Page 116 of The Blessings of Christmas
Victoria’s stomach flipped over. “But I’ve already had my breakfast.”
He checked his wrist. “Almost lunchtime. Let’s call it brunch.” His wicked grin made her suspicious. Was this some kind of test?
“Why, of course.” Slipping her Gucci bag over one shoulder, she picked up a plate. Diet aside, she was choking this down. The beans could be scooted under a piece of toast. He’d never know.
When he grabbed a plate himself, she almost lost her nerve. “Mind if I join you?”
Heck, yes. “This is the first chance I've had to eat this morning.”
“Good information for my article.” You would almost think she meant to write it. The noise level had risen again. People chattered with each other at the long tables. Somewhere a baby wailed. In the corner a young girl read a story to small children gathered around her on the floor. This place was way more than a clinic. It was a gathering place. But back to breakfast. She took a tablespoon of eggs. “Looks like you’ve got some kind of program going on here.”
“Didn’t take me long to realize that these folks needed more than healthcare.”
“Sure. Right.” What kind of soap did he use? Whatever it was, she wanted three bars of the spicy stuff and a long soak in a tub.
“Potatoes?” Phyllis asked her. Taking in the woman’s netted hair, Victoria realized that she’d probably have to wear one too. Would the humiliation ever end?
“Just a smidge.” Would she walk away from a chance to work shoulder to shoulder with Dr. Hot Stuff because of a hairnet? No way.
When he nudged her shoulder, the rest of her body turned to mush. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. More, please, for both of us.” He gestured to their plates.
Giving Victoria an apologetic look, Phyllis scooped out fattening carbohydrates. Hash browns crowded her eggs, along with a healthy portion of grits and the dreaded green beans. Heaping food onto his plate, the good doctor kept blabbering away about the value of eating three meals a day.
“Guess you're not on a diet,” she said.
“Not me. I can’t keep the carbs on. Burn them right off.”
Yeah right. Was he yanking her chain?
Plate in hand, Victoria was headed for an empty table when Dr. Darling stopped to talk to Big Mac. “Do you mind company?”
The older man was wiping his plate clean with a piece of toast. “No, Doc. I certainly do not.” He moved over and Dr. Darling nodded to Victoria. She sat down beside Big Mac, and Dr. Darling took the seat across from her. Victoria sure didn’t mind looking over into those eyes. But how would she eat all this food?
Dr. D. took a lumberjack forkful of potatoes and chomped down.
Taking her fork, she speared dainty portions of egg and potatoes, swirling them through the grits. The tiny portion left her wanting more. Phyllis seemed to be waiting and Victoria gave her a nod. “Delicious.” She would be serious competition for Maribelle.
“Dr. D. sure does like to eat.” Big Mac chuckled.
Do tell. Daddy had always taught her to ask questions to get things flowing. “Have you been coming here very long, Big Mac?”
“Yes, ma’am. Since it opened. Doc checks my blood sugar and my feet. Feels goods to have a doctor taking care of me and my diabetes.”
“Big Mac used to work in the mines.” Dr. Darling was wolfing down green beans, although they weren’t that fresh green she was used to.
“What kind of work did you do?” She started on her potatoes, one small chunk at a time.
The man laughed as if she’d just said the funniest thing ever. “I dug coal, Ms. Victoria. ‘Til my lungs gave out. That’s what we all did. Now the mine’s closed. Guess it was a good thing in a way. Now I sure breathe better, but I’d rather be working.”
Victoria was at a loss. What did a man his age do when he ended up without work? Big Mac must not have family to help him find work. The realization humbled her. She felt Dr. D.’s eyes on her, but she wanted to keep this conversation rolling. “Hey, what’s your dog’s name?”
“Friskie. I saw it on a bag.” Reaching down, he tossed Friskie a left over crust. “Poor dog. I found him in the street. Guess he’d been in a fight. But who needs two ears anyway?”
Friskie gobbled the toast and then sat up, his one ear twitching forward.
When she glanced over at Dr. Darling, he was making serious inroads on his breakfast.
Her beans sat in a mound, mocking her. Slipping a couple from her plate, she waved them under the table, grateful when the moist tongue licked her fingers and snatched the beans. Big Mac’s eyes shifted to her but he didn’t say a thing. Somewhere she’d read that beans were good for your hair. Friskie was going to have a beautiful coat. While she worked on her eggs, her beans disappeared under the table. Glancing up at the clock, she saw that it was almost eleven. Maisy would be wondering about her.
