The piercing ring of the phone ripped Sharona out of sleep. Not that it had
been a sound sleep. She knew who was on the phone, and she contemplated not
answering it. She had the flu and she had already called Monk an hour ago
to let him know she wouldn't be able to work. He had called four times
since then. The phone stopped ringing after the third ring, and for a
second she thought that he had finally given up . . . until her son came
into the room holding the cordless phone.
"Mr. Monk says he made the coffee the way the instructions said and it doesn't taste like the way you make it," Ben said, knowing that his mother was already extremely annoyed. But Monk had insisted that he ask her.
Sharona buried her face in her pillow for a moment, groaned and then rolled onto her back, holding her hand out while looking up at the ceiling.
"Give me the phone," she said, her voice hoarse from her sore throat. Ben handed her the phone and started to head off. "You hurry and get to school," she called after him. Then she put the phone to her ear. "Adrian, what now?"
"The instructions say 4 heaping tablespoons," he began. "But I did that and it doesn't taste right."
"Why don't you get coffee from that place across the street?" she asked. "You like that place."
"But I like yours better," he said, a reluctant whine to his voice. "And they have a new girl working there in the mornings. I swear I saw her blow her nose and then pour coffee without washing her hands."
"I have the flu," Sharona said sharply. "Believe me. You would rather have that girl make your coffee than me."
"But-"
"No buts, Adrian," Sharona interrupted his protest. "I'm sick, and you don't like sick people. Your head would explode if I came near you today. Go to the coffee shop across the street."
"Can't you just explain to me how you make it?" he asked, not wanting to give in. He knew that girl across the street had made the coffee without washing her hands. He was tempted to call a health inspector.
"No, I can't," Sharona replied. "And if you call me again in less than two hours I'll make you go to that coffee shop for two weeks. Got it?"
There was silence on the other end for a moment and finally he answered disappointedly, "Okay."
"Okay. Bye, Adrian," she said. She heard him faintly say goodbye as she hung up the phone and set it on her nightstand. Then she buried herself deep in her comforter and hoped that Monk would take her threat seriously. Part of her wished she had told him four hours. Because she knew that once two hours had passed he would call her again. She tried to forget that as she slowly fell back asleep.
* * *
He watched from across the street as Ben got on his bike and rode down the sidewalk on his way to school. Sharona's car was still parked in front. He knew that soon after her son left, she usually left to go over to Monk's place. He had actually timed it and found that she left at exactly the same time every day so she would arrive at Monk's the same time every day. That was the thing about Monk. He demanded precision. And somehow he got it from her.
He waited and glanced at his watch. It was 7:30 and she wasn't leaving. Five minutes passed and she still hadn't left. He looked at his watch again and compared it to the dashboard clock, wondering if his watch wasn't working right. But the watch matched the clock. He decided to take a risk and approach the building. He knew something had to be up if she hadn't left yet. So he made his way around, looking through all the windows and also making sure no one saw him doing this. When he got to her bedroom window he saw her. She was lying in bed, wrapped in her comforter. He could see the trashcan by the bed, full of wadded up tissues. She coughed a little bit and then rolled over. He smiled and crept away.
She was sick. This would be a good opportunity. She would be sleeping all day, probably having taken some cold medicine to help her sleep. It would be perfect. Once Ben came home from school he would have his chance.
* * *
Monk crossed the street and entered the coffee shop. Using a wipe to grab the door handle. They weren't very busy at the moment, having not yet hit their breakfast rush. The new girl was behind the counter, chewing bubble gum and reading the front page of the newspaper. She stood up when he approached and folded the newspaper up, placing it on the stool she had been sitting on.
"Can I help you?" she asked, not in a cheerful tone like the girl who had used to work mornings. Monk cringed as she cracked her gum between her teeth.
"One regular coffee, black. Please," he said timidly, watching as she turned to head toward the coffee. "Wait," he called after her and she stopped. She turned around, confused.
"Yes?" she asked, wondering what else he wanted.
"Have you washed your hands recently?" he asked. She looked at him like he had sprouted an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead.
"What?"
"Have you washed your hands? Isn't it standard health code to wash your hands?" he asked anxiously, pressing the matter further.
"I washed them at the start of my shift," she replied, wondering where this nut job came from.
"And when was that?" he asked.
"An hour ago," she replied. All she wanted to do was get his coffee and get him out of there.
