Ode to a Fish Sandwich Read Online Free Page B

fish,” the chef advised, shooing it away. “You eat this, and you’ll be sick for a week.”
    It was then that she noticed an odd figure turtle-ing along the main road leading into town. She cupped her hand over her eyes, squinting in the distance, but all she could see was a pair of dark pants legs, a man’s lower torso, and a large black umbrella.
    She continued to watch out her counter window as the doctor slowly drew nearer. More details came into focus: chalky cheeks shaded by a floppy canvas hat, blistered feet swollen in a pair of dusty sandals, and the obvious signs of heat exhaustion.
    “What—did he walk all the way here from the resort?” Winnie sputtered as she recognized the man she’d seen arriving on the ferry the previous day, the same one the lifeguard had complained about during last night’s dinner service.
    “White Wally,” she said, strumming her fingers on the counter’s outer ledge. “You are a strange one.”
    ~
    DR. JONES SHUFFLED TO a panting stop at the first sign of civilization he’d encountered since leaving the resort.
    The walk along the shoreline, while visually pleasant, had turned into a far more arduous excursion than he had originally anticipated. For every step of the last two miles, he had been certain that the town where the ferry docked would be right around the next corner—and so he had continued long past the point where it would have been feasible to turn around.
    The journey had left him with several blisters on his feet, a dangerously elevated body temperature, and a powerful thirst. He hadn’t thought to bring bottled water with him when he left the resort.
    “Hello,” he croaked as he leaned wearily through the diner’s front window. “Do you have anything to drink?”
    Winnie reached into a cooler filled with ice, pulled out a plastic bottle, and plunked it on the counter.
    Propping his umbrella against the outside wall, the doctor unscrewed the bottle’s lid and began guzzling the cool liquid.
    “Thanks so much,” he said after several gulps. He reached for his wallet and thumbed through the bills for a dollar, eying the prices listed on the menu board mounted on the opposite inner wall.
    “Maybe I should get something to eat,” he said as his gaze slid across the kitchen to the grill, mini-frig, and microwave. Plank shelving nailed into the walls held a number of sealed plastic containers, while a rotary fan swung back and forth, keeping the flies at bay. It was a basic setup, but the cooking area appeared to be in neat and clean condition.
    “What’s good?” he asked hungrily.
    Winnie stared at the dermatologist, sizing him up. It was hard to find the man hidden behind the floppy hat, baggy pants, and long-sleeve shirt. She frowned at his ghostly white complexion and then replied curtly.
    “The fish sandwich.”
    The doctor scratched his chin, dubiously twitching his mouth. After the strenuous walk, he was hoping for something a little more substantial.
    “What else you got? I see a hamburger listed there on your menu board.”
    Winnie issued a dismissive grunt. “That’s out of stock. Try the fish sandwich.”
    “Hmm, what about the, uh, chicken…”
    “Fish sandwich,” she cut in. “Trust me. Go with the fish sandwich.”
    “A fish sandwich, it is,” he replied, affably conceding defeat. He didn’t have the energy to argue.
    “Have a seat, and I’ll bring it out shortly,” she instructed, nodding toward the beach.
    The doctor wandered across the sand, still guzzling from the plastic bottle. He perused each of the table options, eventually deciding on the one farthest from the kitchen, closest to the water. After glancing up at the thin fronds of the nearest palm tree, he began fetching small boulders from the beach to anchor his umbrella onto the tabletop.
    Winnie monitored these activities from the diner’s kitchen as she fired up the grill and selected a filet. By the time the bun was toasted and the meat sufficiently seared,