Page 51 of Craving Cooper

Whatever my reasons, I spent my Sunday afternoon alone.

That’s not something I’m used to, having been with Meredith for so long. Before her, there would have been someone else. Sally, I think. And before Sally… I can’t remember who, but there would have been someone to fill my spare time, if I wanted them to.

Being by myself was strange, and not entirely welcome. Not because I missed Meredith. I missed Mallory, though. I missed her like hell. That’s odd, considering we’ve never spent much time together, outside of work, but I went grocery shopping, and found myself looking for her, recalling that she’d said she went on Sundays. She wasn’t there, but when I got back, unpacked my groceries, and finally got around to eating something, I wanted her to be sitting with me, enjoying the movie I was trying to watch, cradled in my arms.

None of these were things we’d ever done. They weren’t things I’d done with anyone else, either. And yet I wanted them. I wanted her… so damn much.

I woke up late again this morning, having slept badly, and I’ve had to rush through the shower to get downstairs even vaguely on time.

I can hear Greta in the surgery, but I turn into the reception area, sighing out my relief when I see Mallory sitting at her desk. She looks busy, or maybe she’s just pretending to be, so she doesn’t have to talk to me. I can’t be sure. I can’t check, either, because my first patient is already here, sitting on one of the chairs opposite Mallory’s desk, looking a little nervous.

“Mrs. Stone?” I say, and she nods her head. She’s a familiar enough patient who hates coming here, even though she rarely needs anything more than a check-up. That’s what she’s here for today and I smile, trying to put her at ease. She stands, and I usher her into the surgery and then turn to Mallory, hoping she’ll look up. Except she doesn’t. She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on her computer screen, and I turn away, feeling forlorn, and wondering if begging will be enough.

I have a steady stream of patients all morning, but in between each one, I make a point of going out to the reception. That’s not something I’d usually do. Most of the time, I’ll send Greta to collect each new patient, or accompany the previous one, if necessary. Today, I’m doing all of that myself, and by mid-morning, it’s become clear that getting anything other than a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ answer out of Mallory is going to be impossible. She refuses to look at me, even when she’s giving her mono-syllabic replies, and the atmosphere in here is palpable.

I don’t know what to do exactly, but I’ll have to do something. We can’t carry on like this. Even Greta’s noticed… and not just because I’m behaving so differently. She went to the bathroom around an hour ago and came back, scowling at me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. We had a ten minute break between patients, and I was taking advantage of it, and had fixed myself a quick coffee.

“I warned you,” she said, enigmatically.

“About what?”

“About hurting Mallory.”

I stood up, putting down my cup and walked over to her. “What has she told you? What has she said?”

“Nothing very much. But I got the feeling something was wrong, so I asked her if she was okay, and she just said Saturday hadn’t gone as well as she’d hoped.”

That meant she’d had hopes. That was something, wasn’t it?

Or was I clutching at straws?

“That was it?”

“She didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and I didn’t like to press her. I’m guessing you screwed up, though.”

“I think so.”

“You only think so?”

“No. What I mean is, it’s a kind of misunderstanding. It’s entirely my fault, but… but I’m trying to put it right.”

“Then try harder.”

Our next patient arrived before I got the chance to tell her I would, if I knew how, and we’ve been working non-stop since then, right up to lunchtime.

Greta practically runs out of the building, barely stopping to pull on her coat, and I can’t say I blame her for that. The atmosphere in here is dreadful, but changing that is in my hands, and no-one else’s.

I open the surgery door just in time to see Mallory walking to the front of the building. She’s leaving, and if I’m going to make things better, I need to stop her.

“Mallory?” I call, and she stops, although she takes a moment to turn around, her shoulders dropping. She’d obviously hoped to escape without being noticed, and I’m surprised by how much that hurts… by how physical the pain is, but I won’t be defeated, and I step outside. “Can you come in here for a minute?”

She hesitates, and I wonder if she’s going to refuse, but she doesn’t. She lets out a sigh that’s loud enough for me to hear, and then walks over, ducking past me, into the surgery.

I close the door and turn around, leaning back against it, while she wanders over toward the storeroom. She couldn’t get any further away if she tried, and she puts her purse on the countertop beside her, tilting her head at me. She doesn’t say a word, though, and I realize I’m going to have to start this conversation. I invited her in here, after all.

“I hate this awful atmosphere, Mallory. I can’t take much more of it.”

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