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  He walked away and returned a couple of minutes later, entering the examination room at the opposite end of the hallway. Macy heard a little boy let out a wail and wondered what had caused him pain. Soon afterward, however, he was giggling. Macy smiled just listening to him. She wouldn’t have guessed it, but Michael seemed to have a way with children.

  Macy had hated visiting the doctor as a child and suspected other children felt the same terror she had. As the little boy left, he smiled shyly at Macy. Trailing behind his mother, he paused and studied the partial scene Macy had outlined.

  “Do you see the zebra?” she asked, squatting down so they were at eye level.

  He nodded excitedly. “The giraffe, too!”

  “Cameron,” his mother called, and he hurried after her. When he reached the door, he turned and waved. Macy waved back.

  She worked all morning without a break and was about to stop for lunch when Michael appeared. “I’m really going to have to ask you not to hum,” he said.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “It’s distracting to me and the staff. I don’t mean to be difficult, but—”

  “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t realize it was a problem. All you need to do is ask.” She pinched her lips shut, then realized she could still hum.

  “I’d appreciate it,” he said pointedly. He went into his office and closed the door.

  Macy stared at his door for a long time. She felt like sticking out her tongue, but didn’t want to be a bad example to some suggestible young patient.

  She ate a yogurt and fresh strawberries for lunch at a nearby park. When she came back, she saw that Michael’s office door remained closed. She knocked lightly.

  “Come in,” he called.

  Macy stepped inside and pulled the door behind her. Michael apparently ate lunch at his desk because there was an open container with a plastic fork poking out.

  “I wanted to talk to you about this evening,” she said.

  “This evening?”

  “Yes, you agreed to stop by my house and meet Harvey, my neighbor. He’s the one—”

  “I remember who Harvey is and Sammy and Puffball and—”

  “Snowball.”

  “Whatever,” he said with some impatience. “Now, what were you saying?”

  “You were going to come by. We had a lengthy conversation about it. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

  “I remember every word of our conversation. As I recall, we left it open-ended.”

  “But I said Monday,” she insisted, mentally reviewing their exchange. “I know I did.”

  “Perhaps. However, I made no specific commitment.”

  That problem was easily solved. “Then how about tonight?”

  “I have plans this evening.”

  “Oh.” Well, so much for that. Still, Harvey was expecting to meet Michael and it would be a shame to disappoint him. “I don’t suppose you could alter your plans slightly and stop by the house for a few minutes?” she asked hopefully. “I’m sure it wouldn’t take long.”

  “Sorry, I can’t.”

  “Drat.” She sighed loudly. “But you did agree. I mean, this isn’t a delaying tactic, is it? Because I’m really concerned about Harvey.”

  “Has there been another incident like the one you mentioned earlier?” Michael asked.

  “Not that I know of, but then Harvey wouldn’t tell me if there was.” Her neighbor was stubborn in the extreme; he was also a cantankerous old fool. Hmm, Michael and Harvey should get along fine, seeing how similar they were.

  “Does Wednesday fit with your schedule?” he asked, pulling out his cell phone and scrolling down.

  “Anytime.” She’d change whatever needed changing because this was too important to miss.

  After they’d arranged a meeting on Wednesday, Macy returned to work, drawing into the late afternoon. Michael went into his office while she was putting the finishing touches on an elephant. He left his door open. She didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help overhearing what he had to say. His “plans” appeared to be with someone named Leanne. No wonder meeting Harvey took second place—he was having dinner with this other woman. Annoyed, yet aware that she was being unreasonable, Macy packed up when clinic hours were over and followed Linda Barclay out the door.

  “The sketch is coming along nicely,” Linda commented.

  “Thanks.” Macy was afraid she’d need to redo the entire afternoon’s work. She felt it hadn’t translated from her preliminary drawing to the wall as well as she’d hoped. It didn’t help that she’d spent most of the afternoon brooding about Michael. She decided to blame her less-than-ideal work on the fact that she wasn’t allowed to hum.

