Finding Opa! (3 page)

Pulling up to the small, bricked building on the corner lot of the busy intersection, she looked up gratefully at the skies that were blue and bright. At least the day had started off right. Maybe,
just maybe
, she could find a reason to write today. She knew that it was hardly possible; yet she clung to the prospect.

Taking her backpack inside with her, she walked up to the reception desk, checked in and had a seat in the half-full waiting room. It was a nice little practice, clean and modern with lots of abstract art and health pamphlets strategically placed around the well-lit space.

Grabbing the current issue of
Vogue
magazine on the table across from her, she flipped through the pages blankly until she heard her named call.

“That was fast,” Stacey said, standing up. Waving at the nurse, she quickly made her way back to a small, sterile white room and put her backpack on the floor in the corner.

The nurse was quick with her chores of checking her blood pressure, going through the questionnaire and taking her blood. When she was done, she informed Stacey that the doctor would be in to see her momentarily; so she would need to change out of her clothes and into the blue, paper examination gown on the table.

Taking her time after she was left alone, Stacey pulled off her favorite, distressed jeans and t-shirt, boots and socks, and made a neatly folded pile in the chair.

Sitting on the small bed, she looked around the room with her hands clasped as she listened to the people move about outside the door. She always got nervous at the doctor’s office, and the result was often itchy, sweaty underarms. Running her thumb under her wet arm pit, she took a deep breath and rested back on the examination table.

Knock. Knock.
She sat up as the door opened.
Showtime.
The mysterious Dr. H. C. Fourakis walked in with a clipboard in-hand and closed the door behind him.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Bryant,” he greeted, looking up from his paperwork.

“I don’t believe it,” Stacey said flabbergasted. “
You
are Dr. H. C. Fourakis? As in
Hunter, the drink hustler
?” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Life could be so cruelly ironic at times. He would die if he knew that she actually went to bed thinking about him the night before.

Hunter put down his blue clipboard and tried to wipe the devious grin from his face. “In the flesh,” he said, leaning against the workstation across from her. “This is how I pay the bills. The drink hustling is my night gig.” His brows pinched down as he studied her.

“You’re an OB/GYN?” She shook her head in disbelief. Go figure.

“It’s a family practice actually. My dad was the first. My sister and I run it now. So, you see there is really no need for me to be too boisterous. I’m just playing copycat here.” He sat down on the white stool in the corner and pulled a sleek silver pen from his white smock. “So, what are we doing today?”

Stacey pulled her little paper gown around her, uncomfortable with being nude with a man who had tried to pick her up twelve hours before. “
We
are not doing anything. If your sister isn’t available, then I’ll change doctors with my insurance company and reschedule for a later date somewhere else with someone else. But there is no way in hell that I’m going to let you...” She didn’t bother to finish her statement, certain that he understood her concern.

Both of their eyes wondered to her covered vagina.

“Well, I don’t want to lose your business. I’ll see if Hanna is available,” he said, standing up. He walked over to the door and stopped. With a quick turn in his brown loafers, he faced her. “I hope you won’t let last night effect your impression of our practice. We’re very professional here and devoted to women’s healthcare.”

Stacey slumped down on the bed and shook her head. “I’ll give your sister a chance,” she said, feeling sorry for him. “Just hurry up before I change my mind.”

Hunter put up his hands and smiled. “Great,” he said, showing his dimples. “She’ll be right in, and I’m leaving right now.”

***

An hour later, after Dr. Hanna Fourakis, an equally attractive and young likeness of her brother, had seen her, Stacey emerged from the doctor’s office with a positive experience minus the encounter with Hunter,
the drink hustling OB/GYN
.

Slipping on her backpack, she mounted her Vespa and prepared to head home when a black Toyota 4runner pulled in front of her.

“Hey, did everything turn out cool?” Hunter asked, taking off his shades.

“
Turn out cool
?” Stacey smirked. “Are doctors supposed to talk like that?”

“Like what?” Hunter asked. Putting the car in park, he opened the door and stepped out in a pair of jeans and a gray polo.

His copper-colored, curly hair and deep-tanned skin made Stacey curious. He looked like a model. There was no way that he wasn’t a Casanova. “What kind of name is
Fourakis
?” she asked, slipping on her plum-colored helmet.

“Greek,” he said proudly, although she said it like a curse word. “What kind of name is Bryant?”

“Slave owner name, I suppose,” she said with an obnoxious growl. “Well, have a great day.” Her tone was less than harmonious.

“Wait,” Hunter said, putting his hand on her bike. He tilted his head and smiled. “Let me take you for lunch. It’s the least that I could do, considering that I’ve been such a pest.”

“I have to write a book or did you forget? And yes, you have been a total pest.” She kept her eyes on his hand.

“Why are you playing so hard to get? I just want to take you out, get to know you better. Is that so much to ask?” he pleaded. His grip was tighter on her handle bars.

“Look Hunter,” she said huffing. Flicking his fingers off her handles, she stood straddling her bike. “I’m not a young girl with plenty of time to waste. I don’t like games. Do I find you attractive? Like I told you last night, yes, I do. But I don’t have time for this…not now. I’m
busy
,” she hissed.

