Bags were collected. Everything set in place. At LAX. At the proper pickup point. She’d even double-checked that last detail, struggling with the ridiculous smart phone she’d been given to use on the trip by Doctors International to find his last email to make sure she had it right.

Still no Brant.

“Dr. Mel?”

“Yes, Maria?”

“Is that you?” Maria was pointing to a scruffy individual in a t-shirt that read ‘I’m with stupid’ and an arrow that pointed up to his chin. He looked to be twenty-nothing, and brought back memories of med school with the scruffy look that came from surviving off ramen for weeks on end and forgetting to bathe. The guy held a piece of cardboard about the size of a pizza box with ‘MEL BELL’ scrawled on it in black marker.

You’ve got to be kidding me… Mel walked over to him as reluctantly as if she was going to have root canal without Novocain. “Are you looking for Dr. Melissa Bell?” She’d quelled drug lords with that voice.

“I suppose…?” He looked down at the carboard, which was indeed a reused pizza box. It apparently held no answers, so he turned back to her and shrugged helplessly. “You Mel Bell?” When she didn’t answer, he shrugged and tried again. “You a doctor?”

“I am.”

“Cool.” His smile relaxed. It occurred to her suddenly that pot was legal in California. She studied his eyes as he pitched the pizza box at a nearby trash can and missed. “Then, yeah, I’m looking for Doc Bell.”

“Al righty then…” Mel downshifted and spoke with smaller words, growing more uncertain by the minute. Puffy eyes could be fatigue. They didn’t necessarily mean he was high. “Do you know who sent you here?”

“Yeah!” The kid looked thrilled at the question. Apparently it was one he could answer. “Yeah, it was a doctor—hey! Just like you!”

“And that doctor’s name?” Mel stole a glance at her charge. Maria’s eyes were wide as saucers.

“Uh…” His eyes darted to the pizza box on the floor by his foot. If he was looking for help, it wasn’t likely to be coming from petrified mozzarella. He rocked from one foot to the other, faced screwed up in concentration, and seemed to pull the memory up from the roots by sheer force of will. “Latex! Brand Latex. Anyway, are you him?”

He indicated the used pizza box where the word ‘Mel’ was mingled with what appeared to be a large grease stain.

“Yeah,” Mel sighed, changing her assessment from ‘high’ to ‘idiot.’ “I’m him.”

“Awesome, dude!” The boy grinned again; all was right with the world. “I was supposed to tell you that he…uh…” at this point he had to pull a wadded page from the back pocket of his jeans which tore as he uncrumpled it to read. “I’m in surgery so I’m taking you to his house.” He looked up for a moment. “I guess that means, he’s in surgery, so I’m taking you to his house.”

“Thank you for clarifying that.” Mel was caught tightly between an urge to laugh and an urge to run away. The laughter, she suspected, might have been a bit hysterical.

He bent over and flipped the cardboard box at the trash can a second time, this time sinking it, and gave a half shrug. “This way then.”

Mel stood still for a moment and reached to get her bag. Maria leaned over and, in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard at the gate they’d left half hour ago, said, “Is he one of the drug users I hear about in L.A.?”

“Some people don’t need drugs, Maria,” Mel said, wondering for the umpteenth time when the dratted kid had grown up. “I hope.”

Silently, the two women dragged their baggage through the last of the terminal and into the bright heat of an L.A. afternoon.

 

*  *  *

 

The back seat of the Toyota was incredibly small. Mel and Maria clung to each other as the young driver slammed onto yet another freeway. This one was eight lanes of traffic—each way. Only for a few miles, then the right two dropped off and one more showed up on the left. Three separate taxi cabs apparently challenged their driver for lead stallion of the freeway herd, and he rose to the challenge each time.

“Dr. Mel,” Maria said after pulling herself off the doctor as they both leaned against the door, “I take it back. The landing in Florida…it was not so bad a thing, I think.”

