“I…” he glances at me. But then his eyes swing away like he’s been stung. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
Fair enough. But all joking aside, I feel honor bound to tell him, “I am sorry about leaving the way I did. I didn’t know how to explain things to you…”
“I get it,” he says quietly. “A has told me a bit about his mother. It sounded like the twins needed you.”
“Yes, they did. If not for them, I would have come back to St. Louis and our relationship maybe would have come to a less abrupt conclusion.”
He’s quiet for a long time. So long, I’m thinking the conversation part of the ride is over. But then he says, “It was only six months. We weren’t there yet.”
“No,” I agree, shaking my head relieved. “I’m glad you understand.”
“I do. I do understand,” he answers.
“That’s great.” I glance over at him with a hopeful smile. “So…can I have my job back?”
His expression becomes harder over his mask. “Understanding doesn’t mean forgiveness."
Whoa. Nice callback. I’d be impressed if we were talking about anything other than my livelihood.
Needless to say, there isn’t any more conversation for the rest of the ride.
I had a plan in mind to stop at a few of the other farmers on the Saturday rounds list after we checked in on Mavis. Basically hold the English doctor hostage while we visited each farm.
But by the time we get out of the car at Mavis’s little farm, I’ve revised that plan to only go see Harold about his toe thing. An hour and a half in the car with Rhys is already more time alone with him than I want to spend.
Yet, I can’t help but side-eye him as he gets out of the car. And not in a bad way either.
Seriously, why does he have to still be so fine?
I quickly gained fifteen pounds without a breakneck speed job to keep me on my feet all day. But it looks like he’s been spending even more time at the gym. His t-shirt clings to his lean muscles, and somehow he manages to look official doctor in workout clothes.
If anything Rhys has glowed up. He’s The Even Finer Prince now. And sure, he’s dressed completely inappropriate for a home visit, but I can already tell Mavis won’t mind.
But, ugh. Not the right thoughts to be having about the bitter ex-lover who clearly still hates me.
I speed my steps to go up the porch ahead of him. That’s better. I appreciate no longer having to look upon his Fine Prince radiance as I knock on the door.
I frown when no one answers my knock.
“Perhaps she isn’t home.”
Logical guess, but no. Her truck is sitting in front of the farm. There’s also an RV, and other than a light film of dust, it looks brand new.
“She might be around back, working.” I jog down the steps, trusting him to follow me.
“Mavis! Mavis, you out here?” I call as I come around the edge of the farm….
Only to stop cold at the sight of Mavis’s body, collapsed by a double set of storm cellar doors on the ground.
I’m three years removed from Raines-Jewish, but I guess there’s still an ER Nurse embedded inside of me. I rush over and I have the vinyl gloves pulled on by the time I drop down beside her.
“Mavis! It’s Cynda,” I say, pressing my fingers into her neck.
Her pulse is weaker than I’d want it to be, but it’s there.
Her eyes come open. Also good. But she’s disoriented and audibly wheezing. Not good. I do and old-fashioned hand test on her forehead and inwardly curse. She’s burning up.
Still, she looks over my shoulder and manages to ask, “Is that the handsome doctor everybody’s talking about? I don’t want him to see me like this. I don’t have on my wig.”
I’d laugh if her voice didn’t sound so wheezy and frail. “It’s okay, Mavis, we just want to get you taken care of. Lie still.”
“Can you at least go inside and fetch my wig?” Mavis asks, pitifully trying and failing to rise up.
“There’s no need for a wig, Mavis.” Rhys drops to his knees on the other side with a pair of vinyl gloves also on his hands. He must have gotten them out of dad’s bag. “I much prefer women without them. And you’re beautiful either way. Now can you tell me what happened?”
He holds a hand out and I pass him Dad’s stethoscope, then wipe down the infrared thermometer to do a real temperature check.
104. Dammit!
“Oh, I got this fever real bad and it just wouldn’t shake. But I didn’t have a cough so it ain’t that Rona!” Mavis is telling Rhys. She’s gasping between every other word. “Last thing I remember is deciding to come down to the storm cellar. That’s what my ma used to do for us when we got sick as children to cool us off.”