Sturgill

All week long there has been a countdown over my head. At first I thought it was Mrs. Cooper’s pending baby delivery, but I’ve brought dozens of babies into the world. When she finally goes into labor, the delivery is uncomplicated and simple, with the usual drama and excitement. A vibrant baby girl, who will be named after her grandmother.

Just the way it’s supposed to be. Just the sort of life we’ve had here for generations.

But I can’t seem to center my focus. I can’t seem to get at ease with myself.

Running is no help. I’ve been out surfing twice and that didn’t do anything for me either. I’d like to go into the gallery and see what the progress is, maybe touch base with Joanna…

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 shop 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.

“Gallery openings…” she explains, and I am a little disappointed to find that we are not in sync. “Some people love them, some people don’t. Do you make a habit of it?”

“It’s my first time,” I confess. “What should I be doing?”

She shrugs one shoulder, reaching up to affectionately brush at my lapel with her fingertips.

“Just stand there and look gorgeous,” she sighs. “Just be who you are.”

People drift toward her, and she greets them and drifts away. The champagne is cool and wonderful, though I don’t normally drink. I watch her when she doesn’t notice, observing how she manages the crowd while directing Dusty and another woman who I think must’ve come from New York.

Eventually the event comes to a close, and she celebrates by taking her shoes off, groaning in relief.

“That was something!” she exclaims as she finally sinks into a chair. “Did you hate it?”

“No, I didn’t hate it,” I answer honestly. “I think I enjoyed every minute of it.”

She raises one eyebrow. “Really? I should keep you around. You definitely class up the joint.”

Dusty shoots me a look and I just shrug. She disappears into the back room to assist Holly with the cleanup.

“Sorry about that,” Joanna chuckles. “Those are my Manhattan manners coming out again, I guess. I just say what’s on my mind.”

“I hope you always will,” I answer.

“Careful what you wish for, Doctor.”

She crosses her legs, taking her foot in her fingertips and massaging the sole. I feel like I should offer to do that for her, but something tells me that’s too familiar, too far. After all, today’s the first time she ever used my first name in public. I guess we’re not quite as intimate as I had led myself to believe.

But I will have plenty of time to think about that in South America. Plenty of time to shed this temporary infatuation, or whatever this is. It’s just a risk of engaging in an unusual sort of client service, I think. I crossed several established boundaries with her, and so of course it has taken be some time to adjust. That’s all it is, and it will be over momentarily.

When she looks up at me, her turquoise-shaded eyes are bright with what genuinely looks like affection.

“So… I guess this is our last night together?”

I nod slowly. “You’re leaving in the morning. So am I.”

“Oh?” her eyebrows go up.

“Costa Rica,” I explain. “A classmate of mine runs a clinic to repair birth defects. He asked me to come and do some good work… It’s very rewarding.”

Her mouth opens and then closes. She seems startled.

“I see. That’s… great! I mean, great!”

“He does important work.”

“Totally great!”

Suddenly she stands, walking over to me and wrapping her arms around me. I embrace her automatically, dipping my chin to smell her hair before she pulls away, smiling tightly.

She sticks her hand out and I just look at it for a moment.

“Well… it’s been really great!” she says brightly, her voice thoroughly cheery.

After a hesitation, I take her hand and shake it, formally. Finally.

“You did a marvelous thing here,” I mumble, searching for appropriate things to say. She swivels her head, gazing around. “Oh, this? Well… I guess it did work out in the end. I guess it did.”

“It certainly did,” I reply nonsensically.

Why am I so tongue-tied? What is it that I want to say?

“So, thank you for… everything, Dr. Warner. Thank you.”

“Yes. You’re welcome,” I answer.

Suddenly, standing here feels stiff and uncomfortable. I suppose she’s inviting me to leave.

I guess it’s time to move on.