He moved closer to her, determined to change her mind. “I’m not playing games. I’m trying to take you to lunch.” He looked into her eyes and bit his lip again. His attraction to her was obvious. “I like you. I don’t know why. I saw you at the bar last night on your little computer, and you just seemed different, like a breath of fresh air. So, I figured that since you are single, and I’m single what would be the harm. You know me better now. You know where I work. You know what I do. We’re even. Right?”

Stacey smiled despite herself. Looking across the street at the seafood deli, she shook her head. “Yeah. Okay.”

He raised his brow. Did this little
hard ass
actually agree with something that he said? “Is that a yes?” he asked for more clarification.

“
Yeah, okay
. We can go across the street to lunch right now.” She pointed across the way. “Over there.” The smell of food wafted across the street to them. The place looked safe and harmless enough, and she had a taste for fish and chips. Essentially, she could kill two birds with one stone.

“Great. Hop in and I’ll drive you across.” His keys jingled in his hand.

“Oh, I don’t do cars,” she said, pushing her Vespa. “Go on. I’ll meet you across there.”

“You don’t do
cars
?” he asked confused. “Do you drive that thing everywhere?”

“Do you or do you not want this date, drink hustler?” she asked, refusing to explain.

“Alright. Alright. I’ll see you across there,” he said, getting back into his truck.

***

Sitting across from each other in a booth next to the window facing towards the breathtaking waterfront, Stacey and Hunter finally had a chance to talk. Fresh crab cakes, hot fish and chips, spaghetti, coleslaw and iced tea lined the small wooden table for two and gave her ample space to prevent the date from feeling too intimate.

As the waitress brought out extra condiments, Stacey sat back in her seat and pursed her lips together. “This doesn’t add up. Out of the blue last night, you walked up to my booth and tried to pick me up. And today could have very well been coincidental,
if there is such a thing
, but something tells me that it wasn’t. You care to explain?”

He laughed nervously, indicating that her suspicions were correct. Clearing his throat, he tried to give his side of the story. “Yesterday was the anniversary of my wife’s long journey to death. And it’s always very difficult for me. So, I try to go places that we used to hang out together in order to remember what my life used to be like.”

Stacey frowned. She wasn’t expecting something so morbid. Disarmed, she relaxed her protective body language and waited to understand what his wife’s death had to do with her.

Hunter looked down at his vacant ring finger. “First, let me catch you up to speed. My wife couldn’t pay for medical school outright like my parents did for me, so she joined the Army and ended up in Iraq shortly after graduation from medical school. The theatre hospital where she was working was hit under attack by insurgents, and she was transferred to Walter Reed in DC for treatment where she fought for her life for two months and six days before she passed away.”

Stacey didn’t blink but her face had definitely warmed with compassion. She loved the military as much as the next citizen and sympathized with anyone who had been killed trying to serve the country.

Hunter tried to smile, but the pain was evident on his face. “I never left her side when she was returned to the states. Day in and day out, I watched her tortured in pain, fighting to survive. She said that she didn’t want to leave me without a family of our own. So, the idea of healing and having a baby was what gave her hope and kept her alive for so long. Plus, the staff at the burn unit were amazing. But in the end, they couldn’t save her. No one could. Infection set in and she finally succumbed.”

Tears ran down Stacey’s face. For the first time, she realized that someone had been through more than she and Drew, and the reality of that fact was both overwhelming and refreshing. Because at that moment, she knew that she wasn’t alone. However, she was also very ashamed of how poorly she had handled her own misfortune.

Hunter continued in a deeper more solemn voice, “Anyway, her favorite pub was T.W. Milligan’s, and I go there every year on the day that she was sent to Walter Reed, and I normally don’t stop going there until the two months and six days are over. Needless to say, the bartender knows me well. That is why I was there last night.”

Stacey sighed, putting two and two together. Greg knew her story too. On many nights after Drew’s death, Greg had called her a cab when she had drunk herself into a mindless stupor.

“Good ole’ Greg,” he said, shaking his head. He ran his finger around his glass rim. “And while I was about to get blasted to try and take some of the hurt away, he told me that I wasn’t alone,
not even the bar
, and told me your story.” He wiped his face with his right hand and raised it. With a smile, he continued. “So, I turned and I saw you, and I understood the tears in your eyes, and for the first time since my wife passed away, I made a play for a different woman. It wasn’t easy though, and I think we can both say that my
mad skills
are lacking.”

Stacey’s face was unreadable. Looking into his eyes, she finally let out a breath. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t be mad,” he pleaded. “Last night, talking to you was the most exciting thing that I’ve done in a long time. For a minute, looking into your eyes, trying to get on your good side, hoping maybe that you’d bite – I don’t know – it made me feel alive again. It made me feel like maybe there was a better way to spend two months and six days of my life.”

Stacey looked down at the table, embarrassed that she had been so cold to him before. In the past, she had always prided herself on being humble and just, but last night was a testament to her ability to still be a bitch. She had to fix this – reboot.

“Last night, did you really want to be my muse?” she asked.

“Yes, of course I did…I do,” he answered quickly.