CHAPTER FIVE
"Hey, Mom, is this table okay?"
"No, no," Mr. Monk answered for Sharona. "It's too close to the trash can."
Benjy shrugged and pointed to another table. "How about that one?"
"No. Absolutely not. Are you crazy? There's gum underneath the bench!"
"Adrian," Sharona cut in, trying her best to remain patient, "these coolers are heavy. If you can't find a table you like, then we'll sit on the ground."
"No!" her boss protested, his eyes darting back and forth as he searched for the perfect table. "Uh, uh, there! That one's fine. Let's-" Suddenly, a horrified look crept onto the detective's face.
"Adrian, what's wrong?" his assistant demanded, rushing to his side.
Lifting his foot a little ways off the ground, Adrian inspected his left shoe. It was covered with a squishy white substance. "I-I stepped in something! Ugh! Sharona, get it off! Get it off, Sharona! Hurry!"
"Okay, okay. Just stay calm. Hang on." Swiftly, she opened her purse and pulled a wipe from the package. Bending down, the nurse held her boss by the ankle and set about removing the disgusting goop from the sole of his footwear.
"What a freak!" someone hollered. Upon hearing this, Sharona whirled around to see a group of teenagers standing a few feet away. They were pointing and laughing hysterically at the distraught man wobbling on one foot. She glared at them. Normally, that was all the blonde did when someone was making fun of her friend, but this time, it would not suffice. "What the hell are you looking at! Mind your own goddamn business!" she shouted in his defense.
"Yeah, grow up!" added Benjy.
Still laughing, the teens continued on their way, shaking their heads and muttering more insults.
"Jerks. There. It's all gone."
"What-What was that?" Adrian wanted to know.
"I think it was frosting," Sharona answered, leaving his side momentarily to toss the wipe into the trash. "You all right now?"
Monk nodded slowly. "I will be."
Placing an arm around his waist, his assistant guided him to their table and gently lowered the man onto the bench. She then took the canvas sack from him and began to unload its contents, all of which were contained in plastic bags.
"One for back-up?" she jibed, clutching a red-checkered tablecloth in each hand.
"Always."
Carefully, she spread one across the wooden surface, then returned the other to its former place. "Oh, you know what? We should probably put the bug spray on now. Come here, Benjy," Sharona instructed, seizing the metal can and moving several feet away. "You too, Adrian!"
"No, thanks. I'm fine."
Sharona frowned and crossed her arms. "Adrian, get over here!" the nurse ordered. The fervent shake of the detective's head, accompanied by further verbal protests, prompted an exasperated sigh from his female companion. "Adrian, just let me spray you once. Just once, okay?"
"What's for lunch?" the stubborn man inquired, deciding that a change of subject was the best way to go.
"Oh, forget it," Sharona grumbled with a roll of her eyes.
When the insect-proof pair came back, Mr. Monk greeted the two with a word Sharona was sick of hearing: "Wipe."
"For what? That stuff didn't even touch you."
"Not for me. For you. And Benjy. So two wipes, then. One for . . . each of you."
With another aggravated sigh, his assistant reached for her purse and yanked out two moist towelettes, handing one to her son. "Happy?"
"Never. Um, well, not-not yet."
Sharona arched an eyebrow but quickly dismissed the comment. Turning her attention to the coolers in front of her, she unlatched them and removed the various food items she had packed. While she took care of that, Benjy set the table with the plates and the eating utensils.
When Adrian attempted to rearrange the silverware, Sharona grabbed his clothed arm, her fingers pinching the immaculately ironed fabric. "Leave it."
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All throughout lunch, Monk remained mute. He had tried to participate in the conversation, but his mind refused to focus on anything but the woman on the other side of the table.
Adrian was glad that he had agreed to go on this picnic. Only one mishap so far and no ants appeared to be heading their way.
The detective was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not even notice the fly that made a brief rest stop on his shoulder.
He did, however, take heed of the drop of mayonnaise that had taken up residence on Sharona's lower lip. Instead of calling it to her attention, Monk extended his hand and brought his index finger to her mouth. Just as he reached her bottom lip, the blonde turned her head towards, causing Adrian's finger to slide partially into the orifice. A long time ago, this would have sent him into a panic. At present, however, he didn't bat an eye, not even when her tongue accidentally brushed against his skin.
"You-You have some, uh, something on your lip," Monk told her, slowly wiping away the mayonnaise before removing his finger.
Sharona's brows drew together in bafflement. ". . . Thanks, Adrian . . ."
"No problem," the man replied, picking up his plastic fork.
"Don't you need a wipe?"
"Uh, I-I'll use a napkin," her boss responded. Adrian reached for one slowly - almost reluctantly, in Sharon's opinion. "Where's Benjy?"
