Charming for Mother's Day (A Calendar Girls Novella) (9 page)

             
“Jee-zus. I can’t figure out if you’re tough, brave, or stupid.”

             
Probably all three. But I kept that opinion to myself.

             
He shook his head. “You should’ve gone to the hospital with everyone else.”

             
“I didn’t need to go to the hospital. I told you. I just got tossed around a little bit. No blood, no broken bones. Just some bruising on one shoulder and down my arm.”

             
He pulled his chair closer to me. “Let me see.”

             
“Ha. No way.” I backed away and waved a dismissive hand. “Forget it.”

             
“Oh, come on, Lucie. I’ve seen a lot more than your bare shoulder before.”

             
“Not in the last decade.” Not since Rob had wrought his damage.
No one
had seen those souvenirs. “You’re a chef, Colin, not a doctor.”

             
“Maybe.” His index finger bounced too close to my nose, and if I wasn’t so disoriented, I would’ve taken a bite. “But I’ll tell you one thing. You’re taking tonight off. Stay home and get some rest. Hug your kid.”

             
“I can’t.”

             
“You can and you will. I’ll just call Carla to cover your shift tonight.”

             
“Good luck with that.” I bit back a derisive laugh. “Carla’s in Atlantic City with her husband for their anniversary. Don’t worry. A few Tylenol and I’ll be fine. I’ll be at work by four. Promise.”

             
“No, you won’t. That’s an order from your boss.”

             
“You need a maître d’. Especially because of last night’s storm. We’ll probably be wall to wall people tonight.”

             
“All the more reason why you should stay here.” He pounded his index finger into my tabletop, then switched to drumming four fingertips while he considered the dilemma. The clock ticked, echoing the drip in my kitchen faucet. “I’ll ask Sidney to cover for you.”

             
“Sidney?” This time, I didn’t attempt to hold back my laughter. “Sidney hasn’t worked the front of the house since I was in kindergarten.”

             
“He can handle it.”

             
“Forget it, Colin. I’ll be there. I need to be there.”

             
A wave of his hand encompassed me from hair to waist. “Look at you. You can barely move. You think you’re going to be able to stand on your feet for eight hours, racing between the kitchen and the front of the house, keeping a smile glued on your face?”
              “I’ll be fine.”

             
“Damn right you’ll be fine. Because you’re staying right here.”

             
“No, I’m not.”

             
“Well, this is an interesting impasse.” Again, he paused, drummed his fingers. “If you want to work tonight, we’ll have to set some ground rules.”

“Like what?”
“Like I drive you. To and from work. From now on. No more bus.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I sputtered.

“Take it or leave it.”

My pride wanted to tell him to shove it, but my wallet knew better. I needed every dime I earned.
If he’d get his jollies playing chauffeur and I’d get to keep going to work, sign me up. I could sit in his car and stare out the window for twenty minutes to and from every night. After all, he already knew where I lived, so what was the point of continuing to put him off? “Okay, fine.”

He held up his index finger. “And you’ll need a doctor’s note saying you’re okay to work.”

I slapped a hand on the table. “Are you
kidding
me?”

“Nope.”
He grinned to let me know he used my normal denial intentionally. “Make up your mind fast. I’ll take you to the stat center right now before Sidney gets back with Ariana.”

Oh, this was so unfair! “Don’t make me do this, Colin. Please?”

“Those are the conditions, Lucie. Take ‘em or leave ‘em.”

“I’ll have to leave them.” I dropped my gaze to the table, too embarrassed to face him. “I can’t afford a doctor visit.”

“You were in a
bus
accident. The bus company is responsible for your medical expenses.”

“Maybe so, but the stat center will expect payment up front.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

I shook my head so hard my brain sloshed. “I won’t take anything from you.”

“For God’s sake, I’m the one insisting you get checked out, I’ll pay the fee. Consider it a business expense. I won’t allow you to work in the restaurant without medical clearance.”

I debated with myself for a long time before I finally relented. “Okay. But I hope they find something really expensive wrong with me to empty your wallet and take up all your time. Like a brain tumor.”

“Or maybe the doctor will restart your heart,” Colin rejoined.

Fat chance.

Ariana

             
I followed Grandpa out to his car and climbed into the back seat. Once he settled in the driver’s seat, he started the engine then craned his neck to check on me.

             
“Buckled up?”

             
I nodded.

             
He started driving, but glanced in the mirror at me a few times. I stared at my shoes, out the window, at the people in the car next to us when we stopped at the traffic light.

             
“Okay, doodle,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

             
I love that about Grandpa. He knows when I want to talk and when I want to just be quiet.
Abuela
always gets it wrong. “I was thinking...” I said as I clicked the tops of my sneakers together.

             
“Yes?”

             
“Belle has the Beast, Ariel has Prince Eric, Sleeping Beauty has Prince Philip, Jasmine has Aladdin. All those princesses are pretty and all, but I think Mom is prettier and works harder than all of them.”

