me, it’s no big deal. You’ll get used to it and not even notice it’s there.”
I nodded. “How about the shoulder?”
“That’s the inconclusive part. The pills should help you with that as well. The X-rays don’t show any major damage, but then they often don’t. You might have nothing more than a pull, but your description of the guitar-string sensation makes me believe it might be more serious.”
“Like what?”
“I’d hate to speculate without an MRI.”
“What’s that?”
“Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Kind of an expanded X-ray. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Mr. Cuddy, if you have any questions, I’d be happy to try to answer them?”
“I guess I have only one.”
“What’s that?”
“How soon can I have one of these MRI things?”
From the look she gave me, I could tell neither of us thought that was my only question.
“What’s the occasion?”
Nancy said, “Does there have to be an occasion?”
I took in the restaurant. Il Capriccio is in a suburb named Waltham, just off Main Street. From the outside, you see just a flat storefront with white, vertical blinds. Inside, though, there’s a foyer with twelve-paned windows looking into a cozy dining room done in rust, gold, and pastel green. Wall sconces throw muted light onto the sprigs of fresh wildflowers on the tables, giving the place an exotic, romantic feel. I’d been there only once before. Expensive, but great gourmet Italian food.
I said, “I’m glad it’s your treat.”
A tall, attractive woman in a white blouse and flowing black skirt greeted us warmly in the foyer, introducing herself as “Jeanne” and showing us to a table for four that fit nicely into a corner with a commanding view of the dining room. Nancy sat so she could see the room, I sat so I could see her.
“John, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
She reached her left hand across the table, resting the palm lightly on the back of my right one. “I want to enjoy taking you out for dinner as thanks for wrestling with the bureau, and I won’t enjoy it if you sulk.”
“I’m not … sulking.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Nancy said it quietly, not at all nagging, but it still irritated me. “I just … It’s been kind of a long day, okay?”
She kept the same, quiet tone. “Can you tell me about it?”
I thought of Traci Wickmire and Rush Teagle. “Not without maybe compromising you on an open case.”
“Okay. Consider that buried. Now, what else is bothering you?”
I was saved by Jeanne, bringing three types of bread in an oblong wicker basket and olive oil in a tall, black bottle. Nancy asked for the wine list, and Jeanne lifted it out from under my menu, saying she’d be back in a minute.
Nancy opened the leather holder. “White or red?”
“Red.”
She didn’t try to restart the conversation until Jeanne came back, took her order for a bottle of Gattinara ’seventy-four, and went to get it. “John, please don’t spoil my treat, huh?”
I bit back what I was about to say, took a deep breath, and let it out. “I saw a doctor today.”
Nancy seemed surprised. “Why?”
“About what happened last night with the bureau.”
“I thought you were okay this morning?”
“Well, I’m not.”
Nancy waited a moment before asking, “And?”
“And what?”
“What did the doctor tell you?”
“She said I’d have to wear a brace on the knee for … probably forever.”
Another moment. “What kind of brace?”
“Basically a rubber legging. It’s got a hole for the kneecap and this felt horseshoe inside it to support the joint.”
“You already have it?”
“Picked it up this afternoon after I left the hospital.”
“How does it feel?”
“It felt restricting.”
“Meaning you’re not wearing the brace now.”
“Right.”
“And is that what the doctor suggested?”
“I don’t care.”
Jeanne returned with our wine. Nancy went through the motions of approving the label and
I nodded. “How about the shoulder?”
“That’s the inconclusive part. The pills should help you with that as well. The X-rays don’t show any major damage, but then they often don’t. You might have nothing more than a pull, but your description of the guitar-string sensation makes me believe it might be more serious.”
“Like what?”
“I’d hate to speculate without an MRI.”
“What’s that?”
“Magnetic Resonance Imaging. Kind of an expanded X-ray. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
“Mr. Cuddy, if you have any questions, I’d be happy to try to answer them?”
“I guess I have only one.”
“What’s that?”
“How soon can I have one of these MRI things?”
From the look she gave me, I could tell neither of us thought that was my only question.
“What’s the occasion?”
Nancy said, “Does there have to be an occasion?”
I took in the restaurant. Il Capriccio is in a suburb named Waltham, just off Main Street. From the outside, you see just a flat storefront with white, vertical blinds. Inside, though, there’s a foyer with twelve-paned windows looking into a cozy dining room done in rust, gold, and pastel green. Wall sconces throw muted light onto the sprigs of fresh wildflowers on the tables, giving the place an exotic, romantic feel. I’d been there only once before. Expensive, but great gourmet Italian food.
I said, “I’m glad it’s your treat.”
A tall, attractive woman in a white blouse and flowing black skirt greeted us warmly in the foyer, introducing herself as “Jeanne” and showing us to a table for four that fit nicely into a corner with a commanding view of the dining room. Nancy sat so she could see the room, I sat so I could see her.
“John, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing.”
She reached her left hand across the table, resting the palm lightly on the back of my right one. “I want to enjoy taking you out for dinner as thanks for wrestling with the bureau, and I won’t enjoy it if you sulk.”
“I’m not … sulking.”
“Then what are you doing?”
Nancy said it quietly, not at all nagging, but it still irritated me. “I just … It’s been kind of a long day, okay?”
She kept the same, quiet tone. “Can you tell me about it?”
I thought of Traci Wickmire and Rush Teagle. “Not without maybe compromising you on an open case.”
“Okay. Consider that buried. Now, what else is bothering you?”
I was saved by Jeanne, bringing three types of bread in an oblong wicker basket and olive oil in a tall, black bottle. Nancy asked for the wine list, and Jeanne lifted it out from under my menu, saying she’d be back in a minute.
Nancy opened the leather holder. “White or red?”
“Red.”
She didn’t try to restart the conversation until Jeanne came back, took her order for a bottle of Gattinara ’seventy-four, and went to get it. “John, please don’t spoil my treat, huh?”
I bit back what I was about to say, took a deep breath, and let it out. “I saw a doctor today.”
Nancy seemed surprised. “Why?”
“About what happened last night with the bureau.”
“I thought you were okay this morning?”
“Well, I’m not.”
Nancy waited a moment before asking, “And?”
“And what?”
“What did the doctor tell you?”
“She said I’d have to wear a brace on the knee for … probably forever.”
Another moment. “What kind of brace?”
“Basically a rubber legging. It’s got a hole for the kneecap and this felt horseshoe inside it to support the joint.”
“You already have it?”
“Picked it up this afternoon after I left the hospital.”
“How does it feel?”
“It felt restricting.”
“Meaning you’re not wearing the brace now.”
“Right.”
“And is that what the doctor suggested?”
“I don’t care.”
Jeanne returned with our wine. Nancy went through the motions of approving the label and
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