Page 6 of Paging Dr. Hart
“Starving.” He rubs his stomach for emphasis.
The cafeteria is at the lowest level of the hospital. A slow stream of doctors, nurses, and technicians join us, all heading in. It’s like watching a herd of animals migrate to the watering hole during an African safari. The greasy smell of char-grilled hamburgers and fried tater tots hangs heavy in the air as we enter. Underlying it is the chemical scent of medical-grade disinfectant.
I pick up a chipped plastic tray from the stack near the door. Ethan follows my lead, taking his own tray, and waits patiently behind me. We proceed down the line, grabbing plates of pre-made food as we go. When Ethan stops by the grill to order a burger and fries, I gape at him. “More food?” He’s already loaded his tray with salad, two cups of strawberry Jello, and a turkey sandwich. “Are you really going to eat all that?”
A sardonic smirk from him. “Oh yeah. I’ll eat.Every. Last. Bite.”He stares into my eyes as he draws out those last three words, letting silence build between each one. Something about how he says it sounds intimate, almost sexy. There’s a weird hollowing in my stomach, a clenching low in my belly that has nothing to do with hunger. At least, notthatkind of hunger.
“Besides, don’t we get the food for free?” He breaks his gaze from mine to pile silverware onto his plate. “That’s how we do it in Cleveland.”
So entitledis the first thought that pops into my mind. “It’s free, but that doesn’t mean we should waste it.” I wonder if this man has ever been hungry.If he knew what it was like to worry about making food last, stretching it out until the next paycheck came in.
A memory comes to me of my mother hunched over a pile of bills at our tiny kitchen table at night, a vase of wilting red roses next to her. Her calculator in hand and a line of worry dividing her forehead. How the spill of light and shadow from the cheap chandelier overhead turned that line into a chasm.
5
Once we have all our food, I swipe my badge through the scanner to check out. “Where do you want to sit?” I ask as we wind our way through the cafeteria, dodging tables and chairs.
“Anywhere,” he says, holding his tray out in front of him. “Where do you usually sit?”
“In my office.” I scan ahead. Half the tables are empty.
My comment earns an odd look from Ethan, his eyebrows scrunching together. “You eat by yourself?” he clarifies, like he can’t imagine it. The idea of voluntarily eating alone.
“Yeah.” My shoulders stiffen defensively.
We find a table in the corner of the room and settle in, sitting across from each other. Ethan bends over his plate, spooning Jello into his mouth. In between bites, he asks, “What’s your story? Tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell. I’m from Las Vegas, and now I live here.” I don’t dwell on what a relief it had been to leave Vegas. Falling silent, I start in on my food, hoping that will be the end of small talk.
I should have known better.
“Vegas, huh?” Ethan straightens, gazing at me with a spark of interest. “I’ve only been once, for a friend’s birthday, but we had a blast.”
I wince. “Let me guess,” I say dryly. “You gambled and went to clubs.” I’ve seen firsthand what kind of “fun” guys can find on the Strip.
“Yep.” Ethan smirks. “Also, saw a couple of shows, the good ones with the acrobatics.” A forkful of salad goes into his mouth. He chews slowly. “Do you go back there often? Vegas?”
“No.” I give a small shake of my head, hating what comes next. No matterhow many times I say it, this part never gets easier. “My mom passed away. I don’t have anyone else.”
You and me, Kitten. Us against the world.
“I’m sorry.” Ethan frowns with sympathy. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”
I nod, lips in a thin line, and look away, blinking rapidly.
After a heavy pause, he asks, “No one left there? Not even friends?”
Friends.
The word conjures an image of Shelly, not the teenage version with the too-thick eyeliner and dark lipstick, but the girl from when we were little. Those round cheeks and dirty blonde hair that turned to gold every summer, sun-bleached from the pool.
“No friends.” Clenching my plastic fork so hard the edges dig into my fingertips, I fall quiet, finding comfort in the silence, wrapping it around me like a shroud.
Ethan fidgets for a minute, scraping his food around on his plate but not lifting the fork to his mouth. Finally, he exhales audibly. “Do you like radiology?”
I can’t help it. A laugh sputters out of me. “Wow. You really are bad at this, aren’t you?”
“Bad at what?” His straight eyebrows angle downward, half-offended and half-perplexed.
