I'm Still Here Page 5

  O.K. seemed a little perturbed that Dr. Olsson was talking to me. Or that he seemed to know me. Or that he was being criticized for his treatment of a woman. Whatever the reason, O.K. was now clearly annoyed, his brow knitted. "Rob, how do you know Esther?"

  "We've worked together recently on a case," he said shortly. "How do you know Esther?"

  "Esther is standing right here, and Esther can hear you both. Esther is just tired and obviously hungry, and wants to go home."

  They both looked at me. Dr. Olsson's face broke into a wide grin. I smiled right back. It was hard not to. I felt immediately at ease with Dr. Olsson, most likely due to the rapport we'd established during the emotionally draining case that had introduced us.

  O.K. cleared his throat, drawing our attention. "Rob, I was going to ask if you'd bring Esther home. I had promised her a ride earlier, but got, um, sidetracked with Melissa. She—" he nodded towards me, "left her keys in my car and has been stranded since. I've got to get out to the floor, but you're off now right?"

  Dr. Olsson smiled a wicked grin at me. "Oh, I'd be happy to give Miss Esther here a ride anytime." Now the words in and of themselves were innocuous, but he'd clearly layered on the innuendo. I guess this was what O.K. had meant about his friend being slick. I don't know why it didn't bother me, but it didn't. I guess there was a tiny (okay, HUGE) part of me that wanted to be flattered, especially after O.K. deserted me to take Demon Melissa out to dinner.

  O.K. fished his hand in his pants pocket and pulled out the keys to his Maxima. He handed them to Dr. Olsson, who had a puzzled look on his face.

  "What do I want the keys to your piece of shit for?"

  I felt the need to defend O.K., since he had been trying to help me out, after all. "Hey, his car is not a piece of shit. I know—I was the proud owner of a rusted-out 1992 Mercury Topaz, which was a classic piece of shit until it became intimately and violently acquainted with the front ends of a Town and Country and Dodge Ram. Please don't insult my piece of shit, may she rest in peace, by calling his," I nodded towards O.K., "brand new, V-6, fully loaded turbo Nissan Maxima a piece of shit."

  "Wow, this girl's got moxie. I like her." Dr. Olsson smiled at me.

  "I don't know if it's really moxie, or really 'I just want to go the hell home right now.'"

  Both doctors smiled at me. Rob said, "Okay, I'll run down and get your keys out, and then come back up and escort you home. Why don't you have a little something to eat while you wait." It was not a question; it was a statement.

  I was pretty hungry (not to mention poor), so I meandered over to the table. The lounge had started to clear out as some of the staff went out to start their shift. I looked over the goods on the table. There was a pan of curry chicken and rice from a local Caribbean restaurant. There was one of those fancy fruit arrangements where the fruit is all cut up and skewered to look like flowers. I took a pineapple star and some chocolate dipped strawberries from there, as well as a small scoop of the curry chicken and rice.

  I sat down with my plate and looked up. O.K. was hovering near the door. "I've got to run. Will you be alright?"

  I smiled. "I think so, unless I get food poisoning, which would totally be my luck."

  "I'm sorry to leave you in the lurch."

  "It's no big deal. You've helped me enough."

  "I guess I should be saying that I'm sorry to leave you with Lurch."

  "Aww, he's not that tall." I smiled again.

  "Can I call you sometime?"

  At this point, I had shoveled a forkful of chicken into my mouth, so I covered my mouth and said, "Sure."

  And with that, Dr. O.K. was gone. Again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  "Did you get enough to eat?"

  I leaned back into the luscious leather seats of Dr. Olsson—Rob as he instructed me to call him—'s BMW. Of course he drove a BMW. The seat warmer radiating a comforting heat on my sore back, combined with my full belly, made me feel drowsy.

  "Mmmm, plenty," I said, the sleepiness coming through in my voice.

  "What did you have?"

  "I had the curry chicken and rice, some fruit, a little coffee cake. And a cookie. Or three."

  "Those cookies are the best, aren't they?

