Bernie bent to wipe the dust from the toe of his loafer, squashing the bouquet of flowers in his arms against his chest.
“Darn,” he muttered as he pulled two broken stems out and dropped them down a sewer grate. He’d picked the bouquet just for her, his wife of six years. Twenty-four perfect pink roses from their garden; flowers that were just as beautiful she was. He settled his glasses squarely on his nose and opened the door to his wife’s medical practice. Today was her anniversary; she’d hung out her shingle for the first time ten years ago.
As Bernie stepped up to the intake window, Carly, the receptionist, glanced at the nurse standing behind her. The nurse bit her lip and turned away.
He passed the bouquet over the counter. “Can you give these to my wife and tell her I’m here?”
Carly took the flowers and looked back for the nurse, who had disappeared, then glanced from the flowers to the man in front of her and back down at the roses, a shiny black beetle crawling out of a blossom as she did. She picked it off, dropped it on the floor, grinding it beneath her heel. “Um,” she quickly checked over her shoulder before continuing, “She’s not here.”
“Where is she? I made her a lunch. It’s her anniversary, you know?”
“The thing is, Mr. Patterson.”The young receptionist set the flowers on the counter beside her and dropped into her chair, swivelling around to face him. “The thing is she doesn’t work here anymore. She sold the practice three weeks ago. Didn’t you know?”
Bernie’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Impossible. She leaves every morning with her medical bag.” He put the paper lunch sack on the counter next to the flowers.
“She hasn’t been here in three weeks.”
“But she loves her job. She’s been singing when she leaves the house. Are you sure? Go check, right now.” He shook his finger, as he pointed down the hall towards the examination rooms. “She’s got to be here.”
“No, Mr. Patterson. She doesn’t work here anymore.” Carly picked up the roses and handed them back to Bernie.
He waved them away. “But she loves it. She’s never looked better. She’s been glowing when she comes home. She’s happy here.”
“Sorry. She wasn’t happy here.”
“But where is she then? She comes home with money, lots of it.” Frowning, Bernie scratched his head. Dollar bills, mostly singles, some twos and occasionally a ten or a twenty, went into the cookie jar every night when she got home. Come to think of it, that’s not how she used to get paid. He looked up at the receptionist. “Do you know where she’s working now?”
The nurse stepped back into the room.
“Mr. Patterson,” she said. “Someone saw her downtown. Standing on a street corner, kitty-corner to the bank and by the way she was dressed, she’s not a doctor anymore.”
Bernie went as pale as his wife’s duty coat, the one he now remembered had still been hanging on the back of their bedroom door this morning after she’d left. He sank onto the nearest chair. “A street corner? Do you mean she’s a—” He couldn’t finish the thought.
Carly and the nurse both nodded.
It explained so much—the rouge stained cheeks, the blood-red lips, the unexplained bit of white goo on her ear, the odd smell of latex, and the candy-apple red dyed hair. Bernie tore from the building, his heart thumping as he raced down the street, not stopping until he faced the woman he thought he knew, standing on her street corner. He couldn’t see her face blanch at the sight of him beneath the white face paint.
She peered up at him from beneath her mop of Raggedy Anne curls. “You found me.” She honked her enormous bugle-shaped clown horn and pulled a latex balloon out of her medical bag. Snapping it, she asked, “Balloon poodle?”
Very lively story. It has a great rhythm. Love the ending.