Page 9 of Maxwell

Women often said that but didn’t really mean it, so he’d quietly left her bed and pulled on his clothes, leaving her apartment because he definitely wasn’t looking for anything serious. He was still young at only twenty-nine and not remotely interested in settling down, though all his siblings were either married or engaged at the moment.

“Dropping like flies.” He patted a stray curl into place. “Looking good,” he said to himself.

As he had done most of his life, Maxwell had laid out his clothes the night before. His friends and siblings teased him about his habit, but he had always been the type of person to stick to that schedule. Therefore, he had never shown up wrinkled or had to rush before an appointment because he didn’t know what to wear.

If he had to sum up today’s appearance in one word, he would say he looked neat. He wore dark pants and a crisp white shirt, a royal blue and yellow-striped tie, and dress shoes that had been polished the night before.

He dropped his personal phone in his right pocket and placed his spare phone in the heavy-duty black backpack he slung over his shoulder. Then he picked up the small potted plant from the console table near the front door and left.

He had grown up in a house so large that he had often joked they could have had a stranger secretly living with them and not known, but now he resided in a simple two-bedroom condo. Well, not so simple. The spacious pad was located on the fourteenth floor of prime real estate in Midtown—a gift from his eldest brother, Ethan, a successful real estate developer. The condo’s proximity to restaurants and entertainment made it convenient for him to run out and grab a bite to eat or stop into a store to pick up a few items before he arrived at home.

As he pulled out of the below ground parking garage, excitement pulsed in his veins. Although he had worked as an intern and done volunteer work in a local program, this was the official start to his career as a pediatrician.

Bright Futures Pediatrics had been in business for over thirty years, owned and operated by Dr. Gerald Roberson. They were one of three operations Maxwell had interviewed with, checking out their online reviews, how long they had been in business, and doing deep research into their history.

Bright Futures had been the most impressive when he interviewed with Dr. Roberson last year. He and the older man had immediately developed a rapport, turning the meeting from an interview into something that felt more like new friends having a casual chat.

At some point, Dr. Roberson had mentioned that his daughter, Jay, ran the place, speaking with a voice full of pride and amusement. She was, however, on vacation at the time, so Maxwell never got a chance to meet her, but he looked forward to that meeting this morning.

He pulled into the parking lot at seven fifty-five. The doors opened at nine, but staff was expected to be there by eight o’clock. Standing in front of the locked doors, he waved to get the attention of the receptionist behind the glass window at the front desk. When she saw him, he heard a click and the doors opened, letting him into the clean, white foyer. The receptionist was somewhere in her mid-thirties, with her natural hair pulled into a puff on top of her head, glasses perched on her nose.

She stood as he entered and slid open the window. “Good morning, Dr. Santana.”

“Good morning, Keisha. Good to see you again.”

Her eyebrows raised. “You remember my name.”

Six months had passed since he interviewed and met her.

“Of course. I also have something for you.”

He set down his bag and brought his other hand from behind his back, revealing the small potted plant, which he placed on the ledge of the reception window.

Keisha stared at it. “What is that?”

“It’s called a Haworthia.” He eased the plant closer to her. “When I came in for my interview, we chatted for a bit, and you mentioned the guilt you felt because you had a habit of killing plants, though you loved having them around. This guy is almost impossible to kill, thrives on neglect, and doesn’t need much light.”

Clearly caught off guard, she looked from the plant to him. “You remembered that?”

“I remember a lot of things.”

She picked up the plant, which was nestled in a gray container. She carefully turned it around in her hands as if it were as fragile as an egg. Then she read the words Maxwell had written on the attached card.

Unkillable. Do not consider this a challenge.

Keisha burst out laughing. “You know what, I like you.”

He grinned. “I was hoping we’d be friends.”

“We definitely are now. You have any problems around here, you come to me.” Keisha carefully placed the plant in the corner of her desk, adjusting it a couple of times before she was completely satisfied. “Dr. Roberson is in his office. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

“Thanks.”

While he waited, Maxwell scanned the bright, welcoming waiting room. In addition to soft chairs, a play area occupied one end of the space, where puzzles and picture books had been placed on a low table surrounded by plastic chairs in primary colors. There was also a basket of toys, a mat in front of a television mounted on the wall, and another basket filled with stuffed animals. Colorful handprints ran along the lower part of one of the walls, with framed illustrations of animals above them.

Approaching footsteps caught Maxwell’s attention.

“Good morning!” Dr. Roberson greeted him with an effusive handshake. He was a tall, portly Black man, in his seventies, with silver hair and a boisterous personality.