Page 21 of Maxwell

Patricia in billing took her lunch at exactly twelve-ten each day because she chatted with her three-year-old grandson for the first ten minutes of her break, returning to the office exactly fifty minutes later. Jasmine did a walk-through of the facility each morning, greeting the staff like a politician running for re-election.

He and Jasmine continued to tease each other, and once or twice she’d subtracted a point from her mythical tab for some infraction or another. The topic of their night together was carefully avoided, buried under teasing conversations, pleasantries, and “Good morning” greetings.

Not that Maxwell had forgotten that night. Maybe it was the fact that they worked together, but every so often the memories came back in a rush. Sometimes at inopportune moments, such as the other night when he’d been in the arms of another woman. Out of the blue, he’d wished, intensely, that the woman he was with had golden skin instead of pale and hazel eyes instead of blue.

“How can I help you, Dr. Santana?” Renee asked, rising to her feet. She was petite with light brown skin, her coily hair cut in a fade, freckles sprinkled across her nose and cheeks.

“I have an appointment this afternoon with this patient, and I’m a little concerned about the symptoms I’m reading here. What can you tell me about him?”

“Oh, Trevor Thompson. Cute kid, but since he’s been coming to us, he’s become more irritable and Dr. Roberson noticed a mild developmental slowdown. During the last visit, his mother said he’s barely eating. We’ve run tests but haven’t been able to find anything wrong. As you can see, his labs are all clear.”

Maxwell nodded slowly. “Possibility of a viral infection?” he asked.

Renee shook her head. “Dr. Roberson already eliminated that possibility, but he wanted you to examine Trevor to see if he missed anything.”

“Okay. I’ll⁠—”

“Oh.” The single word spoken by Keisha was said with reverence and prompted Renee and Maxwell to swing their heads in her direction.

A delivery man was making his way through the sliding glass door, gripping an extravagant flower arrangement made up of white roses, gardenias, blush-colored Persian buttercups, and vibrant greenery all arranged in a huge vase that the driver was struggling to keep level. The whole thing was the size of a small coffee table.

With all of them looking, including the patients in the waiting room, he walked up to the glass enclosure and rested the flowers on the edge of the counter with what looked like considerable relief. “I have a delivery for Miss Jasmine Roberson?”

Maxwell stiffened, eyes pinned on the delivery man.

“You’re in the right place.” Keisha jumped to her feet and slid open the window to sign the tablet.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The driver helped her carefully place the flowers down on the desk and then left.

“Those are for Jasmine?” Renee asked.

“That’s what the man said,” Keisha replied, placing a hand on her hip as she eyed the bouquet.

“Someone spent a lot of money,” Renee said in awe.

“They sure did.” Keisha turned to Maxwell. “Aren’t these gorgeous?”

He took in the arrangement. “Yeah. They’re nice,” he said in the same voice he might use to convey a diagnosis.

Keisha wrinkled her nose, apparently not satisfied with his less than enthusiastic response. But she didn’t spend a lot of time on him. She picked up the phone. “Jasmine, could you come to the front please? You have a delivery,” she sang, practically vibrating with excitement.

Renee was smiling, as if the arrangement had been sent to her. Patricia had appeared in the doorway of the billing office, hand to her mouth. How had she known about the flowers? Did a flower delivery send up a silent alarm to all the women in the vicinity? Like the Bat-Signal?

“Who sent her flowers? Valentine’s Day isn’t until Saturday,” Patricia said.

“I have an idea who sent them, but we’ll have to wait to see if she confirms,” Keisha said with the relish of someone who knew a secret that others weren’t privy to.

Something else Maxwell had learned in his short time there: Keisha and Jasmine were friends outside of the office. He’d overheard them joking once about a double date a while back with Keisha, her husband, Jasmine, and a friend of Keisha’s husband. From what he heard, the date had been a disaster.

Maxwell couldn’t explain why he stuck around right now since Renee had adequately answered his questions. Yet he couldn’t move. He wanted to see Jasmine’s reaction.

He heard her approaching footsteps before he saw her. She had a very distinctive walk. In the doorway, she stopped suddenly when she saw the huge bouquet. Focusing on her expression, Maxwell noticed it went from surprise to something softer.

“Those flowers are my delivery?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am. Read the card.” Keisha thrust the envelope toward her.