Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri

I quickly relay Mavis’s temperature to Rhys, along with her history of COPD.

Rhys nods toward the car, and I nod back in full agreement. “Okay, Mavis,” I say, helping her to her feet. “We’re going to drive you to the hospital now.”

“No, just get me a glass of cold water—,” Mavis cut off when she gets a good look at Rhys as he takes a hold of her on her other side. “Lord, he fine. Cynda, girl, get my wig! I don’t want him…”

She’s so breathless, she can’t even finish that sentence.

“How long have you had this fever, Mavis?” Rhys asks.

“Don’t know…day or two, maybe. Felt off during the Sunday sermon… but it’s not the Rona, I’m tellin’ ya.”

Rhys and I exchange a look. Sunday was seven days ago.

She’d had the fever for nearly a week straight.

It was almost most definitely the Rona.

“All right, then, Mavis, we’re going to drive you to the hospital now,” Rhys tells the little old lady.

So no other Saturday rounds like I’d imagined.

Instead, I end up driving as fast as I can back to the hospital in Guadalajara while Rhys monitored Mavis in the back seat.

“So handsome,” Mavis says. She’s now wheezing between every word. “I…kissed…a…White…boy…once. He…wasn’t…as…good-locking…as…you.”

She sounds so bad and we still have over half an hour until we get there.

“Mavis stop talking,” I call over my shoulder. “You need to conserve your energy.”

I press down even further on the gas, hating that I can’t get it to go any faster.

“What a coincidence,” Rhys answers. “I kissed a Black girl once and she wasn’t nearly as good-looking as you.”

Mavis’s laugh is a weak bird that can’t quite fly. But she manages to say, “You…funny…and…fine.”

“Mavis!” I yell, my voice shrill. “I know he’s stupid hot. But we’re still thirty minutes out and you’re not going to make it if you keep wasting your breath on Dr. Prince. Please, please. Just be quiet…”

I don’t realize I’m crying until I fail to finish that sentence and the road blurs.

I blink the tears away as best I can since it’s not a good idea at all to touch my face.

It works to a point. And by the time my vision clears, Rhys is on the phone with the hospital, letting them know we’re on the way with a possible COVID patient and that they should have the necessary equipment ready to go.

I know it’s unsafe, but I press my foot into the gas pedal, pushing it even faster.

We’ve got to get there on time. We have to. I can’t lose Mavis like I lost my father.

Chapter Eleven

Three Years Ago

“I want to come home with you. I want to meet your father and be made to feel massively uncomfortable because of our opposite skin color by your townspeople. I want to be with you in Guadalajara this weekend. That’s what I should have told you yesterday morning.”

I read and re-read the message at least ten times to see if I was missing something. But no, Rhys seemed dead serious about wanting to come home with me to Guadalajara even after all my warnings.

“But why tho?” I started to type back.

Another text came through before I could hit send. “I miss you.”

He missed me. My heart squeezed. And my thumbs hovered above the keyboard as I tried to decide…

Send the irreverent “But why though” text anyway?

Or erase that text and replace it with the truth? I miss you too.

“Haven’t seen you smile like that since you got to town, pumpkin.”

I didn’t realize I was smiling until my father said that.

I looked up from the little church alcove where I’d hidden away with my phone to find Dad standing above me. Tall and still super handsome despite his paunch and grey beard. He had kind brown eyes that I wish I’d inherited—kind eyes help in the medical professions. But I’d been a composite of my mother’s side of the family. I’d gotten my grandma’s beauty, my mother’s winning smile, and my post office worker grandfather’s shrewd gaze.

No kind eyes for me.

But I frowned upon further observation of my father that night. He was sweating profusely and seemed a little out of breath.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yes, yes,” Dad answered, waving me off. “Just danced too much with my bride. It was smart of you to find somewhere dark and cool to take a break. You must be my daughter. I was thinking the same thing.”

I laughed and scooted over.

Dad had a way of making a request and a compliment at the same time. It always made people, including me happy, verging on eager to do anything he asked.

Rachel doesn’t deserve him. I thought that to myself as he sat down beside me and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

Dad had seemed jovial and happy to be getting remarried again for a second time. And I was trying to be happy for him. I know he was from a different generation, and he was probably lonely without my mom for those months before he met Rachel. But I didn’t love his wife.