eyes and throwing her hands up, her narrow face bright red. Mrs. Klein was one of their regulars, a woman in her early fifties who was in their office practically every week for something new. Slim, tiny, and chic, she reminded Kate of a Frenchwoman. Until she opened her mouth. Then she became a Frenchwoman with a heavy vowel-stretching New York accent. Grant frequently remarked on all the New Yorkers that had swarmed into Fairfield County, but Mrs. Klein was the only New Yorker Kate had met in Connecticut.
Grant smiled and said, “More intense lasers that penetrate deeper sometimes are the solution, but not in your case. You were wise to wear sunscreen.”
“Religiously! I wouldn’t leave the house without it. Still won’t.”
He nodded again. “Good,” he said and turned to Kate. “Let’s schedule the next in a month.”
“Oh! I don’t want to wait that long!”
“Your skin is very delicate, Mrs. Klein. You want to give it time to heal.”
“Oh, please don’t call me Mrs. Klein. It makes me feel like an old woman. Sara. Please!”
“Sara, fine. Four weeks. I promise you’ll be glad you waited.”
“Oh, okay. Doctor knows best,” Sara said, fluttering her eyelashes at him before turning toward Kate. Grant rolled his eyes elaborately and smiled a little before turning to go back to his office to make notes in his files for the day.
Kate stifled the urge to laugh and helped Sara select a time and date that worked for her, knowing she’d be calling next week and begging for an appointment for yet another “emergency”.
Grant told her that he felt like a shrink whenever Sara Klein showed up, the woman telling him about her fears of aging, relating things her husband had said and wondering aloud about "what he was getting at" and pointing out various marks on her skin, convinced they were melanoma moles instead of the innocent freckles they were.
"The only thing that dispels the illusion is Janice standing next to me, icy as they come," he said, shaking his head about his nurse's lack of affect and indifference to their patients. If Janice White, their small office's one nurse practitioner, hadn't shown herself to be talented and fearless in addition to apparently emotionless, he would have gone looking for a replacement by now.
Mrs. Klein left and then Janice followed shortly after, shrugging on a light rain jacket and giving Kate a wave as she walked out the door.
"See you tomorrow!" Kate called after her, trying to encourage some kind of friendliness between them. Janice didn't reply, the only sound that of the reception door slowly sighing as it shut. Wanting to sigh herself, Kate turned back to her computer, completed her entries in QuickBooks, and then got up to go tell Grant about Bianca and her impromptu plans for the night. Grant would probably be thrilled; he'd been encouraging her to join some local clubs or take a class - anything to alleviate the loneliness and yearning for her family and old friends she'd admitted to him.
She stopped at the door to his office which stood open and regarded her husband, who was looking at something avidly on his computer screen, the back of the monitor facing the door. Looking at him, she wondered again at his handsomeness, at what a smart successful man – a “catch” per her mother – her husband was. How did this happen? Kate wasn't pretty, she knew that. Her personality wasn't sparkling, her intellect was average, and she came from a large dairy farming family that struggled to put food on the table, so there was no lure of riches.
But he had told her over and over, especially in the beginning when the shock of him was daily, "What are you talking about? You're perfect. I'm crazy about you." And then, when pressed for details, he continued, "You're good. You're kind. You've got your head on straight. And, thank God, you don't play games. I swear, some of the women I've dated made my head hurt."
Noticing Kate standing in the door, he looked
Grant smiled and said, “More intense lasers that penetrate deeper sometimes are the solution, but not in your case. You were wise to wear sunscreen.”
“Religiously! I wouldn’t leave the house without it. Still won’t.”
He nodded again. “Good,” he said and turned to Kate. “Let’s schedule the next in a month.”
“Oh! I don’t want to wait that long!”
“Your skin is very delicate, Mrs. Klein. You want to give it time to heal.”
“Oh, please don’t call me Mrs. Klein. It makes me feel like an old woman. Sara. Please!”
“Sara, fine. Four weeks. I promise you’ll be glad you waited.”
“Oh, okay. Doctor knows best,” Sara said, fluttering her eyelashes at him before turning toward Kate. Grant rolled his eyes elaborately and smiled a little before turning to go back to his office to make notes in his files for the day.
Kate stifled the urge to laugh and helped Sara select a time and date that worked for her, knowing she’d be calling next week and begging for an appointment for yet another “emergency”.
Grant told her that he felt like a shrink whenever Sara Klein showed up, the woman telling him about her fears of aging, relating things her husband had said and wondering aloud about "what he was getting at" and pointing out various marks on her skin, convinced they were melanoma moles instead of the innocent freckles they were.
"The only thing that dispels the illusion is Janice standing next to me, icy as they come," he said, shaking his head about his nurse's lack of affect and indifference to their patients. If Janice White, their small office's one nurse practitioner, hadn't shown herself to be talented and fearless in addition to apparently emotionless, he would have gone looking for a replacement by now.
Mrs. Klein left and then Janice followed shortly after, shrugging on a light rain jacket and giving Kate a wave as she walked out the door.
"See you tomorrow!" Kate called after her, trying to encourage some kind of friendliness between them. Janice didn't reply, the only sound that of the reception door slowly sighing as it shut. Wanting to sigh herself, Kate turned back to her computer, completed her entries in QuickBooks, and then got up to go tell Grant about Bianca and her impromptu plans for the night. Grant would probably be thrilled; he'd been encouraging her to join some local clubs or take a class - anything to alleviate the loneliness and yearning for her family and old friends she'd admitted to him.
She stopped at the door to his office which stood open and regarded her husband, who was looking at something avidly on his computer screen, the back of the monitor facing the door. Looking at him, she wondered again at his handsomeness, at what a smart successful man – a “catch” per her mother – her husband was. How did this happen? Kate wasn't pretty, she knew that. Her personality wasn't sparkling, her intellect was average, and she came from a large dairy farming family that struggled to put food on the table, so there was no lure of riches.
But he had told her over and over, especially in the beginning when the shock of him was daily, "What are you talking about? You're perfect. I'm crazy about you." And then, when pressed for details, he continued, "You're good. You're kind. You've got your head on straight. And, thank God, you don't play games. I swear, some of the women I've dated made my head hurt."
Noticing Kate standing in the door, he looked
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