"That's not recent enough," he muttered. "Would you mind washing them again?" She just stared at him. Her stare didn't faze him. All that mattered was that her hands were clean when she handled his coffee. "Or here . . ."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his package of wet wipes. He held them out to her and she continued to stare. He simply waited for her to take one. Finally she slowly reached forward and pulled one out of the package. He smiled and nodded his head. She began wiping her hands, all the while not breaking eye contact with him. When she thought she was done, she stopped and looked to him for approval.
"That good, sir?" she asked, a twinge of bitterness in her voice. Monk nodded his head.
"Great. Perfect," he responded. "Thank you."
She turned to pour his coffee and he waited, unaware of the person who had been standing behind him until he heard his name spoken.
"Monk."
He turned and was greeted by Captain Stottlemeyer. Monk smiled. "Captain, what are you doing here?"
"Sharona called and told me she had the flu," he replied. "Thought I might check in on you for her."
"That's nice, but you didn't have to do it," Monk said. The girl set his coffee on the counter and he placed the exact amount for the coffee next to it.
"Yes, I did," Stottlemeyer said. "How many times did you call her this morning after she called you to tell you she was sick?"
Monk paused, picked up his coffee and then replied sheepishly, "Five."
"No wonder she called me," Stottlemeyer said. "What were you going to do today?"
"Well, Wednesday is usually grocery day, but Sharona usually drives and the store's too far away to walk . . ." Monk trailed off, not sure what he was going to do for the day. Sharona's flu threw his whole day out of whack. He wasn't good with out of whack.
"All right, well, as insane as I told her she is, my wife volunteered to do whatever you and Sharona would've done today," Stottlemeyer said. "So she can drive you to the store and wherever else you need to go. She'll be by your place in a half hour."
"Oh, I don't know," Monk said, not believing that he would be able to get through the day's schedule with anybody but Sharona. Karen would do things differently.
"It's either sit at home all day and have your weekly schedule thrown off kilter, or it's go to the store with my wife," Stottlemeyer said, knowing the idea of the weekly schedule being thrown off by a day disturbed Monk ten times more than it would any normal person. "Which sounds better to you Monk?"
Monk paused and then tried to force a smile. "A half hour?" Stottlemeyer nodded his head. Monk looked at his watch and calculated a half hour from the current time. "Okay, I'll be waiting."
Stottlemeyer was about to comment that it wouldn't be exactly a half hour, but Monk walked out of the shop before he could say anything. He shook his head and then turned to place his order.
"Mr. Monk says he made the coffee the way the instructions said and it doesn't taste like the way you make it," Ben said, knowing that his mother was already extremely annoyed. But Monk had insisted that he ask her.
Sharona buried her face in her pillow for a moment, groaned and then rolled onto her back, holding her hand out while looking up at the ceiling.
"Give me the phone," she said, her voice hoarse from her sore throat. Ben handed her the phone and started to head off. "You hurry and get to school," she called after him. Then she put the phone to her ear. "Adrian, what now?"
"The instructions say 4 heaping tablespoons," he began. "But I did that and it doesn't taste right."
"Why don't you get coffee from that place across the street?" she asked. "You like that place."
"But I like yours better," he said, a reluctant whine to his voice. "And they have a new girl working there in the mornings. I swear I saw her blow her nose and then pour coffee without washing her hands."
"I have the flu," Sharona said sharply. "Believe me. You would rather have that girl make your coffee than me."
"But-"
"No buts, Adrian," Sharona interrupted his protest. "I'm sick, and you don't like sick people. Your head would explode if I came near you today. Go to the coffee shop across the street."
"Can't you just explain to me how you make it?" he asked, not wanting to give in. He knew that girl across the street had made the coffee without washing her hands. He was tempted to call a health inspector.
"No, I can't," Sharona replied. "And if you call me again in less than two hours I'll make you go to that coffee shop for two weeks. Got it?"
There was silence on the other end for a moment and finally he answered disappointedly, "Okay."
"Okay. Bye, Adrian," she said. She heard him faintly say goodbye as she hung up the phone and set it on her nightstand. Then she buried herself deep in her comforter and hoped that Monk would take her threat seriously. Part of her wished she had told him four hours. Because she knew that once two hours had passed he would call her again. She tried to forget that as she slowly fell back asleep.
* * *
He watched from across the street as Ben got on his bike and rode down the sidewalk on his way to school. Sharona's car was still parked in front. He knew that soon after her son left, she usually left to go over to Monk's place. He had actually timed it and found that she left at exactly the same time every day so she would arrive at Monk's the same time every day. That was the thing about Monk. He demanded precision. And somehow he got it from her.
