I looked around at the other patients waiting to see the doctor. Maybe they all had more romantic plans for the evening on this Valentine’s Day, but for now the group seemed downright antisocial. Three people had their heads down, staring at cell phones. Another was engrossed in a magazine. The receptionist tapped at her computer. Behind her, the clerk who dealt with insurance was sifting through papers. Everyone was in their own little world.
Not that I could judge them for it. I’d probably be distracting myself with my cell phone too—if I hadn’t forgotten to charge it before I left home. It would have been nice to strike up a conversation to pass the time on this day dedicated to love and friendship. Instead I sat patiently in my plastic chair as a couple of new people took distant seats.
“Roberta? The doctor’s ready for you,” the nurse called. At least I’ll have some kind of human connection, I thought.
My checkup went well, and I breezed out of the office to my little Honda in a space right out front. I got in and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing. Oh, no. Not again. I’d brought the car in several times already for this very problem and thought it had finally been fixed.
Instinctively, I reached for my cell phone to call AAA—then remembered. Dead, like my car. I would have to use the phone inside. A few people glanced up when I came back into the waiting room, then quickly went back to what they were doing. I went straight to the reception desk, hoping to whisper my request, but neither the receptionist nor the clerk were there. So I turned back to the people in the waiting room.
“I wouldn’t normally do this,” I said to the group, hoping that I sounded apologetic. Several people turned toward me to listen. “But my car won’t start….”
The nurse popped her head into the room. “You in trouble, Roberta?” she said. “I’ll get my jumper cables.”
Just as she said that, the receptionist returned. “I’ve got a brand-new battery. You’re welcome to use my car for the jump.”
“Or mine,” the clerk said, looking out the window. “That’s your Honda, right?” A few patients got up to see.
I followed the nurse, the receptionist and the clerk outside. As I passed through the door, I realized someone was behind me. I turned to see that every plastic chair inside had emptied, one with a discarded magazine on the seat. A line of people followed me to my car.
“I grew up on a farm,” one of the men said as I slid into the driver’s seat. “Something was forever on the blink.”
“Pop your hood!” someone called. I pressed the first button I saw.
“That was your fuel door,” said the farmer. Everyone laughed—including me. This time I got it right.
The open hood pretty much blocked my view, but I could see that several people were bent at the hip, presumably leaning in to check the engine. I caught a flash of white coat and pointed to the doctor in the doorway of his empty office. “We’ll all be back in a sec,” the nurse called to him.
“In my better days, I used to be a mechanic,” one of the patients said. “I see the problem. Battery terminal’s loose. I have some tools in my trunk.”
“It’s a simple fix,” the farmer assured me.
Everyone took a step back to give the mechanic room. “Darn it,” he said, straightening up again. “Neuropathy in my hands is acting up. Can someone twist this thing?”
A guy in a vest and tie volunteered. “I don’t know diddly about cars,” he said. “But I can twist something!” He disappeared under the hood.
When the mechanic gave a thumbs-up, everyone called out in unison, “Try ’er now!”
I said a quick prayer and turned the key. The engine turned over immediately. A cheer went up. Several hands shut the hood. “Don’t make any stops on the way home,” the farmer said. “Keep the car running till the battery gets a good charge.”
I backed my car out of the space, then paused to wave at the crowd of people who’d saved the day.
My Honda never stalled again. Turns out, my waiting room team had done a better job than my garage ever did. I guess that’s just what happens when people come together. And there’s no better valentine than that.
For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.
