Could Be Something Good
Page 6
“Why, what does Maggie do?”
“Nothing she doesn’t want to. She’s still in high school. She’s just contrary as the day is long. Wants nothing to do with medicine whatsoever.” He took his bite and talked through it. “Sorry, I’m just dying of starvation. What about you? Is your dad a doctor? Your siblings?”
“I don’t have any siblings, and my dad was an English professor.”
He nodded slowly. “Was?”
“Yes. He died when I was ten. Heart attack.”
He felt like he’d swallowed a lead ball. “That sucks.”
She shrugged. “It did. He ran marathons, he always ate right. It was a total shock, but what can you do?”
“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head, and he let his hands fall to his lap, his stomach feeling sour. “That sucks, Winnie. I’m sorry.”
Her gaze dropped to the bag again.
“I see you pining for your nachos,” he teased, grateful for an opportunity to change the subject. He didn’t like to see her sad. “Just let me open them for you, and you can pick at them while you drive.”
Winnie licked her lips, and he grinned. “No, no,” she said, almost as if she was arguing with herself. “I can’t. I don’t eat while I drive. It’ll spill and make a mess.”
Daniel pulled out the plastic container that held the nachos and removed the clear lid, inhaling deeply just over the surface of the cheese. “Sure smells good.”
“Stop that.” She was weakening. He could hear it in her voice, and he filed that timbre away for later, when she might be weakening similarly in her resolve regarding . . . other things.
“It’s gonna get soggy,” he said, wafting the scent toward her with the lid. “Just one chip.”
“No.” She scowled. “We’re almost there.”
“Your self-control is admirable,” he said, plucking a chip from the container and popping it into his mouth.
Winnie’s guttural outrage startled him. “Did you just eat my chip? Daniel Durand, that is MY food! Do not put your dirty hands on my food!”
“Dirty?” he asked, still chewing. “I’m a doctor. I’m always clean.”
“Disgusting. Seriously.”
“I only touched the one I took, I promise.”
“I want to take your word for it, but . . .”
“You can totally take my word for it. I promise. Your food is un-germified,” he said as they pulled into Winnie’s designated spot under the carport. “Here,” he said, covering the food as he passed it to her. “It’s all yours.”
“It better be,” she mumbled as she shoved three chips into her mouth. “So good,” she groaned.
He opened the car door and stuck one leg out. “You coming inside?”
“In a minute,” she sighed. “So tired.”
“I’ll get your bag for you,” he said, heaving his body out of the economy car and dragging himself to the back. She must have been fine with that, because she popped the trunk. He tried to lift the bag to his shoulder, but he stumbled at the additional weight all on one side. “Good Lord, woman. What is in this bag?”
“Everything,” she yawned. “Everything you need to bring a new person into the world, it’s in that bag.” They both staggered up the two flights of outdoor stairs and Winnie led the way into the apartment.
“Hello?” she called. “Ainsley?” Hearing no response, Winnie shuffled down the hall toward the bedrooms, still softly calling her roommate’s name. When she reappeared, her face was pinched with worry. “I don’t think she’s here. I’m sorry.”
Daniel shook his head, grinning. Of course she forgot. And of course Winnie would apologize for someone else’s mistake. “Don’t worry about it. She’s been standing me up for years now. She’ll remember at eight tomorrow night, most likely, when she slows down enough to look at her calendar.” He sat down hard on their slate-gray couch. “I’ll call Kyle. He’ll bitch about it, but he’ll come get me.”
“Oh, I can run you home.”
“You sure? Because it’s possible Kyle is already asleep. God knows I would be if I were home right now.”
Winnie nodded. “Just let me eat first. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
He should go sit next to her on a hard stool and make polite conversation while she finished her breakfast, but he couldn’t get up. He felt he was sinking deeper and deeper into the couch with each passing second. His feet were swollen from being on them all night, his legs felt like jelly; he propped them up on the coffee table to get a little relief. He’d just close his eyes for a minute until Winnie came back from wherever she’d gone. Maybe she was falling asleep, too . . .
DANIEL WOKE UNHAPPILY to the slamming of a door. He lifted a hand to rub his face and found that his arms had been covered with a soft plaid wool blanket that he didn’t recognize. It was white with silver running in a thin pattern. Pendleton wool, pricey. Winnie must have covered him up; her nachos had disappeared from the counter.
“Oh crap,” Ainsley groaned, dropping her stuff onto a bar stool. It didn’t stay and fell to the floor with a thud that made Daniel glad he didn’t live below her. “We were going to build that thing today, weren’t we? I knew I was forgetting something . . .”
“It’s okay.” He’d apparently slumped over, resting his head on the arm of the couch, and he sat up, looking around. There was a hot-pink sticky note on the coffee table, and he worked to decipher the handwriting:
You fell asleep. Knock on my bedroom door when you want to go home, and I’ll take you.
–Winnie
The thoughtful gesture brought a huge smile to his face; that was so her. She might put on a cold front at times, but deep down, he was starting to see that she was a generous friend. He loved that.
