Joanna.
But no. What am I going to do, hover? I’m sure if she needs me, she will call.
Which she hasn’t done.
Several days pass and I can’t seem to get her off my mind. She just interferes in small ways with everything. I wonder what she’s doing. I wonder if she will like this suit I have picked out for the gallery opening. It’s silliness. And definitely not within the professional parameters that I have designed for myself.
Luckily, there’s a failsafe. She is leaving at the end of the week.
Which doesn’t sound like a half bad idea.
On Thursday, Arthur writes to follow up on the Costa Rica invitation. And I finally decide what to do. With Mrs. Cooper’s baby safely out of the womb, I write him back immediately to confirm. I’d love to go to Costa Rica. Three weeks repairing birth defects will do a lot of good for everybody.
There is a sudden and undeniable breeze. The surf is high, and I spend several hours in the afternoon riding wave after punishing wave back toward the shore. The day goes by in a dream, until the evening.
Main Street is a spectacle. She had mentioned that they were targeting Naples residents, but I didn’t imagine it would look like this. Our tiny town is transformed into a sort of promenade for wealthy people. Well-dressed ladies and gentlemen linger outside the gallery door, and a few wander down the street peering into the windows of our shops. Everything else is closed, just like always. I wonder if they think we’re quaint, or backward? I wonder if they think we’re ripe for some kind of takeover.
“Dr. Warner?” comes a voice as I cross between parked Porsches.
“Oh… Jen? Are you going to the opening?”
Her expression clouds as she crosses her arms suspiciously.
“No, I was just… Well, I mean, I wanted to see what it looked like, sure.”
Her jaw works back and forth.
“Are you going to the opening?” she asks pointedly.
“Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”
“Some reason!” she scoffs. “No, not at all. Never mind.”
I hear her snarl under her breath as she turns around and stalks off. Somehow, I think I’m going to need a new nurse in the very near future.
The light from the gallery spills onto the sidewalk, a strange sort of glow. It seems almost futuristic. As I walk through the murmuring crowd, I feel as though I’m walking onto a movie set. People seem placed in organized groupings, gathered around pieces of art on the wall or on pedestals. Everything is lit precisely. Everything is curated for its best effect.
Transformation isn’t the right word. This was a dusty and vacant hat shop two weeks ago. It had been a vacant hat sh
op for years and years, since before I went to medical school. And here, in the blink of an eye, it’s something brand-new. Something unexpected, totally evolved. Dropped right into the middle of downtown as though birthed from a single, utterly clear dream.
She steps between clients, her fingers nervously tracing the line of her collar, her other hand perched on her hip. Her flame-colored hair sweeps under her jaw, framing an expression of sheer determination. Utter elegance.
This was all her. I wonder if she realizes how magical this all is. I wonder if she realizes she has done the impossible.
Suddenly she looks at me with a startled expression, smiling expectantly. My chest clenches in anticipation as I walk toward her.
“You look beautiful tonight,” I say, my mouth dry.
She smiles modestly, but I can tell she’s proud. I could see it on her face when Mrs. Cassidy trundles over to make a point of seeing us publicly. She wouldn’t just spy from the corner, oh no. Mrs. Cassidy wants us to know that she saw us next to each other.
I feel Joanna stiffening, but I’m not going to act that way. After all, we’re both leaving in the morning. What’s the harm. As soon as we have Mrs. Cassidy’s full attention, I slide my hand over Joanna’s waist, possessively drawing her closer to me. I will pay for it later, I’m sure. Every woman in this town is going to make sure that there is a toll for this simple gesture, but at this point it seems completely worth it.
As I expected, the old woman is aghast. But Joanna is more pliant. Perhaps it is the champagne, or perhaps it is the light, or perhaps it is her resounding success, but she leans into me, swaying against my body as though we have done this a hundred times.
“Have you ever done this before?” she asks me suddenly, narrowing her eyes.
“Done what, exactly?” I answer, curious how she read my mind so precisely.