Maurice trained his eyes on the strange man as he moved to the table where the guest book sat and dug his hand into a basket.
“Here you go, Maurice.” Dr. Tedrow said, handing him a yarmulke. “Good to put a face to a name. Mo will be really surprised, but it’s just what the doctor ordered.” He laughed, big and genuine, though not loud enough to overpower the celebration happening in the next room.
Were all shivas like this?
“Wait—I didn’t tell you my name,” Maurice said.
Tedrow tapped the line Maurice signed in the guest book.
“Oh, right, but…” There was a galaxy full of questions he wanted—needed—to ask. He knew Monique. How did he know to greet him, given that there were plenty of clear signs instructing new arrivals on protocol? How far did this setup go?
A low thump began at the back of Maurice’s head.
“Why don’t you take a deep breath?” Tedrow said with well-practiced precision. “Watch me…”
Maurice met his eyes as the doctor put his hand on his heart and inhaled, counting out loud.
“I know what box breathing is, man. What I don’t know is why nobody seems surprised that I’m here.”
Dr. Tedrow blinked and dropped his hands. “What exactly do you think is going on here, Maurice?” The doctor’s tone was genuinely puzzled.
“You’re not in on it?”
“In on what?” Tedrow’s brow furrowed. “I’m a grief counselor. I work with cancer patients and their families. For the last four days, I’ve been here. And for the last four days, I’ve heard your name no less than a hundred times.”
Maurice was confused, but only for a moment. “Monique’s girls…” he said finally.
Tedrow nodded and chuckled. “Well, Chickie was kind of obsessed with you two.”
His instincts had misfired. This time he did the box breathing exercise.
“What kind of doctor are you?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
Tedrow’s mirth vanished, and he stood tall. “I’m the kind of doctor who ushers his patients to the other side with dignity and joy. I’m the type of doctor who helps his patients’ families say goodbye in a way that won’t ever hurt less but may feel less final. I’m the kind of doctor who has lived this, walked this, just like them.”
Maurice stuffed his hands in his coat pockets. He couldn’t argue with any of that. If he were ever in that position, he hoped he’d meet it with the exact same energy.
“Monique is easy to love because she sees and cares so clearly.” Tedrow’s voice hardened. “But you—I don’t know you despite all the glowing endorsements. That woman deserves someone who matches—no exceeds—her ability to love.”
“That’s why I’m here, Doc.”
Tedrow looked him up and down in that scrutinizing way that made some men come to blows. With an outstretched hand, Tedrow’s stern mask shattered, revealing a cartoonish grin. “Derek.”
Maurice stared at the outstretched hand and then back up at this young doctor. “I’m so confused.”
“Don’t be. We are all figuring this out together, listening and learning from each other. Where you’re confused, your community—your family—may offer clarity.”
It was as if Maurice had written a script that the good doctor had poached. He wagged a finger at Tedrow and allowed a small smile to occupy his face. “You’re good, Doc.”
Tedrow shook Maurice’s hand. “I’m a work in progress, but thank you.”
The revelry in the other room quieted, the silence replaced with a tone that, to his ears, rivaled heavenly harps. “Queue up the next track. I need a bio-break.”
Monique.
A chorus of voices followed after hers, theirs rising in a lighthearted debate over whether Cardi or Taylor would be their next song.
Maurice froze as the soft footfalls grew louder, closer.