
“Oh this is so fun! Just like when I used to pick you up early from school when you peed your pants or cried after visiting the zoo on a field trip. You wanted to set all those animals free.” Her eyes glistened. “My little activist.”
I squeeze my eyes closed and slide into the passenger seat.
“Mom,” I hiss. “Please. Everyone can hear you—stop doing that—who are you waving at?”
“Look who it is!” She rolls down my window and shouts past me, “Lucas! Oh, oops! I should say, Dr. Thatcher!”
I don’t turn to confirm that she is waving Lucas closer to the car.
“Dr. Lucas Thatcher!” she shouts and then says to me, “He has turned into such a handsome man.”
I will not sit idly by while she compliments the uncomplimentable.
For half a moment we fight for control of the power window on my side. Up-down, up-down. I focus all the muscles in my body on the tiny button, but she thwarts me with a mother’s most powerful tool: child lock. She pops them into place and slides the window down with ease.
“Evening, Mrs. Bell,” Lucas says from somewhere on my right. I stare out the front window with a rigid focus. “For a second I thought one of Daisy’s friends was picking her up. Is that a new haircut?”
My mom titters and touches her ends. “Oh stop it, you. It’s nothing. Just a fresh trim.”
“Mom, we had better get going. Traffic is getting pretty bad,” I say, pointing out the front window.
I stayed in North Carolina for Thanksgiving last year and my mom subsequently regaled me with stories of how the Thatchers invited her over to their house for Thanksgiving dinner. She and Lucas allegedly played board games together “for hours”.
Lucas leans down and props his elbows on the open window. “You’re the reigning Pictionary champ. Those weekly painting classes have really been paying off Mrs. Bell.”
“Oh, you know I only go to those for the wine.”
My mother is flirting. I turn my back to Lucas so I’m facing the center console. “Mom. I’m tired and I’m hungry.”
“Maybe now that the gang’s all back in town, we can get everyone together for game night?” She pins me against the seat with her arm. Her ability to ignore me is baffling. It’s a wonder I wasn’t malnourished as a child.
I consider reaching down and punching the gas pedal with my casted claw-hand. There are several children crossing the street ahead of us, but it might still be worth it. She’s got a clean driving record and no priors; with the right judge and good behavior, she’d be out of prison in no time.
“Seriously, Mom. I feel faint.” I make my voice sound wobbly and weak.
“There’s half of a Fiber One bar in my purse. Listen, Lucas, you tell your mom I’ll give her a call later this week and we’ll set it up.”
He agrees with a “yes ma’am”.
Who is he kidding?
“I’ll see you in the morning, Daisy,” he says before tapping on the hood and walking in front of the car. Pedestrians on the sidewalk crane their necks to watch him like he’s something special.
I roll my eyes.
“Rough day?”
“The roughest. You know, I don’t see why you still talk to him. You’re supposed to be on my side. You’re my mom.”
“I’d be on your side if you were right, but in this case, you’re both in the wrong. You two have taken a silly childhood molehill and renamed it a mountain.”