  “Dr. Everett recently lost his wife,” Linda said as they entered the elevator together.

  “Yes,” Macy told her. “I knew Hannah.”

  “You did?”

  “I’d never met Michael. I saw him at the funeral. Wasn’t it sad?”

  “Oh, it was,” Linda agreed. The elevator reached the bottom floor and they stepped out. “See you in the morning,” she said as she headed toward the parking garage. Macy walked to the bus stop, which was right outside the building. Using public transportation was so much easier than bringing her car and paying for parking. When she got home, she fed her cats and gave them some attention, then went out back. Harvey sat in his Adirondack chair, wearing his hat, a book propped open on his lap. She scrambled over the fence and joined him.

  “Where’s your friend?” he asked.

  “He couldn’t make it. He’s coming on Wednesday instead.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it,” he said. “I’m used to turning down my hearing aid when you’re around. What’s wrong?”

  “You know what’s wrong—I don’t like Michael.”

  “Really? Then he isn’t much of a friend, is he?”

  Sighing, Macy plopped down on the lawn next to Harvey and fanned out her skirt. The grass felt damp and cool against her skin. Sammy ambled over to lie beside her, resting his chin on her thigh.

  “So, what’s the problem with your boyfriend?” Harvey persisted.

  “He most definitely is not my boyfriend,” Macy said, frowning. “You know what he did?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

  Harvey rarely showed even this much interest in any topic. She paused and regarded him suspiciously. Maybe he was feeling sick again, trying to distract her.

  “What’s the problem now?” he challenged.

  “You. You’re acting too friendly.”

  “Count your blessings.”

  Macy couldn’t figure out what to make of this change in attitude. “You’re not feeling well, are you?”

  “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “No, you aren’t.” She wondered how long he’d been sitting in his chair.

  “Don’t tell me how I feel,” he snapped.

  Macy’s fears lifted. “That’s more like it,” she said cheerfully.

  “Leave an old man alone and take that mongrel with you.”

  “Sammy’s yours now.” She considered herself his coowner, or more accurately, one of his guardians. But Sammy’s principal role was to be Harvey’s companion.

  “I don’t want him.”

  “Too bad, he’s part of the family.”

  “I thought you were looking for his owners. Seems to me you should’ve found ’em by now.”

  “No one claimed him.”

  “If he was mine, I wouldn’t have claimed him, either,”

  Harvey remarked.

  “Harvey!” she cried, covering Sammy’s ears. “You’ll hurt his feelings. Everyone needs to be loved.”

  “Including you.” He gave her a sly look. “I got a feeling about you and this doctor fellow.”

  “Me? Oh, please! We were talking about Sammy. ” And Harvey, too, but she dared not say that aloud.

  “Yes, you,” he said. “Here you are, complaining about the only man you’ve mentioned in months.”
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  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “I don’t like you, either,” Harvey muttered, “but that doesn’t stop you from making a pest of yourself.”

  “With you I’m doing it for show.”

  “Are not,” he insisted. “Now, tell me why you think this doctor isn’t completely smitten with you.”

  “Smitten,” she repeated and smiled just saying the word.

  “Well, for one thing, he asked me not to hum. I like show tunes, so I hum when I paint, but he says it gets on his nerves.”

  “Seems to me you stirred him up.”

  She rolled her eyes. “We were supposed to get together tonight,” she elaborated, wanting Harvey to understand how far off base he was. “Just as friends, you know. But now Michael has another…appointment.”

  “Didn’t you say he was coming over on Wednesday?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “He probably has something important this evening. Doctors are busy people.”

  “He’s got a date,” Macy informed him primly. “I heard him talking to her. He asked if dinner was still on for tonight.”

  Harvey was undaunted. “Who said the dinner was with a woman?”

  “I don’t know many men named Leanne.”

