Mrs. Norman, the convenience store owner, is waiting for us by the coffee shop. She’s not feeling well.
Thankfully, I know how to take her vitals. Fish offers to look for her chart. I’m not surprised when she says, “I used to go to school with your father.”
“How long have you had this headache?”
“It comes and goes,” she answers. “You look a lot like your dad.”
I don’t.
My brothers look a lot like him. I’m a combination of Mom and Dad, except for the eyes. They’re my grandmother’s from my maternal side. I don’t have Dad’s eyes. Since I can’t run away from this awkward conversation, I smile and say, “Do you remember when your last physical was?”
I’m hoping that’s the end of the discussion. I’m not that lucky. “Your dad and I dated.”
I glance at Fisher, who’s watching with amusement. This would be a good time to flirt with Mrs. Norman, but no, he’s quiet, enjoying my discomfort.
“I could’ve been your mom. Well, you’d be older, but still mine.”
I’d be about sixty and a completely different person, but sure, lady, let’s go with this crazy scenario.
“Let me go get your chart,” I say.
“It’s on the table.” Fisher taps at the folder.
He could’ve given me two seconds to take a break from this nonsense. Obviously, he can’t understand how uncomfortable attending to my father’s ex is. In my experience, older women don’t care how blunt they are. In this case, she doesn’t care how embarrassing it is to listen to my dad’s life.
Who are you kidding, Nathalie? It doesn’t take much to embarrass you.
“How is he doing? Still with your mom? If not, I’m a widow. We could—”
“Dad’s working, just like my mom. They’re happy together. I don’t know which lab we use. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to schedule another appointment next week so we can draw some blood.”
“Your dad lives in Chicago, right? I’m not surprised that he never came back. He always wanted to leave. That’s why we broke up. We were so in love,” she states.
I’m frozen in place. Is she seriously telling me about my father’s love life? I pray that she doesn't tell me something crazy like she gave him her virginity or worse, that I have a brother he refused to recognize. I don’t even correct her that he moved to New York, not Chicago.
Finally, Fisher interrupts her. “Mrs. N., she just arrived. Give the poor girl a few weeks to get used to the town—and you.” He lowers his voice. “We don’t want to scare her.”
“Shush. And you don’t let this guy sweet talk you. He has all the girls eating from the palm of his hand.”
“Now you’re making me look bad with the doc. I thought you liked me.”
“You’re a flirt, Fisher—just like your friends.”
“It’s all because you don’t want to go on a date with me.”
She blushes and smiles at him. “Nathalie, are you giving me a clean bill?”
“Yes, you’re doing well. As I said, I’d like to run a blood panel to make sure that your—”
“Let’s do that on my birthday, sweetie.”
“Of course, but sooner might be better.”
She stands up and bends to touch her toes. “See, I’m still in good shape. You should tell your dad what he missed.”
She reaches for her purse and hands me a paper bag. “Here, I hope you enjoy them.”
“What is this?”
“Cookies. Dr. Westbrook liked snickerdoodles as payment. If you want something different, let me know, and next time I’ll bake you your favorite.” She leaves without asking if she owes me anything.
I stare at her, dumbfounded. When I walk toward the reception area, I notice Fisher waving goodbye before closing the door.
“Did she just pay me with cookies?” I gawk at the paper bag in my hands. I expected a credit card, cash, a check. Not… “Cookies?”
“Snickerdoodles,” Fisher corrects me, opening the bag. He grabs one, breaks it, and pops the piece into his mouth. “They’re good.”
I snatch the bag away from him. “Don’t eat my payment.”
“It’s the least you can do. After all, I’ve been feeding you since you arrived. If it weren’t for me, you’d be starving.”
“This place is…I don’t even know how to describe it.”
He puts his hands on top of my shoulders. “Take a deep breath, Doc.”
As I’m about to do that, a man, probably in his late sixties, enters the clinic. His left hand is wrapped with a kitchen towel, and he carries a chicken with his right hand.
“Hello, young people. I heard there’s a doctor in town.”
“You came to the right place, Mr. Clark.” Fisher steps forward, taking the chicken away from him. “What’s up, Kylo-hen?”
“Fisher, son, how are you doing?”
“Well. You haven’t come to pick up your breakfast.”
He looks around uncomfortably. “I wanted the doctor to look at this.”
Fisher arches an eyebrow. “At Kylo-hen?”
“No, he’s the payment.”
My eyes open wide. He’s kidding, right? Cookies might be acceptable, but chickens…and one that’s giving me the evil glare? I don’t think so.
“We can work something out later. How about eggs?” I suggest.
“Those have been promised to Fisher. He prepares the weekly food. I provide the eggs.”
He prepares food for this man too? My heart melts and skips a few beats. Why does he have to be so swoony?
“Well, you bring plenty of eggs. I always have leftovers. I’ll cook for her on your behalf.”
Mr. Clark shakes his head. “I feel like I owe you a lot.”
“Why don’t I look at your hand? We can discuss the payment later.”
We go to the examination room, where I unwrap his hand. I can clearly see that it’s broken. We don’t have an x-ray machine or a technician to do this. God, life in the ER is so much easier.
“I’m going to see if we have bandages in the other room. Fisher, would you mind coming with me?”
He does, and the chicken comes along.
“What’s wrong?”
“His hand is broken, and I don’t have the equipment to confirm or…this place is doomed.”
He looks around, finds a cardboard box, and puts the chicken inside. Then, he places his hands on my shoulders and locks our gazes. “Take a deep breath. You’re an ER doctor. You’re used to handling emergencies.”
“Yes, but I always had solutions. Now…”
“Now you have me.” He pulls out his phone and starts tapping it. “I’ll take him to the city to get the x-rays.”
“How is he going to pay?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
I stare at him suspiciously. “Are you the one sending my patients to Seattle?”
“Do you have a hard time trusting people in general, or is it just me?”
“People need to earn my trust. So far, you’ve earned my wrath.”