Chapter 5
“I
think you have too much perfume on. It's making my eyes water,” Bernice said. “I don't know why you bother getting all gussied up just to watch me sweat bullets.”
Toots steered the Range Rover into the handicapped parking space. Bernice insisted on using the permit she'd been issued even though there was no way in hell Toots would allow her to drive herself to the hospital. But if it made her happy, then Toots was all for it.
“I like watching you sweat. It makes me smile.”
“Bull. You like watching my doctor examine me.”
“Oh, stop it! I don't know what's come over you and Sophie, but you'd better keep it to yourselves. If you so much as hint to Dr. Becker about such . . . nonsense, then you
will
be riding a bird to the hospital. Or a taxi.”
Toots shut off the engine. Pulling her sun visor down, she peered in the small vanity mirror. She smacked her lips together and fluffed her hair before closing the mirror.
“I guess you like what you see. I wonder if Dr. Becker will?” Bernice asked as she retrieved her handbag from the floor.
“I don't know and don't care. Come on, let's get this over with. I have much more exciting things to do than hang around a hospital.”
Bernice clambered to get out of the Range Rover. But before she had a chance to close the passenger door, Toots was at her side. “Be careful. I don't want the therapist to think you're not well taken care of.” Without being too pushy, Toots led Bernice through the hospital doors and then inside the elevator and up to the third floor, where the physical therapy center was located.
The center was divided up into sections according to the patients' different levels of ability, beyond the required initial phase tackled while still in the hospital. Bernice had completed that phase with flying colors. After three days, she'd walked up and down the halls like a prostitute searching for her next john. Toots smiled when she recalled Sophie telling this to Bernice. She had recuperated faster than expected of a woman her age and had been sent home, promising to change her lifestyle. Bernice had followed the doctor's orders to the letter, and then some.
Now she was nearing the end of phase three. When it was successfully completed, she would be allowed to continue her therapy at home, as long as she continued to go to doctor appointments and all of her blood work remained normal. And so far, good old Bernice had passed this third phase with flying colors, too. Toots intended to keep her friend around for a while and did whatever she could to assist Bernice in her quest for good health. Though she would not smoke around Bernice, she knew she had to seriously give up the habit. Yes, she'd cut way down, but cutting down and quitting were two different things.
When they reached what Toots called “perspiration paradise,” a room filled with all kinds of exercise equipment, and the smells to go along with it, Bernice shooed her away. “Go have coffee, or have a piece of cake in the cafeteria. I'm going to be here for a while, and I don't need you to babysit.”
They went through this same routine three times a week. Toots rolled her eyes, took Bernice's handbag for safekeeping, then headed for the bank of elevators. “Just so you know, I don't eat the dried-up cake they serve in the cafeteria. I plan to have a bowl of Froot Loops.” Toots was noted for her sweet tooth. For a period of time, she'd actually called herself a vegan; but when she had to resort to using soy milk, she'd given up her attempt at a vegan lifestyle. It was either whole milk or nothing at all for her.
“Yeah, you just watch what happens if you keep eating that junk and smoking those nasty cigarettes. You're going to be right here alongside me, only I'll be the one running after that sexy, hot doctor,” Bernice said to Toots right before the elevator doors opened.
“Did I hear someone say âsexy, hot doctor'?” Dr. Phil Becker asked as he entered the physical therapy room.
“You did, but you just missed her.” Bernice nodded toward the elevator. “She's going to the cafeteria. And then I'm sure she'll run outside to huff a smoke or two.”
At sixty-eight, Dr. Phil Becker could've passed himself off as ten years younger if he were of a mind to do so. More than six feet tall, with the lean build of a runner, a thick mop of curly brown hair, and eyes so blue that one noticed them from a distance, he was far from the public's image of a cardiologist. Some might mistake him for a college professor. That day, he wore a pale blue polo shirt, khaki slacks, and Sperry deck shoes. To distinguish himself, he wore the obligatory white jacket with
DR. PHILLIP J. BECKER, M.D. F.A.C.C.,
embroidered in thick black letters above the upper left pocket.
Dr. Becker glanced at the closing elevator doors. “I'll catch her later. Now, my friend, let's see how you're progressing.”
A pretty blond physical therapist made a few notes on Bernice's chart before handing it over to the doctor. He scanned the information and signed his name at the bottom of the chart before giving it back to the physical therapist.
“Looks like you've more than surpassed the normal expectations. This is good. Now, I know the answer to this, but I have to ask, anyway. Are you prepared to continue to follow a strict diet and exercise regimen when I formally release you?”
Walking on the treadmill, Bernice nodded. “You ask this every week, and my answer is still the same. Yes. I want to live a while longer, so I will follow the rules. Now, can you leave me alone for a while? I want to listen to my music.” Toots had given Bernice an iPod. She had learned to download music and books and brought this with her for her required sixty minutes on the treadmill.
Dr. Becker laughed. “Yes, all right. But remember, you still have two more sessions here at the hospital before I can allow you to start working out on your own.”
Bernice took a deep breath and nodded. She had her earbuds in place and clicked the START button. She waved the doctor away and began her stint on the treadmill.
Seeing that he wasn't needed to assist or advise, Dr. Becker raced to the elevator, where he pressed
C
for cafeteria. He was going to find Ms. Loudenberry before she made an excuse to leave. He'd tried to corner her on several occasions, and each time she'd raced off to some urgent errand.
Not today, she won't.
