“She is.”
I wanted to tell Linda to wipe that smirk off her face. Macy Roth was not a love interest, past, present or future. When I entered my office I caught her leafing through a medical book. That annoyed me. It took a lot of nerve to remove a volume from my private library without asking permission first.
She glanced up and didn’t reveal the slightest embarrassment. I walked over, pulled the book out of her hands and pointedly replaced it on the shelf. “You brought a sketch?”
I asked.
“Yes, I put it on your desk.”
I was curious about the type of scene she might have envisioned for my wall. If she was as imaginative as I supposed, the idea would be clever and amusing. I had a small table in the room and rolled out the sketch, anchoring it with a paperweight and a book on opposite corners. One look at the ocean scene, and I frowned. She’d drawn a wave and in the crest of it were turtles and tropical fish of all sizes and colors. In the distance beyond the wave, a sailfish leaped into the air. There was a whale in the background.
“This isn’t what I want,” I said, trying to understand what I found so objectionable. I suspected it was more my attitude toward Macy than the sketch itself. Still, I felt the kids who came into my practice might think it wasn’t interesting or whimsical or exotic enough. The mural was meant to entertain and distract them, not provide a zoology lesson.
“Why not?” she challenged.
“I just don’t. It’s not…kid-themed,” I muttered.
“You told me to draw whatever I felt would work, and I did.”
“True, and I apologize, but the ocean scene doesn’t suit me,” I said flatly. “I’d like another alternative.” She was right; I’d basically given her free rein, but at the same time I retained approval. “Come up with a different approach.”
“Fine,” she said shortly. She reached for the sketch and rolled it up. “I don’t have a problem with developing something else. However, before I spend several hours putting together a new scene, it would help if I had some idea of what you’re looking for.”
“I don’t know. Zoo animals, I suppose.”
“Zoo animals,” she repeated, obviously disappointed in my answer. “I can do that…I guess.”
“In a jungle scene,” I added. “Gorillas, giraffes and lions should do nicely.”
“You got it.”
“When can I expect to see a new sketch?”
Macy paused, eyes on the ceiling as though mentally reviewing her commitments. “Does Monday afternoon work for you?”
I walked behind my desk to my appointment calendar and nodded, then wrote it in. “That should be fine. Make it 5:00 p.m.”
Nodding, Macy stopped on her way to the door. “Are you positive you don’t like the ocean scene?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” My reaction had been immediate.
“I could throw in a ship. I’d thought of doing that and I didn’t, and now I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t have liked it with the ship, either,” I told her.
“Harvey liked it…well, as much as Harvey likes anything.”
“Is Harvey one of your cats?” I remembered that Macy had several cats. Why that detail stuck in my mind I could only speculate. She talked about them as if they were human, which was odd enough, but soliciting a cat’s views on a piece of art…
“Harvey is my neighbor, and he has exquisite taste.”
This was apparently a dig at me for disliking the ocean scene. I recalled that she’d mentioned this Harvey in our first phone conversation. “No doubt he does, but it isn’t his office where you’ll be painting the mural.”
“That’s too bad,” she muttered.
“One day another client might ask you for an ocean scene and you’ll have it in your inventory.”
She shrugged, but didn’t respond.
I steered her toward the door, unwilling to continue the conversation. I wasn’t interested in her next-door neighbor’s opinion. The only opinion that mattered here was mine, and I didn’t want the children who came into my office staring at fish.
“I’ll have the jungle scene for your review on Monday,”
Macy said as she swept out of my office. “At five.”
Feeling a twinge of guilt I realized my attitude wasn’t entirely fair or open-minded. Macy was simply too…unconventional for me. Too erratic and unpredictable. In any case, I felt I’d done my duty by Hannah. From this point forward I’d concentrate my efforts on Winter and Leanne. Thinking about Winter, I decided now was a good time to give her a call and thank her for the croissants. I waited until everyone had left the clinic, then closed my office door.
