One Hot Doctor by Sarah J. Brooks

Chapter 18

Thomas

It’s almost noon on Sunday, and we’re driving back home. I wish Cora and I had more time to stay at the resort. I feel as if I know her a little better after spending two days with her.

She’s the one driving. I paid a little fee to have someone from the resort drive my car back to LA. Cora sings off-tune to the song playing on the radio. Forty-five minutes into our journey, we stop at a farmhouse café for an early lunch. We opt for an outdoor table overlooking the farm. On the hills, we see a dozen or so cows grazing peacefully on the grass.

“It’s nice to get out of your own life and see how other people live,” Cora says after we’ve given our order.

A slight wind slaps our faces, but it’s refreshing after being in the car. “Yeah, it is.”

She tells me about how Riley and her husband Leo are always going to his hometown during the weekends. He grew up on a farm.

I love watching Cora talk. She uses her hands a lot, and her face changes depending on the subject. Now, she looks relaxed and easy, and I wish I could keep her like this all the time.

The friendly woman who took our order returns with our food and drinks. The beef sandwiches smell and taste heavenly, as does the freshly made orange juice. She explains that all their ingredients are locally sourced and grown or reared for the café.

Cora and I make fun when she leaves about how little we know about the food we eat back in LA. After lunch, we resume our journey, and she insists on driving, saying that she loves it.

I don’t mind; it gives me a chance to look at her when I want. Her phone rings, and she asks me to answer it and put it on speakerphone.

“Cora, you wouldn’t believe what happened,” her sister screeches on the phone.

“Hi, nice to hear from you,” Cora says, her tone easy.

“I’m with the kids, and we’ve just come from Mom’s. I thought I’d pop in and say hello.”

“Go on,” Cora says.

A deep inhale sounds before Adeline continues, “He moved in,” she screams. “He opened the door wearing a freaking towel.”

“Oh my God!” Cora says.

I wish I was not a witness to this conversation. I feel as if I’m eavesdropping on a family matter.

“I know. What are we going to do, Cora? Did you talk to him?”

Cora shifts in her seat. “No. He hasn’t been coming to the gym.”

It’s clear from Cora’s voice that she hasn’t made much of an effort to talk to Ian. I don’t blame her either. How do you ask an adult male what he wants with your mother?

“We can’t just keep quiet and watch her mess up her life,” Adeline continues. “I have an idea. We can get her an appointment with a therapist.”

“She’ll never agree to it,” Cora says.

The whole conversation leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I’m a firm believer in respecting people’s decisions. The mention of a therapist reminds me of my constant fight with my family when Tessa died.

They were on my case to see a therapist, and I didn’t want to. Eventually, they wore me down, and I made an appointment, but I did it only to get them off my back. It didn’t help at all, but that wasn’t the therapist’s fault. I had gone under duress, and I hadn’t given her anything to work with.

“Come back to me when you’re ready to give this a real shot,” had been her parting words to me.

Grief has stages, and therapy was not going to help me get well any faster. Only time would, and I still believe that. Cora’s mom doesn’t need a therapist. The woman just needs to be allowed to have a little fun. She’s not hurting anybody, and all her kids are adults who don’t need her anymore.

“She will if you ask her,” Adeline says.

“And what reason will I give her as to why she’s seeing a therapist,” Cora says. “I can’t tell her to her face that she’s behaving crazy.”

“Why not?” Adeline demands.

I switch off as the sisters argue back and forth. I enjoy the passing scenery and allow my mind to become blank. It’s a rare occurrence not to be thinking about one of my patients.

I drift back to the present when Cora disconnects the call.

“That was fun,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“It’s life,” I tell her.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Cora says.

“Sure.” I hate personal questions, but I can’t say no when less than twenty-four hours ago, I asked her the same thing.

“Did you see a therapist when your wife passed on?” she says. “I’m asking because I’m thinking that my mom might be suffering from delayed grief. She never talked to a professional after Dad died.”

I’m astounded. “That was more than ten years ago, right?”

“Well, yes, but you know what they say, you never get over grief; you just learn to live with it.”

I agree with that last part. It’s been almost three and a half years, and I still tear up when I think of the day I lost Tessa. Even now, this conversation is too close to home, and my heart constricts with pain. Some days I think that I’m finally over it, and then pain, like I’m feeling now, comes over me, and I realize how little healing I’ve undergone. From this spot, the future suddenly looks very bleak where it had been colorful only minutes ago.

“So, did you?” Cora says.

It takes a moment to understand what she’s saying. “I did. Yeah.” My tone discourages further questions.

Seeing a therapist did not help me because I’d done it to appease my family. It won’t help Cora’s mother either. It has to be something you want for yourself.

