by Terri DuLong
I let out a chuckle. “No and since it’s tomorrow night, I seriously doubt I’ll have any. Orli is spending the night at Laura’s, so I think I’ll chill out with a few chick flicks, some wine, and popcorn.”
“Sounds good. Take care of yourself, and call if you need me.” There was a pause before he said, “Oh, and Josie, thanks again for coming up here with Orli. It was a great week.”
“It was,” I said before hanging up.
I had just settled myself on the sofa with my cup of tea when the phone rang again. It has to be Mallory, I thought. So I was surprised to hear Simon’s voice.
“Josie, welcome back. I hope you had a good visit to the Boston area.”
“Thanks, and yes, both Orli and I enjoyed it very much. How’ve you been?”
“Good. I had a busy week doing last-minute things in the office before we open next Wednesday.” There was a slight pause, and then he said, “Listen, I was wondering . . . well, a friend of mine in Gainesville is having an informal gathering tomorrow evening at his place, and I was . . . thinking that maybe you’d like to join me.”
“Oh. For New Year’s Eve?”
“Right. Actually, it’s more of a late afternoon dinner with drinks. He’s from France and now a surgeon at Shands. His significant other is from Morocco, and she’s preparing tajine. Are you familiar with it?”
“Isn’t that some sort of stew?”
“Right. It’s quite good, and I think you might enjoy it. Plus, the group that will be there is a lot of fun.”
My first thought was Grant, but then I recalled what he’d told me, about giving Simon a chance, seeing where it might lead.
“Okay,” I said. “Yes, I’d love to go, and thanks for inviting me.”
“Great. Lily is with her mother for a few days. Does Orli have plans for tomorrow evening?”
“Yes, she does. A slumber party at a friend’s house.”
“Very good. Okay, how about if I pick you up about three? Will that work for you?”
“Perfect,” I said before hanging up the phone.
I returned to the sofa and took a sip of tea. So, I thought, I do believe that this qualifies as a bona fide date. There was only one problem—I wasn’t certain a date still ranked high on my wish list.
I rolled over in bed and was surprised to see the bedside clock read 8:30. Today was the last day of the old year, and what a year it had been. I’d lost a job and managed to get a new one. My daughter had turned sixteen. I’d met Simon Mancini. I had developed more of an understanding about Grant Cooper and the man that he was. And my mother had been diagnosed with cancer. I let out a yawn and stretched my arms above my head. Yes, it had been an interesting year. I headed to the bathroom as I wondered what the coming year had in store.
Walking into the kitchen, I smelled the aroma of fresh brewed coffee and smiled. My gaze caught Orli’s note on the counter telling me she’d prepared my coffee and was at Laura’s house.
I had no sooner sat down with my mug than I heard Mallory’s voice coming through the front door.
“Are you up?” she hollered.
“Kitchen,” I hollered back.
“Oh, gosh, you’re still in your jammies. Did you just get up?”
“Yup. I think I needed to sleep in.”
Mallory gave me a tight hug, walked to the cabinet, got a mug, filled it with coffee, and joined me at the counter. “Well, welcome home. I’m not surprised. You were constantly on the go up there, but you had a great time, didn’t you?”
“I did. I’m glad I went.”
“I’m so sorry about your mom, Josie. She called my mom and I found out the other day. How’d the visit go yesterday?”
I shook my head. “Not as well as I’d hoped. Oh, the prognosis actually seems fairly good, but . . .” I went on to give Mallory the details.
“God, she really can be such a control freak, can’t she? Doesn’t she realize that she has no control over this situation and by doing nothing, she’ll possibly make it worse?”
“I told her all that. Grant told me last night on the phone to let go of it for right now. Let my mother have a few days to think about all of it. I mean, God, I know how devastating and scary news like this can be. I saw it with patients all the time. So . . . all I can do is hope my mom will do the right thing and what’s best for her.”
