3. Second Movements

They met again the following Tuesday, by accident. Minh was at the hospital—not as a patient, but visiting his uncle who had been admitted after a minor heart episode. He was in the corridor outside cardiology when he heard her voice: crisp and professional, explaining a treatment plan to a worried-looking family. He almost walked past. He told himself he should walk past. "You have the umbrella," she said, before he could decide. He looked down. He had, in fact, brought the umbrella to return it, which was the excuse he had been privately rehearsing. "I was going to leave it at the front desk," he said. "I work here," Linh pointed out. "I know. That's why I came." Then, because that sounded strange, he added: "I'm visiting my uncle." "Right." A pause. "How is he?" "Better. The doctors say he can go home Thursday." She nodded. There was a silence that was not quite comfortable and not quite uncomfortable. Down the hall, a phone was ringing. Someone was paging a doctor over the intercom. "You came to the bar," Minh said. "I did." "You didn't say hello." "You were performing." "The set ended at eleven. You left at ten fifty-eight." When she raised an eyebrow, he added, "I counted." Another pause. Linh looked at the umbrella, then at him. "The song was good." "The one about the rain?" "Was it about the rain?" "It was about a person who handed a stranger their umbrella and walked away in the middle of a conversation." She was quiet for a moment. "That's a strange thing to write a song about." "I had a strange week," he said. "Can I buy you a coffee? There's a decent place near the east entrance." She looked at her watch. She had twelve minutes before her next rounds. "Make it ten minutes," she said, and started walking. Minh followed, umbrella in hand, and decided not to return it just yet.