Chapter 2. On The Road Again.
House was at the hospital earlier than he'd ever been. He went straight to his office, where he packed up a box with some of his personal belongings, and wrote his resignation letter. He took it hot off the printer down to the reception desk where he put it in an envelope, addressed to Lisa Cuddy. Avoiding everyone he knew, he made his escape with his box of treasures.
It was mid-afternoon by the time he added his gym bag and the old wooden chest of chemicals to the suitcase and boxes in his car trunk and slammed it shut. He got into the car with an increasing sense of adventure. He didn't know how far he'd go, or what he might find along the way. He just headed east to the interstate. Maybe he should go south, away from the congestion of the northeast. He might not get far his first day, but every mile away from Princeton allowed him to relax more.
The minutes and miles flew by. When he saw a sign for the Delmarva Peninsula, he realized he'd never gone down that way before. He took US 13 south. The road stretched straight and true through farmland. He drove on, but as evening descended he decided he needed fuel for himself and his vehicle. A sign caught his eye, a caricature of a pot-bellied man, pumping gas and simultaneously belching. 'Eat at Mo's, Get Gas' the sign read.
It was only a mile further on his left. There wasn't much northbound traffic, so he easily crossed into the gas station. Unlike New Jersey, where attendants pump your gas while you remain in your car, he had to get out to fuel up. His leg was stiff from the long drive, but it didn't really hurt. He inserted his credit card, filled his tank, and then drove fifteen yards or so to an old, but newly painted diner. This was Mo's.
"Sit wherever you like, Sugar," the waitress called out. She was busy taking the order of an elderly man, sitting alone in a booth halfway down the long narrow restaurant.
House sat in the second booth from the door and pulled a menu from the slot next to an old-fashioned Wurlitzer wallbox. He flipped through the selections, which were heavy on 60s and 70s music, probably hadn't been changed since the place was built. He smiled and opened the menu. The restaurant seemed to run to homey kinds of dishes, meatloaf, pot roast, and the like.
He looked up as the waitress approached. Middle-aged, short and chubby, with brassy blond hair, she had a nametag that read 'Linda' pinned to her pink shirt. The shirt bore the same logo as the sign he'd seen on the road, her chest making the man seem even funnier. "What'll it be, Sweetie?" she asked, pen poised over her order pad.
"Is the lasagna fresh?" he asked.
"Sure is. Mo just took a fresh pan out of the oven."
"That's what I want, then."
"You get a salad or vegetable with that," she said, pointing to the print on the menu with the back end of her pen.
"Salad. Italian dressing on the side."
"And to drink? We've got Coke products, iced tea, coffee and beer," she said.
"Make it coffee for now," he said, then sat back as he watched her go through swinging doors to the back of the place, presumably to give Mo his order.
When she came back out again, she carried a plate heaping with spaghetti and meatballs and placed it in front of the elderly man. House noticed that besides himself and Old Guy, the place was empty. He hoped that wasn't because of the quality of the food. Then again, it was almost eight, way past the dinner hour for most people.
House was just taking his first bite of the lasagna, and comparing it favorably with any that Wilson had ever made, when there was a commotion at Old Guy's table.
"Mo, come quick!" Linda shouted out. "It looks like Pete is having a heart attack or somethin'."
A big woman came through the swinging doors, as tall as Linda was short, and just as heavyset.
House continued eating as the two women conferred.
Suddenly Linda called to him, "Hey, Mister, give us a hand here!"
"Whatever happened to 'Honey' and 'Sweetie'? When did I get demoted to 'Mister'?" he called back.
Mo took charge, "Don't smart mouth her and git your bony ass over here!"
He waved his cane, but stood and began to approach them as ordered. "Yes, Sergeant, but this cripple doesn't move so fast."
"Your brain is more feeble than your body!" she said. "Now help us get Pete over to the clinic."
House couldn't see how he could be of any help, especially since he didn't know how far away the clinic was. But he was becoming curious about what was wrong with old Pete.
"Take his right arm, under the shoulder," Mo ordered, noting his right leg limp and his perfectly fine left leg. "I'll get the left and Linnie can take his feet."
Pete appeared to be conscious but struggling for breath. "What did he have again?" House asked.
"The meatballs and spaghetti. But no one else got sick from any of our food tonight," Linda said.
Once the three of them had lifted Pete, Mo said, "The clinic's just across the alley in the strip mall."
"Mo, I guess that's short for Maureen?" House asked as they made it through the door. The woman's plan was working better than he expected, but he wasn't about to tell her that.
"Now you're trying to prove how smart you are?" she replied.
He suppressed the grin that was threatening to spread across his face. They made it across the alley. The clinic seemed to occupy the first two spaces of a row of stores including a realtor, a karate school, and a nail salon.
"I hope the doc's still here," Linda said.
"She usually doesn't leave until eight-thirty, nine. Phyllis is on vacation but the light's on." Mo pushed open the door with her shoulder and House could hear a bell ring somewhere in the back of the clinic. "Doc, it's Mo. Got a patient for you, Pete Carver."
"I'll be right out," a voice sang out from the back.
The familiarity of it sent a tingle down the back of House's neck. It couldn't be! Last he heard she was going to Chicago. Suddenly he didn't want to wait to find out. What would he say if his suspicions were right? "I'm going back to finish my lasagna while it's still hot," he said. The two women could handle it from here.
Mo stared at him. "Was it something I said?"
He ignored her question. "How do I pay for my meal?"
"You're not going on tonight, are you?" she asked. "It's kinda late. Get a room at the motel, and you'll pay me when you come in for breakfast in the morning. That is, if we're not back before you finish eating."
She was being rather presumptuous, House thought. But she had a point. He'd noticed that there was a motel on the other side of Mo's place. Helping the women carry Pete over had taken the last of his energy, and by the time he finished eating, it really would be too late to go on. "See you in the morning." He made a hasty retreat before the doc appeared.