He told himself it was just lunch. He told himself that on Wednesday night and Thursday morning. And while he was telling Deshawn to hold down the shop for an hour and while he was driving the six blocks to the diner on Witmore where Olivia was already sitting at a window booth when he walked in, she was in her workclo dark slacks, a burgundy top, a lanyard with her hospital ID around her neck. She had a glass of water in front of her and she was looking at her phone and she didn't see him come in. And for a single unguarded second, Marcus just stood there in the doorway of a perfectly ordinary diner and watched Olivia Coleman sit at a table and felt something he recognized from a long time ago.
Then she looked up, she saw him, she smiled, and Marcus walked across that diner and sat down across from her and told himself one more time, the last time for a while, that it was just lunch. They talked for an hour and 40 minutes. The waitress came back three times before they ordered. They apologized. They ordered.
They barely touched their food. Marcus told her about Deshawn, how he'd hired him two years ago when the kid was fresh out of tech school and broke and completely convinced he knew more than he did. And how Marcus had let him be wrong about things just enough times that he started listening. How now Deshawn was the best diagnostic tech Marcus had ever seen. Olivia told him about a patient, an older man, 83, lived alone.
The kind of post- discharge follow-up call that was supposed to take 10 minutes and took 45 because he just needed to talk to someone. She called him every week now. Off the books. Just because. Does your supervisor know?
Marcus asked. She knows I spend longer than average on follow-ups. Olivia said she hasn't asked me to clarify. You do that for a lot of them? A few.
She looked at her water glass. The ones who don't have anyone else. Marcus looked at her. What? She said nothing.
He said, I'm just I'm trying to figure out how you're not already taken. Because I can't figure that out. It came out before he caught it. He saw it register on her face, not offended, not embarrassed. Something more complicated than either of those.
A woman recalibrating. I'm careful, she said. Finally. I got careful after. She made a small gesture.
It's easier to pour yourself into other people's problems than your own. At least other people's problems have defined solutions. You discharge a patient and they get better or she stopped. My problems don't have a clear end point. What are your problems?
Marcus asked. She looked at him. You want the list? I got time. She laughed.
A real one. Unexpected that she put her hand over her mouth to contain. And then she looked at him differently. Daniel told me you're a good man, she said. Daniel's biased.