To Let You Go

Four

Asher made it a point to not stop by The Blue Bean after the incident even though it was the coffee shop closest to his apartment and the cheapest place. He felt awkward about seeing the girl again. Pauline George. He'd never had an adept bedside manner. In his opinion, as a surgeon, talking to the patient after a successful operation was the second-worst part of his job. What do you say to someone? You're welcome? It was only second to failing in awkwardness and tedium. In addition to his typical hesitation, he'd never had to deal with a near-death emergency situation before and didn't know how to proceed onwards. Especially when the subject matter was so distasteful.

However, Asher could only go to Starbucks so many days in a row before his wallet and his palette were screaming at him to return to The Blue Bean and stop spending $4 a day on burnt coffee. Six days was long enough. So he went, hopeful that maybe Pauline George took Monday's off. She didn't.

Immediately when he walked into The Blue Bean she made eye contact with him. She, too, seemed unsure about how to handle the aftermath of last week's incident. Asher felt some relief that she didn't seem eager to talk. He waited in line, ordered his coffee, and stood awkwardly by the pickup bar. But the inevitable happened when he made eye contact with Pauline George a second time.

"Hey..." she said uncertainly, "I think I owe you for last week. So, thank you. But I also think you deserve an explanation about—"

"I don't need an explanation," he quickly replied, cutting her off and taking his coffee from her hand. "There are very few things that can cause arrhythmia like that in someone your age. They're almost all drug-related."

The girl looked shocked and confused. Asher could see the gears turning in her head. She was pondering what to say next. "That's not..." she began, but her sentence trailed off. 

"If I know about it, I have to report it, so—" just then, Asher's hospital pager began beeping noisily, alerting him that he was needed for an operation. Usually the sound made him want to grind his teeth, but in this case he was happy for a distraction. He set his coffee down, fumbling in the pockets of his trousers, lab coat and the black coat he was wearing over it to silence the obsolete device. Even though it was only October, the winter was creeping in to the wind in Pennsylvania. Finally, he found his pager, pulled it from his pocket, and looked at the code. Compound fracture. Nothing major. Even so, he knew he could pretend it was urgent to escape the present situation.

He looked up to grab his coffee and was stunned silent when he saw Pauline George standing, tears in her defeated eyes,  holding her own hospital pager with both hands. Those pagers were dinosaurs. There was no reason for her to have one unless she was a doctor. Or a patient. He realized then that he had completely misinterpreted what had happened six days prior.

"On second thought," Asher said calmly. "I'd like that explanation. What time can we meet this evening?"