A Family Affair(13)

It was probably only a minute. Then she felt a hand on her back.

“Jessie?” a male voice asked.

She looked up into the eyes of Patrick Monahan, a neurosurgeon with privileges at the hospital. Her luck was not holding out. Just what she needed was to look completely stupid in front of a colleague. All she could utter was, “Um...”

“What’s wrong?”

“I, ah, didn’t turn off my car, and my purse, phone and keys are locked inside.”

He pulled out his phone. “I bet you have a service we can call. If you tell them the license plate number they can unlock the car remotely.”

“Yes. You’re right but...I can’t remember. Shit, I should’ve read the manual.”

“I’ll call Lexus.” He dialed up the number and she wondered...

“Do you have a Lexus?” she asked.

“No. Tesla. I searched it. Here,” he said, passing her the phone.

She explained her situation and they suggested a few vehicle services; she recognized one and Lexus connected her. She gave them her name, cell phone number, license plate number—and within a minute, pop. The door was unlocked. “Is there anything more I can do for you, ma’am?”

“Thank you, I’ll be fine now.”

She handed the phone back. “And thank you. I was a little rattled today. My father passed away recently and I just met with my family about the will. It was emotional. Distracting.”

“I believe I heard something about your father,” he said. “A rafting accident?”

“Yes. I have no idea why he was doing that. He never had before.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Jessie.”

“Thank you. Well. I thought I’d check on a few—”

“Anything urgent?” he asked.

“No, but I thought I’d—”

“Grab your purse, lock your car safely. Come with me and let’s go get a taco. You’ve had a rough few days or weeks. A little social escape is a good idea.”

“Surely you’re too busy to—”

“Actually, I’m kind of hungry and there’s this great place nearby, a hole in the wall. We can eat outside. Great food.”

“I’m really not all that—”

“If you’re not very hungry, pick at some nachos and have a beer. Then go home. I recognize the syndrome—you go to work because you don’t know what else to do and you don’t want to just hang out alone at home where there’s nothing to do. Doctors tend to do that. But maybe you’ll decide to talk about it. If not, that’s all right. The tacos are great.”

She had no idea why he was doing this. It’s not as though they had a relationship other than he was a physician at the same hospital.

“I’ve never ridden in a Tesla before,” she said, strapping in.

“It’s a complete indulgence,” he said. “I couldn’t justify it in a million years. I don’t need it and I’m not rich. But for some reason just having it makes me feel younger and slightly more reckless, something I can’t afford to be in my real life.” It roared to life under her and she tipped her head back and laughed.

The spring air was so fresh and light; it was finally warming up and the flowers were popping out everywhere. In other parts of the country it had probably grown green and lush weeks ago, but in the Bay Area spring was a little more sluggish because of the cool ocean breezes and the clouds. It was a lazy sun but when it shone, like now, it was brilliant.

“I love this car,” she said, caressing the dashboard. “Maybe it’s time I had a new car. A fancy toy.”

He pulled into a strip mall not far from the hospital, right in front of a restaurant with a sidewalk dining area surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and pots of geraniums. “Good. My favorite table is empty.”

“Do you come here a lot?” she asked.

“Pretty often. I live alone and hardly ever cook. I go out or pick something up most of the time.”

“You’re single? I guess I didn’t know that.”

“Divorced for a few years. Doctors are horrible people to be married to, I’m told.”

There was a pause as they got out of the car and walked to the café. “My favorite table is here,” he said, grasping her elbow and steering her toward a table at the corner of the patio. They could be out of the way of the servers and other diners and have a good view of the sidewalk for people watching. “Since you’re not hungry, can I order for us?”

“Of course,” she said. Then she began to wonder about the propriety of splitting or picking up the check because right away she felt a little odd. Even though she didn’t report to Patrick Monahan, he was a well-known neurosurgeon with a strong reputation at the hospital.

She liked him. He was pleasant and professional on the job; he was serious and focused. He treated people with respect, from the intern to the visiting specialist. She had never anticipated spending this kind of one-on-one time with him.

“Are you a beer girl or would you rather something else?”

“Wine,” she said. “Chardonnay.”

He ordered a beer and a chardonnay.

“Aren’t you going back to work?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I’m not seeing patients today. I’m not even on call except that I’m always on call. I wanted to pick up some charts from my office. And you’re not really seeing patients, are you? Just looking for something to do in which you feel competent. A death in the family can throw us off and we always go back to the place we feel like we know what we’re doing.”