“Oh, hey, Doc,” Mabelle said, wiping her short, stubby hand on her white apron.
Nikki said awkwardly, “Miss Mabelle.”
“It’s Mrs. I’m a widow.” She walked back behind the counter and waited on the next customer.
Nikki gulped. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
“It’s okay, sugar. I lost my Frank five years ago,” Mabelle explained. “It’s been a struggle.” She lovingly smiled. “But I have my memories, and I’m doing just fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go on so.”
“Oh, it’s okay. I’m a good listener,” Nikki joked to lighten the mood.
“I been meaning to ask you about last night when Dr. Baker dropped you off,” Mabelle said. “What kind of doctor are ya?”
“She’s a heart doctor,” the man at the counter answered for her.
“I heard one of those women doctors,” another man coming up to the counter a
