Page 4 of Look on the Bright Side

“Don’t I know it. My tulip bulbs rotted, it’s rained so much.”

“Oh no! I love tulips. They’re my favorite,” Lark said. “I’m Lark, by the way.”

“Chloe. Nice to meet you. Do you have a reservation?”

“Um…maybe? Under Santini? I’m early,” Lark said, smoothing her hair, which she knew from experience looked limp and flat. Her oldest and youngest siblings had gorgeous curls; she, Addison and Winnie had the kind of hair that was completely straight no matter what.

“Oh…Dr.Santini?” asked Chloe, her smile slipping.

Lark tried not to grimace. “That’s the one.”

“Well. Good luck.” Chloe picked up some menus and headed to a small table in the back of the bar. Lark’s stomach growled again, triggered by the smell of bread.

“Do you want a drink before he joins you?” Chloe asked. It seemed like more of a firm suggestion than a question.

“Okay,” Lark said. The memory of the anal fissure humiliation flared again. “What’s the most expensive cocktail on the menu?”

Chloe smiled. “I’ll tell the bartender to make you something special.”

Lark’s stomach growled again. “Can I have some bread? And maybe an appetizer?” She glanced at the menu. “How about the Oishi oysters? Are they good?”

“They’re amazing.”

“Sold.” She beamed up at Chloe, who beamed back.

“You have such a pretty name, by the way.”

“Thanks! You do, too.” Her stomach growled audibly. “You didn’t hear that, of course,” she said.

“Of course I didn’t,” Chloe said with a grin. “But I’ll put a rush on your order just the same.” She smiled and headed for the bar.

Lark made a mental note to bring her some tulips. Joy, her landlady, wasn’t the outdoorsy type, but had a beautiful garden, thanks to the previous owners. She always told Lark to help herself. Whenever she had time, Lark would pick Joy a bouquet, and a smaller one for the tiny guesthouse she rented on the property. If she could manage, she’d stop by with flowers for Chloe, just because she’d been so sweet.

Addie often told her she tried too hard to make people like her. It was true, but there wasn’t anything wrong about that. Her twin would prefer that Lark had only her. But Lark couldn’t help it. She smiled a lot. Too much, Addie said. As if on cue, she smiled at an older man at the bar, who was looking at her. Smiling never hurt anyone, after all. Smiling made people’s days better.

Her phone was filling up with supportive texts from her family, since Addie was unable to keep news to herself. It was fine. She’d answer them later. Right now, Chloe returned, balancing a tray, and set down an absolutely beautiful cocktail containing a sprig of rosemary and a slice of dried orange.

“Oh, how pretty!” Lark said as her new friend put down the bread and oysters.

“Gotta go, Lark, but it was so nice talking to you. Good luck with Dr.Santini.” She lowered her voice. “We call him Dr.Satan, by the way.”

“So do we! At the hospital, I mean.”

“Are you a doctor?”

“Yep. Um, emergency room.” Her smile faltered a bit.

“If I ever need stitches, I’ll ask for you.” Chloe smiled again and was gone.

Lark took a long sip of the drink. Oh, yummy. Vodka, some kind of citrusy liqueur, maybe some lemon and egg white foam on top. She’d bet it cost twenty bucks. She took another sip. Worth it, especially on Dr.Santini’s dime. Almost immediately, the drink relaxed her. She was a lightweight, and on an empty stomach, the alcohol might as well have been administered intravenously. One more sip.

And these oysters! So fresh, with a nice wasabi kick. She slurped one down, then took a warm roll and smeared it with butter. Heaven. She ate another oyster. It was such a cozy place, this restaurant. Comfy, too. Outside, it was dark and wet, and it felt wonderful to be here, resting, eating like an adult, rather than like a starving raccoon, which was how most residents ate.

She could get back into Oncology. She’d figure out a way to toughen up. How? Watch those documentaries about people with terminal disease? She winced. She’d ask Grandpop for some advice. After all, he’d watched Grammy die a slow and quiet death and had been a rock the entire time. Lark had been around, too, of course, but hadn’t been much good at the end. She’d been fine handling the work of it—washing Grammy, giving her morphine, adjusting her nasal cannula—but when she had to think of losing her beloved grandmother, she ended up sobbing in the corner.

Hospice, maybe. Yes, hospice! Darlene, the director, was wonderful, and Charlie had been on hospice the last two weeks. Maybe she could ask for some help from Darlene. That would be a great first step.

She glanced at her watch (wearing one was required for all doctors): 6:16 p.m. Nervousness shot through her, and she took another gulp of liquid courage, finished the oysters and buttered another roll, the butter soft and creamy. One more sip of her drink, and Lark closed her burning eyes. God, that felt good. She’d just give them a little break before Dr.Satan—er, Santini—arrived. Mm. Cozy indeed. Lovely, in fact.

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