Doctors Read Online Free

big explosion and that sort of thing takes a while to get over. But he’ll be back teaching again next term.”
    She took a deep breath and then asked, “Do you feel a little better now?”
    Both children nodded mutely. And then quickly left.
    That fall, as Estelle had promised, Harold Livingston returned to his pedagogical duties at Erasmus Hall. And as before, his students found him charming and witty. He could make even Caesar’s
Gallic Wars
enjoyable. And he seemed to know all of Classical literature by heart.
    And yet now and then he would forget to bring back groceries on his way home from school—even when Estelle stuck a list in the breast pocket of his jacket.
    Ever since he had gotten his basketball hoop, Barney had dreamed of the day when he and his dad would play together.
    During Harold’s long absence, Barney had constantly badgered his mother for details about what his father was like “in the old days.” Once he had heard Estelle reminisce about the summer before he was born. By sheer chance there had been a guest tennis tournament at the lakeside resort they had gone to in the White Mountains.
    “Harold decided to give it a try—just as a lark. He’d been a wonderful player in his college days—though, of course, CCNY had no tennis team. Anyway, he borrowed a racket, waltzed onto the court, and the next thing I knew he was in the finals! The man who beat him was a PT instructor at the local college—and he said he was lucky that Harold had an off day. He even said that if Harold ever took it seriously he’d be another Bill Tilden. Can you imagine that?”
    Barney didn’t know who Bill Tilden was, but he could certainly imagine the man whose picture was on the mantelpiece, dressed in tennis whites, smashing a ball to smithereens. He dreamt so often of the day he could show Dad
his
sporting skills. And now at last the time was at hand.
    “Have you seen the backboard Dr. Castellano put up on the tree?” he asked his father casually one Saturday, as a kind of overture.
    “Yes,” Harold answered, “looks very professional.”
    “Want to shoot some baskets with me and Warren?”
    Harold sighed and answered gently, “I don’t think I’ve got the pep to keep up with two dynamos like you. But I’ll come out and watch.”
    Barney and Warren raced to put on their sneakers and then dribbled out toward the “court.”
    Anxious to display his prowess before his father, Barney stopped fifteen feet from the basket, jumped, and shot the ball. To his chagrin, it missed the backboard completely. He quickly whirled and explained, “That was just warming up, Dad.”
    Leaning on the back door, Harold Livingston nodded, took a long puff of his cigarette, and smiled.
    Barney and Warren barely had the chance to sink a few lay-ups (“Good fast break, huh, Dad?”) when an irate voice called from across the fence.
    “Hey, what the heck’s going on, you guys? How come you’re playing without me?”
    Darn, it was Laura. Why’d she have to butt in?
    “Sorry,” Barney apologized. “It’s a kinda rough game today.”
    “Who are you kidding?” she retorted. (By now she had bounded over the fence.) “I can elbow hard as you any day.”
    At this point Harold called out, “Be polite, Barney. If Laura wants to, let her try.”
    But his admonition was a split second too late, for Laura had already stolen the ball from Barney’s grip and was dribbling past Warren to sink a basket off the backboard. Then, after the three players took turns shooting, Laura called out, “Why don’t you play with us, Mr. Livingston, then we could have an actual half-court game.”
    “That’s very kind of you, Laura. But I’m a bit tuckered out. I’d better take a little nap.”
    A look of disappointment crossed Barney’s face.
    Laura glanced at him and understood what he was feeling.
    He turned slowly toward her and their eyes met. And from that moment on they knew they could read each other’s thoughts.
    But whenever the