Kerry enjoyed a lazy Sunday. It was one of her few guilty pleasures, besides a good glass of Scotch and perhaps--perhaps--a snippet or two of horrid daytime TV. But only when she was sick, which was... Well, hardly ever, but it was then and only then that she'd allow herself to dip into the lives of her favorite trashy characters.
What she had missed most about being single were her Sunday mornings. Just her, the bacon, the eggs, the orange juice, and the morning paper. Nothing between her and the Tribune, her and the Times, her the assorted outside rags she had imported to her Chicago home. These included a variety in Afrikaans, few of which she could actually read with any true ability.
But Sandy, Sandy had had her own agenda. Sunday was sleep hellaciously late, eat bad food in front of the television and take too long in the bathroom day. There was nothing routine, nothing sacred about the way she treated her day of rest, just a loud morning of staccato snores and the endless drone of the TV. It was not that Kerry so much disliked the display--and she did, without question--but that she fundamentally disagreed with it. It had been fun, for a time, donning Sandy's customary football beer hat and downing Fritos, but she missed her luxurious, un-hectic routine of eating and reading... Slowly.
That Sunday, Kerry had risen with a good feeling in the pit of her stomach. The shower had pounded the tension knots out of her back and her warm flannel pants took the customary cold out of her ankles. If legwarmers ever came back into style, Kerry swore she'd buy them by the caseload.
After her meal, she set out for a brisk walk, head titled towards the shining sun. It was a crisp Chicago morning, the kind she loved, with the blue-blue sky bright overhead.
As she walked, she composed a mental shopping list. Teriyaki sauce, some fresh salmon, a little box of blueberries, cheddar cheese. A can of olives and some mustard, perhaps a pot of jam. Frivolous things, but these were the things she liked.
She knew it was her lucky day as soon as she entered the supermarket. Some ingenious member of the managerial staff had decided to forego traditional Muzak for an upbeat, peppy oldies station, which, to her intense joy, was blasting the Temptations up and down every single isle.
Doing a modified softshoe, cane and all, Kerry swung her cart towards the meats, looking for a nice prime rib she could make for her last official barbeque of the season. A nice stir-fry would suffice, she thought, with a few red peppers mixed in, burnt ever so slightly around the edges the way she liked.
"Dr. Weaver!"
Kerry turned, her shopping cart hitting the metallic edge of the meat case.
"Ms--Lynn," she said, in surprise, catching sight of the other woman standing just yards from her, arms overloaded in toilet paper. Lynn caught her staring and laughed.
"Two kids," she explained, "one of them a teenager."
Kerry nodded, smiling.
"Ah-ha," she said.
To both her delight and her dismay, Lynn pulled her cart up alongside of Kerry's, leaning back on her right foot in the causal stance of one who might be conversing for some time. It struck Kerry then that she really didn't know what to say.
Half an hour later, in the midst of a heated discussion over Edward Albee's most recent theatrical endeavor, Kerry harkened back to that thought, wondering what she had ever been nervous about. Lynn was... Well, Lynn made it easy. They fell into conversation almost immediately, occupying much of the meat section with both themselves and their groceries.
"Listen," Lynn said, as an elderly woman dirty-looked them away from the area, "Why don't we grab coffee later this week?"
Kerry mentally checked her schedule.
"As long as it's not Tuesday or Wednesday," she replied, "I've got a double shift."
Lynn nodded, a dimple showing in her left cheek,
"Sounds great."
From her wallet she plucked a slender blue square of paper.
"My card," she explained.
Kerry accepted it, turning it over in her hand.
"You're a teacher," she said.
"Yes, and a private tutor."
They looked at each other a moment, eye to eye.
"And here's mine," Kerry replied, by and by, fishing hers from the bottom of her purse, "not as pretty, but..."
"It's lovely," said Lynn, tucking it safely into her pocket, "I'll be in touch."
******
Gallant was awake by morning.
"You look cheery," Susan snickered as he walked past admit, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Did you rest up?" Chen chided him, giving him an elbow to the ribs. He seemed not to notice, grabbing a chart and ignoring the string of glances from his colleagues.