  “Don’t take it personally. He’s seeing you on Wednesday.”

  “I still don’t like him.” She grinned. “Guess you’ll have to marry me instead.”

  “Don’t want to. Give him another chance.”

  “Don’t want to,” she echoed.

  “So this doctor’s playing the field. Good for him. If I was sixty years younger I would, too.”

  “Oh, Harvey. I told you—we’re just friends.” Even that was a stretch, but she didn’t want Harvey questioning why she’d invite a man she didn’t like.

  “Nope, I know the signs. You think I lived this long without kicking up my heels once in a while? I was quite the ladies’ man in my younger days.”

  Smiling, Macy plucked a blade of grass. “I bet you were.”

  “Don’t you get discouraged now, you hear me?”

  “I’m not discouraged.”

  “Good. This doctor has the hots for you.”

  “The hots? ” Macy laughed out loud. “Wait till you meet him. Then you’ll see for yourself how wrong you are.”

  “Wanna bet? He sounds like exactly the right kind of man for you.”

  “We’d make a terrible couple. He’s so…stuffy.”

  “Then he needs you.” He turned and glared at her. “And you need him.”

  Macy shook her head. Even if she was attracted to Michael—and she wasn’t admitting that at all—they were completely unsuited. Total opposites.

  Just to take one example, she liked to hum and he liked to frown.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I stopped at a wine “boutique” and picked up a bottle of champagne for dinner with Leanne. She’d be making either crispy pork chops or, more likely, something Italian. I was wandering around the store, trying to decide if I should bring red or white wine. The clerk, who came around the counter to offer assistance, suggested champagne.

  “It isn’t just for weddings, you know,” he told me.

  “Champagne goes with everything.” He recommended Drappier. I’d never heard of the brand, but I took him at his word and purchased the bottle.

  When I arrived at Leanne’s I was glad I’d gone to the trouble of buying something out of the ordinary. The aroma coming from her kitchen was delectable, and I sniffed appreciatively.

  “I’m making an Italian dish,” Leanne said as she led me into her apartment, “but my family background is German. My great-grandmother came through Ellis Island in the late 1890s. Apparently, she was a wonderful cook.”

  I was grateful for a homemade meal, especially after my excellent dinner with Winter. I’d forgotten how good it was to eat something that didn’t come from the freezer or out of a can. And any meal I didn’t have to fuss with was a major improvement over my own haphazard dinners.

  “My grandmother used to make a pot roast every Saturday,” Leanne said. “She baked it in the oven with different vegetables and then parceled out the leftovers to whoever came for the meal. That sometimes meant a dozen people.”

  “That many?”

  She smiled. “Always. Grandma never learned to cook for two. She made enough to feed a family of ten her whole life. No one complained—except Grandpa, who peeled the potatoes.”

  “Well, I may not be doing anything as useful as peeling potatoes, but I did bring this.” I set the cold bottle of champagne on the kitchen counter.

  “Thank you,” Leanne said with another smile. She motioned toward the stove. “I hope you like lasagna.”

  “Sure do.”

  “I prepared it yesterday afternoon, so all I had to do was put it in the oven once I got home from work.”

  She moved to the cupboard and took down two wineglasses. “I apologize, but I don’t have champagne flutes.”

  “These will do just as well.” I tried to sound knowledgeable, as if I often served high-quality champagne and other wines. Actually, I’d gotten quite an education that afternoon and was intrigued by the number of wines available from every corner of the world. I’d return to that store, I decided. It was time I took an interest in something other than medicine.

  While Leanne washed and dried the glasses, I removed the foil and the wire casing. I turned my back, thankful for the clerk’s advice on how to remove the cork, which came out with a festive pop. I figured that made me look like an expert. If I’d been with Ritchie, I would’ve lifted the bottle high and demanded extravagant praise. But because I was playing the role of sophisticate, I acted as though this accomplishment was par for the course. Speaking of Ritchie… I’d made the mistake of mentioning dinner with Leanne at the gym that morning. Naturally, my brother-in-law felt obliged to give me a list of dos and don’ts. This dinner was a much bigger deal than our first date. Tonight I’d been invited to Leanne’s home and she was cooking for me.