             
“I agree.”

             
“Mom needs a prince.”

             
He didn’t laugh or ignore me. “You’re probably right, but princes are hard to come by these days.”

             
Yeah, I knew that. “I thought we could make one.”

             
Twisting in the driver’s seat at the next red light, he faced me with one eyebrow raised. “Make one?”

             
“Uh-huh. If we find someone who looks and acts like a prince, and teach him what Mom likes, we could make her fall in love with him.”

             
The light turned green, and he drove on, but I caught his frown in the rearview mirror. “I’m not sure you can make someone fall in love with another person, doodle. Not even when they do everything right.”

             
“We could try.”

             
His lips screwed up like he’d sucked a lemon. “Maybe. Do you have any idea who might make a good prince?”

             
“Chef Colin.”

             
“He
might
be a good choice. Do you think your mom likes him?”

             
I frowned and stared down at my sneakers.  “No.”

             
“Well, that makes him a tough sell. You might have to find someone else.”

             
My head shot up. “No! Chef Colin’s perfect. He’s nice and funny, and he likes Mom. I can tell.”

             
“All of that might be true, but if your mom doesn’t like him—no matter how nice and funny he is—she’ll never see him as her prince.”

             
I put on my best pleading face, hoping he’d tell me what I really needed to know. “Do you know why Mom doesn’t like Chef Colin?”

             
“No, sweetheart, I don’t.”

             
Rats. “That’s why I wanted him to come with us to get the pizza.”

             
“Well, maybe we can figure it all out after pizza. I always think better when my stomach’s not growling. How about you?”

             
My stomach gurgled, too, and I rubbed away the noise. “Uh-huh.”

             
He took my hand and curled his fingers around mine. “Don’t worry, doodle. If Chef Colin is meant to be your mom’s prince, it’ll happen, whether you push it along or not.”

             
I nodded, even though I doubted what he said. I would
have to
push this romance along to be one hundred percent sure Mom fell in love with Chef Colin, he fell in love with her, and we all lived happily ever after.

Chapter 7

Lucinda

             
The East End Stat Center, a medical clinic open twenty-four hours a day, catered to those who couldn’t get in to see a doctor in a timely manner, but didn’t require the necessary care of an emergency room. On any given day, at any hour, the waiting room might hold a toddler with an ear infection, a man with a head cold—because, really, is there anything more pathetic than a man with a head cold?—and a woman who walked away from a bus accident with some bruises but needed a doctor’s okay before her boss would allow her to return to work.

             
I sat in the waiting room with Colin, pretending fascination in a magazine article published in August 1994 about a promising new television series called “Friends,” just so I wouldn’t have to talk to him.

             
“I know you’re angry about being here,” he said through clenched teeth and a false smile.

             
“Mm-hmm.”

             
“I’m not insisting on this to annoy you, you know. I really do care about you. And I want to be sure you’re all right.”

             
I turned the page with a snap. “Mm-hmm.” Yeah, right. He cared about me. Me. The girl from the wrong side of the tracks. A nobody.

             
Lucky for this nobody, a nurse stepped into the waiting room at that precise moment. “Lucinda Soto?”

             
“Right here.” Rising, I tossed the magazine onto my empty seat. I followed the petite blond nurse clad in pink scrubs into an examining room and when directed, climbed onto the paper-covered exam table. My legs dangled off the edge, like Ariana’s used to when she sat in a booster seat.

             
Meanwhile, the nurse placed a manila folder onto the nearby counter and flipped open the cover, revealing a thick orange cardboard form inside. “What brings you here today?”

             
“I was in the bus accident last night. I’ve got some bruising on one side, and my boss won’t let me return to work until I receive medical clearance from a doctor.”

             
Nodding, she jotted details on the orange document. “Did you receive any medical care after the incident but before now—whether at the scene, or in the E.R., or from your regular physician?”

             
“No.”

             
“Okay.” She didn’t look up while she continued writing. “Any other symptoms? Headaches? Chest pains?”

             
“A headache, yes. But I slammed my head against the window last night. Chest pains, no.” I rubbed my breastbone. “It does feel a little tight...like…constricted.”

             
More writing. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”

             
Did I have that? “Not really,” I replied, then reconsidered. “More like lightheaded, I guess. But that could be because I haven’t eaten yet today.”

             
Another nod, and she unwound the stethoscope from around her neck. “I’m going to take your vitals, then the doctor will be in to do the full exam. Okay?”

             
I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

             
“Let’s start with height and weight.”

             
Always a favorite. With all the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner, I slid off the exam table and stepped on the scale. After those numbers were recorded, she directed me back to the table for my pulse and temperature, listened to my heart, then moved on to blood pressure.

             
“One-forty over ninety-five,” she remarked as she ripped open the Velcro tabs. “A little high.”

             
Yeah, well, blame that on the man sitting in the waiting room
.