you got here.”
“I’m hardly in a ‘rumbling’ mood. I have chores to do at home.”
“I know, I know, feed the livestock, slop the hogs…”
“I do not give Geranium ‘slop’ as you so crassly call it!”
“…paint a picture, knit a hat, live a horribly boring life….”
“Molly’s not boring. She’s the least boring person I know.” Tony, looking dashing in pure white, leered at me. “Beautiful, too.”
He put a tray on the table and began to unload it. “I though I’d get my food right away.”
“Turkey sandwich, potato chips, chili, nachos and cheese, French silk pie and ice cream? Tony, there’s enough food there to feed my entire family!” And that’s saying a lot.
He put his hands protectively over the pie. “It’s barely enough to keep me alive. Get your own.”
Lissy eyed his trim waist and washboard abs beneath his shirt. “Life is not fair. I’m going to gain weight just sitting at the same table with all that food.”
Tony dragged a big chip through the warm orange cheese and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm. Fresh chips. You’ll have to get some.”
Shaking our heads, Lissy and I went through the cafeteria line and each picked up a salad and, as a wildly extravagant gesture, decided to split a piece of fresh strawberry pie.
When we returned to the table, Tony shook his head sorrowfully.
“We can’t help it if our metabolisms can’t keep up with yours,” Lissy said as he stared at the food on our plates.
“‘My salad days, when I was green in judgment.’”
Lissy and I stared at Tony.
“That’s what Cleopatra says at the end of Act One of Anthony and Cleopatra,” Tony informed us.
“You mean she was on a diet, too? I hope she didn’t get as sick of lettuce as I have.” Lissy stared down at her plate. “It’s been going on a long time, then. Dieting, I mean.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “‘Salad days’ doesn’t mean she’s on a diet. Cleopatra regretted her youthful inexperience and indiscretions. She meant that when she was young she was, like, well, green.” He looked at Lissy’s confused expression. “You know, like the tender shoots in spring—new.”
“Young and dumb,” I provided.
“What does this have to do with anything?” Lissy demanded.
“Nothing,” Tony said. “I looked at the salad on your plate and thought of Shakespeare, that’s all.”
“If there’s a woman out there for you, she’s going to be a strange one, Tony. If my salad reminds you of Shakespeare, what does my—” Lissy picked up a piece of cutlery “—my fork make you think of?”
Tony opened his mouth but I shut it for him with my finger. “Stop right there. I’m not up to a Shakespeare discussion right now.”
Then I turned to Lissy. “Don’t encourage him.”
“Tony, you’re too bright and too handsome for your own good,” Lissy pointed out. “You’re going to have a hard time meeting your match.”
He shuttered his eyes to half-mast and looked at me. “I’ve already met her. She just won’t have anything to do with me. Right, Molly?”
Lissy mimed sticking her finger down her throat and gagging at that.
I quickly changed the subject. “Are either of you going to volunteer at the free clinic this month? The new schedule comes out soon.”
“I can’t. I’m scheduled to work most of the days the clinic is open.”
“Me, too,” Tony said. “But I’m planning to be with you the nights we teach Lamaze classes.”
“I said I’d fill in at the reception desk when I can, although it won’t be enough,” I said. “The clinic is growing by leaps and bounds.”
“It seems odd to me that a medical facility like Bradshaw opened a free branch,” Lissy commented as she ate most of the strawberries off our slice of pie.
“The people they treat have to be low income and have no medical insurance,” Tony pointed out. “These people might not even seek medical help otherwise.”
“Whoever thought up that idea was very forward thinking,” Lissy commented.
Everett Bradshaw, I thought. It was odd how cutting-edge he’d been—and how his grandson was now retreating to the “old” forties ways.
“Want to go sailing with us this afternoon?” Tony asked. “The weather is perfect for it.”
Tony, among his other manly, girl-attracting attributes, owns a sailboat. I don’t think he’s a very good sailor, but he loves to see his dates in bathing suits. That’s his best and only reason for keeping the boat. He prefers a snowmobile. Unfortunately his dates then have to dress up in snowsuits so fluffy they look like the Michelin Man.
“I can’t. Hildy and I have an appointment today at three. We’re visiting the nursing home. I have to run home to get her after I eat and bring her back.”
“You’re no fun.” Lissy pouted. “Dates with dogs, knitting weird hats, rubbing pregnant ladies’ backs… You’ve got to get some new hobbies.”
Tony’s eyelids drooped seductively, and he put his hand over mine as it lay on the table. “How about me? I’ve been told I’m entertaining.”
“You certainly are, but I don’t have enough time for a high-maintenance hobby like you.”
“You need romance in your life, Molly. I could provide it.”
He looked so hopeful that I had to let him down easy—again. I disengaged my hand, put it on his cheek and stared into his eyes. “Listen to me, Tony. I refuse to ruin a good friendship by dating you. Sooner or later you’ll have to quit asking me.”
He cradled my hand in both of his. “I choose later. I’m not a quitter and I’m not ready to give up yet.”
“I’ll go out with you as a friend anytime, you know that.”
“Small comfort,” he retorted cheerfully. “Do you want a bite of my pie?”
Dates with Tony, I’ll refuse. Pie? No way. I opened my mouth and he popped a bite of the French silk, the prime piece—the little tip at the end—into my mouth.
Just then a tray clattered onto the table next to us with more force than usual. I looked over to see Dr. Clay Reynolds throw himself onto a chair and scowl at the food before him. What was the chip on this man’s shoulder?
He
