Page 11 of The Devil You Know
I feel a twinge of guilt. I’m too old to be throwing a temper tantrum.
“I’m putting away the dishes,” I explain.
“You’re hurting my ears.”
I take a cleansing breath, preparing to do a more zen-like putting away of the dishes, but then Ben ambles into the kitchen with his peanut butter.
“Come on, Leah,” he says to her as he shoves his peanut butter in the cupboard. “You and I are going to put the dishes away together.”
I nod at him. “Thanks.”
“By the way,” he says to me. “Because I stayed home today, I’m going in tomorrow.”
I frown. “What about the Winter Concert?”
He looks at me blankly. Ben, I swear to God…
“The concert at Leah’s preschool,” I remind him.
“Oh right.” He scratches his head. “When is that again?”
For the tenth time: “Tomorrow at three.”
“Yeah, I could probably leave early,” he says.
“Don’t come exactly at three,” I warn him. “The parking is going to be difficult, so give yourself enough time.”
“I know,” he says irritably. “What is this thing anyway? Is it like a play or something?”
“Daddy, it’s the Winter Concert!” Leah pipes up. She tugs on his boxers. “We’re gonna sing songs about snow!”
“Songs about snow?” he asks.
She nods emphatically. “Like Frosty.” To demonstrate, she sings, “Frosty the Mommy was a very happy Mommy, with a corncob Mommy and a button Mommy and two eyes made out of Mommy!”
Ben grins at me. “I’vegotto see this snowman.”
I roll my eyes. I’m sure she’ll sing the right words at the actual concert. After all, she’d never dare disobey Mila.
Chapter 5
Thanks to the VA’s new star surgeon, I have to get out of the house a good hour before I usually do. Grand Rounds are forty-five minutes before my first patient is generally scheduled, and then I have to show up fifteen minutes earlier to babysit His Greatness. I barely know how to use the AV equipment as it is. He’d be much better off having Ben here.
Admittedly, when lectures are given at the VA, the AV people do tend to leave you hanging. When I gave my first lecture here, I had five minutes to figure out how to load my PowerPoint and get it on the overhead screen all by myself. So it isn’t entirely ridiculous that the surgeon requested my presence. Buthedoesn’t know how bad the AV people are—he’s just being a jerk.
Last night, I was tempted to Google this surgeon, but I realized I’d forgotten his name. Or else Dr. Kirschstein never told me in the first place. Anyway, it was probably better I didn’t.
When I get to the small auditorium where we hold our rounds, Dr. Kirschstein is waiting for me by the door in his long white coat with his name stenciled on the lapel. He’s got his arms folded across his chest. “Dr. McGill!” he booms. “You’re late for your tour of duty!”
Dr. Kirschstein always refers to my hours at the VA as my “tour of duty.” Like I’m a soldier serving on the front lines rather than just an outpatient doc treating vets for high blood pressure.
I look down at my watch. It’s ten to eight. “I’m five minutes late.”
Dr. Kirschstein blinks a few times because one of his gray eyebrow hairs has descended into his field of vision. He has the longest eyebrow hairs I’ve ever seen in my life—so long that they’re nearly bangs. Lisa and I call them “eyebangs.” I generally find excessive eyebrow grooming to be ridiculous, but Dr. Kirschstein could definitely use some eyebrow grooming.
“Dr. Reilly is very upset in there,” he tells me.
The Great Surgeon is having a tantrum. He probably needs his diaper changed. “I’m sorry,” I say. “Leah was… she was being difficult this morning.”
