Elizabeth Bevarly - A Doctor In Her Stocking

Reed narrowed his eyes at his friend. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you and I—” he punctuated the statement by pointing a finger first at Reed, then at himself “—we’re going to spend the rest of the evening together. And before this evening is through, I’ll bet you that we see someone do something nice for someone else. For no other reason than that it was the right and decent thing to do, because one person cared about what happened to another.”

Reed glanced down at his watch. “There’s less than five hours left to this evening, pal,” he said. “Don’t you think you’re being a little optimistic?”

Seth smiled. “Uh, yeah. That was kind of the point, Reed. It just goes to show you how absolutely certain I am that I’ll win.”

“You’re out of your mind,” Reed assured him. “But I don’t have any problem taking advantage of a crazy man. As long as the prize is right. What do I win at the end of this evening, when you realize what a sap you’ve set yourself up to be?”

Now Seth’s smile turned predatory. “If you win—which, it goes without saying, you won’t—I’ll spring for an allexpenses-paid golf holiday in Scotland next summer. For two. You and me. Won’t cost you a dime.”

Reed thought about that for a minute. “Throw in a bottle of The MacCallan, and you’re on.”

“You got it,” Seth agreed readily. “But if I win,” he hastily continued, before Reed had a chance to start feeling cocky, “then I get something of equal value in return.”

“You want me to pay for a trip to Scotland for two? I can do—”

“No,” Seth told him. “What I want in return is for Dr. Scrooge to perform an act of humanity, of goodwill, himself. A gesture of complete selflessness and kindness.”

“ What? ” Reed exclaimed.

“If I win,” Seth said, “then you have to do something nice for somebody.”

Reed threw his friend a look that he knew must be ripe with suspicion. Because suspicious was exactly how he was feeling at the moment. “I have to do something nice for someone? That’s all?”

Seth barked out a laugh this time. “ That’s all? ” he echoed incredulously. “Listen to you. You act like it won’t cost you anything to perform an act of selfless kindness for someone.”

Reed’s suspicion compounded at the statement. “It won’t,” he told the other man.

Seth smiled, a smile that was knowing, confident and a bit sad. “Then how come you’ve never done something nice for anyone before?” he asked softly.

Reed opened his mouth to reply but realized, much to his dismay, that he had no idea what to say. He hadn’t ever done anything nice for anyone before, he thought. Had he? He tried to remember. But he honestly couldn’t come up with a single incident where he had committed an act of selfless, unprovoked, unpremeditated. niceness.

It wasn’t that he had anything against gestures of goodwill, he tried to assure himself. He just didn’t trust them. And he wasn’t a bad man. He was just a…a thoughtless man? An uncaring man? No, surely not, he told himself. He was thoughtful. He was caring. He thought and cared about…stuff. Sure, he did. It had just never occurred to him to.what was it that bumper sticker said? Commit Acts of Random Kindness and Senseless Beauty? But the reason for that was simply because he wasn’t one much for bumper-sticker philosophy, that was all.

Wasn’t it?

“I…” he began. But no more words were forthcoming.

“You what?” Seth cajoled.

“I…” Reed tried again.

“What?”

“I…I accept your wager,” he finally finished lamely. “If I lose-which I won’t,” he hastened to add, “I’ll even throw in a bottle of The MacCallan.”

Seth nodded, and Reed got the feeling the other man knew something he didn’t know himself. But all he said was, “Good. Then let’s eat.”

Mindy had never been more exhausted in her entire life than she was as the dinner rush began to wind down. Boy, the first trimester had been bad enough, she thought, had had her nodding off at the worst times, in the strangest places. She’d once fallen asleep while riding the elevator to the OB-GYN’s office. She recalled reading somewhere that women were supposed to have a burst of energy in the second trimester. They were supposed to feel strong and animated and invincible, like some kind of prenatal Wonder Woman.

Mindy, however, felt more like Washer Woman.

“Order up, Mindy!”

She sighed heavily, hoisting herself up from the chair behind the counter where she’d collapsed in the hopes of stealing a minute or two off her feet. Then, when a rush of wintry wind blasted her from the door that was opening ahead of two more diners, she hugged her sweater more tightly around herself. She was almost as cold these days as she was tired. She hadn’t felt warm for five months now.

She stood up on tiptoe to pluck the Reuben sandwich and fries from the kitchen window, settling them onto her tray before reaching up to retrieve their mate, a chicken salad on whole wheat. And as she crossed the diner to present both plates to their rightful owners, another patron lifted a hand, indicating he wanted to place an order. Mindy nodded as she took care of one table before approaching the other, tugging a stubby pencil from beneath her by-now-dismembered ponytail as she made her way to the newcomer.

She smiled as she stopped by his table, so much did he resemble Santa Claus—a really skinny Santa Claus, anyway. But where Santa’s dapper red suit looked plenty warm, this guy’s attire was neither red nor dapper, nor did it look in any way warm. His tweed jacket was threadbare, his gloves more hole than wool. A knit cap covered his ears, but she couldn’t believe the man received much warmth from it.

Poor thing, she thought. It must be in the twenties out there tonight—so far, December had been unseasonably cold—and he probably didn’t have anyplace else to go. She thanked her lucky stars again that she wasn’t out on the streets—yet—and conjured the most winning smile from her arsenal.

“What can I get for you?” she asked the man.

He smiled back at her, and although he may have been cold on the outside, he certainly radiated warmth from within. “I’m celebratin’,” he said without preamble.

Mindy chuckled, so infectious were his high spirits. “Good for you,” she told him. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s my birthday,” he replied proudly, his voice sounding rusty from disuse but happy nonetheless.

“Hey, congratulations. Is it the big three-oh?” she teased, because, clearly, it had been decades since this man had seen thirty.

He laughed and shook his head. “I’m eighty years old today, missy. Eighty! What d’ya think about that?”

“Get out!” she exclaimed, nudging his bony shoulder playfully with her elbow. “And here I thought I was going to have to card you if you asked for a beer.”

He laughed some more. “No, ma’am. I don’t touch that stuff. But I think I might like to sample some of that chili I hear they do so good here.”

Mindy nodded as she scribbled down his order. “It’s the best,” she assured him. “Evie’s special recipe, passed down through generations. What else can I get for you?”

The man’s smile dimmed some. “Maybe just a glassa water. That oughta do me.”

She started to object, started to remind him that it was his birthday and that he was entitled to celebrate with more than just a bowl of chili, then she realized that a bowl of chili was probably all he could afford to buy. And heaven only knew how long he’d been saving to manage even that for a birthday feast.

So she smiled once more, tucking her pencil back into her hair, and said, “I’ll be right back with your water.”