  According to Ritchie—when did he become so knowledgeable about dating etiquette?—this was a significant gesture on Leanne’s part. In his view, making me dinner was a clear sign that she was willing to move forward with the relationship. I wasn’t sure, despite Ritchie’s insistence that I take her invitation seriously.

  I poured us each a glass of Drappier and we sat down in her small living room. She had appetizer plates out with olives and roasted red peppers and two kinds of cheese. I leaned forward and speared an olive.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I didn’t arrange this dinner for the weekend,” she said, “since that’s when I originally invited you.”

  I hadn’t given it much thought; I’d surmised that she had other plans. Monday worked fine for me—regardless of Macy’s assumptions. Like I said earlier, I didn’t have what you’d call a busy social calendar.

  “My mother-in-law phoned to tell me they were planning to visit Mark this weekend and that she’d get in touch with me while she was in town.”

  I didn’t know if that required a response or not. Leanne stared down at her champagne. “I…I didn’t want her to call—or worse, drop by—in the middle of our dinner.”

  “I understand.” It would’ve been awkward for us both.

  “Did she contact you?”

  Leanne nodded. “She phoned me early Sunday evening.”

  Just about the time we would’ve been sitting down to eat.

  “Muriel was terribly upset. Apparently, Mark’s accepted a job that’ll take him to Afghanistan.”

  “He joined the military?”

  “No, this is a company the army’s contracted with. Mark was rather vague on the details. All he’d tell his family is that the money will enable him to pay back what he…took and help with the fines. His sister tries to contribute, but she’s having financial troubles of her own.”

  I could see the worry etched on her face. It was more than obvious that she still had feelings for
her ex-husband.

  “He didn’t want his mother to tell anyone, especially his sister and me, but she refused to make that promise.”

  “You’re very concerned, aren’t you?”

  She lowered her head, and I noticed the way her hand tightened around the stem of her glass. “Yes. Muriel doesn’t really know what Mark will be doing there, but we both suspect it doesn’t have anything to do with accounting.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said, hoping I sounded sympathetic. Discussing her ex-husband was uncomfortable, but I wasn’t opposed to it. If she brought up the subject of Mark, then I could introduce Hannah into the conversation, too. That degree of honesty would probably be good for both of us.

  The oven timer went off and Leanne leaped to her feet as if she welcomed the intrusion.

  I stood, too. “Do you need any help?”

  “No, but thanks.” She was away for a short while. When she returned, she reached for her glass and sat back down.

  “The lasagna will have to wait for a few minutes. We’re also having a salad.”

  I nodded. “Hannah used to love cooking, too,” I said, and remembered the wonderful meals my wife had put together. She always felt it was important for me to follow a regular eating schedule, even during my residency, when the hours were crazy and days melded into one another until time lost all meaning. Often I had no idea what day of the week it was. Hannah brought meals to me at the hospital and cooked for the other residents, too. Everyone loved her. How could they not?

  “This recipe is one I got from her.”

  “From Hannah,” I breathed, abruptly drawn away from my musings.

  “We were talking about our favorite dishes and she told me about this one. The next day, she handed me the recipe.”

  I was touched that Leanne had made it for me. At an earlier stage of my grief I might have found that presumptuous—or distressing. Now it warmed me with memories of Hannah and with gratitude toward Leanne. While I ate another olive, Leanne set the salad bowl on the table. I rejoined her in the kitchen and we sat down at the small dinette table together.

  She’d gone to considerable effort to make this meal as pleasant as possible. The salad, which included several leafy greens, was full of green peppers, red onions and radishes, plus pine nuts and goat cheese. The poppy-seed dressing tasted homemade.