The seven-year-old smiled, but her brows puckered in confusion.
My chair swiveled beneath me, and I peeled the nitrile exam gloves from my hands and tossed them in the trash by the door. “Okay, just wait here and the attendant will be by in a minute.” I stepped out of the room and sent the order for the x-rays to radiology.
Ben sauntered up and leaned against the wall. “Lunch in the cafeteria?”
I glanced over at him. “Mom put a lasagna in my refrigerator yesterday, so I’ll pass on whatever mystery meal the cafeteria is serving today.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Not on speaking terms with my stomach.”
Ben held up his hands in surrender. “All right. Grab your mama’s-boy food and meet me in the courtyard in ten.”
“Mama’s boy? This from the guy who feasted on homemade dolmades yesterday while I suffered through a soggy tuna sandwich.”
Ben just smiled. “Ten minutes.”
“Yeah, I’ll see you then.”
Once I had someone lined up to show the Turners how to get to radiology, I grabbed the container of lasagna I’d stuffed in the refrigerator in the doctor’s lounge and heated it in the microwave. I felt bad for the scent trail of garlic and onions I left wafting behind me, so I hurried to the stairwell and hoofed it down to the courtyard.
Manzanita trees grew around a cobblestone circle, offering shade to the trio of picnic tables. The landscaping department worked to keep the grounds looking nice for patients and families. Drought resistant plants such as aloe, yucca, and rosette succulents offered a variety of green shades. Fountain grass and wild lilacs had been interspersed for pops of color.
And I blamed my gardener mother for knowing and recognizing any of the plants here.
Half in the shade, half in the sun, I sat at the closest picnic table and removed the cover on the Tupperware. Spicy tomato mixed with Italian seasoning compelled my stomach to growl.
“I’ll trade you.”
I looked up expecting Ben but found Malachi setting a tray of food on the table, Ben a few paces behind.
“Hey, man. Good to see you.” I stretched out my hand to shake his.
“Good enough to share half your lunch?” He removed his Stetson and placed it on the bench beside him. “When this guy”—he hooked his thumb at Ben—“invited me to eat with him, I didn’t realize the food would be quite so…”
I peeked at his plate. “Mushy?”
Ben lowered to the side of the bench not occupied by a cowboy hat. “Unrecognizable?”
“Tasteless?”
Malachi unwrapped a roll of silverware. “You guys are really selling this meal.”
Ben poked at his food. “Let’s put it this way. We haven’t died from eating here…yet.”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t go into marketing,” I teased.
We all bowed our heads and said a quick grace before picking up our eating utensils.
“How’s the ranch?” I asked Malachi around a bite of noodles, ricotta, and vegetables.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Really good. We’ve added more stock to the herd and have kept our reservation schedule fairly full.”
“I’m looking forward to getting back out there for the wedding. It’s nice to leave the bustle of the city every once in a while.”
Malachi scooped a pile of potatoes that had more than likely been made from dehydrated flakes onto his fork. “I’m looking forward to that event being in the past. No offense,” he directed at Ben.
“None taken.” Ben lifted his bottle of Smart Water.