We’re quiet on the rest of the drive back, but it’s a comfortable silence. Cora drops me off at three in the afternoon.

I lean across the seat to kiss her on the mouth. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

She smiles. “Sure.”

I grab my bag from the back seat, and with a wave, I head toward the front door. My cell phone rings just as I’m walking through the foyer. I drop my bag and reach for my phone. I glance at the screen and see that it’s my father calling. It’s rare, and my first thought is that something is wrong.

I pick the call hurriedly. “Hi Dad, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” he says, and I immediately relax. “How are you, and how is Cora?”

“Cora is fine.” I move to the kitchen and turn on the coffee machine.

“That’s good,” he says. “Did you think about what we talked about?”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Women need to feel secure, and an engagement will do wonders for her. Son, she’s carrying your child!”

“I was planning to propose to her this coming week.” The truth is that the whole thing escaped my mind after the accident.

“That’s wonderful, son. I’m proud of you for doing the right thing.”

Guilt floods me, but I shrug it off.

 

 

***

 

“Welcome to Unique jewelry,” a dark-haired woman says as soon as I step into the shop on Second Avenue. “My name is Jessica.”

“Thank you,” I say, looking around and then moving to the side with a display of rings.

“What kind of ring are you looking for?” she says.

“An engagement ring.”

Her face lights up, and she smiles. I wonder if she does that for everyone who wants to buy an engagement ring.

“Any idea what kind of ring you want?” she asks.

I realize I have no idea what I want or rather what kind of ring Cora would want. I don’t know her well enough to figure out what sort of ring she would want.

Unexpectedly, memories of my past resurface, and I remember my last visit to a jewelry store. It had been so different from this shopping trip. I knew Tessa inside out, and we’d even casually looked at rings together, and so I knew what sort of ring I wanted.

I shouldn’t be so fussy about the engagement ring that I’m getting for Cora. It’s a fake engagement, but I find myself wanting to buy the perfect ring for her. I settle on a rose gold ring and estimate the size of her finger. She has a similar build to the saleslady.

With the jewelry box in my pocket, I return to my office, text Cora, and invite her for dinner. She agrees. That sorted, I turn my attention to work.

Later, I go home to shower and get ready for the evening. I whistle as I pick my clothes for the evening. When I’m ready, I leave the house feeling on top of the world, which is weird because I’m not proposing for real.

I’m surprised to find Cora waiting outside her building. It’s a warm evening, and she’s dressed in a pretty silk dress that hugs her body perfectly. Heat whips through me.

I get out of the car and take her into my arms. She smells like heaven and vanilla. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

I open the door for her and bow low as she enters the car, making her laugh.

“Thank you for inviting me for dinner,” she says. “What brought it on?”

“Nothing,” I say mysteriously.

At the restaurant, we are shown to a discreet corner, which I’d requested when I called to make a reservation. I hope she’ll like the ring even if it won’t be a real engagement.

We order dinner and chat easily as we eat. After dinner, I remove the jewelry box from my pocket and open it with flourish. Cora’s eyes widen, and she clamps her mouth with her hand.

“Cora, will you do me the honor of becoming my fiancée?”

“Yes,” she says.

All along, I think she’s joking until her eyes fill up with tears. “Hey, you okay? This is not for real. You remember I promised my dad that we’d get engaged, remember?” I’m rambling. I have a feeling that something is very wrong, but I don’t immediately figure it out.

“What?” Cora says. She wears a look of horror, and it dawns on me that she thought it was a real proposal.

“Wait? Did you think …”

She pushes her chair back and stands up. “Fuck you, Thomas. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She grabs her bag and marches off.

“Fuck.” I scramble to my feet but realize I can’t run after her as I have to settle the bill first.

By the time I’m done and run outside, she’s gone. I return to the table, and that’s when I notice that she’s left the ring on the table. I pick it up as well as my jacket and leave.

Talk about a dinner date going wrong. My destination was home, but I find myself driving to Cora’s place. I cannot go home knowing she left in such distress.

I ring the bell, and to my relief, she lets me in. I find her leaning on the front door of her apartment. She turns and enters the house without a word. I follow her into the living room and sit down next to her on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” I start to say.

She shakes her head. “I should be the one apologizing. I was a fool.” She covers her face. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“I should have done it better, not made such a production of it,” I say. I should just have given her the ring at home in the same way I’d pass her a glass of water.

Inviting her for dinner and proposing to her formally was a recipe for disaster.

“You can give it to me now,” she says with a small smile.

“Are you sure?” I ask. When she nods, I fish it from my pocket and slip it onto her outstretched finger.

“It’s beautiful, thank you,” Cora says quietly.

I don’t want to overstay my welcome, and I stand up to leave, relieved that everything is okay between us.