Surprisingly, I felt a sense of anticipation. I tried to think of something Winter and I might do together. I’d taken Leanne to dinner and, while that had been pleasant, I was looking for a different activity with Winter, since she owned a restaurant and eating out might be too much like work for her—too much like checking out the competition. I called Winter’s cell number; she answered on the second ring.
“It’s Michael. I wanted to thank you again for the croissants,” I began.
“You’re very welcome.”
She seemed pleased to hear from me, and that was encouraging. “The croissants disappeared so fast I was fortunate to get one.” I’d eaten it with my lunch and savored every bite.
“There’s always more where those came from,” she teased. I felt utterly inept at flirting, but stumbled ahead. “I was hoping, you know, that the two of us might get together soon.”
“Ah, sure. When?”
“How about Sunday afternoon?” I tossed that out, although I didn’t have a single idea of what we might do.
“What do you suggest?”
“Well…” I thought for a moment. “If the weather’s nice we could ride bikes.” This was something Hannah and I used to enjoy. A surge of pain tightened my chest. I was surprised when the memory didn’t hurt as much or last as long as I’d come to expect.
“I…don’t have a bike,” Winter said with what sounded like regret.
“Not to worry, I have an extra one in the garage. Actually, it belonged to Hannah.” I figured Winter wouldn’t mind borrowing Hannah’s old bicycle.
“Okay, why not? But I have to warn you it’s been years since I got on a bike.”
“You’ll pick it up right away,” I assured her. “It really is true that once you’ve learned you never forget.”
“That’s good to know.”
Already I was looking forward to the weekend. We chatted for a few more minutes and then just before I was ready to hang up Winter said, “I’m glad you called.”
“I am, too,” I said and I meant it. Wherever our relationship went—whether we became close friends or casual ones, whether we experimented with romance or eventually fell in love—I was prepared to accept. What would be would be.
Chapter Seventeen
“I have to wear a helmet?” Winter asked.
“It’s the law in King County,” I explained. She seemed uncertain about every aspect of this venture. I was beginning to think taking out the bikes hadn’t been such a great idea, after all. Winter had dressed in a matching pants outfit, and I worried that her cuff would get caught in the chain. By the time I noticed, it was too late to suggest she change clothes. I found a couple of metal pant clips and used them to secure the loose material, a concession to safety if not fashion. Her rhinestone-studded flip-flops weren’t ideal for bike riding, either. I still had a pair of Hannah’s biking shoes and recommended she wear those. Their feet seemed to be about the same size. Since Winter hadn’t cycled in years, I worked with her for several minutes until I was confident she wouldn’t have a problem. Then we both climbed on our bikes and rode up and down the block before we set out beyond the neighborhood.
“How are you doing?” I called back to her.
“Great.”
Her reply sounded tentative, so I made another circuit of the block, riding slowly. Hannah had b
een a competent cyclist, but it was unfair to compare Winter to her. I’d need to remind myself of that. I appreciated Winter’s willingness to at least try. My hope was that in time she’d come to enjoy biking, which I loved.
I was surprised to realize how long it’d been since I’d last taken out my bike. Hannah and I had often talked about riding in the STP, the Seattle to Portland Bicycle Race held every July. It’s a two-day event and we’d been gearing up for the ride when Hannah was diagnosed. She’d wanted me to participate, but I’d refused. It wouldn’t have been any fun without her.
Ritchie rode a stationary bike at the gym, but I couldn’t imagine him out on the streets in a serious ride. Not because he lacked athletic ability, but because he couldn’t care less about cycling. Baseball was his sport and he was a rabid Seattle Mariners fan. He watched or attended every game the team played, memorized the stats and was a font of useless information. Useless, that was, in my opinion, although I’d never say that to Ritchie’s face. Absorbed in my own thoughts, I hadn’t noticed that I’d gotten quite far ahead of Winter. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her wobbling dangerously. I turned my bicycle, intent on rejoining her. Winter saw me turn and for whatever reason decided to stop.
