Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas Read Online Free PDF Page B

friends. Still, I felt out of place. I don’t know exactly why. I had attended more
     than my share of events like this in Boston. Ribbon cuttings for new hospital wings, large and small cocktail soirees, the
     endless invitations to whatever was news-worthy in Boston.
    But I really felt uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to tell Matt, to spoil the night for him. My recent stint on Martha’s Vineyard
     had been more down-home. Growing vegetables, hanging shutters, waterproofing porch floors.
    At one crazy point, I actually looked down to see if I’d gotten all the white paint off my hands before I came.
    You know what it was like, Nick?
Sometimes when we hang together, and it’s just the two of us, I’ll talk Nicky-talk with you. That’s the special language
     of made-up words; strange, funny noises; and other indecipherable codes and signals that only the two of us understand.
    Then an adult will come to the door—or we’ll have to go out to the market for something—and I swear I
forget
how to talk like an adult.
    That’s how I felt at this party. I’d spent too much time in work boots and paint-stained over-alls; I was out of sync. And
     I liked the new rhythm I was creating for myself. Easy, simple, uncomplicated.
    As I floated through a pleasant-enough haze of witty small talk and clinking crystal glasses, a little voice,
a child’s voice,
broke through to me.
    A small boy came running up, crying. He was probably three or four. I didn’t see a parent or a nanny anywhere.
    “What happened?” I bent down and asked. “Are you okay, big guy?”
    “I fell,” he sobbed. “Look!” And when I looked down, sure enough, his knee had a nasty scrape. There was even a little blood.
    “How’d he
know
you were a doctor, Suzanne?” Matt asked.
    “Children know these things,” I said. “I’ll take him inside and clean his knee. This white dress is meant to be chic, but
     maybe it looked like a doctor’s lab coat to him.”
    I put my hand out, and the little boy reached up and took it. He told me that his name was Jack Brandon. He was the son of
     George and Lillian Brandon, who were at the party. He explained, in a very grown-up way, how his nanny was sick and his parents
     had to bring him.
    As he and I emerged from the screened back door, a concerned woman came up to me.
    “What happened to my son?” she asked, and actually seemed put out.
    “Jack took a little fall. We were just going to find a Band-Aid,” Matt said.
    “It’s not serious,” I said. “Just a scratch. I’m Suzanne, by the way, Suzanne Bedford.”
    Jack’s mother acknowledged my presence with a curt nod. When she tried to take Jack’s hand, he turned unexpectedly and hugged
     my legs.
    I could tell that the mother was annoyed. She turned to a friend, and I heard her say, “What the hell does she know? It’s
     not like she’s a doctor.” Nick—listen, watch closely now, this next part is magic. There is such a thing
. Believe me.
    One night after a very long day at my office, the intrepid country doctor decided to grab a bite to eat on her way home.
    I was just too tired to deal with making something, or even deciding what to make. No, Harry’s Hamburger would do me just
     fine. A burger and fries seemed perfect to end my day. I needed a little guilty pleasure.
    I guess it was a little past eight when I strolled inside. I didn’t notice him at first. He was sitting by the window, eating
     his dinner and reading a book.
    In fact, I was halfway through my burger when I saw him.Picasso, my housepainter.
    I’d had very little contact with him since he left me those beautiful wildflowers in the mason jar. Occasionally, I’d hear
     him fixing something on the roof as I was leaving for work, or catch him painting the house, but we seldom spoke more than
     a few words.
    I got up to pay the check. I could have walked out without saying hello because his back was turned toward me, but that seemed
     rude, ungracious, and snobby on my