Impuls

To pretend to be furniture.

But she doesn't even have time to open it-a dainty woman's hand with a thin bracelet gently takes the menu from her hands.

– My treat.

– I… uh… – Emily feels herself blushing. – Don't, I…

Clark cocked an eyebrow:

– Come on. You can't even buy yourself a robe, what lunch…

And then Emily flares up, like long extinguished embers from the last spark, carelessly thrown match, lighted nearby fire.

– Well, you know…!

She rises so sharply that people turn on her and remains standing, her fingers clenched in the tabletop until her knuckles turn white.

She is pounding with anger, but the tears no longer welling up in her throat, only the dry twigs of her recent resentment burning as brightly as if they had been doused with kerosene.

Emily doesn't know what to do – to walk away, to scream, to hurl words, to blame Clark for her own vulnerability – but she realizes that she wants it to stop.

The world narrows down to the unperturbed, not even flinching from her antics Clark and the nurse herself – taut, shivering, sparkling.

– Did you bring me here to mock me?

Emily's voice trails off.

The ball tumbles down.

It hits the ground.

And stays on it.

– It's just a damn robe! It's a fucking robe. Fucking. The robe. It doesn't make me better or worse!

– Yeah? Well, I thought it was the only reason you mattered," Clark gri

– What?" She looked lost.

– I thought you wanted to be a doctor. – Lorraine gestures for the waiter. – The usual for me and my date.

– I'm not having lunch with you!

– And a couple of glasses of red.

– I'm at work!!!

– Big ones, then.

– Yes, miss. – The young man disappears as quickly as he appeared.

Emily is still seething with unspoken words.

– Johnson, what's with the tantrums? – Clark asks tiredly. – Sit down, this isn't a theater, people eat here, not watch plays.

Emily obediently sits down.

– Whatever you think, I'm not going to mock you," says Lorraine, looking at her calmly. – And that's not why I called you here.

– Then why did you? – Emily mutters.

She wants to hide. To hide, to crawl into her shell, to put up walls and stay there alone, curled up in a ball and feeling sorry for herself. To behave as usual, to abandon everything, to sink to the bottom, dragging her home with her.

But Clark looked at her then-as if she'd seen something in her that she herself hadn't noticed until now; and the damned faith, the damned chance-the one, flickering, sunlit pocket warming, damned chance-couldn't be missed.

He just can't.

The neurosurgeon's gray eyes reflect the hanging bulbs.

– Charlie tells me you have a very strange idea of doctors," she says slowly. – As if a white coat or a license or a car makes a doctor. But no cloth, no piece of paper, no piece of metal will make you anything.

Emily looks down ashamed, though the twigs of resentment still haven't completely burned off – only now Charlie seems to be her number one enemy, telling her secrets left and right.

Of course, what was she hoping for? For the privacy of the conversation? On keeping all her secrets?

Stupid.

They bring them wine and warm salads – beef and vegetables in crisp baskets – and Emily notes with surprise the gigantic size of the portion: one such plate could feed four people like her.

– Besides, we have to work in tandem. – Lorraine picks up the zucchini with a fork. – I know you're already friends with Harmon and Gilmore. That leaves Kemp and me, but our Dylan isn't very socialized.

– Friends is an understatement," Emily sighs.

Clark smiles at the corners of his lips.

– Well, they're very friendly to you.

– Are you? – Emily dares Emily.

Clark's throwing herself to extremes is something new to Emily, whether it's crying in her arms, or pushing her away until her bones hurt, or angry to the point of sparks in her hair, or like this.

Now Lorraine seems almost cozy to her.

– You a

…But only seemingly.

Emily snorts.

– I rarely get noticed, so I guess I'm even glad to be evoking any emotion at all.

Lorraine clears her throat.

– What gave you that idea?

– Well," Emily shrugs, "they don't even say hello to me.

– A hello is not a symbol of significance. Neither is a robe. Don't you like red?

Emily looks at her glass.

– I'm at work, I told you.

– Not anymore," smiles Lorraine. – I kidnapped you for the rest of the day.

Emily turns a perplexed look on her.

– How?

– Well, your main job is to help me. – Lorraine eats so fast that Emily doesn't even understand how she has time to talk in between bites of food. – So today you're helping to pass my time.

– Yeah," Emily nods. – Like in the circus?

– Like the theater," nods Lorraine. – 'Try it. – She touches her fingertips to her glass. – It is homemade.

The wine is indeed delicious – berry and fruity, a little tart but not sour; and Emily dares to take another sip.

She doesn't know how to drink – while Lorraine rests her lips on the cold glass, Emily drinks more than half of it in a gulp.

There is an awkward pause.

– Do you like theater? – Remembering that she has heard the comparison twice before, Emily tries to escape the silence that envelops them.

– Crazy," Clark replies immediately. – Charlie and I go to musicals or comedies all the time. Not dramas! I hate dramas, they're so boring and predictable. It's either death or happiness at the end; it's like there's no third option.