“Hmm, you’re right. And so . . . how’d it go spending an entire week under the same roof as Grant?”
My mind flashed back to Saturday evening, wrapped in his arms all night on the sofa, and I felt a flush creeping up my neck. “Good. Very good.”
Mallory leaned across the counter. “Good? Very good? That’s all you have to say? Okay, what’s going on?”
I let out a chuckle. “Damn you, Mallory. You’re as bad as that Estelle Fletcher, practically reading my mind.”
“Oh, right, what was she like? You met her?”
“Oh, yeah. I had coffee with her Sunday morning. I’m not sure what to make of her. Eccentric is putting it mildly. She told me all kinds of things. And she was full of teasing hints about things she wanted me to consider.”
“Sounds interesting. Like what?”
“Some silliness about The Wizard of Oz. She said what I’m looking for has been inside of me all along. I have no idea what she means.”
Mallory remained silent, causing me to stare at her. “What?” I said. “Don’t tell me you know what she’s talking about.”
“Well . . . I’m wondering if it was in relation to Grant.”
“Hmm, I did consider that, but what would it have to do with him?”
“You’ve avoided telling me very much about being with Grant, which leads me to think something is brewing there. I’ve always known how Grant feels about you. Maybe your feelings for him, and I don’t mean friendship, have been inside of you all along. Things changed this past week, didn’t they? I can tell.”
I ran a hand through my hair and jumped up to refill my mug. “I don’t know. Maybe. Yes. Actually, they did.” I blew out a breath and sat back down. “It was all so . . . subtle. I mean it’s not like we planned it or anything, but yeah . . . something seems to have shifted.” I took a sip of coffee and fingered the spoon on the counter. “I don’t know. It’s almost like . . . well, like I’m falling in love with him all over again.”
Mallory reached across the counter and gave my hand a squeeze. “And maybe you are. So where does that leave Simon?”
“I have no idea . . . but we have a date for tonight.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he called last evening. Oh, it’s a group thing. Dinner at a friend’s house in Gainesville, but . . . he is actually picking me up. I’m not meeting him there.”
Mallory laughed. “Well, this only gets more interesting. And how do you think Grant would feel about that?”
“He’s fine with it. Actually, he told me to see Simon, to see where it might lead. He said he’s willing to take a chance.”
Mallory rolled her eyes. “Hmm, very gallant of him, but don’t be too sure he’s fine with it. Once again, he doesn’t want to pressure you. He’s giving you the freedom to make your own choice.”
I nodded. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”
34
“Mom, you look great,” I heard Orli say, and turned around to find her in the doorway of my bedroom.
“Thanks.” I took a final look in the mirror. I’d chosen black slacks, a red pullover sweater I’d made a few years before, and black flats. “Yeah, I thought the sweater would be festive. Are you all set to go to Laura’s?”
“Yup. On my way over there now. Thanks for putting together my goodie bag. We’re all bringing snack food, so we’ll have plenty.”
“And you have your sleeping bag?”
She came to give me a kiss and hug. “Yeah, I’ve got everything. And you have a good time with Simon. Tell him hi for me. I’ll be home by noon tomorrow.”
“Okay, and you have a fun night too.”
Simon arrived a few minutes later, looking very nice with an open collar shirt, navy sport jacket, and gray slacks. And to my surprise, I found myself comparing him to Grant. Although they were fairly equal in the good looks department, I was pretty sure Grant scored a tad higher.
“Hey,” he said, stepping into the foyer and placing a kiss on my cheek. “It’s so good to see you again, Josie. You look great.”
“Thanks,” I told him, and realized I was also happy to see him.
“All set?”
“I am. Just let me get my handbag.”
He opened the passenger door of his Lexus, and I slid in. He walked around the car and got behind the wheel, and as he settled himself in the seat, I noticed he grimaced.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just my back acting up a bit.”