"What's with him?" Abby asked, breezing past on her way from the lounge, sucking on a candy.
"Just woke up from the Haldol," Takata replied, "hey, is that a Tootsie pop?"
Abby nodded, giving a hearty crunch.
"Can I have one?"
Abby shrugged, palms up.
"Got it off a patient."
"A patient?"
"Birthday clown."
Takata shuddered.
"Ewwww," he said, "clowns."
He turned in time to see Gallant slump out of the lounge.
"No coffee," Gallant mumbled.
"What, you can't make it yourself?" Abby asked.
Gallant looked at her like he'd been shot.
"Um," he replied, "ahh..."
"I'll take that as a no," Abby said, dropping her chart onto the desk, "come on. I'll show ya."
Takata smiled behind his hand.
Back in the lounge, Gallant watched with full attention as Abby assembled the coffee maker.
"... And then you press this button and... Gallant?"
His stare was fixed, mind somewhere else.
"Gallant?"
She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he started.
"Are you listening?"
"Yes!" he said loudly.
Abby smirked at him.
"You don't have to shout."
"Sorry, sorry."
Gallant cleared his throat.
"Mind in the gutter, Gallant?"
Abby watched as the student turned fifteen shades of purple from beneath his dark skin.
"Ahaha, I gotcha!" she crowed, pulling up a chair so she could sit beside him, "care to share?"
"No," Gallant said.
"Come on... Who is she?"
"There is no she."
"He then?"
Gallant gave Abby a look.
"No! Not... Not that there's anything wrong with that."
Abby took a slug of her coffee.
"You men and your sexual insecurities," she said, setting her cup down on the counter, "it's so... Petty."
"And women don't have them?" Gallant asked, placing his coffee beside hers.
"Not with each other."
"Not even over men?"
"That's not what I meant."
Gallant got it, his face cycling through the purple spectrum once more.
"You are such a kid!" Abby laughed, smacking him on the knee, "making you blush is so much fun!"
She rose from her chair, slapping the swinging door open with the flat of her hand. Turning to Gallant, she made a face.
"Ooo!" she said, resting a hand just below her lower back, "that hurt!"
Gallant nearly fell out of his chair.
What she had missed most about being single were her Sunday mornings. Just her, the bacon, the eggs, the orange juice, and the morning paper. Nothing between her and the Tribune, her and the Times, her the assorted outside rags she had imported to her Chicago home. These included a variety in Afrikaans, few of which she could actually read with any true ability.
But Sandy, Sandy had had her own agenda. Sunday was sleep hellaciously late, eat bad food in front of the television and take too long in the bathroom day. There was nothing routine, nothing sacred about the way she treated her day of rest, just a loud morning of staccato snores and the endless drone of the TV. It was not that Kerry so much disliked the display--and she did, without question--but that she fundamentally disagreed with it. It had been fun, for a time, donning Sandy's customary football beer hat and downing Fritos, but she missed her luxurious, un-hectic routine of eating and reading... Slowly.
That Sunday, Kerry had risen with a good feeling in the pit of her stomach. The shower had pounded the tension knots out of her back and her warm flannel pants took the customary cold out of her ankles. If legwarmers ever came back into style, Kerry swore she'd buy them by the caseload.
After her meal, she set out for a brisk walk, head titled towards the shining sun. It was a crisp Chicago morning, the kind she loved, with the blue-blue sky bright overhead.
As she walked, she composed a mental shopping list. Teriyaki sauce, some fresh salmon, a little box of blueberries, cheddar cheese. A can of olives and some mustard, perhaps a pot of jam. Frivolous things, but these were the things she liked.
She knew it was her lucky day as soon as she entered the supermarket. Some ingenious member of the managerial staff had decided to forego traditional Muzak for an upbeat, peppy oldies station, which, to her intense joy, was blasting the Temptations up and down every single isle.
Doing a modified softshoe, cane and all, Kerry swung her cart towards the meats, looking for a nice prime rib she could make for her last official barbeque of the season. A nice stir-fry would suffice, she thought, with a few red peppers mixed in, burnt ever so slightly around the edges the way she liked.