  "Yeah, who makes them?"

  "I do." That woke me up.

  "Shut up, you do not."

  "I do too. I like to bake when I get off work. I'm usually a little keyed up, and it helps me relax." He paused for a moment, and I was trying to think of something that would not sound totally insulting. He continued. "You can say it—it's pretty girly of me. Nothing I haven't heard before. My parents owned a bakery in North Dakota, so it's in my blood."

  "I may or may not have been questioning your masculinity, but now I'll say you can bake for me anytime. Those cookies were unbelievable. I'd ask for the recipe, but I don't bake."

  He clutched at his heart. "You don't bake? What kind of woman doesn't bake?"

  "What kind of man does? Turn left at this light."

  "Touché," he said, as he easily glided the car on the road. "So, if not baking, what do you do to relieve your stress? I imagine it must be great with your line of work."

  "I drink heavily."

  "Oh, well, that's a good coping strategy."

  "No, I try to laugh and not take myself too seriously. And I tap dance. It's hard to be in a bad mood when you're tapping."

  "I would think so. But a better question would be is it hard to tap dance when you've been drinking heavily?"

  I laughed. "I've honestly never tried it, but next time I do, I'll let you know how it turns out. I imagine it will not go well. I have a hard enough time staying upright while sober. Sometimes I resemble Bambi the first time he goes out on ice."

  "Bambi was a boy?"

  "Yeah, pretty sure. They did refer to him as the 'Prince of the Forrest.' It's the next right, first building on the right."

  As I was chauffeured for the second time today by a handsome, funny doctor, I had to chuckle at my situation. I had moved to this city six months ago. In that time, I had had exactly zero dates with anyone. I hadn't even been hit on, let alone asked out. Pretty much the only males I dealt with were through work. So, that meant they were police officers or the people that I was investigating for child abuse or endangerment. My office was all females, except for our boss, Tom, who was about nine hundred years old and married to the scariest woman I'd ever seen. At one time, I had harbored a fantasy about a police officer, but most of the ones who showed up on a case had hit the doughnut shop about five hundred times too many.

  Anyway, now it seemed like attractive doctors were coming out of the woodwork. I guess I didn't need that speed dating that I chickened out of after all. On the other hand, if I hadn't chickened out, I wouldn't have been at the market where I was hit by two cars.

  "Earth to Esther. Come in Esther."

  I snapped back to attention. "Sorry, got lost on my own little thought train there for a minute."

  "Thinking about anything good?"

  "Nah, just life."

  He laughed. "Oh, is that all?"

  "Yeah, nothing big." I turned to face him. He had put the car in park and was angled towards me. "Dr. Olsson, I—"

  He cut me off. "For the love of God Esther, call me Rob."

  "Alright already. No need to get snippy. Rob, I was trying to thank you for helping me out today. I do really appreciate it."

  "But now you owe me."

  I was a bit taken aback by his statement. "Um, yeah, I guess I do."

  "And I will accept your repayment when you accompany me to dinner tomorrow."

  "How is making you drive out here again repayment?"

  "Because you will be gracing me with your presence, your wit, your charm, and that unbelievably sexy red hair."

  You know, I had actually forgotten for a few minutes that I was cursed with this mop. Reflexively, my hand went to my hair and tried to smooth it down. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all.

  "Okay, wi
th words like that, how can a girl refuse?"

  "That was my plan," Rob said with a wink. My heart fluttered a little. He was attractive. No, scratch that, he was hot, like some sort of 6'4" Norse (or Swedish? I don't know, I'm bad at these things) god. But when he did something like smile and wink, he was absolutely adorable.

  "Deets?"

  "Deets? What are deets?"

  "The details. What are the details for tomorrow night?"

  "Ahhh, the details. Why didn't you say so in the first place? Way to make a guy feel old and out dated. How old are you anyway?"

  "I'm a year away from my thirtieth birthday."

