Free Ode to a Fish Sandwich by Rebecca M. Hale Page A

the counter.
    “Anyway, I caught up to Burt, but he, uh…he wasn’t quite right.” The doctor gulped uncomfortably. “So I followed him up the side of the volcano.”
    He lowered his voice. “Did you know he’s got a shrine up there? Dedicated to, uh, hmm…” Pursing his lips, he nodded at the sign over the menu board. Then he squeaked out a whisper. “Delilah.”
    Winnie slammed her knife onto the carrot. The blade, vigorously sharpened that morning, sliced through the vegetable and thunked onto the cutting board.
    “You want the special?” she asked curtly.
    The doctor gave the splintered carrot a wary glance, but he wasn’t bothered by the violent chopping motion. He’d grown accustomed to Winnie’s cranky disposition—and her savage knife wielding skills.
    “Yes, of course,” he replied with a broad smile. Grabbing the umbrella handle, he popped open the canopy and twirled it over his head.
    “I’ll be at my table.”
    ~
    THE DOCTOR’S CHIPPER mood accompanied him to the beach. As he set up the makeshift umbrella stand, he licked his lips, thinking of the lunch that soon would be headed his way.
    An inner jubilance bubbled up inside him, and he felt himself overcome by emotion.
    “Is there anything so wondrous as a fish sandwich?” the doctor asked to no one in particular.
    No matter the lack of reply, it was clear that his opinion was in the negative.
    He could hardly believe that he had tried to pass up the entree when he first visited the diner at the beginning of the week. Now, the thought of returning home to the States, where he would be separated by thousands of miles from his favorite meal, was a prospect almost too painful to contemplate. His daily fish sandwich had become a complete and full-on addiction.
    As Winnie trudged across the sand carrying his tray, he stood from the table and sang out his praises.
    “I hereby declare my appreciation to the fish sandwich!”
    Startled, she looked over her shoulder, as if searching for the third party to which this outburst was directed. After seeing no one—and nearly tripping on the sand—she returned her gaze to the doctor.
    “What are you going on about?” she demanded, frowning her disapproval.
    He beamed his response, his fish-inspired joy undiminished. His culinary tribute was only getting started.
    “What indeed.” He bent into a deep bow. Upon straightening, he added. “Today, I sing my praises to this uniquely delectable dish…this artistic triumph…this fantastic fusion of the sea brought to land. I say, what a contribution to humanity!”
    Winnie set his plate on the table, hoping that would encourage the doctor to sit down and shut up.
    The dermatologist swooped into his seat under the umbrella, but the eulogy was far from finished.
    He leaned over the plate, inhaling deeply, sucking in the smell. He waved his hands back and forth, pulling the scent toward his nose.
    “Oh, my beloved fish feast. No other concoction could compete.”
    With a flourish, he wrapped his hands around the toasted bread, brought the sandwich to his face, and bit off a mouthful.
    Unimpressed with the theatrics, Winnie plunked the plastic cup of rum punch next to his plate, sloshing about a fourth of the liquid onto the wooden table.
    The doctor appeared not to notice the spilled drink. His face had taken on a serene expression, one of almost religious reverence.
    “ Mmm-mm ,” he said, swallowing the bite before offering his assessment. “A hearty punch of protein, dusted with a savory saltiness, tinged with the sweetness of the sea.”
    Shaking her head, Winnie tucked the tray beneath her arm.
    Any regret she might have harbored about the previous evening’s attempt to slice off his head was gone. She was beginning to understand why the doctor’s fiancé had left him—despite the enormous diamond ring.
    The doctor finished another bite. This time, he directed his commentary directly at the sandwich.
    “Parting is such sweet