Dr. Stud

“Not my patient,” I shake my head. “Didi… something. I just want to keep an eye on her. Maybe follow up. Just let me know when she goes through intake, okay?”

“Didi… Deirdre? Deirdre Calloway?”

I shrug. “I’m not sure. Do you know her?”

Jen rolls her eyes and looks away carefully. “Not for a long time. But I figured Harbor Oaks would be her home eventually, if you know what I mean. I think her mother is there now.”

“That’s not really…” I begin, preparing a lecture on professional judgment.

But then I drop it. What’s the point?

“Well, I hope she gets the help she needs.”

Jen nods absentmindedly as she does her work, then moves on.

Harbor Oaks is the county facility. It is kind of a catchall for hospice, assisted living, and long-term treatment such as drug and alcohol counseling or occupational therapy. It’s a beautiful building on the beach. In the 1920s it was a posh tuberculosis asylum. Now it is a posh place to kick a habit or spin out your days until your final one.

Lots of people make it their final home. My father is one of them.

Seeing Joanna again has left me strangely shaken. Three weeks in Costa Rica should’ve been enough. Yet I came back to Florida refreshed and ready to go, rededicated myself to my small town, and thought everything would simply resume as it had. And within a few days, I practically trip over her in the pharmacy?

Is that karma?

My mother used to believe in karma. Not just content to think of it as getting back what you put into the world, good or bad, she also liked to think of it as a universe with a sense of humor. A vengeful balancing, aimed at the arrogant. Whenever I would do something self-centered, or exhibited too much pride, my mom would warn me: careful about all that karma!

It seemed like karma was trying to keep me from getting too big of a head. I don’t literally believe in that, but it certainly seems to work out that way sometimes.

So after all these years keeping everyone at arm’s length, what kind of karma have I built up? I let Joanna drift away from me, stretched to the end of the tether, and when I saw her it was like she snapped back at me at full speed, threatening to knock me down.

I don’t even know what I could say to her. I’m glad you’re back? What happened to Dusty? Would you like me to take care of some of that tension for you?

Probably better if I let her make the first move.

Yes. That is definitely for the best.

Chapter 22

Joe

Again, I am covering for Didi.

Luckily for her, I think Martha trusts me enough that she is willing to let me handle the Willowdale gallery. On the other hand, she might just be so frustrated with Didi that she’s not particularly interested in checking in with her.

Every day, I make a little bit more progress on planning the Schindler show. Desi has been working in tandem with me to create marketing pieces and place press releases in the various art journals. The artist had a few more pieces in larger dimensions in her studio to ship to us, and she has been enthusiastic about the show. I mean, I don’t see how she could resist. She stands to make a whole lot of money if this goes well.

I haven’t been able to hang any of the pieces yet, but I can picture it perfectly in my mind. The gallery is going to be transformed into a lush, sensory garden. Schindler’s paintings practically vibrate with intense color, all in blues and greens and violets with the occasional splash of pink or copper. It would be really nice to sell out the show. That is definitely something I haven’t done yet.

And as the days drag by, I can feel summer settling in. I’ve almost mastered morning sickness. It hasn’t gone away—I’m just getting really good at it. I get up and shuffle to the bathroom before the nausea hits, then just go along with it. What else can I really do? It’s going to happen, whether I want it to or not. I might as well learn how to go with the flow.

Standing in front of the mirror, I pivot to the side and check for signs. My boobs are kind of tremendous, not to mention tender and hot to the touch. That’s definitely the most obvious thing. Sometimes I feel like I can sort of see them out of the corner of my eye, which is a new experience. Like, they’re just in a place I normally don’t expect them.

Am I showing? I doubt it. Probably not for quite a while. But everything is different. Maybe not outwardly, but everything seems different. Everything feels different.

All of a sudden, I notice that there’s a horizon for my life, way out there. Not just a two-week plan, or two-year plan, or a five-year plan. This is a twenty-year plan I need to make.

It’s scary as hell, but also sort of wonderful. My life was so much smaller before, I realize. Now I can gallop all the way to the horizon, and I get to bring a whole other person with me. Everything seems much more important than it was before. Much less disposable.

Sunday morning, I drop by the general store to pick up one of every magazine before borrowing my dad’s truck to go out to Harbor Bay. The floor nurse gives me a friendly nod as I walk through the unlocked doors and stride down the hall toward Didi’s room.