Page 6 of The Love Dose
It’s been nearly three weeks and it still hurts. Serves me right for trusting a doctor. I mean, wasn't it a doctor who attested to Bernard's questionable lucidity?
Larry frowns slightly and nods sagely. “Bernard is very missed, Mrs. Page.”
If he wasn’t a Manhattan doorman, Larry would be an in-demand therapist. He’s better than a hairdresser or bartender when it comes to listening and validating. I make a mental note to call my actual therapist. It occurs to me I have no idea if she accepts insurance. I’ve always paid her out-of-pocket.
For the past several years, I spent on what I needed and wanted without a second thought. If Bernard’s kids get their way, that will change fast.
“Thank you, Larry. Happy holidays,” I say, reminding myself to drop off a generous check for him.
I note the elevator is descending. 3 . . . 2 . . . lobby. It dings open and Mrs. Reinhold steps out with her teacup ShihTzu. Today’s doggie ribbon is bright pink. How such an adorable being can live with this woman is beyond me.
I hear the crotchety old bag grumble as she walks past Larry. Pretty sure she said, “bah humbug.”
Despite living down the hall from me, Witch Reinhold never once responded to my greeting. I’ve long since stopped trying. I have never seen her smile. Maybe she has no teeth. Or has loose dentures. If Scrooge was an ancient woman in a butt-ugly hand-knit wool hat, it would be Mrs. Reinhold.
I have one boot on the elevator when a thought occurs to me. Why am I in such a rush to go home? There’s nothing waiting for me upstairs. Except for maybe another drink.
Which is something I can get elsewhere, with company.
The cute bar around the corner attracts a well-heeled clientele of pleasant alcoholics. Works for me. I’ll come back home when I'm tired or tipsy.
I hear quick footsteps behind me.
“Caroline? I'm so glad I caught you.” The voice is out of breath but I'd recognize it anywhere.
I turn around.
Standing there, looking like a middle-aged, hippy Adonis, is none other than Dr. Stupid Handsome.
Chapter Four
Calvin
Ican’t feel my fingers and I’m fairly certain my nose is falling off. But I forget all that the moment I spot her in the lobby. Caroline is as beautiful as the last time I saw her.
She’s always put-together, like she’s stepped out of some magazine—every detail in place. Her tailored coats, the perfectly styled blond hair, the way she carries herself with this effortless grace—it’s refined, polished, like she’s got the whole world handled.
But I know better. I picked up the clues after she was brought into the emergency room last year, after wiping out on an icy sidewalk. I happened to be on call that day.
Luck or fate, I don’t know but I’m glad it was my shift.
Our friendship started innocently enough. When I did my rounds, we found ourselves discussing topics far afield of healthcare. When she was discharged, I offered to stop by and check on her progress, something I’ve never done with any other patient, previously or since.
A job that started out professional soon turned into something else. At first, I thought it was friendship. I knew from her chart that she was widowed and didn’t let my mind veer beyond that. Or at least I tried.
But these last few weeks have been wild and yet I still thought of her often. Very often.
Caroline intrigues me.
Beneath all that sophistication, there’s something she’s hiding. I can see it in the way her smile falters in the quiet moments when she thinks no one’s watching. There’s a vulnerability there, a loneliness she keeps buried deep under all that independence and self-control. And the crazy part? It only makes me care for her more. Even if I’m still not sure what we are. That’s what I’m here to figure out.
The joy of seeing her again after the hiatus is marred only by her demeanor. Stiff posture, tight lips, eyes half their usual size. Uh oh.
Caroline looks me up and down, making me feel a tad self-conscious. “Do I know you?”
Yikes. Worse than I thought.
For a moment I consider that she’s serious. After all, my graying, scraggly beard and suntanned face are a far cry from how I looked the last time she saw me.