I recalled how it had bothered him that afternoon we’d had lunch at the Pelican and realized now that it was probably a residual injury from the car accident with Lily.
“Have you taken anything? An anti-inflammatory or pain med?”
“No, it’ll be fine. Really. So tell me about your Boston visit. From the weather reports, I saw you had pretty mild weather for December.”
“We did, but Orli got her wish, because we had a light dusting of snow Christmas Eve, so she was happy.”
“And everything went okay staying with Grant? You liked his new place? I take it he had plenty of room for two guests.”
I got the feeling he was quizzing me on the sleeping arrangements. “Yes, it’s a beautiful condo. The developer did an amazing job with the restoration, and yes, Orli and I had our own guest room.”
“Good. Were you able to get into Boston at all or did you stay on the North Shore?”
“We did. I was surprised to find out that Orli is considering my alma mater for college, so we took her to see the Emerson campus, and then Sunday evening we went back into Boston for her birthday celebration.”
“That’s great. Yeah, Boston has some superb restaurants. So your daughter might be heading to the northeast, huh? Are you okay with that?”
I glanced out the car window and let out a sigh. “I’m not really sure. Well, I mean, of course it’s up to Orli where she wants to go for college, but . . . yeah, it’ll take a bit of getting used to, having her so far away.”
“I’m very pleased that Lily will be in Jacksonville, so I understand how you feel. Have you ever considered going back there yourself?”
I shifted in my seat to see his face better. “You mean like live there? Permanently?”
He nodded.
“No. Not ever,” I said, and wondered why he’d ask that question. I also wondered why I’d neglected to tell him that Orli was also considering doing her senior year up there. “So tell me about Lily. You said she’s with her mother for a few days?”
“Yeah, she’ll be back with me on Saturday.”
I noticed he wasn’t quite as talkative as he normally was and thought perhaps his back was bothering him more than he’d admitted.
“There is some other news,” I said. “I don’t think my mother has shared it around town yet, so consider it doctor confidentiality.”
“Of course. Is she okay?”
“She’s been diagnosed with uterine cancer.”
He reached over and squeezed my arm. “God, Josie, I’m so sorry to hear this. Is she seeing somebody in Gainesville?”
“Yes, an oncologist, Dr. Girone. I went with her yesterday for her appointment. She’s a stage 1, and he’s recommending robotic surgery. He feels she’s a good candidate for that type of procedure.”
“Well, if it makes you feel better, I know Dr. Girone, and he’s brilliant. He’s a good doctor to have. Knows his stuff, and as you probably know, they’re getting very good results with this type of treatment.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Has she been scheduled for surgery yet?”
I shook my head. “Not yet, but hopefully within the next few weeks.”
“Well, Josie, if you need any time off work, it’s yours. I’m hoping the practice will be steady, but I don’t want you worrying that you can’t take time off to be with your mother, okay?”
“Thanks, Simon. I appreciate that,” I said, and wondered if the surgery would actually come to pass.
We pulled up in front of a brick cottage in the historic district of town. I didn’t wait for Simon to open my door and noticed when he turned to get out, his face scrunched up again in discomfort. He reached into the backseat and removed two bottles of wine.
The front door was opened by a dark-haired man of medium height, and even before he uttered a word, I knew this was the French surgeon. He had a cosmopolitan air about him and hugged Simon before kissing both of my cheeks.
“Welcome and Happy New Year,” he said, gesturing with his arm for us to come in. “Amelle, Simon and his guest are here,” he called over his shoulder.
A petite, black-haired woman in her late thirties came from the back of the house. With dark, olive skin and long glossy hair, she bordered on exotic.
“I am Jean-Paul, and this is Amelle,” Simon’s friend said, as they both extended their hands.
“And this is Josie,” Simon told them.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said.
“And Happy New Year to both of you.” Simon passed them the wine.
“Thank you. Come on in. The others are out on the patio. A mild day we’re having, so we will enjoy the good weather, no?”