"You just now realized that he's gone? What kind of detective are you?" the nurse quipped. "He's been gone for, like, fifteen minutes." She gestured beyond Adrian's shoulder. "He's playing Frisbee with those kids over there. Are you okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good."
"No, you're not. Come on. What's wrong? You might as well tell me. You know I'm not gonna let this thing go until you do."
Standing abruptly, Adrian brought his plate to the trash. He dropped it in, then started walking away from the table.
"Adrian, where are you going?" Sharona called after him.
It did not surprise her that she received no answer.
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"Wanna swing?" Sharona suggested. Her boss sat on a bench in the playground area, eyes transfixed on the rusted metal of the swing set.
"No, but you go ahead."
"You sure?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."
"Oh, come on, Adrian!" the blond persisted. "It's fun!"
The detective turned to her. She was smiling at him. "Fun and I are not on speaking terms. We haven't been for quite some time."
Sharona giggled. "That's actually pretty funny. But it's not getting you out of this. You're at least gonna push me," she informed him, rising to her feet and tugging on his arm.
"Bug spray."
"You want me to put some on you?"
"No. No. I mean, on your clothes. There's bug spray on your clothes. I would have to . . . touch it."
Sharona's eyes hurled daggers at Monk.
"Forget it," the grump relented. "I'll just use a wipe afterwards." Stepping behind her, he brought his hands to her back and pushed lightly.
"A little harder, Adrian, okay?"
She noticed how I hesitated to wipe my hand at lunch, Monk recalled. But it was nice, touching her. Not very romantic, given the circumstances, but nice nonetheless. And her lips are so soft. Maybe I'll get the chance to touch them again. Maybe even . . . kiss them. I wonder if I could actually do it.
"All right, that's good, Adrian. You can ease up now."
I could kiss her spontaneously. No warning, just walk up to her and press my lips against hers. But I'd be doing it against her will, so it wouldn't mean very much. I have to tell her how I feel first. That way, when - well, if - we kiss, it'll be special. I should tell her tonight, after dinner. But how should I tell her?
"Adrian! You're pushing too hard!"
Maybe I'll start off with something like: Sharona, we've known each other for a long time, haven't we? No, that's no good. Can't you come up with something a little more original, Monk? The detective chastised his uninspired idea.
"Adrian! That's enough!"
The shouting continued to fall on deaf ears. Maybe I should just blurt it out. Then I won't lose my nerve. Well, I'm sure I'll lose it anyway. God! Why am I so pessimistic?
"Adrian, stop! I said: That's enough! What is you problem, Adri-aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!"
Adrian remained locked in his mind until the harsh jangling of the swing's chains brought him back to reality. He leapt out of the way just in time to avoid the seat hitting him in the gut.
Hearing her scream, Benjy hurried over to see what had happened. "Mom, are you all right?" he asked, kneeling down next to his mother, who was sprawled on the grass.
Sharona tried to push herself up. "Ow! Damnit!" she cried, rubbing her right wrist.
"What's wrong with your wrist, Mom? Is it broken?"
"Yeah, it may be," the nurse answered, turning to face the man responsible for this.
Adrian just stood there, a bewildered expression on his face. His assistant scowled and opened her mouth to yell. But instead, she took a deep breath, hoping it would help soothe her anger. "Adrian," she began calmly, "Would you like to tell me what I'm doing down here?"
"Uh, I, uh, I, uh, I-I-" Monk stammered.
"Yeah, I knew there was a perfectly logical explanation!" Sharona hissed.
"You should go to the hospital," her son suggested, sounding very concerned.
The blonde patted his shoulder. "Yeah, I know, Benjy."
"Um, should we take a cab?"
"No, honey. I can drive. I-"
"What? Y-You can't drive in your condition!" Adrian interrupted. "I'll drive."
Sharona scoffed at his offer. "Oh, I don't think so! You wanna give me some more injuries?"
Benjy reached for her good hand, wanting to help her stand, but Mr. Monk stepped in front of the boy. Squatting beside his friend, he slipped the arm with the injured wrist around his neck, then encircled her waist with his other hand.
Sharona's fury morphed into utter disbelief. "A-Adrian, what are you doing?"
"I'm taking you to the hospital, Sharona," he stated matter-of-factly, as he brought his free hand below her knees. But he hovered there briefly, afraid to come in contact with the mud on her legs. "Benjy, I-I need a . . . Oh, never mind." Pressing his palm to the undersides of her knees, he carefully lifted her off the ground.
"Adrian, the hospital is ten blocks from here! What are you gonna do? Carry me the whole way?"
"Eleven," he corrected her. "It's eleven blocks. And, yes, that's exactly what I'm going to do."
Sharona decided to save her breath. Arguing would do nothing but consume time and energy. "Benjy, go grab my purse," she instructed. "It's on the bench."
