“Yeah,” she nods. “I know you don’t like her, but she’s been okay as a boss. So far, anyway.”
“It’s not that I don’t like Heather,” I say carefully. “It’s more that there’s a natural antagonism between doctors and administrators. I’d probably clash with anyone they put in that position.”
This is stretching the truth pretty thin; even though I’d probably clash with anyone in that position, I find Heather particularly irritating. But it sounds like she’s been good to Ally, and that improves my opinion of her a little.
“A natural antagonism?” Ally repeats.
“Yeah,” I say. “They don’t understand us, and I’m sure they think we don’t understand them. We’re trying to look after patients, and they’re . . .” I trail off, because most of the time I don’t understand what admin is trying to do. “Anyway, it’s not personal.”
“Oh,” she says thoughtfully.
“Yeah. “The microwave dings, and I pull out my dinner. “My friend Luke invited us to a barbecue on Saturday,” I tell her. “It should be pretty casual, just a few friends from work. What do you think?”
She hesitates and takes a sip of her water. “What time?”
“I’m not actually sure,” I admit. “In the afternoon sometime. I’ll text him and ask.”
“That’s okay,” she says. “The afternoon should be fine.”
“You sure?” I ask. “We don’t have to go if you have other plans.”
“I don’t, really,” she says, taking another sip of water. “It’s just—the French Open women’s final is Saturday morning. Sarah Hayes will be playing if she wins her semi tomorrow, and I’d like to watch it live. But it starts at nine in the morning, our time, so it shouldn’t be an issue for the barbecue.”
“Ah,” I say. “Okay. I’ll let Luke know we’ll be there.”
Ally nods. “I can make lemon squares.” She pauses. “Unless you’d rather take something else?
“No, lemon squares sound perfect.”
“Okay.” She finishes her water and puts the glass in the dishwasher. “I’m going to jump in the shower.”
“All right.”
Ally disappears down the hall, and I carry my dinner to the table. A few moments later, I hear the shower start.
I take a deep breath and try to focus on the chicken cacciatore.
NINETEEN
ALLY
Sarah Hayes makes it to the French Open final.
On Saturday morning, I settle into the couch and turn on the TV to watch the match. Drew left a little while ago and I assume he’s at the hospital, trying to get some work done before Luke’s barbecue.
But five minutes after the match starts, Drew returns, carrying a bakery box.
“I got you a latte,” he says, walking over to hand me a takeout cup. He sets the bakery box on the coffee table, then goes to the kitchen and returns with two plates.
“Thanks. You’re not going to work?”
“Not today.” He opens the bakery box to reveal six croissants, then sets one on a plate and hands it to me.
“We’ll get croissant flakes on your couch,” I point out.
“I think I’ll survive that,” he says, sitting down beside me.
The croissants are from a fancy French bakery downtown, and they’re still warm from the oven.