As we walked along the hallway and through the kitchen, a delectable aroma filled the air. I saw two other couples on the patio, standing around, holding glasses of wine.
Jean-Paul made the introductions and then went to the bar that had been set up outside. “White or red wine?” he asked.
“Red for me, please,” I said.
“So Josie, we’re told you’re going to be Simon’s new nurse,” one of the women said.
“Yes, actually, he’s opening the practice next week.”
Her partner laughed. “Well, he can be a slave driver, so you make sure he doesn’t overwork you.”
Amelle jabbed his arm playfully. “Oh, Jim, stop picking on poor Simon. I’m sure he’ll be a lovely boss.”
Simon came to stand beside me, passing me a wineglass.
“Right, look who’s talking,” he said. “How many nurses have you gone through over the years?”
Jim chuckled and raised a hand. “No, no. That had nothing to do with what kind of boss I am. They left either to get married or to start a family.”
They were a nice group, and I realized it was fun to socialize with medical colleagues. After about an hour, Amelle clapped her hands and said, “Okay, dinner is ready. Everybody, please go inside to wash your hands and then choose a seat at the table out here.”
I looked at Simon and saw a grin on his face. I knew we were taught as children to wash our hands before meals, but this seemed like an odd request for a group of adults.
Simon and I waited outside the bathroom to use the sink. He leaned over my shoulder and whispered, “It’s tradition. You’ll see.”
After the requested hand washing, we sat down while Jean-Paul went around refilling wineglasses. Then Amelle emerged from the kitchen carrying a unique piece of orange clay cookware that I’d never seen before. The bottom was a wide, circular, shallow dish, and the top was distinctively shaped into a rounded cone. She placed it in the center of the table.
“Have you had tajine before?” Amelle asked me.
“No, never, but it certainly smells wonderful.”
“Ah,” Jean-Paul said. “Then you are in for a treat.”
Amelle had gone back inside and returned with loaves of French bread
, which she placed around the clay pot.
“Okay,” she said, taking a seat beside Jean-Paul. “In Morocco, we do not eat this meal with silverware. However, you may use a fork and knife, if you like.”
“I’ve had tajine before, and I wouldn’t ruin the experience with utensils,” one of the women said, causing us to laugh.
“It is a slow-cooked stew,” Amelle explained. “With chicken, vegetables, some onions, and spices. The meal is cooked in this piece of clay cookware very slowly. The lid traps the steam and returns the condensed liquid to the pot, causing the meat and vegetables to be very tender.”
“Not to mention delicious,” Jim said.
Amelle nodded and went on to explain. “The traditional way to eat tajine is to break off a piece of bread, dip it into the stew, and with your thumb push the food onto the bread before eating it. Bon appétit,” she said, breaking off a piece of the crusty bread and demonstrating.
Ah, the hand washing certainly makes perfect sense now, I thought.
Simon smiled at me. “Go ahead, give it a try.”
I did and found it was quite easy to scoop a bit of chicken and vegetables onto my piece of bread. I brought it to my mouth, took a bite, and instantly knew that the flavor hitting my palete was exquisite.
“Oh, my, gosh,” I exclaimed. “This is so good.”
A round of laughter filled the air as the others joined in. I was immediately struck by the fact that we were taking the experience of breaking bread to a new level. I watched as the others broke off bread, scooped, and ate, and I was enveloped by a strong sense of communal camaraderie. Here I was with strangers I’d only met an hour before, and yet this simple cultural tradition gave me a feeling of belonging. Conversation and laughter filtered around the table, and it made me happy to be a part of it.
I happened to glance at Simon sitting beside me, and from the expression on his face, I was positive he was experiencing more back discomfort.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
He nodded, but I could tell that he wasn’t.
The eight of us had managed to finish off the entire meal. “That was delicious,” I said, wiping my lips with a napkin. “Thank you so much for sharing your culture with me, Amelle.”