I could see her start to fall, but I was unable to help. She couldn’t get her foot released fast enough and as a result she crashed onto her side, the bicycle on top of her. It seemed to happen in slow motion, but I’m sure it didn’t feel that way to Winter.
She cried out as she landed with a thud.
“Winter!” I pedaled to her side and was off my bike in a matter of seconds. Just as I’d feared, despite the clip, her pant cuff had gotten caught in the chain and had torn. I pulled away the bicycle and rested it against a tree, then did a quick visual exam. The skin on her elbow had been scraped and was bleeding, as was her knee, which appeared to be the worst of her injuries.
“Don’t touch me!” She tensed as I bent down to examine her more thoroughly.
“I won’t,” I promised, looking in both directions to make sure no cars were coming.
Winter closed her eyes and released a shaky breath.
“Does anything feel broken?” I asked, quickly transitioning into doctor mode.
“No…nothing.”
“Keep still for a moment. Concentrate. Where’s the pain?”
“My elbow and knee—nothing’s broken. I’m sure of it.”
She struggled into a sitting position. When I tried to help, she shook her head, telling me she wanted to do this on her own.
She sat up slowly and, bending her arm, studied her elbow first. Then she stared down at her knee. I knew it must hurt. It wasn’t as if we were kids and could easily recover from a fall. As adults we land a lot harder.
“Do you feel dizzy?” I asked, afraid she might have bumped her head. She was wearing Hannah’s old helmet, but I had to ask.
“No.”
“Lightheaded?”
“No. The helmet saved me, I think.”
“That’s why we’re supposed to use them.” I’ve dealt with too many preventable head injuries in children who hadn’t been wearing helmets.
Winter grinned. “You’re not one of those men who take delight in saying I told you so, are you?”
I grinned back. “Every man lives for the opportunity.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, coming awkwardly to a stand.
“I’ll take you to the house and patch up your wounds,” I said.
Winter hobbled toward the house while I pushed both bikes. So much for that plan. Bike riding had been a disaster.
“I’m sorry, Winter.”
“Why should you apologize? I’m the inept one.”
“I should’ve suggested we do something else.” I put the bikes in the garage, then joined her. With my arm around her waist, I led her into the kitchen and sat her down on a kitchen chair while I went in search of Band-Aids and antibiotic cream.
When I returned I had a fresh washcloth, too. Next I ran cool water into a bowl and brought it over to the table where I’d set my supplies. I dabbed at her scraped elbow and knee, applied ointment and carefully bandaged them.
“I’m not a good patient,” Winter said from between clenched teeth.
“On the contrary, you’re an excellent patient.”
She smiled and our eyes met.
Once I’d finished, I took away the water and the cloth and put everything back where it belonged. I hate to admit it, but I’m a neat freak, as Hannah rather unflatteringly described me. It’s a habit I developed as a child, perhaps because my brother, with whom I shared a bedroom, was such a slob. Ever since then, I’d felt a need to have order around me.
“My mother always gave me a treat when I was hurt as a kid,” Winter told me when I came back.
“What kind of treat?”
“Sometimes it was hot cocoa, other times a cookie. When I broke my arm she let me sleep in her bed and watch movies all day.” Her face reddened and she immediately broke eye contact. “I wasn’t asking to sleep in your bed, Michael.”
I hadn’t taken it that way and merely laughed. “Don’t worry about it.”
She thanked me with a lopsided smile.
“Would you like to watch a movie?” I offered. That was the only thing I could think of, probably because she’d just mentioned it.
“Do you have popcorn?”
“Let me check.” Groceries were a hit-and-miss chore with me. I was thankful to discover an unopened box of microwave popcorn in the cupboard above the refrigerator. I didn’t know how long it’d been there, but it served the purpose.