He waited and glanced at his watch. It was 7:30 and she wasn't leaving. Five minutes passed and she still hadn't left. He looked at his watch again and compared it to the dashboard clock, wondering if his watch wasn't working right. But the watch matched the clock. He decided to take a risk and approach the building. He knew something had to be up if she hadn't left yet. So he made his way around, looking through all the windows and also making sure no one saw him doing this. When he got to her bedroom window he saw her. She was lying in bed, wrapped in her comforter. He could see the trashcan by the bed, full of wadded up tissues. She coughed a little bit and then rolled over. He smiled and crept away.
She was sick. This would be a good opportunity. She would be sleeping all day, probably having taken some cold medicine to help her sleep. It would be perfect. Once Ben came home from school he would have his chance.
* * *
Monk crossed the street and entered the coffee shop. Using a wipe to grab the door handle. They weren't very busy at the moment, having not yet hit their breakfast rush. The new girl was behind the counter, chewing bubble gum and reading the front page of the newspaper. She stood up when he approached and folded the newspaper up, placing it on the stool she had been sitting on.
"Can I help you?" she asked, not in a cheerful tone like the girl who had used to work mornings. Monk cringed as she cracked her gum between her teeth.
"One regular coffee, black. Please," he said timidly, watching as she turned to head toward the coffee. "Wait," he called after her and she stopped. She turned around, confused.
"Yes?" she asked, wondering what else he wanted.
"Have you washed your hands recently?" he asked. She looked at him like he had sprouted an extra eyeball in the middle of his forehead.
"What?"
"Have you washed your hands? Isn't it standard health code to wash your hands?" he asked anxiously, pressing the matter further.
"I washed them at the start of my shift," she replied, wondering where this nut job came from.
"And when was that?" he asked.
"An hour ago," she replied. All she wanted to do was get his coffee and get him out of there.
"That's not recent enough," he muttered. "Would you mind washing them again?" She just stared at him. Her stare didn't faze him. All that mattered was that her hands were clean when she handled his coffee. "Or here . . ."
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his package of wet wipes. He held them out to her and she continued to stare. He simply waited for her to take one. Finally she slowly reached forward and pulled one out of the package. He smiled and nodded his head. She began wiping her hands, all the while not breaking eye contact with him. When she thought she was done, she stopped and looked to him for approval.
"That good, sir?" she asked, a twinge of bitterness in her voice. Monk nodded his head.
"Great. Perfect," he responded. "Thank you."
She turned to pour his coffee and he waited, unaware of the person who had been standing behind him until he heard his name spoken.
"Monk."
He turned and was greeted by Captain Stottlemeyer. Monk smiled. "Captain, what are you doing here?"
"Sharona called and told me she had the flu," he replied. "Thought I might check in on you for her."
"That's nice, but you didn't have to do it," Monk said. The girl set his coffee on the counter and he placed the exact amount for the coffee next to it.
"Yes, I did," Stottlemeyer said. "How many times did you call her this morning after she called you to tell you she was sick?"
Monk paused, picked up his coffee and then replied sheepishly, "Five."
"No wonder she called me," Stottlemeyer said. "What were you going to do today?"
"Well, Wednesday is usually grocery day, but Sharona usually drives and the store's too far away to walk . . ." Monk trailed off, not sure what he was going to do for the day. Sharona's flu threw his whole day out of whack. He wasn't good with out of whack.
"All right, well, as insane as I told her she is, my wife volunteered to do whatever you and Sharona would've done today," Stottlemeyer said. "So she can drive you to the store and wherever else you need to go. She'll be by your place in a half hour."
"Oh, I don't know," Monk said, not believing that he would be able to get through the day's schedule with anybody but Sharona. Karen would do things differently.
"It's either sit at home all day and have your weekly schedule thrown off kilter, or it's go to the store with my wife," Stottlemeyer said, knowing the idea of the weekly schedule being thrown off by a day disturbed Monk ten times more than it would any normal person. "Which sounds better to you Monk?"
Monk paused and then tried to force a smile. "A half hour?" Stottlemeyer nodded his head. Monk looked at his watch and calculated a half hour from the current time. "Okay, I'll be waiting."
Stottlemeyer was about to comment that it wouldn't be exactly a half hour, but Monk walked out of the shop before he could say anything. He shook his head and then turned to place his order.
