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this young man's name was. |
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"Franklin. But you can call me Dan. Any friend of D.J.'s . . . Well, you know the saying. And your Christian." |
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"Christian McCall? The children's writer?" |
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Chris glanced up in surprise. Only a rare adult recognized him by name. |
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Dan nodded at the miniature table and chairs in the small waiting room outside his office. Chris's latest work to hit the stands, a book about rodeos, sat on the top of a stack of books. "A lot of my patients are children. Your books help to take their minds off the imminent doctor's visit." |
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"In answer to your question, D.J. and I have been friends since we were kids." He pointed at his burnt orange hair. "Carrot tops have to stick together. But don't let D.J. know I said that; she insists her hair is russet." Franklin's wrinkled nose showed what he thought of D.J.'s assessment of her hair color. |
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Chris ignored the doctor's final words, zeroing in on his first sentence. "Friends?" He turned the word over in his mouth and found he didn't care for the thought of D.J. and this pleasant-faced, talented young doctor being friends. "I didn't think she had much time for friends." |
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"She doesn't. But we've known each other too long to let time, distance, or anything else stop us. We grew up together." |
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Dan laughed, a deep, rich sound that appealed to Chris despite his irrational irritation with the man. |
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