The Best Medicine Read Online Free PDF Page B

arms and I leaned over to give her an awkward hug. Personal space was very clearly defined in my family, and you did not invade someone else’s bubble, but she seemed to be inviting me.
    My father stood up and hugged me too, for a second longer than essential. Oh my God. One of them was dying from monkey pox.
    I stared at my dad’s face. He looked fit, if a little older. It struck me then that he would do that—age while I wasn’t paying attention. But he sure didn’t look like he was dying.
    He pulled out my chair, and I sat down with a thunk.
    “Happy birthday, Evie,” he said, settling back into his own chair.
    I was named after his mother, so he always called me Evelyn. This breach of protocol was as unnerving to me as if he’d pointed in my direction and said, “Pull my finger.” None of this was making me remotely comfortable.
    “I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, hooking my purse over the back of my chair. If they were going to pretend like everything was nicey-nice, I should play along. “I had to finish suturing a laceration so they could formally arrest my patient.”
    My mother laughed, a kind of titter that I hadn’t heard in ages. “Arrested in Bell Harbor? What on earth did he do? Skateboard on the sidewalk?”
    My mother had made a joke, and my alternate universe theory started feeling more plausible.
    “Practically,” I answered. “He stole a Jet Ski.”
    She laughed again and took a tiny sip of wine. Her expensive white suit gleamed against the bronzy glow of her skin. She looked tan, but since she never left the operating room for more than two hours at a time, someone must have installed a tanning bed in the doctors’ lounge. She’d colored her hair too. A rich caramel color. When did she start doing that? Oh, no! Maybe it was her who was dying?
    The waiter came and gave me a glass of water. I took a sip and wished it was vodka. I wasn’t much of a drinker, plus I was on call, but certainly a good stiff martini was in order. It was my birthday, after all, and they were about to ruin it with news of someone’s imminent demise. It was the only explanation for their aberrant behavior.
    “Stole a Jet Ski?” my father said gruffly. “Hard to make an efficient getaway on that, I’d imagine.”
    My mother nodded and laughed again.
    What the hell? She was not a laugher. She was hardly even a smiler.
    The waiter came back and handed me a menu, which I accepted with trembling hands. Not a good sign in a surgeon, but these were unique circumstances.
    “Have you dined with us at Arno’s before?” he asked. He was short with a goatee and reminded me a little of an elf.
    I smiled. At least I hoped it looked like a smile. It may have been more of a grimace, because my parents were freaking me out. “Yes, I have. Thank you. I’ll just need a minute to look this over.”
    “Of course.” He nodded politely. “I’ll check back in just a few moments.”
    “Thanks.” I looked at my dad. “Did you guys order?”
    “No, of course not, sweetheart. We waited for you. After all, it’s not every day we get to have dinner with our best birthday girl.”
    My father usually displayed a level of sentimentality one might expect from a prison warden, so this hint at nostalgia only added to my disequilibrium. Everything was out of balance. Come to think of it, he looked tan too. That was odd. My suspicions began multiplying like mutant cancer cells.
    “So, tell me, Evie, how goes the house hunting? Any luck?” My mother wiped a fingerprint off the wineglass with her napkin.
    I pulled a piece of bread from the basket on the table. That cake had turned to pure crack in my system, and I needed to counteract it with something besides water.
    “It’s going OK. I haven’t had much time to look, but my real estate agent and I are going to see some houses next week. Unfortunately, the places on the water are either huge and expensive or run-down little shacks. And expensive. There doesn’t seem to be much