The detective waited impatiently while the boy retrieved it, and as soon as he returned, the three began the trek to the hospital.
"I can't believe I hurt you," Adrian muttered, shaking his head as he rounded a corner. "I can't believe I hurt you. I just . . . can't believe I hurt you . . ."
"You didn't do it on purpose, Adrian," Sharona said gently, most of her anger having dissipated.
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"Excuse me, Nurse?" Adrian addressed the person in the pink uniform.
"Just one moment, please," the nurse replied, her attention focused on the clipboard in her hands.
"B-But, I-"
"One moment, Sir."
Adrian had no intention of waiting one moment. "EmergencyY!" he shouted at the top of his lungs. The young woman jumped in surprise, her clipboard clattering to the floor. A mortified Sharona observed as several other nurses rushed to their aid.
"Her wrist, it-it might be broken," the detective informed them.
The now clipboard-less nurse shot Adrian a dirty look. The rest breathed a grateful yet somewhat annoyed sigh of relief. "I-I'll go get a doctor," one nurse offered.
"You shouldn't have done that, Adrian. You scared them half to death!"
"But she was ignoring me!" he whined.
"Maybe so, but you made off like I was on my last legs!"
Just then, a tall, red-haired man came over. "Nurse Abrams said you needed me?" The physician took another step forward. Adrian moved in the opposite direction. "I got her," Mr. Monk insisted, thinking that the man intended to take Sharona out of his hands.
"Yes, I can see that," the doctor chuckled. "I just want to take a look at her wrist."
"Adrian," Sharona scolded, extending her right arm to the man. The instant he touched her, she bit her lip, grimacing at the pain.
"We'd better take some X-rays. Follow me." The physician turned and escorted the pair down a hallway. "By the way, I'm Dr. Richardson," he introduced himself, just as they reached their destination. Dr. Richardson held open the door and Adrian carried Sharona inside. The doctor gestured toward a long, white table. "Put her over there, please."
"Uh, when was the last time it was, you know, washed?"
Dr. Richardson raised his eyebrows slightly. "Sir, this is a hospital. Everything here is clean. It has to be."
"Yes, but when was the last time that it was-"
Sharona knew she had to intervene. "Adrian," she said sternly, "Do as he says. Put me on the table."
Her boss gazed down at her. "All right," he relented.
Dr. Richardson smiled at Adrian, seeing his obvious concern for this woman. "Thank you, Sir. Why don't you go join your son in the waiting room? This won't take very long. You can fill out the paperwork, too. And don't worry. Your wife's in good hands."
Sharona glanced up. She was about to set him straight, tell him that Benjy was not his son and that she was not his wife, but, in the end, she kept quiet.
Adrian just stood there, not wanting to leave his friend's side. He hadn't even noticed the doctor's mistakes.
"I'll be fine, Adrian," his assistant reassured him. "And, um, I'll take care of all the paperwork. You don't have to."
Monk lingered a moment longer before nodding and stepping out into the hallway, shutting the door behind him.
"Over here, Mr. Monk!" The detective turned to see Benjy sitting in a stiff wooden chair in the waiting room. "Is she all right?"
"I don't know. I hope so," Adrian replied, lowering himself into the chair next to Benjy. Sighing, he clasped his hands together. As he lowered the interlocked appendages to his lap, he suddenly realized that his skin was still covered in dirt.
Springing to his feet, Monk dashed to the registration desk. "Bathroom! W-Where's the-"
The lady pointed to her left. "Two doors down on the right side."
"Thank you!"
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When Adrian and his dirt-free hands returned to the waiting room, the seat that he had previously occupied was now taken by Sharona. He approached her cautiously. "Sharona, I am so sorry that I hurt you. I-"
His assistant stood. "I know, Adrian. And I forgive you. I'm not mad anymore. Honest." She displayed her right wrist, which was now encased in a splint. "See? It wasn't broken after all," Sharona informed him, hoping that this news would ameliorate Monk somewhat. It didn't. The look of sheer guilt remained on his face.
"Are you ready, Mr. Monk?" Benjy asked.
"Ready for what?"
"Ready to go, Adrian," Sharona answered. "I'm all done. Filled out all the forms, everything. Even had time to wash myself off," she added, motioning to her legs, which were no longer caked with mud. "We'll take a taxi back to the park, and then I'll drive home. And I don't want any arguments!" she warned in a teasing tone. "The doctor says it's okay."
Adrian managed a small smile. "Okay. You can drive. But you can't take a cab." Before Sharona could object, her boss bent down and scooped her up in his arms.
"Um, Adrian, I appreciate your concern, but I can walk."
"I know that. I just, you know, wanted to . . . I-I was trying to- "
"Just look at it this way, Mom," Benjy interjected, trying to help the floundering Mr. Monk. "He's saving you cab fare."
