Sturgill

As soon as I wake up, my cell phone starts buzzing at me. I set it up this way on purpose so I could get everything I need in the most efficient way: awake, coffee, schedule downloading as I blast out a quick sun salutation and a couple hundred sit-ups. In minutes I’m upright and heading downstairs, ready for another day.

Harriet flutters around the kitchen like a mayfly, muttering to herself and sweeping up as she goes. After forty years working for my family, she knows every millimeter of this house better than anyone. She leaves a steaming cup of extra-strong black coffee in the middle of the white marble countertop and flutters away, her skirt barely visible as she hurries through the back doorway just as I’m coming in.

“Thank you, Harriet!” I call out just like five thousand times before. I’m not sure she can hear me. She never responds, but it would be bad manners not to acknowledge her efforts.

Scrolling through the schedule that the appointment service sent to my phone, I gulp down half the coffee while getting in a few more standing stomach crunches for good measure. Nothing really unusual on the schedule for today. A few vaccinations that my nurse can handle. Prenatal checkup with Mrs. Cooper. Diabetes check on Mr. Rollins.

Great. Perfect day for a run.

The sun is glorious, shooting down through the banyan tree branches and landing on the wide lawn. I can already hear Hector’s tractor starting up, temporarily drowning out the noises of crickets and cicadas. He keeps the grounds absolutely spotless, the perfect counterpoint to Harriet and her work on the house. I’ve always marveled at the effortless symmetry of the relationship: inside and outside, interlocking efforts like puzzle pieces. Both utterly dedicated, both unsurpassed in their excellence.

The sound of my heels on the concrete drive immediately centers me. I begin my run at an easy pace, happy to enjoy the surging sense of wellness that immediately floods my body. I enjoy all kinds of activities, but running is the pinnacle in my mind. It’s the time where I feel everything working together with almost mechanical smoothness. I don’t even wear headphones because I want to hear my breath.

I run down the drive and along the tree-covered path to the street, trying not to grin like an idiot. It’s almost criminal how fun this is. No one can see me, but it still wouldn’t be something I’d want my patients to witness. A lot of them like to think of me the way they thought of my father: serious, steadfast, committed, reliable. A big goofy grin on my face doesn’t necessarily go along with that image.

Since I’ve got time, I take the long way. The office actually isn’t very far away and I’d like to hit at least two miles. I swing around the Jensen farm, noting the new mailbox they just had installed. And it looks like Mrs. Cooper is having some trouble keeping the lawn up. I’ll have to ask her later if she needs help. In late pregnancy, it wouldn’t be right for her to be out in this heat trying to mow the lawn anyway, and I know her husband is in San Francisco for business until early next month.

Our small downtown comes up way too fast and I almost want to loop out to the ocean highway, but I don’t want to be late to the office either. Waving to the mayor and the new florist, I continue up Main Street, suppressing disappointment that my run is almost over.

I swear, she comes out of nowhere. First I see the rolling suitcase and dodge to avoid that, but then find myself in a slow-motion collision with a small redhead in a cape.

That’s what I’m thinking about: is this a cape?

Twisting in midair, I attempt to leap around her. Her hands go up like a comic book character and I reach out instinctually to support the small of her back since it looks like she’s going down.

Somehow we both hit the ground at the same time, still on our feet but crouching, as though we just completed an acrobatic trick together.

Smiling, I push gently against the tiny diamond of muscles that coil around the base of her spine to help her back to standing. She is supple and responsive, elegantly finding her feet and her dignity at the same time.

“Well, hello there,” I smile.

The fiery waves that frame her face jostle back into position. Her sea glass-green eyes finally focus on me, then immediately narrow.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” she snaps.

I flinch automatically. I’m not sure anybody’s ever talked to me like that.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going?” I snap back, confused.

Her nostrils flare as she inhales sharply, and I can’t help but notice how pristine they are. Perfectly smooth skin. Perfectly placed freckles the color of sweet tea.

“Do you think you own the sidewalk?” she growls, snatching the handle of her suitcase and rolling it stubbornly to the other side of the sidewalk.

