Page 17 of Look on the Bright Side

“In exchange for a job? Don’t you want that to happen because of your own merit, Lark?” Mom asked, sliding the knife in with expert precision.

“He’s just going to put me in touch, Mom. The rest will be up to me.”

“I don’t like it,” Mom said. “Pretending to be in a relationship with a prestigious surgeon way above your pay grade…it sounds like sexual harassment to me. You could report him.”

“Nope. Not gonna. He’s just kind of socially awkward, and I’m helping him out.”

“He once made a whole team of radiologists cry,” Dad said almost fondly. “We nurses knew to run when we saw him coming down the hall. I was at the head of the pack.”

“Good thing you’re in such good shape,” Mom murmured, squeezing Dad’s bicep.

“I’d love to show you more later,” he murmured back.

“And here we go,” said Winnie. “Would anyone like to ask me something?”

“Is there something you’re trying to tell us, Winnie?” Dad asked.

“Nope. Just making a point. Completely meaning to change the subject, does anyone want to go out for ice cream later? Nicole said she made kale cake for dessert.”

“Why would someone be that cruel?” Robbie asked. “Why?”

This was the best thing about being part of a big family, Lark thought. No one could have the attention all the time.

And thank God for that.

THREE

LARK

On Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, Lark put on a blue-and-white sleeveless dress, braided her hair into a side ponytail, put on sunscreen, a little mascara and some tinted lip gloss, and stepped into her red espadrille sandals for that patriotic touch.

With Joy’s blessing, she’d raided the garden and made several bouquets, including one for Joy herself. For the past ten months, Lark had rented a tiny guesthouse from Joy Deveaux at a ridiculously low price. Situated on a protected inlet on Wellfleet’s raggedy bay side, the main house was utterly splendid—a gray-shingled, three-story charmer with five bedrooms, a chef’s kitchen (largely unused, since Joy didn’t cook much), a vast living room and sliding glass doors showcasing the view of the water. The yard featured lush beds of flowers, which Lark tended whenever she had the time.

Lark’s little house, to the south of the main residence, was no more than six hundred square feet, but it had everything she needed. Tiny kitchen, living room, bedroom and a little deck that gave her her own view of the sunset…not that she was often here to enjoy it, but still. It had been her lucky day when Joy offered her the place. The fact that she and Joy had become friends was even luckier. Joy was older—in her sixties—and treated Lark like a favorite niece, a role Lark was happy to fill, especially since Joy didn’t have family of her own. As part of the rental agreement, Lark dutifully injected Joy with Botox and filler every few months, saving the older woman a trip to the dermatologist in Hyannis.

It was an odd friendship, but it was refreshing, too. So many people knew Lark’s story; Joy had not. She was easy to talk to, completely without judgment, having lived a somewhat unusual life herself. Already, Lark had told her about her arrangement with Dr.Santini, knowing Joy herself had had unconventional relationships, too.

Right now, the smell of lilacs and peonies filled the car. One bouquet for Lorenzo’s grandmother, one for his mom, and one for each of his sisters, all wrapped in turquoise blue tissue paper and sitting pretty in the back seat of the Honda. Hopefully, they wouldn’t wilt on the ride. And hopefully, Connery wouldn’t eat them.

Joy had asked if she would take the dog today so she could run some errands, and Lark had texted Lorenzo to see if she could bring Connery with her. He hadn’t answered, so she took that as a yes. Connery would help ease the awkwardness, she figured. Who didn’t love a dog, especially one who knew myriad ridiculous tricks, such as “hiding,” where he’d put both paws over his eyes; fainting when Lark put the back of her hand to her forehead and said “Oh no!”; and dancing on his hind legs? A person had to have a hobby, and Connery spent most nights with her, since Joy slept late, and Conn’s little bladder couldn’t wait till 11:00 a.m.

Now the wee mutt sat happily next to her on the car seat, his silky fur ruffling in the breeze as he snuffled the wind. She was glad he was here. She was nervous. For one, she hadn’t met someone’s parents since…ever, really. She’d always known Justin’s parents, the way kids do.

“We’re not nervous, though, are we, Conn?” she asked her dog. He wagged in response, and she let her hand settle on his little square head, petting his soft fur. “Thanks, buddy.” A car passed on her right. (It was Massachusetts, and traffic laws were quaint suggestions from a gentler time, not something that anyone enforced.) The driver slowed when she saw Connery, then blew him a kiss and sped ahead. She had curly blond and gray hair, like Mom.

And speaking of Mom…Lark’s own did have a point. Being Lorenzo’s summertime honey was an uncomfortable exchange for an introduction to the gods of oncology. But it was, what? Five events, maybe? Pretending to date a guy for a couple of months so his ancient grandmother wouldn’t worry about his single state (or tarry soul) wasn’t the worst thing. Besides, she understood Lorenzo’s desire not to be solo during a summer full of wedding stuff. She’d endured that when Addie and Nicole got married, and having to explain why she wasn’t with someone every time someone asked had been agony.

This would be worth it. She’d make a fantastic oncologist. Her soft heart…that wasn’t a negative, no way. She’d never wanted to do anything else. This adjustment time, working in the ER, would help her toughen up. Darlene had said yes to doing a little hospice volunteering, and Lark could start by visiting patients. That was it. Just visiting and talking. No medical stuff, no bathing or feeding or administering drugs. Just being there.

In a few months, she’d go back to the oncology program and live out her destiny. Lorenzo’s introduction might not even be necessary. But even in the world of medicine, where everything should be based on merit and skill, there was an invisible club that helped you get ahead. Your father was head of surgery at that Ivy League hospital? Of course you got into their residency program. Your mother donated $40 million to a world-famous clinic in the heartland? What a coincidence! They just offered you a fellowship. Say again? Your uncle is the surgeon general of the United States? Your mom is the CEO of a big pharmaceutical company? Your brother is a full professor at NYU Langone? Well, well, well. Just pass organic chemistry and come right this way.

Lark didn’t have those connections. A dad who’d been an ER nurse was not medical royalty. Medicine still struggled with gender discrimination; while women made up almost 50 percent of doctors, most were in fields dealing with women or children. In neurosurgery, cardiology, urology and, yes, oncology, female doctors were a lot more rare. She wasn’t selling out. Hell, no. She’d endured four years of medical school and aced the MCAT, done almost two years of residency. Getting a possible introduction from Lorenzo was not selling out.

Nevertheless, she was strangling the steering wheel hard. She turned on the radio for distraction, and God was listening, because “Purple Rain” had just started. She cranked up the volume and sang along until the Chatham exit. And even better, the DJ had decided to run a Prince marathon, so happy thoughts kept her company until she pulled into Lorenzo’s driveway.

Showtime. She checked herself in the mirror, smiled, clipped on Connery’s leash and gathered up the bouquets of flowers, then made her way to the house. Connery stopped to pee on the emerald lawn. She hoped Lorenzo wasn’t looking.

God, the place was even more impressive in person. The smell of freshly cut grass, barbecue and salt air made her feel a little drunk as she approached the front door. There were several cars and a red pickup truck in the driveway, all sporting the usual Massachusetts bumper stickers—the Sox, Cape Cod, a shark, Tunnel Permit and, on the pickup, a Boston Fire insignia. Connery sniffed each vehicle before letting her proceed.

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