A Whisper

1: Missing

"I think Dr. Brigant is sweet on you," I said to Gran when we reached her eye doctor's office. She'd been seeing Dr. Fintan Brigant, opthamologist, for the last three years. Like Gran, he was getting on in years and the two of them always seemed to be like pre-teens when they got near each other. It was kind of cute to watch, actually.

Of course Gran always poo-pooed that idea, insisting there was no way a sophisticated doctor would be interested in a little old southern belle like her. Like me, Gran had grown up in rural Louisiana. She was the only heir to an old fortune in sugarcane. The family home was currently closed up to preserve it in our absence, but Gran being Gran, she couldn't bear to part with it. Family history was important to her, which was a big part of how we ended up in Manhattan three years ago.

"Oh, he's not," she chuckled. "He's just a nice man."

"He is, but he gets all flustered when he talks to you," I pointed out.

"You might be getting senile, young lady," Gran snickered.

"Or maybe you're in denial."

"No, ma'am. Plus, I'm too old for datin'. Maybe you should look into meetin' someone," she suggested.

"You're not too old for dating. You have your faculties and a pulse," I said, making her laugh. "Besides, I have a lot going on right now. I don't know where I'd fit in a boyfriend."

"You have plenty of places to insert a boyfriend into your life," she told me. "You just don't want to."

I thought it over for a minute before saying, "That's fair. I just haven't met anyone worth reorganizing my time for."

Gran went to the reception desk to check in for her appointment while I took a seat in the surprisingly quiet waiting room. It was pretty much what anyone might expect for a waiting room at eye doctor's office. Ads for different types of glasses or contacts were posted around the room. Publications about general health were stacked on the tables that broke up the seats that could be in any other waiting room or even hotel lobby across the country. The carpet was an odd shade of green, somewhere between sage and avocado. HGTV was playing on the TV, which would keep Gran entertained while she waited for her name to be called. Once she was checked in, she came over and took a seat next to me.

"Besides," she continued on. "I'm pretty sure Dr. Brigant is married."

"What makes you say that? I've never seen a ring on his finger."

"He has pictures on his office," she said. "I don't ask about them."

"Maybe she's dead," I suggested.

"Possible," Gran agreed.

"I hope so," I said, earning a smack on my arm from Gran.

"Sookie, you can't wish that kind of stuff on people. I taught you better than that."

"I'm not wishing for it," I argued. "Wishing and hoping are two different things."

"Not in this case," she told me.

"If he is single, would you go on a date with him?"

"I'm too old for datin'," she repeated. "He's a nice, handsome man but I'm not sure about all that."

I knew better than to keep pressing her on it, so I turned my eyes to the TV. I snorted when I saw Chip Gaines skedaddling around with a silly cowboy hat on.

"How would you like to have to lasso that knucklehead on a daily basis?" I chuckled.

"He seems like fun," Gran smiled. "I think I'd have a good time with him. You need a fun-loving man like Chip."