Ainsley plopped down next to him on the couch. “You know, it would help me remember if you were actually mad at me when I forgot our hang-outs.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” he said, tipping over to put his head on her shoulder. He yawned again, pulling the blanket up higher over himself. “Besides, it’s part of your charm.”
“Don’t go to sleep on me,” she said, pushing at his shoulder. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
She stood up, and without her supporting him, he tipped over to lie flat against the couch cushions. “Harumpsh.”
Ainsley snickered. “What does that mean?” she asked, as she unloaded the dishwasher.
“That’s the noise tired doctors make when they sleep in a weird position all day waiting for their inconsiderate friend to come home.” Daniel sat up again, rubbing at his sore neck with both hands. Winnie appeared in the entrance to the living room looking bleary-eyed, a fuzzy rose shawl around her shoulders. The woman had a thing for pink. “Ainsley wake you up, too?”
She nodded, rubbing her eyes.
“You guys want dinner?”
“No, I’ve got dinner with my grandparents today.”
“Oh, that’s right. I knew that. Daniel, you hungry?”
There was a knock at the front door, and Winnie went to answer it, yawning.
“Mom?”
“Hello, Winifred.”
Daniel sat upright immediately at the sound of his mentor’s voice, as if someone had thrown a lever and ejected him from the couch. Dr. Baker was leaning away from the kiss on the cheek she’d given her daughter, staring at him, her features tight. “Dr. Durand?”
“Dr. Baker, nice to see you.”
Her piercing gaze bounced between the blanket, Winnie’s pajama-ed appearance, and his own disheveled clothing. She didn’t need to say anything for him to read the assumptions she was making and the stark displeasure she felt about them.
“I was just visiting my friend, Ainsley Buchanan. Have you two met?”
“Yes, we have.” Her voice was flat. “Hello, Ainsley. Winifred, are you ready to go?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were picking me up. Back in a flash.”
“Please hurry. You know they don’t like it when we’re late.”
With Winnie gone, Dr. Baker’s attention turned back to Daniel. “How was your shift yesterday evening?”
“It was fine, thank you.”
“Are you getting your study hours in?” She made no move to come closer, her hands folded in front of her, her body motionless. “This is a new program. I would hate to see it fail for lack of ambition on the part of the participants.”
“Yes, I’m just . . . I was just . . .” Why is it that every time we talk she makes me feel like a toddler who didn’t make it to the toilet?
Winnie entered the living room, still putting on her pearl post earrings, her navy-blue ballet flats tucked under her arm and a red cardigan over her shoulders. “Ready?”
“When you are,” Dr. Baker replied, still keeping her gaze trained on Daniel. He rose from the couch and strolled toward the front door, running a hand over his bound hair. He wanted to say something to Winnie, to respond to the note she’d left, the way she’d tucked him in.
“Thanks for the ride and for breakfast, Fred.” He winced internally as Dr. Baker’s spine somehow went even straighter, and she looked at her daughter critically. Winnie looked at him in shock, staring at him so long, he was nervous that she was having some sort of episode. “What?”
“My dad called me Fred. He was the only one.”
“Should I not . . . ,” he started, but she shook her head.
“No, it’s okay.” Winnie just gave him a small smile as she put on her puffy white winter coat. “And you’re welcome. I enjoyed it.”
“Winifred. Let’s go.” Dr. Baker herded Winnie out the door, then turned to Daniel, her voice low enough that her daughter wouldn’t hear. “Don’t lose your focus, Dr. Durand. It wouldn’t pay to get distracted at this stage of your career.”
She shut the door quietly behind them, and Daniel turned to Ainsley, his eyes wide.
“Did she just tell me to stay away from her daughter?”
Ainsley nodded as she measured cornmeal into her batter bowl. “I believe she did, yes.”
He put his hands on his hips and stared at the closed door. “Well, that’s not going to happen.”
She grinned. “I thought you might say that. You’re staying for chili, right? Don’t go to Subway again. I know that’s what you were planning. Man cannot live on takeout alone.”
“Fine, I’ll stay.” Daniel laughed sheepishly, then shuffled over to try to make heads or tails of the pile of lumber stacked in their living room.
CHAPTER TEN
“DID YOU GET THE DATE you wanted for the MCATs?”
The question shouldn’t have surprised her: being trapped together in the car was the perfect time for her mother to try to squeeze information out of her. Sandra continued without waiting for an answer.
“From what I can tell, the latest testing date you’d want is April twenty-fifth; the results come back May twenty-seventh, and then admissions open up June first . . .”
“I haven’t signed up yet.”
“Do you need money?”
Winnie actively suppressed an eye roll. Her mother was convinced that midwifery didn’t pay nearly enough and would eventually have Winnie begging under the Burnside Bridge.
“No, I have money.”
“Then what’s the barrier? I thought you were going to lock down your date weeks ago. I can set aside some time to help you study, but I’d like to get it on the calendar now.”
Yes, thought Winnie, because all that solitary wine drinking and literary fiction reading can’t be rearranged at a moment’s notice. “I’ll let you know when I’ve got my date.”
“Just don’t put it off too long or it’ll be too late.”
Winnie waited a few moments before changing the subject. “Speaking of dates, how was your dinner with the dermatologist?”
