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“Uh-huh,” London said.
“Can I cancel the transfer?” Xander asked.
“Yes,” London said.
“Umm…Mr. Kelley?” Xander asked. “Sorry, Dr. Kelley, but this is the patient’s call.”
“If you think it is unnecessary, I will go along with that, Dr. Caldwell,” Kenneth said.
Xander nodded. “I’ll have the nurses start on your discharge forms.” Then he left the exam room.
“You are nothing if not true to form,” London said.
“I can say the same about you,” Kenneth replied. “The check I wrote you still hasn’t been cashed.”
And it wouldn’t be. It would remain right where she’d stashed it, in the junk drawer in her kitchen.
During a rare visit to her house a couple of months ago, Kenneth noticed her neighbor’s newly added porte cochere and decided London’s Hyde Park bungalow needed one, as well. He’d written her a check on the spot for twenty thousand dollars to cover the cost.
Writing a check was his answer to everything.
London had no illusions that his offer had anything to do with wanting to make sure she didn’t get drenched while running from her car to her house. He wanted to be able to show his golf buddies the porte cochere he’d given to his daughter, to puff out his chest at his law firm’s office parties while his associates oohed and aahed at his generosity.
“I already told you that I don’t want or need any additions to my house,” London said. “And if I did, I can cover the cost myself.” Before he could launch a rebuttal, she asked, “Is April coming to get you?”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I can get home.”
“Dad,” London said.
“She’ll be here soon. She’s picking the kids up from school.”
It figured that her stepmom was out taking care of London’s three younger siblings while Kenneth, if he hadn’t been in the ER, would have been playing the back nine at his country club. It was disappointing—but not surprising—to see that some things never changed.
“Tell her that I’m sorry I missed her, but I can’t stick around.”
It was Friday, and she was already running late for her dinner with Taylor and Samiah.
London leaned over to give him a kiss on the cheek, but he had already turned his attention back to his phone. She’d been dismissed.
That’s what she got for presuming they could have something that even came close to a normal father-daughter relationship. She didn’t even say goodbye as she left the room.
Forty-five minutes later, London was turning down Gibson Street in South Austin.
She made the sign of the cross before she parallel parked her Mini between two monster trucks, next to Odd Duck, the restaurant Samiah had chosen for this week’s girls’ night out. She got out of the car and checked the front and rear bumpers. She still had two inches to spare on each side.
“Not bad.” She pointed up at the sky. “Good looking out.”
As she walked past the restaurant’s wall of windows, she caught sight of Samiah and Taylor sitting at a table. She maneuvered around the pockets of people waiting to get inside, muttering, “Excuse me,” about a dozen times before she finally reached the entrance. It was just like Samiah to pick the place where all of Austin wanted to spend their Friday night.
It wasn’t until a couple of weeks ago that both London and Taylor had realized that Samiah always seemed to choose the place for their weekly gathering. But then they both conceded that neither of them wanted to go through the hassle of seeking out happy hours around the city. Besides, other than that fondue place a couple of months ago—no one needs to eatthatmuch cheese—Samiah picked some real winners.
“My friends are already seated,” London told the woman standing at the hostess desk.
She strode across the stained concrete floor, holding her hands up in apology as she approached the table. Samiah and Taylor were used to her showing up late due to her unpredictable work schedule. Still, London felt bad about always making them wait.
Not that they ever actually waited to get started. The table was crowded with colorful frozen drinks and an array of fragrant dishes.
“Sorry I’m late,” London said, taking the seat opposite Samiah and snatching a roasted carrot from one of the plates before she even set her purse down. “It turns out this is the week for emergency appendectomies. I swear the eight-year-olds in Austin have a pact going or something.” She considered mentioning her dad’s showing up in the ER, but talking about his health scare could easily lead to a conversation about her own health. She wasn’t up for a lecture from Taylor.
