Dr. Dad by Judith Arnold Page B

He’d felt so close to Lindsey last night. Like old times, when they could talk about anything—even Lindsey’s mother—and share a snack, without borders or barriers. She used to be so affectionate, so transparent. If she was angry she yelled. If she was sad she cried. If she was hungry for love she climbed into his lap and wrapped her arms around him.
    She was too old to climb into his lap now. But why did she have to keep retreating behind walls? Why couldn’t she let him reach her?
    â€œIf you want to come to the supermarket with me, be my guest,” he said. “But I’m not going there directly. First I’m stopping at Arlington Memorial to see how my patient with leukemia is doing.”
    â€œYeah, sure, whatever. As long as you don’t spend like forever with him.” She shoved a handful of dry Cheerios into her mouth and stood. “I’m gonna go get my wallet.”
    Watching her flounce out of the kitchen, he suffered a stabbing pain in the vicinity of his soul. Why couldn’t she always be the sweet, loving girl she’d been last night, when she’d wanted to bring Andy Lowenthal brownies? It wasn’t as if he believed she shouldn’t change and grow and shed her child’s skin like a chrysalis, emerging a butterfly-lovely woman. All he wanted was for her not to be so nasty on her journey from here to there.
    There was a limit to how much he could blame on hormones. Some of it was just plain Lindsey, a kid who was bored with school, fed up with her teacher and vexed by her father, a girl whose best friend hadmoved a thousand miles away and who resented the universe because of it.
    A fine drizzle hung in the air as they left the house. He tried not to glance at Susannah’s house as he drove past, but he couldn’t resist the temptation. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of her moving about inside.
    He saw no sign of life at all, though. All the windows were dark.
    Next to him, Lindsey slumped in her seat. She was wearing jeans, a snug-fitting sweater and a windbreaker with Arlington Soccer stitched across the back. She’d played soccer for the past four years, and he’d signed her up for spring soccer again, but he sensed no excitement in her about the impending season. He couldn’t imagine her getting revved for it, charging out onto the field and dominating the game the way she had in seasons past. The possibility that she was outgrowing the sport broke his heart.
    â€œSo, what’s the name of this wonderful new singer again?” he asked, hoping to start a conversation.
    She gave him a withering look, then turned on the radio and pressed one of the buttons she’d preset for her favorite stations. “Listen awhile, they’ll probably play her song.”
    All right, he could take a hint. She didn’t want to talk to him. From the radio came the nasal voice of a man wailing about how sometimes life goes sour and a person just needs to explode. Toby wished the windshield wipers could drown out the song.
    Traffic was light, and he reached the hospital in ten minutes. He parked in the staff lot. “I’ll wait in the car,” Lindsey announced.
    â€œNo, you won’t. You’re coming in with me. I might be a while.”
    She frowned, her exasperation obvious. He himself was close to snapping. He wanted to remind her it had been her idea to accompany him on this outing when she knew damned well what it was going to entail, and she’d better not complain if he spent a few minutes with Andy Lowenthal. But lately he’d found that arguments with Lindsey were pointless, all heat and no light, and he never felt any better when they were over, even when he won. To lash out at her now would likely spoil the rest of the morning.
    So he held his tongue and returned her frown, certain that she’d see just as much exasperation in his face as he saw in hers. Then he shoved open his door and climbed