  He smiled again. "Oh clever little Esther. You want me to believe that you are twenty-nine. I would completely believe it, except for the fact that I've seen you work. By the time you would have gotten your Masters' degree, which all social workers need, you would have been twenty-five. You are not in an entry-level position, which makes me think you have experience. And the way you handled yourself on that case, I believe you have more than four years experience. So how much experience do you have?"

  It was my turn to put the innuendo on. "I have enough experience. Enough to be very good at what I do." Then I smiled and winked.

  Gosh, it was fun just to flirt again.

  That certainly caught him off guard. Tomorrow night was going to be fun.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The pants, skinny and black. The shirt, hunter green and sequined. The hair, well, holy shit, the hair was awesome. Just the right amount of curl and volume. No appreciable frizz. Damn I was looking good. Just in time for my date with Rob. For once, it seemed like the heavens were smiling down on me.

  I had woken up this morning in significantly less pain than I had been feeling since the accident. The insurance company finally came through with a rental. Can you believe that the guy in the Dodge Ram who T-boned me claimed the accident was my fault since I "ran" the stop sign? That was what the holdup had been all along. Anyway, the powers that be had finally done their job, and I had a rental (at no cost to me) and a check coming my way for my car. Or what was left of it.

  I was in a great mood as I got ready for my date with Rob. We were going to a bar to see a band play but would grab a bite to eat there first. The band was due to come on at nine, so Rob was picking me up at eight. I pulled on my knee-high, high-heeled boots over my pants and put a slouchy black blazer on over the sequined tank top. Big sparkly chandelier earrings and a chunky bracelet completed the look. I put the essentials—money, license, lip gloss, breath mints—in a silver wristlet and I was good to go.

  Just then my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and looked. It was my sister, Veruca. I hadn't talked to her since right after I moved to Columbus in March.

  "Hey, Veru. What's up?"

  "Oh, not much. Did I catch you at a bad time?"

  I looked at the clock on the microwave. "I've got a few minutes. I've got a date picking me up in about ten."

  "Ooohh. A date! Tell me all about him. No, what are you wearing? Where are you going? More importantly, how's the hair? Oh, I bet it's going to be so much fun."

  Veruca was in her late thirties. She had four kids and a good-for-nothing husband. She never got to do anything, let alone anything fun.

  "The hair is actually kicking ass for once. We're going to see a band at a bar. We're going to eat there."

  "Oooh, pub food." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Are you going to get a big, fat juicy burger?"

  There was a long while when we were growing up when Cheryl and Dean were vegetarians, which meant all us kids were too. All we wanted were chicken nuggets (we didn't even hope for that big yellow arch kind, because we knew it was way too corporate). Still, all these years later, we all kind of harbored a little guilt when we ate meat, but it didn't stop us.

  "I'm not sure what I'm going to get. I'll have to see what's on the menu."

  "So, who's the guy?"

  "His name is Rob. He's a pediatrician. I met him through work a while back, but ran into him at the hospital last night and he gave me a ride home."

  "Hospital? Why were you in the hospital again? Are you alright?"

  "Yeah, it's a long story, but I left my apartment keys in the car of another doctor. I went over to the hospital to get them back. He had to work so Rob offered to drive me home."

  "Wow, two doctors?"

  "Yeah, I know. I don't know that anything will happen with either one, but hey, a girl can have fun, can't she?"

  "That sounds like something Aster would say. She was always dating several guys at once."

  After the crying jag on my way to the hospital last night, I didn't want to get started thinking about Aster again. My makeup looked pretty good, and I didn't want to have to re-do it. I quickly changed the subject. I told her about the accident and the troubles I'd been having with the insurance company. "And today, I finally got a rental car and they are sending a check for the Topaz."

  "That's good. Are you getting a lot for it?"

  "No, of course not. It was a twenty-one-year-old piece of shit. Maybe I'll be able to afford another piece of shit."

  "You know you could always ask Cheryl and Dean. They would probably help you out."

  I bristled. "Yeah, I'll figure something out."

  "Esther, this is getting old. When are you going to stop being so stubborn?"

  "Stubborn? I'm not being stubborn. I just refuse to let them live in their crazy denial."

