The Matchmaker's Gift(54)
“Can she examine me after hours? I don’t want anyone to recognize me.”
“I’m sure she’ll try her best to be accommodating. She’s a … family friend.”
“Fine. I’ll wait to hear back from you. But this doesn’t mean I’m putting the divorce on hold. I want you to proceed with it as planned.”
“Absolutely,” Abby promised. “I’ll call you back after I speak with Dr. Cooper.”
After Evelyn hung up, Abby put her head down on her desk and groaned. How had she gotten herself into such a mess? Somehow, she’d gone from being Evelyn’s divorce attorney to some kind of medical concierge. Not to mention what she’d set in motion with Will. Maybe something was wrong with her vision, too. Maybe that was the explanation for what she’d seen at the fashion show.
As she sat at her desk with her head in her hands, Abby felt a familiar panic surge through her. Whether it was the phone calls with Will and Evelyn Morgan, or the three cups of coffee she’d already downed, she felt a sudden need to be outside, to stretch her legs and get some fresh air. She told Diane’s assistant she’d be back in an hour. “If Diane comes looking for me, please tell her I’m on an errand for Evelyn.”
Her assistant stared at Abby as if she’d grown another head. “Did you forget? Diane’s in Miami, speaking at that conference. She’s staying through the weekend—she won’t be back until Monday.”
“Oh my God, Lisa, I could kiss you.” A break from Diane’s prying questions! A respite from the angry stares! Relief buoyed Abby all the way to the elevator, down seventeen stories, and into the lobby. She whistled as she walked north on Sixth Avenue, breathing in the early lunchtime scents of the city. She waved at the couple selling gyros on the corner and smiled at the falafel man stationed beside them. On the next street up, she passed the baked-potato cart and then the cheerful woman selling honey-roasted nuts. Her feet took her east, toward Fifth Avenue and Madison, then ten more blocks north, to Dr. Cooper’s office.
She did not have an appointment, she told the frowning receptionist, but she was happy to wait as long as she had to. “I won’t take more than a few minutes of her time,” Abby promised. “Please tell her it’s Sara Auerbach’s granddaughter.”
The receptionist’s frown softened into a grin. “Sara Auerbach? Oh goodness, what a gem she was! We all loved your grandmother, you know. She was everyone’s favorite patient. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“That’s very nice of you to say,” Abby told her.
“Don’t move, okay? Let me tell Dr. Cooper that you’re here.”
A few minutes later, the receptionist returned. “Dr. Cooper asked if you wouldn’t mind waiting. She should be finished with her patient by noon.”
“Of course. That’s great. Thanks so much.” Abby plopped down on the sleek leather sofa and picked up The New York Times from that morning. An ad for the new Nicole by étoile collection took up half of an entire page. Abby threw the paper back on the coffee table and tried to ignore her budding headache.
“Abby! What a nice surprise!” Though Dr. Cooper wore the same sneakers and rumpled white smock, her thick brown hair had been freshly highlighted with streaks of caramel and blond.
Abby stood from her seat. “Hi, Dr. Coop—Jessica. I like your hair!”
The doctor ran her fingers through her newly lightened locks. “Is it too much?” she asked. “I felt like I needed a change, you know?”
“Absolutely. It looks fantastic. I’m sorry to show up unannounced like this. I didn’t mean to mess up your schedule.…”
“Please don’t apologize! I don’t see my next patient for another hour. Do you want to grab a quick lunch with me? There’s a place with great coffee and sandwiches a few blocks up.”
“That sounds perfect.”
On Sixty-Seventh Street, they slipped into a small French bakery where women in blue aprons took their orders from behind a lengthy marble counter. Stacks of freshly made sandwiches were displayed behind glass, along with croissants, pastries, and assorted macarons. As they stood in line, Jessica confessed that she came to the bakery a few times a week. “I have a thing for their macarons,” she said. “The sandwiches are great, too—the pan bagnat is my favorite. It’s like a Ni?oise salad on a baguette. If you don’t like tuna, the one with goat cheese and tomato is delicious.”
They carried their sandwiches and drinks to a round bistro table in the back of the room. “I feel like I’m in Paris,” Abby said. “This whole place smells like butter and chocolate.”
Jessica took a whiff of the air. “It’s amazing, right? I love it here.” She grinned sheepishly at Abby. “So … this is embarrassing, but I have to ask. You haven’t found a match for me, have you? I mean, it’s totally fine if you haven’t. It’s just, you know…”
Abby struggled to swallow the bite of sandwich she’d taken. She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Jessica. I didn’t mean to get your hopes up like that. I know my grandmother told you I could help you, but the truth is, I don’t think I inherited her gift.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Jessica said confidently. Her initial embarrassment was gone. “Remember what you told me about your client and her husband—the one you thought shouldn’t end her marriage? The way you sounded when you described them reminded me an awful lot of your grandmother.”