Apparently she didn’t have far to go, so her flamboyant exit feels like a little bit of a flop. A smile twists the corners of my mouth and I push my hair back, wondering why I feel the urge to chase her.

Keys jingle in her hand as she tries several on the ring in the old lock.

“Do you need some help there?”

I can see the tension in her shoulders as she hunches over, muttering to herself. She’s got on a cotton dress that looks like something my aunt would’ve worn. It’s tied at the waist and flared around the knees, old-fashioned and supremely feminine. I love the way that it both highlights her figure as well as her strength, giving her the room to move and manage things, or room to swish her hips as she walks away. Her choice.

“Sometimes these old doors swell with the heat,” I explain, trying to keep my voice friendly.

I’m not sure why she is so skittish, but I don’t want to scare her off just yet. It’s been kind of a while since I’ve seen a new face in town. While Jupiter and Naples have been growing like crazy, the boom hasn’t quite reached our little hamlet just yet. I hear it’s just a matter of time, but I sort of hope that I am old and mostly dead by then. I like things here just the way they are.

“Look, if you’ll just let me—”

“Buzz off!” she hisses, twisting around.

Her expression is serious and focused, like this is not the first time she’s had to bare her fangs to make her point. I take a step back, careful to show her I mean her no harm.

“All right, settle down now,” I murmur low like she’s a wild horse or something. “I’ll just be over here if you need some assistance.”

Blowing her breath out through her cheeks, she turns back to the door and plunges another key into the old brass lock. After some enthusiastic jiggling, it does turn and the door swings wildly inward, carrying her along with it. She disappears into the gloom with the sound of her heels echoing on the old wooden floorboards.

I take the handle of her suitcase and carry it over the threshold automatically, depositing it next to the umbrella stand.

“What do you think you’re doing with that?” she snaps.

My eyebrows go up. “Your suitcase? Carrying it inside for you?”

She pouts and wiggles her fingers in the air as though brushing her thoughts aside.

“Oh,” she huffs. “Well, thank you.”

Amused, I take a couple of steps into the shop. This used to be the hat shop, I think, though it has been closed for quite a while. The woman who owned it passed on some time ago, and her family moved to Chicago. I guess they didn’t really give it much of a thought until recently. Out of sight, out of mind.

The woman paces the perimeter, shaking her head every few seconds like she’s upset at what she sees. I’m not sure what she was expecting. It’s just a dusty old shop, after all. Is that a surprise somehow?

“Is this your first time in Willowdale?” I call out.

I’m not sure why I am trying to make conversation with this obviously irritable person, but I am. She doesn’t answer right away, but twists the old knob on the office door until it comes off in her hand. The door swings open anyway, releasing a gust of musty air.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” she snarls.

Her hands rise and then fall, slapping against her thighs. For some reason, I find that sound stupidly exciting. It’s the sound my palm would make against her round, naughty bottom.

“What seems to be the problem?” I ask as an excuse to walk up behind her.

Ostensibly I am looking over her shoulder to check out the office, but really I am just aligning the front of my body to the back of hers. It’s a good fit. Static electricity sizzles between us.

“This is all supposed to be finished already!” she mutters.

When she crosses her arms over her chest I can see the muscles flexing in her shoulders. She is awfully tense.

“Finished, how?” I ask, my voice suddenly dry.

She whirls around on her heel and squints at me suspiciously.

“Can I help you with something? Are you supposed to be here?”

I back away, hands up, noticing the electrical impulses strung between us like Christmas lights flickering.

“I was just making sure you’re all right,” I assure her.

I’m not sure I’ve ever met somebody so defensive and prickly right off the bat. It kind of makes me want to chase her, like a cat wants to chase the mouse that most wants to run away.

“I’m absolutely fine,” she huffs, practically shoving me through the front door.

When I’m back on the sidewalk, she slams the door behind me with a bang, snapping the lock for good measure. I can’t explain it, but for some reason I am positive I’m going to see that woman again.

She likes me already. I can tell.