As soon as the elevator doors swished open, he raced down the short hall to the cafeteria. Midmorning, and it was already packed with medical staff, a few ambulatory patients, and several visitors. The hum of voices and the clatter of dishes, along with the smell of baking bread and burnt coffee, greeted him as he stood on the threshold, searching for her. He spied her sitting alone at a table against the back wall, farthest from the exit.
Perfect,
he thought as he made his way across the cafeteria. It wouldn't be so easy for her to avoid him this time. He would follow her if he had to. That sounded scary even to him. He laughed to himself. A stalker he was not.
He strode over to her table. He saw three opened mini-boxes of Froot Loops scattered on her tray, plus two empty cartons of whole milk. “You keep eating that junk, you're gonna wind up on my table sooner than you think.”
Toots was too surprised to do more than nod, and she needed a few seconds to compose herself. Swallowing the last bite of her Froot Loops, she wiped her mouth with the small square of rough paper disguised as a napkin. “Dr. Becker, I presume.” She wasn't going to say more, nor was she going to stand up and invite him to join her.
“Ms. Loudenberry,” he said. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he sat down in the chair across from her.
Toots suddenly remembered why she was at the hospital. “Is Bernice all right?”
“She's better than all right. I just left her. She really doesn't need to come back for therapy. She's progressed enough to move on to the next phase.”
Toots's heart lurched, then slowed to a steady beat.
Figures Bernice would recover quickly.
Not that she didn't want her to, it was just that she thought she might have a chance to . . .
Never mind. It is what it is.
She cleared her throat. “Well, that's the best news I've heard all day.” And it was. Really.
His full lips twisted into a cynical smile. “Then why, I cannot help but wonder, do you not look very happy?”
No way was she going to allow him to get under her skin. “And what is that supposed to mean? You don't know me. I don't see how you can make such a statement. It isn't like we're . . . friends or anything. You haven't even . . .”
He reached across the small table and took her hand in his. “I haven't even what? Had the opportunity to ask you out? Hold your exquisite hand in mine?” His gaze went to their clasped hands. Toots yanked her hand away.
His smile turned into a chuckle. “I see. You want to play hard to get. Okay. I'm game. It's not like I'm going anywhere. Nope, just staying right here in Charleston. I don't have a home in Los Angeles, or anywhere else, for that matter. So you see, I have all the time in the world.”
Toots's eyebrows rose in amazement at his gutsiness. In spite of herself, she smiled. She liked this man. He had . . . chutzpah. She was thinking of something else when she had the sudden thought that she really didn't know if he had . . .
those,
what she thought of instead of nerve. Just the thought forced her to laugh out loud.
“You think this is funny? I've been trying to corner you for weeks, and now that I have, you're laughing at me?”
Totally unaware of the captivating picture she made when she smiled, Toots waited, sure the good doctor was about to say something she wanted to hear. She raised her brow, inquiringly. “No, I'm not laughing at you.” He was going to work for this, she thought as she waited for him to spit out whatever it was he had to say. She liked playing hard to get. Was actually surprised at how much she'd missed the chase, playing the game of cat and mouse.
The noise in the background stilled to a low drone. Toots felt the blood gush to her head, and her ears felt like they had when, as a child, she'd held a seashell next to her ear. She was sixty-six years old. This was
not
supposed to happen at her age. Nope. Not at all. She'd been there, done that. Eight times. Seven times too many. No way. It was not going to happen again. She was finally in complete control of her life. The last thing she wanted was a man to complicate things. Her life was nearly perfectâshe could come and go as she pleased, answering to no one but herself. She was not going to be like Ida. Just comparing herself to her man-hungry friend had the power to frighten her.
“Then you must be afraid of me,” Dr. Becker said.
Toots shook her head. “No, not at all.”
“Your red face says otherwise.”
Good grief! She was actually blushing. Trying to think of a quick comeback, she said, “I have . . . rosacea.”
Phil Becker laughed so loud that several patrons in the cafeteria turned to stare at him. Toots felt her face . . . her
rosacea
. . . turn crimson. Damn him for making her feel like she was a . . . a kid! She was anything but, and was just getting ready to tell Becker a thing or two when a young woman in her early thirties approached their table. She wore green scrubs and a light blue cover over her head. Her shoes also sported the protective covers.
“I'm sorry to interrupt, but Dr. Miller has a patient in ER he wants you to examine. He said you'd be here.”
Toots wondered why he hadn't been paged over the intercom system, beeped on his pager, or called on the cell phone she knew he kept strapped to his hip.
“Of course. Tell him I'm on my way.”
The young woman nodded before racing out of the cafeteria.
“Ms. Loudenberry, you have been saved by the bell once again, but before I let you off the hook, just so you know, I know what rosacea is, and trust me, you do not have rosacea. What you do have, I think we doctors refer to as blushing.” He stood up, grabbed her tray, and motioned for her to stand as well. “I would really like to discuss something very important with you. Since I'm needed in the ER, would it be too much to ask you to walk with me?”
Shit! He was not going to leave her alone, and frankly, Toots admired a man with persistence. Given her rosacea lie, the least she could do was listen to what he had to say.
“I'll walk with you,” she replied, following him to the area where garbage and trays were disposed of. “Of course, if this is an emergency, please don't wait for me.”
He raked the cereal and milk boxes into the garbage, then stacked the tray on top of the others. “No, I knew Miller was going to ask me to have a look at his patient. They've been there for a while. It's not a real emergency.”
Out in the hall, Toots walked beside him but was careful not to get too close. She didn't want to give him any ideas.
“A person is in the emergency room, waiting for you, and you say it's not an emergency?” The disbelief in her voice was obvious, but she didn't care.