Cellar Door Read Free Page B

baritone laughter echoes off the walls, surrounding us. He beams at me, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes conveying his pleasure at getting a rise out of me. His eyes narrow as he takes in tear-streaked cheeks, evidence of my sadness over the impending loss of my friend. But he has no way of knowing that.
    “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asks in a surprisingly fierce tone of voice. From his show of concern, you’d think we were old friends. I’m not sure we could be any farther from friends, actually.
    “I’m fine. Allergies,” I mutter, ignoring the skeptical tilt of his head as he waits for me to fill the silence with an explanation. Not happening. His hospital ID badge identifies him as an orthopedic surgeon. Wow. I bet he just plows over anyone who gets in his way and nobody ever stands up to him. Someone needs to, that’s for sure. So I keep going and let sarcasm rule the day.
    “So…Work any miracles today? Save any lives? Re-attach any limbs? Maybe give some poor soul the ability to walk?”
    “Yes, yes, no, and yes, in fact, I did,” he replies with an amused smirk as his gaze slides up and down my figure, making leisurely stops along the way. “I’ll tell you all about it over a cup of coffee.”
    Oh, hell no.
    “Yeah, about that,” I scoff. “I won’t be having coffee with the likes of you, now or ever.”
    “Well, you can usually find me here, so if you ever change your mind just let me know,” he says good-naturedly as he leans back on his heels and slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks.
    “Don’t hold your breath,” I mutter caustically as I sweep past him.
    “Oh, now, don’t go away mad,” he teases as I storm off down the hall. “Someday you might really need that cup of coffee and I’d hate for you to miss out.”
    “Miss out on what ?” I toss the retort over my shoulder, huffing and puffing as I trudge down the hall with my stack of books.
    “Why, me , of course!” he says oh-so-innocently. His arrogant chuckle seems to follow me as I step into the elevator and awkwardly reach down to push the Lobby button without dumping my books on the floor once more. I hate to admit that he might have a point about my books…but, well, he might have a point. Dammit.
    “One miracle worker, right here, if you ever need one,” he calls out to me, pointing at himself and nodding. He continues to flash that lopsided smile as the elevator doors close.
    I spend the brief journey to the lobby fuming and plotting his imaginary but incredibly gratifying demise. He has got to be the most arrogant, infuriating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. As far as I’m concerned, he’s nothing more than a typical playboy surgeon with a God complex. Coffee, right… I have no intention of being a notch on his or anyone else’s bedpost.
    I have one thing on my mind: getting back to my desk to write. That pompous doctor and his offer of coffee don’t fit into the equation. The brisk late afternoon air is invigorating as I exit the hospital, and reminds me that I need to hurry. It will be dusk soon and I don’t want to be walking the streets when the sun goes down.
    I barely make it to the bus stop in time to catch the last bus before dark. I dig around in my jean pocket and struggle to hold onto my armload of books. With my bus token safely deposited into the slot, I cross over to the closest seat I can find.
    Wretched books?!? How in the world could someone as educated as a surgeon be so ignorant? Why, I wouldn’t have coffee with that man if I was going through caffeine withdrawal and the headache that goes along with it. I tuck an earbud in my ear and listen to an audio book via my phone, desperate to drown out the doctor’s sardonic voice. Wretched books, my ass.
    The ride takes a while but is pleasant enough with the company of the audio book. It’s not long before I’m standing and pulling the cord to alert the driver to stop. He eyes me in the mirror and smiles