While I stood guard over it, Winter went through the stack of DVDs. I couldn’t remember when I’d actually sat down and watched one, although we owned quite a few. Hannah was the movie lover, everything from black-andwhite classics to foreign films to Hollywood blockbusters. I watched them with her—mainly to be with her—but movies seemed a waste of time to me.
Winter came into the kitchen, a DVD in her hand.
“The African Queen is one of my favorites.”
“Hannah’s, too.”
“I know. I’m guessing she bought it.”
She had.
The popping slowed and then stopped, and the timer buzzed. I was grateful for the distraction. I didn’t want to get caught up in memories of Hannah. I didn’t think it was wise to drag her name into every conversation. Winter must have felt the same way because she didn’t mention Hannah again.
The TV was in the family room and I inserted the movie, then sat down on the sofa next to Winter. I left several inches between us. She had her bowl of popcorn and I had mine.
It’d been probably four years since I’d seen the Humphrey Bogart and Katharine Hepburn movie. I’d forgotten what a moving love story it is. I did recall that Hannah invariably cried at the end.
As the credits rolled, Winter glanced in my direction. Neither of us had moved during the film. The same few inches still separated us.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I’ll survive.”
“I’ve got some aspirin.” I should’ve thought of it earlier. If she wasn’t stiff and sore now, she would be soon. She shook her head. “It hardly hurts at all.”
“Well, tomorrow might be another story,” I said, blaming myself regardless of her protests.
“As you might’ve guessed, I’m more of an inside woman,”
Winter announced. “I’ve always loved working in the kitchen and experimenting with recipes. I’m not really into sports.”
Hannah had enjoyed cooking, too, but as far as sports went, she was game for anything. She had the spirit of an adventurer. Never once could I remember her holding back when I suggested we try something new, whether it was biking a hundred and fifty miles on a two-day trek to Oregon or signing us up for a river rafting trip.
“I might not be any good at sports, but I could whip up a dinner you’d rave about for weeks,” Winter said.
“I’ll b
et you could.” I hoped she didn’t hear the lack of enthusiasm in my voice. Since Hannah’s charming dinner parties, I’d lost any interest in elaborate meals. Eating was just a means of fueling the body for me, not the soul.
“What would you like to do?” I asked.
“Do you play cards?”
“Not anymore.” I used to play poker, of course, but not since Hannah got ill. “Sorry.”
“Oh.” Her disappointment was obvious.
“What do you do on your days off?” I asked.
“I putter around in my kitchen. I know!” Her eyes brightened. “How about if I make you dinner?”
“Don’t you cook all week? You shouldn’t have to do it on your day off.”
“But it’s what I love,” she said. “When I’m at the café
I’m stuck doing the paperwork, ordering, things like that. So I seldom get a chance to experiment in the kitchen anymore. There are a few dishes I’ve been eager to try, but it doesn’t make sense to cook for one.”
“I haven’t been to the store in a while.” I gestured for her to search through the fridge and cupboards if she wished, knowing she’d find mostly canned soup and a few frozen meals.
“Oh, that’s part of the fun,” she said. “I like grocery shopping.”
“Okay, then. Let’s go.”
She grinned widely as I reached for my car keys. This wasn’t how I’d envisioned spending our Sunday afternoon, but if it was what she wanted I wasn’t about to complain. From the moment we stepped inside the store, it was clear that Winter was in her element. She maneuvered the aisles like a pro, pausing now and then to throw an item into the cart. She read labels, talked to the butcher requesting a special cut, and smelled and squeezed the fruit and vegetables. It was an experience just being with her.
Tagging along, I caught a bit of her enthusiasm. Passion is contagious.
“You’ve memorized the recipe?” I asked.
She stared at me as if I’d spoken a foreign language.
“You know,” I said. “The recipe for this fabulous dinner you’re cooking me.”
“Ha!” she said with a laugh. “I don’t have any recipe!”
“You said there was one you wanted to try.”
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