Page 4 of Molly
“Maybe we can go somewhere else to talk. You’ve had a rough day, and I know a place that will make you feel a bit better. A prescription of sorts.”
Her eyes stayed fixed on the doorknob. “Dr. Reed—”
“Ben.” I placed my now-warm hand on her shoulder so she’d look up at me. “I promise my medicine will help. Please. I’ll only take a few minutes of your time, I promise.”
The hint of a smile graced her pink lips. “You make a lot of promises.”
“All of which I intend to keep.”
She pulled her brows low, her gaze straying to the colorful displays of students’ work over my shoulder. Her expression grew wistful, though mixed with pain.
Mrs. Bardowski was an idiot. Truly caring and dedicated teachers were worth their weight in gold, and anyone with eyes could see Miss Osbourne was one hundred percent invested in her students.
“I’m Chloe’s dad, by the way.” Not sure why I hadn’t thought to mention that little piece of information before. Although, who else would I be, hanging around a preschool and having meetings with the principal, if not a parent?
Her aquamarine eyes widened. “You’re Chloe’s dad?”
I moved my hand from her shoulder to rub against my cheek. I’d shaved before my shift but needed to have run a razor along my jaw again at least ten hours ago. Now the stubble created a rough burn across my palm. The physical discomfort mirrored the one scratching at me from the inside. Six months into the school year and one of my daughter’s teachers didn’t even know that I was Chloe’s father.
Mrs. Bardowski would like that, wouldn’t she? Just go to prove her point that, when it came to Chloe and being there the way she needed me (which, as Mrs. Bardowski stressed, included being “on time” to pick Chloe up from school), I was failing. And that killed me.
“Chloe is the reason I wanted to talk to you, actually.”
Miss Osbourne shook her head a bit. “As you overheard, Dr. Reed, I just got fired. If you have any concerns about Chloe, you should bring them to Mrs. Turner. I’m sure she can help you out.”
Mrs. Turner had been helping, staying with Chloe when I couldn’t get away from the hospital to pick her up on time. She’d even taken Chloe back to her house once. But I couldn’t keep relying on Mrs. Turner. “As I said before, I need you, Miss Osbourne. Please let me explain my proposal.”
A door shut down the hall, dragging our attention that way. Mrs. Bardowski stepped out of her office.
Miss Osbourne flinched. “At this point I’d rather be anywhere than here.”
I gaped at her a moment before a laugh worked its way through my chest and out my mouth to echo around the cinderblock walls. For most people, there were things one thought and things one said. I was beginning to realize Molly Osbourne didn’t have inside thoughts and outside thoughts. If she thought it, she said it.
“Then let’s go.”
Two minutes later, she slipped behind the wheel of her yellow Volkswagen Beetle and followed me the four miles to my impromptu pharmacy. When she stepped out of her car, a grin spread across her face. “The ice cream parlor? That’s your prescription?”
I shrugged. “Always makes Chloe and me feel better when we’ve had a hard day.” I held the door open for her, and she stepped into the Shoppe.
She stood back away from the counter and eyed the flavors listed on a chalkboard hanging from the ceiling. “I’m going to assume the doses aren’t like acetaminophen and based on the patient’s weight.”
I hid a laugh behind a cough and took advantage of her focus being on the menu to really get a good look at her. She was petite—about the same size as Kennedy, our seventeen-year-old neighbor who babysat Chloe occasionally. Hair the color of…
…
Blonde! My eyes bugged wide.
Her hair was blonde andnotthe color of the first thing that entered my mind. Curse Dr. Feinburg for making me take all those urine samples down to the lab before I left for the day.
I must have been more tired than I’d even realized. Yes, it had been a while since I’d spent any great amount of time with the opposite sex. Finishing medical school while juggling diaper changes hadn’t left a lot of room for a social life, but I wasn’t so completely out of touch with social reality that I didn’t know comparing the color of a woman’s hair to bodily fluid would not put me on said woman’s good side.
I quickly shot another glance at Miss Osbourne. It appeared that all her sides were good sides. Her high cheekbones and button nose created an adorable profile, and the high-waisted skirt she wore with attached suspenders gave her an air of innocence and youth.
Just how oldwasshe?
Some people looked younger than they were, I got that. But standing beside her I began to feel decidedly ancient. The bags under my eyes grew heavier. The crick in my lower back from catching a ten-minute nap in a waiting room chair twisted tighter. The responsibility of being a single father while trying to perform all the demanding tasks of residency pushed down on my shoulders until I wanted to crawl to the closest chair and collapse under the weight. I was only twenty-seven, but I felt more like seventy-two.
“What flavor are you going to get?” I twisted at the waist to alleviate the pinch in my lumbar region.