Her mother shook her head a little. “Uncomfortable.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Why?”
“He wasn’t a good conversationalist. There were these stilted lapses in our discussions, no matter what topic I selected. I was obligated to carry most of it myself. I never had that problem with your father.”
Winnie smiled a little. When her mother recounted her tales of dating woe, they often ended like this, comparing all the ways the other man wasn’t Kent. Admittedly, her father had been an excellent companion when it came to stimulating conversation. Winnie herself had often looked down to find her food stone cold at the dinner table, because she’d been so enraptured as he recounted his day and what his classes had discussed. People who thought literature boring had obviously never taken a class from Dr. Kent Baker.
At the same time, Winnie thought, it probably wasn’t healthy to still be comparing every new man to him two decades later. It was hard to imagine her mother married again, but she didn’t like to think of her being lonely, either.
“Maybe you just need to develop some common interests with someone first. Join a book club or something . . .”
“You know I don’t have the margin in my personal life for such things. My work must come before everything else. You’ll understand someday.”
This again. Somehow, like a carousel, they always circled around to the same topic. Winnie was definitely ready to get off the ride. She might throw up otherwise.
Dinner was seafood paella this week, complete with roasted peppers, salad, fresh bread, and fried plantains.
“Grandma, this is amazing,” Winnie said, taking a second helping of the paella, ignoring the dirty look her mother was giving her. She was no doubt judging how many carbs Winnie was putting into her body. But this was by far the best food she’d eaten all week, and she deserved to enjoy it. She’d just closed her eyes to savor her next bite in the peaceful darkness of her own judgment-free zone when her grandfather spoke.
“Read any good books lately, Winnie?” Howard asked.
She nodded. “It’s called The Arrival by Shaun Tan. I checked it out from the library; my friend Starla recommended it.” She did not mention that she only acted on the advice because of Daniel’s influence. “It depicts the immigrant experience in a fantasy setting. I intended to just page through it briefly before bed, but I ended up staying up well past midnight to finish it.”
“It’s a novel?” her mother asked.
“No. Well, yes, it’s a graphic novel. Wordless, no less. But it was extremely moving, and the artwork was just spectacular.”
Sandra’s silence and high eyebrows spoke volumes as she helped herself to another large glass of wine; she wouldn’t bother debating the merits of a book with pictures, never mind that all of Winnie’s favorite books favored that medium. She’d been told plenty of times that “real books” didn’t need them. She simply disagreed.
“How about you, Grandpa? What are you reading?”
“Just finished another Dortmunder. That guy’s gotta be the worst criminal in the world.”
Winnie grinned. “How many of those are there, anyway?”
“Plenty. Come sit with me while I smoke, won’t you?”
“Sure, Grandpa.” The covered porch in the back was quiet at this time of night except for the occasional semi-truck lumbering by on Highway 226. She’d always liked their yard. It backed right up to the woods, a natural wildness infecting her grandmother’s attempts to have an orderly property. Howard turned on the gas patio heater for her, and she curled up on a wicker chair that had a quilt patterned after the American flag on it.
“Your grandma tells me you’re taking the MCATs again.”
“That’s the plan.”
He nodded slowly as he lit his cigar and took a long drag. “You know, your dad thought about studying dentistry.”
Winnie reared back. “What? Really?”
“Honest to God. He even went so far as to take organic chemistry.”
“Wow. How’d that go?”
“Oh”—he chuckled—“about like you’d expect. Kent tried his darndest to make it work, but I think the only reason he wanted to be a dentist was so he could tell people stories without being interrupted. Then he figured out that he could do the same thing if they were paying to listen to him teach.”
“He was a good teacher.”
“A good writer, too. But that stopped when he met your mom.”
“Really? Why?”
“Never asked him. I assumed once you came along, he didn’t have as much time.” He blew the smoke away from Winnie, but the breeze carried it back. Rain pattered steadily against the leaf-littered ground where the yard met the woods. The security light that had come on when they walked out turned off again, and they were left sitting in a comfortable darkness.
“I miss him.”
“So do I. No offense to you ladies, but Kent was a lot more interested in hunting than you three are.”
“I prefer to bring life into the world than take it out, thank you very much.”
“You wouldn’t miss helping with births? Counseling women?”
Winnie shifted to pull her knees into her chest. “I could focus on obstetrics and gynecology.”
“I’m just a dumb economics professor, but that doesn’t seem to have the same vibe as your current workplace activities.”
She said nothing, picking at a dry spot on her skin.
Howard sighed. “I just want to see you examine this choice from all angles, kiddo. That’s all. I’m here if you want to talk it over.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“How’s the boyfriend? What’s his name?”
“Daniel?” She wanted to slap a hand over her mouth. Why had she said that?
“No, it started with E . . . Evan? Ellsworth?”
She laughed. “Ethan. He’s long gone, Grandpa.”
“Just as well. I didn’t buy his schmooze act the one time he came over.” He put out his cigar. “But now that we’re on the subject, who’s Daniel?”
Winnie felt her cheeks heat. “No one. One of Mom’s protégés. We talked about him last week, remember?”