Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Caroline

I 'm doing all I can to regain my equilibrium.

Calvin has some nerve showing up on my doorstep. I almost didn't recognize him. The beard, thick parka, beanie.

He looked like a hobo time traveler from the ‘60s.

But his eyes were the same. Deep, soulful. So is that throaty, calming voice. The voice of a dedicated physician. Or serious player.

I turn the corner, trying for the most direct way to the bar. I honestly don't see how it can get any colder. While I was hanging around my building lobby, the world turned darker. Night falls early and quickly in New York in December. I pick up my pace. I'm practically stomping.

Why am I so angry? Calvin owes me nothing. If anything, I owe him , big time.

After I took a serious fall last year, I landed in the hospital, preventing me from joining Evie on her birthday trip to Yosemite. Calvin was the sole silver lining. The on-call ER physician, he was gentle, explaining everything that would happen from the surgery to rehab.

He always seemed to be there. After-hours visits to my hospital room became commonplace. It never felt strange or unprofessional, only fun and distracting from my obvious predicament so I never bothered analyzing why.

Since his going AWOL, I've come to terms with the reality that after reading my chart, Calvin felt sorry for me. Childless widow all alone in the hospital. He was being kind, nothing more.

I finally reach the bar and am quickly enveloped by the warmth of The Time Capsule Tavern. The lighting, soothing décor, soft chatter, sweet smell of whiskey. It's like being transported into an Irish pub on the banks of the River Shannon.

I take a seat at the bar next to a balding middle-aged guy, nursing a glass of clear liquid on the rocks. Makes me think of Billy Joel, my all-time favorite performer.

Makin' love to his tonic and gin

The bartender moseys over. "Hey Caroline, haven't seen you here in ages. Mojito?"

"Let's mix it up. How about your strongest Kentucky bourbon?"

The bartender lifts a brow. "That bad, huh?"

"Make it two."

I hear the familiar deep voice, low and deliberate. Against my will, my heart lurches.

Of all the gin joints . . .

Images of Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman fill my mind. I'm expecting to hear As Time Goes By begin to play on the overhead speakers.

I turn to see Calvin, taking the only open seat. Seems Dr. Handsome can't take a hint. The bald guy seated between us is oblivious to the tension surrounding him. He's too busy muttering something unintelligible into his tumbler.

My drink arrives and I take a long swallow, the liquid burning a trail down my throat as I try to focus on anything but Calvin. Out of the corner of my eye, I see he's taking off his coat and beanie. He's planning to stay a while. Just great.

Something catches my attention and I venture a closer look. Beneath his coat, Calvin is wearing a faded t-shirt and what looks like a necklace made of. . . teeth??

Clearly, I don't know this guy as well as I thought. Clearly, weeks of house calls didn't provide enough data.

Do cannibals hang out in bars on the Upper West Side?

Seriously though, can't a lady get a drink alone in this town?

As I take another swig from my glass, I consider going elsewhere. But why should I allow some guy to determine my plans?

Before I can say as much, the mutterer between us lets out the belch of all belches. Booming, resonant. Like a monster-sized toad. It's enough to pause conversations at the tables nearby.

I'm fighting to hold in my laughter. I'm doing just fine until I make the mistake of glancing at Calvin.

His face is beet red. The guy between us is too sloshed to notice. The bartender steps closer to me, holding up the bottle of Woodford Reserve. "More burping?" he asks, his cheeks turning crimson with the slip of his tongue. "I mean bourbon!"

I lose it. Laughter explodes from my mouth.

The bald guy looks perplexed, downs the last of his drink, nods perfunctorily and lets another one rip, this one offering a blowback of his stenchy breath.

Groans of disgust emanate from those around us as the guy staggers away.

While I'm a complete goner, Calvin is bowled over on his stool, his head somewhere between his knees and the floor.

I haven't laughed this hard in forever. The release is like a pop-up deluge, washing away the grime.

When the tears finally stop, Calvin sidles closer, taking the burper's vacated seat.

"Want to get out of here?" he asks.

We just got here. "And go where?"

"It's a surprise." Calvin's smile lingers on his lips. His eyes are playful, matching his odd choice of clothing.

I don't know what to make of him, showing up as unexpectedly as he left and now asking me to follow him to some unnamed destination. Also, he's wearing teeth.

But Calvin's looking at me with pleading puppy dog eyes, awaiting my reply. I think of the times he was sitting next to my hospital bed when I woke from a nap, ready with a silly joke or a pumpkin spice latte. I feel my resolve weaken and return his smile with one of my own.

"Sure, why not?"

Maybe there are worse ways to go than being eaten by Dr. Handsome.

Calvin plops a twenty onto the bar and grabs my coat, helping me put it on. The closeness stirs something in me I've been trying for weeks to dispel.

I follow him to the door. What's a little more excitement in my life?