Page 62 of The Treasure House

“I’m not baking cupcakes.”

“You’re no fun.”

Everyone I worked with was nice enough and I didn’t think I’d need cupcakes to make friends. I just needed time. I’ve always been slow to get to know a person and that was just the way it was.

It turned out that Dr. Parker Nock and Dr. Maud Gerrish were married, and they had very different ideas on how the practice should be run. Maud felt doctors should be like trusted family members, comforting and supportive; Parker felt they should be experts who should be listened to. Maud wanted the waiting room to look homely and be filled with toys and fish tanks and posters of cats hanging from branches; Parker thought waiting rooms should be bare and quiet, with no nonsense.

“We find it hard to keep an office manager,” Shirleen, one of the medical assistants, sighed during my first week. “I’ve been here for five years, and they’ve been through three in that time. Not everyone can cope with umpiring their matches, if you know what I mean.”

Dr. Gerrish would order donuts for the breakroom and Dr. Nock would tell me donuts were the cause of many early deaths and to get a fruit basket instead. Dr. Nock would put the call waiting music onto smooth jazz and Dr. Gerrish would change it to easy listening pop. Dr. Gerrish would let the Girl Scouts sell cookies by the front door and Dr. Nock would then declare that the Junior Anglers should be able to sell raffle tickets too.

“Zoe, what the hell is that stoned-looking teddy bear out in the waiting room?” Dr. Nock complained in my second week. “Don’t you think it’s insensitive to the opioid addicts to have a stoned stuffy sitting out there?”

“Um, do you mean the Care Bear?” I hazarded. “That’s Sweet Serenity Bear, Dr. Nock.”

“This is a serious place, Zoe. People come here with actual problems. Do you think they want a stoned Care Bear goggling at them?”

“Um, no. I’ll move it out of the waiting room, Dr. Nock.”

“Don’t just move it. Get rid of it!”

When Dr. Gerrish found out that Sweet Serenity Bear was gone, she was anything but serene. “That bear keeps the little ones calm when they come for their shots!” she snapped.

“Yes, of course, Dr. Gerrish,” I said.

“You get online right now and order me a full set of plush Care Bears, thank you, Zoe. I want all the happy-looking ones. No Grumpy, you hear me, Zoe?”

“Yes, Dr. Gerrish.”

“Get Funshine and Love-a-Lot and Hopeful Heart. And I want another Sweet Serenity!”

“Oh, I didn’t throw her out, Dr. Gerrish.” I pulled the Care Bear from my desk drawer and held her up.

“Well, thank goodness for small miracles,” she exclaimed, snatching Sweet Serenity out of my hands. “I’m putting this right in front of that old grump’s door.” She paused, a gleam coming into her eye. “Actually, Zoe, go on and order a Grumpy Bear after all. I think I’ll put it on his desk.”

The first couple of weeks working there were stressful. I felt like I was being tossed back and forth like a hot potato. But after that, I relaxed into it and just let them bicker (flirt?) with each other. It seemed to be one of their love languages.

The work itself was more interesting than the glorified call center back in Pittsburgh. I ran the accounts but also managed the practice, everything from staffing rosters to ordering supplies. It was busy but smooth, with patterns to the week that soon felt oddly comforting. Aside from Shirleen, there were a couple of nurses, and a few other medical assistants who handed out lollipops and stickers to children and adults alike. During my lunch breaks, I read House Beautiful and Home Living (which were bountiful in the waiting room thanks to Dr. Nock, who didn’t believe in gossip magazines) and I scrolled reels about renovations for ideas for the house.

“What do you think of this?” I asked Shirleen, holding up a magazine spread, which showed a screened porch painted a moody shade of dark blue-green.

“Oh nice. You wouldn’t think a dark color like that would work, would you?” She shook her head, her bleached hair swinging stiffly. “Interior decorators are genius, aren’t they?”

“I got it into my head to paint my bedroom deep burgundy after reading one of those things,” admitted Carrie, another of the medical assistants. She was reading one of the gossip magazines Dr. Gerrish had brought in, which we all hid from Dr. Nock. “But my room doesn’t look anything like the pictures in the magazine. I feel like I’m sleeping inside a womb.”

“Oh, Zoe, are you renovating?” Erica was currently knitting a winter coat for her daughter’s dog and peering over Carrie’s shoulder at the pictures of celebrities on the red carpet.

Shirleen laughed. “If you can call what Zoe’s doing renovating.” She gave me a look. “Go on, tell her,” she prodded.

I told her, preparing for the usual politely masked horror. But Erica surprised me.

“Oh my God, I love treasure houses!” Erica dropped her knitting needles in excitement. “I’ve never met someone who bought one in real life! Got photos?” Erica demanded.

“You know about treasure houses?” I sat up straighter.

“Do I! I’m obsessed. Obsessed. Are you making reels? What’s your Instagram?”

“Oh no, no Instagram.” I shut that down fast. I wasn’t posting anything where Tina might one day find it. I didn’t need her seeing photos of my house and my life and my kid. My life was strictly private. “I’ll show you photos on my phone, though.”