  "Can't you see they need to hold out hope?"

  I so did not want to be having this discussion right before I went out for the evening. I again changed subjects. "I only have a few minutes. How are the kids doing?"

  That set Veruca off in another direction altogether, and I listened to her rant and rave while I put the finishing touches on my makeup and hair. She was still going when my buzzer rang, and as I walked down the stairs. Rob was standing at the bottom of the stairs, and I signaled to him that I'd be off in a second. He looked positively delicious in his pale blue v-neck sweater and dark jeans. I was so distracted by his good looks that it took me a moment to realize my sister was still droning on and on. I was finally able to interrupt Veruca long enough to tell her I had to run and that I'd call her soon.

  "Sorry about that. Once my sister gets going about the kids, she doesn't even stop to breathe," I said as I got into his Beemer again. He held the door for me. Holy crap.

  After he walked around and got in his side, he picked the conversation right up without missing a beat. "How many does she have?"

  "Four—ages nine, seven, four and two."

  "Oh, wow, she's got her hands full."

  "Yeah, and when she gets going it's hard to get a word in edgewise. I think she's so starved for adult conversation that she forgets that it should be a give and take."

  "Does she work outside the house?"

  "Oh, you're good."

  "Yes I am, but we'll get to that later." Oh my God, swoon. "But how did you mean in regard to this conversation?"

  I couldn't help but smile. Unbelievably hot and sexy, but adorable as well. There had to be a big flaw in there somewhere. "The fact that all mothers are working mothers. Some also have an outside job that pays as well."

  "I'm a pediatrician, remember? Those moms are my bread and butter."

  "And I'm sure you know how to butter them up, don't you?"

  He laughed. "I've been accused of flirting with a harried, frazzled woman once or twice."

  "Why?"

  He shrugged. "I guess because my nurse and front office staff think the things I say border on inappropriate."

  "No," I laughed. "Not why do they think you are flirting, but why are you flirting with these women?"

  "Because if I don't, who will? They show up in my office, exhausted. Spent. Worried. Doing the best they can. Doubting their abilities and instincts. I look at these woman who have sacrificed everything to raise their kids. Making them remember that they are special and beautiful is the least tha
t I can do for them. If they feel good, that will be reflected in how they are able to parent their kids."

  "That's brilliant. I wish our pediatrician had thought of that."

  "How many kids do you have?"

  I was confused for a moment. "Me? Oh, no, I don't have any kids. I meant when I was a kid. My mom had a bad experience with the pediatrician who saw Charlie, and that was it. She never took us to a pediatrician again. I'm guessing if the pediatrician had complimented her, instead of criticizing her for a cat scratch, I think things may have been a lot different."

  "A cat scratch?"

  "Yeah, Charlie pulled the cat's tail and the cat scratched back, as cats are known to do, and rightfully so. The pediatrician basically told my mother she was careless, and that Charlie would probably be scarred for the rest of her life."

  "From a cat scratch?"

  "Yeah, I know, no big deal, right? Well this guy was super old school and went on a tirade about cat scratch fever and my mom ended up walking out of the office with a toddler in one arm and a newborn in the other, and never returned."

  Rob laughed. "I bet he had a really successful practice."

  "I wonder what that guy would make of the cases that you and I see nowadays. I guess maybe he did see horrible stuff back then too. I guess people have been abusing their children for centuries now."

  "What a pleasant and uplifting thought."

  I smiled. His sleek car slid into a parking spot at the bar. A bright neon light flashed a picture of a martini. "I'll try to keep it less depressing from now on."

  "But the short version of that story was that you do not have any kids."

  "None that I'm aware of. I have an ex-husband, but the only thing that remains of him is his crappy last name, which brilliant me decided to hyphenate. I haven't felt like shelling out the dough to change my name back. What about you ... any kids?"

  "None that I'm aware of." Smart aleck.

  "Any ex-wives?"

  "Plural? You must have a lot of confidence in me."

  "I have eyes. You didn't answer the question."