Please read the second chapter of my new novel.
The Old Doctor
Chapter Two
2002
She left the note on the kitchen table, perfectly penned to her father on the back of her business card,
Daddy, check the refrigerator.
Enjoy.
Love always, Lucy.
A small casserole dish with a felt tip pen drawn heart on a tinfoil covering was cooling in the nearly empty refrigerator.
She did this quite often, the busy woman so thoughtful of her aging father. He especially cherished her consideration that night after a trying day.
The meal was one of his favorites, a simple dish served forever to his family: broccoli chicken noodle casserole. He appreciated the gift immensely, as it contained enough meat and vegetables to satisfy the food pyramid his wife, Lillian, always tried to follow.
He reached for the phone and dialed Lucy's pager. He keyed in one, one, zero, two. The number represented her birthday, November second. Here was their mutual signal that he loved her and everything was all right.
Lillian, his wife of fifty-five years, now gone for the last eighteen, had cooked the broccoli casserole so many times. Uncovering the meal brought a tear to the old doctor. He lifted the casserole to his nose and inhaled deeply. He dipped his finger into the now-cooling mixture and tasted it. Memories flooded his mind.
He remembered his young wife and how she tried to cook for him. Burnt entrées were often, and the food was not so tasty initially. However, she eventually became a good cook. Lilly was good at everything she set her mind to do.
He heated the casserole in the aging double oven. The old doctor added a small amount of extra salt, knowing that his daughter would have limited the seasoning, thinking of his blood pressure. He found in the breadbox a piece of two-day-old French bread. After adding a dab of butter, he said a prayer of thanks and sat at the dining room table for his lonely but now encouraged supper.
#
His favorite team, the San Francisco Giants, hosted the San Diego Padres at Candlestick Park. Seeing the game on television was a treat for the old doctor. After dinner, he moved to the living room with a cup of hot tea, sat in his comfortable leather-tufted Chesterfield armchair, and began watching the fall baseball game.
Soon, the old doctor lost interest. It was the bottom of the eighth inning, and typical of the 2002 Giants, his team was behind four runs to two. In his recent nightly fashion, he thought of a glass of brandy and how it just might hit the spot.
#
She was sitting in her armchair when the old doctor returned with his Courvoisier. He sat quietly, hoping not to disturb his beloved wife. She was beautiful, as always, her blond hair layered down for the night. She possessed incredible violet-blue eyes that melted him. She enjoyed the game wearing her favorite rose-colored nightdress with matching soft slippers.
"Elm, you missed it. J.T. Snow was on first. Of course, they intentionally walked Barry Bonds. Benito Santiago just hit a walk-off three-run homer. They beat those darn Padres, Elmer."
The Giants were Lillian's team more so than the old doctor’s. She was obsessed with the Boys from the Bay and listened to the radio broadcast daily. His wife excelled at softball and starred for a women's professional team after the war. But family came first, and marriage and children were her priority.
"Lillian, you look so beautiful. I have missed you so much. I have much to tell you. Oh, my dear Lilly." The old doctor reached to touch his wife on her hand but thought better of it.
He wiped some tears from his eyes as he went on. "Lilly, Lucy is doing so wonderfully. She is a pediatrician now. And she has a family. Her husband is Thomas. He's a urologist. They have a son, Lucas. We call him Luke."
Lillian spoke now, her voice barely above a whisper. "Elmer, how is my Charles?" She, too, seemed to be crying.
The old doctor looked at the floor in silence. For the first time, he realized that he had only one slipper on his feet. It was a silly, unimportant observation, but Lillian never allowed him to walk around without his slippers.
He took some deep breaths and looked up at his wife. Lillian was gone now, her armchair empty. Her absence was not because of a lack of a slipper, for that the old doctor was certain.
#
When he awoke that morning, neatly tucked in on his side of the couple's queen-sized bed, he felt unusually refreshed. His persona had some peace, but he also felt an unfinished ache. He clearly remembered his vision of Lillian and found himself hopeful that it would not be his last.
The old doctor finished his grooming for the day with a shower, trimming his beard, and a shave. He quickly moved to the kitchen and put away the night's dinner items. He looked to the living room, only to see an empty brandy snifter.
#
As he left the house that morning, he locked the front door with the old skeleton key. He fashioned a lanyard with a piece of string, attached the key, and secured it around his neck.
William Lynes, MD.
November 14, 2024
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