"Dr. Weaver!"
Kerry turned, her shopping cart hitting the metallic edge of the meat case.
"Ms--Lynn," she said, in surprise, catching sight of the other woman standing just yards from her, arms overloaded in toilet paper. Lynn caught her staring and laughed.
"Two kids," she explained, "one of them a teenager."
Kerry nodded, smiling.
"Ah-ha," she said.
To both her delight and her dismay, Lynn pulled her cart up alongside of Kerry's, leaning back on her right foot in the causal stance of one who might be conversing for some time. It struck Kerry then that she really didn't know what to say.
Half an hour later, in the midst of a heated discussion over Edward Albee's most recent theatrical endeavor, Kerry harkened back to that thought, wondering what she had ever been nervous about. Lynn was... Well, Lynn made it easy. They fell into conversation almost immediately, occupying much of the meat section with both themselves and their groceries.
"Listen," Lynn said, as an elderly woman dirty-looked them away from the area, "Why don't we grab coffee later this week?"
Kerry mentally checked her schedule.
"As long as it's not Tuesday or Wednesday," she replied, "I've got a double shift."
Lynn nodded, a dimple showing in her left cheek,
"Sounds great."
From her wallet she plucked a slender blue square of paper.
"My card," she explained.
Kerry accepted it, turning it over in her hand.
"You're a teacher," she said.
"Yes, and a private tutor."
They looked at each other a moment, eye to eye.
"And here's mine," Kerry replied, by and by, fishing hers from the bottom of her purse, "not as pretty, but..."
"It's lovely," said Lynn, tucking it safely into her pocket, "I'll be in touch."
******
Gallant was awake by morning.
"You look cheery," Susan snickered as he walked past admit, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
"Did you rest up?" Chen chided him, giving him an elbow to the ribs. He seemed not to notice, grabbing a chart and ignoring the string of glances from his colleagues.
"What's with him?" Abby asked, breezing past on her way from the lounge, sucking on a candy.
"Just woke up from the Haldol," Takata replied, "hey, is that a Tootsie pop?"
Abby nodded, giving a hearty crunch.
"Can I have one?"
Abby shrugged, palms up.
"Got it off a patient."
"A patient?"
"Birthday clown."
Takata shuddered.
"Ewwww," he said, "clowns."
He turned in time to see Gallant slump out of the lounge.
"No coffee," Gallant mumbled.
"What, you can't make it yourself?" Abby asked.
Gallant looked at her like he'd been shot.
"Um," he replied, "ahh..."
"I'll take that as a no," Abby said, dropping her chart onto the desk, "come on. I'll show ya."
Takata smiled behind his hand.
Back in the lounge, Gallant watched with full attention as Abby assembled the coffee maker.
"... And then you press this button and... Gallant?"
His stare was fixed, mind somewhere else.
"Gallant?"
She snapped her fingers in front of his eyes and he started.
"Are you listening?"
"Yes!" he said loudly.
Abby smirked at him.
"You don't have to shout."
"Sorry, sorry."
Gallant cleared his throat.
"Mind in the gutter, Gallant?"
Abby watched as the student turned fifteen shades of purple from beneath his dark skin.
"Ahaha, I gotcha!" she crowed, pulling up a chair so she could sit beside him, "care to share?"
"No," Gallant said.
"Come on... Who is she?"
"There is no she."
"He then?"
Gallant gave Abby a look.
"No! Not... Not that there's anything wrong with that."
Abby took a slug of her coffee.
"You men and your sexual insecurities," she said, setting her cup down on the counter, "it's so... Petty."
"And women don't have them?" Gallant asked, placing his coffee beside hers.
"Not with each other."
"Not even over men?"
"That's not what I meant."
Gallant got it, his face cycling through the purple spectrum once more.
"You are such a kid!" Abby laughed, smacking him on the knee, "making you blush is so much fun!"
She rose from her chair, slapping the swinging door open with the flat of her hand. Turning to Gallant, she made a face.
"Ooo!" she said, resting a hand just below her lower back, "that hurt!"
Gallant nearly fell out of his chair.