“Thank you for holding it for me.”
“Not a problem. This isn’t my section,” she tells me. “But I’m gonna take care of you anyway.”
She grins again and her tone is a bit suggestive, and I’m wondering if that was on purpose. She’s gonna take care of me.
“About last night...” I don’t know what to say.
She grins again, waving her hand. “Forget about it,” she tells me lightly. “I already have. You clearly were texting your wife while drunk and accidentally sent it to me. It happens.”
Except that’s not what happened, and I think she knows that.
But I play along because she’s giving me a generous out, and neither of us mentions that she sent me a picture, too. I’m the married one here. It’s my job to be good.
“Exactly,” I tell her. “I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.”
She dips her head until her lips practically brush my cheek. “On the contrary,” she whispers, and her breath smells like spearmint. “Your wife is one lucky woman.”
I feel a pang in my gut and I flush, and when she straightens, Michel is standing behind her with a glib look on his face.
“Hey, bro,” I greet him, pretending that my dick isn’t stiff with Zoe’s implications. “Have a seat.”
“I’ll go get your coffee,” Zoe tells us before she sways away, and Michel looks at me knowingly as he sits.
“Someone looks nice this morning.” He watches her go, and he laughs and I laugh, because that’s what brothers do, even when one is a priest. “I think maybe Jezebel had a hand in designing that one.”
I watch Zoe pour coffee into mugs, and she leans over so that I can see her tits better, and I decide Michel is right. Zoe is a modern-day Jezebel. She’s showing me her goods on purpose and trying to make it seem innocent, and this all has the very real possibility of crossing a line.
That makes me uncomfortable. Having a fantasy was fine, but reality... Well, reality isn’t.
I try to ignore her eyes when she comes back and sets our cups down in front of us. I bury my face in my mug and don’t look up.
I catch her watching me a few times, but I don’t stare at her.
In fact, I make sure I don’t look at her.
I’m good.
I’m good.
There’s a strange feeling in the air, a very tangible knowledge that if I wanted to, I could cross a line with this woman. It’s in the way she stares at me pointedly, in the way she moves around me.
It makes me feel awkward at the same time as it’s a bit exhilarating and flattering. It’s a strange feeling, half unpleasant and half amazing. I could have those curves in the palm of my hand, and I... God. I push the thoughts away.
I’m good.
“How’s Co?” Michel asks, drumming his long fingers on the table. His fingers are identical to mine, and I find myself spacing off as I watch them. “Jude?”
I look at his face. “Yeah. She’s okay.”
“Sister Esther was in Mercy ER the other day. She fell and broke her arm after hours. Corinne set it. Esther said the place was a madhouse, but that Co was very kind.”
“She is kind,” I agree. “And the place is a madhouse. I swear it’s sucking her lifeblood out.”
“Maybe it is her lifeblood,” Michel suggests. “Maybe you should remind her that there’s more to life than work. Take her on a trip or something.”
I think about that for a split second, but then Zoe comes back, and she stands very close to me. Her eyes meet mine, and she smiles.
“What can I get you to eat?”
We give her our orders, toast for me, an omelet for Michel, and then she’s gone.
“I remember when we were that age,” Michel muses as she walks away. “We were just snot-nosed kids. We didn’t know a thing.”
“Nope.”
“You still don’t,” he adds with a grin.
“Bite me.”
“I’m a priest. I would never,” he announces.
I roll my eyes.
“I’m starting to wonder, you freak.”
He laughs.
The food comes, and he eats his eggs, and I bite my toast.
“How about this... I’ll come over for dinner this weekend,” Michel suggests. “We’ll cook out and drink some brews. Just you, me and Corinne. It’ll give her a reason to be a hostess. You’ve got to do some normal stuff, man.”
I nod. “Okay. She’ll love that. Consider yourself invited.”
“Good. I’ll bring the wine.”
I shake my head. “Uh-uh. I don’t want shitty communion wine. You can bring dessert.”
Michel rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” But he’s busted. I can see it on his face. That was totally his plan. I chuckle and pick up the check. I make sure not to leave my card this time, and I feel Zoe staring at me when we walk out. Her gaze impales a spot between my shoulder blades, burning a hole, daring me to turn around.
I don’t.
For some reason, it makes me feel like a saint.
When I get in my car, I text Corinne, just to pound home the thought that I’m good. I’m fucking good. It doesn’t matter if Corinne can’t see the text right now. She’ll see it after her shift.
Hey, babe. I hope you’re having a good day! I love you.
She doesn’t answer, and I drive to work.
I’m just a normal man, doing normal things. It doesn’t matter that the waitress hit on me and I’ve fantasized about her a couple of times.
I’m normal.
It’s all okay.
My day is long. Boring.
My drive home is uneventful, and the house is dark, as I expected.
Artie meets me at the door. She practically head butts me, so I know she desperately has to go out. I open the patio door, and she bounds to the backyard, faster than I’ve seen her move in a long time.
“Girl, we’ve got to get you moving. If you don’t use your muscles, you’re just going to get stiffer. I think I’ll try taking you jogging with me again. Would you like that?”
She stares at me from the shadows, moving slowly as she squats.
I’m not sure she can actually jog, but we can try.
“Tomorrow,” I tell her. She’s unfazed as she slowly walks back inside. I dump some dog food into her bowl. She doesn’t lunge at it like she used to. In fact, she sniffs it and lies down next to it. It’s almost like she’s saying, “I don’t want it, but God help anyone who tries to take it. I’ll just sleep right here and guard it.”
I smile and scratch her ears, then check the clock.
Six o’clock.
I wonder what Corinne is doing. Is she coming home soon?
I call to find out. A nurse answers.
“Hello, this is Jude Cabot. Is Dr. Cabot available?”
The nurse is kind and pleasant, and her voice is very familiar. I think her name is Lucy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cabot. She’s out on the floor. Can I have her call you back?”
“Nah,” I answer. “Just tell her I called.”
“Will do, Mr. Cabot.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She hangs up, and I hang up, and I’m alone again, staring at the wall.
12
Ten days, eight hours until Halloween Corinne
Jude and I haven’t sat down for a meal together in weeks.
I make sure I do my charting early, chipping away at my mountain of binders by four o’clock. It gives me plenty of time, and the influx of patients has been slow for once. Chicago seems to agree that I need a night off.
I text him by six thirty. Hey, I think I can come home soon. Let’s meet at your little café for dinner.
He answers immediately. Absolutely!
Great, I tell him. I’ll text you when I leave.
I’m smiling, and Lucy grins at me.
“Got a big night planned?”
I smile back. “Just dinner with the hubs.”
“Your hubs is hot, though, judging from the pictures,” she points out. “I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed.”
I laugh because, to be honest, when you’ve been married so long, it’s easy to forget how lucky you are. Jude is hot. I’ve just grown accustomed to it. He’s been in my bed a long time.
“I don’t,” I tell her. “I don’t kick him out of bed.”
“Good girl, Doc.”
She eats a bite of yogurt, and the clock ticks, and I only hang around to wait until another doctor arrives to relieve me. I’m the only one here, since it’s slow.
“Who’s coming in tonight?” I glance up at Lucy when I see her getting ready to leave.
She checks. “Looks like Fields.”