“Don’t worry, Maria,” Mel said through gritted teeth. “I’m sure Brant wouldn’t send anyone for us that he didn’t think…” Whatever Brant did or didn’t think was lost in a silent scream as their driver slammed  the brakes and wedged the little car into another lane between two semis.

Melissa’s suitcase, strapped in the seatbelt next to the driver, lurched and landed on the man’s shoulder. He apparently didn’t notice.

Mel wanted to reach over and right the baggage, but was currently busy holding the back of the seat in a death grip. Beside her, she thought she heard Maria murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

The driver swerved then, crossing three lanes and landing on an exit ramp in a single stomach-flipping movement; Mel didn’t even have time to shut her eyes. They spun the semi-circle to come out…on another freeway. This one seemed to double as a parking lot. It was through divine intervention that the little car avoided slamming headlong into a panel van that said COOL DOWN, and under it, ‘Jay’s Refrigeration Service.’ Maybe Maria had the right idea after all. She silently added a prayer of her own.

“You know…” Mel said carefully, still afraid to release her grasp of the back of the front seat. “We’ve taken a lot of your time already today. We could probably walk from here…” Mel was only dimly aware of the way Maria’s grip was cutting off the circulation in her arm.

“Dude, it’s like twenty miles from here and that’s by freeway. You can’t walk it from here, trust me.”

“Trust…” Mel found she wasn’t able to swallow. She looked at Maria. Maria had no trouble swallowing; she demonstrated her ability over and over again.

Say something. Anything. “So, uh, how do you know Dr. Layton?”

“I don’t. His office called and made arrangements.” The guy turned around and looked at her brightly. “I’m an Uber!”

“Dr. Mel, what is an Uber?”

Mel blinked a few times. “It’s German; it means ‘ultra’ or ‘about.’”

“No!” The driver twisted to give her a strange look. “It means I drive for money.”

Mel exchanged glances with Maria, for once as lost as she was. She wondered briefly if perhaps this was how it felt for the child since they’d started on this crazy trip—this feeling of being lost and the language making no sense.

She pulled the girl close for a hug. Thankfully the car was only creeping along just then, and letting go of the seat didn’t seem quite as terrifying as before. Though she suspected the half-moon indents from her fingernails in the upholstery might be permanent.

It wasn’t until she let go of Maria that the sound hit her. A weird little tune seemed to come from the bag at her feet. It had been going for some time, but the light chiming of the cell phone wasn’t able to compete with the blood pounding in Mel’s ears or the sound of Black Sabbath pounding through the blown speakers of the little car.

“Help? I mean, hello?” Mel said as the driver left the relative sanctuary of the two semis that had somehow launched themselves into 65MPH and veered into another lane, further yet from the safety of the shoulder.

“Mel!” Brant’s voice sounded clearer than any phone call they’d had in the last six months. The excitement in his voice almost made her forgive him—almost. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there in person to get you; I had an emergency here. Did the office send a driver for you?”

The car now shot in front of the semi it once was following, to get around a horse trailer. It had barely cleared that when he spanned three open lanes and floored the little car along the interior lane.

“YEAH!” Mel said, trying to not swallow her throat.

“He’s an Uber!” Maria yelled helpfully from the seat beside her.

“What was that?” Brant’s voice seemed to be breaking up, as though even he couldn’t keep up with the tiny car. “Did she say ‘Uber’?”

“That’s what he calls himself.” Mel closed her eyes, waiting for the crash as they ran up the back of a stretch limo. “I have to say, , he’s not really…” She was at a loss for words, as yet another ramp from one freeway to the next suddenly caught the driver’s attention; it was a matter of crossing three lanes at once to get there, and two more on the other side.

“SAFE,” Maria chimed in helpfully, as though an umpire at one of the clinic softball games.

“I told them to send a car, a limo to get you. You have an Uber?”

“I’m in a Toyota!” Mel yelled back, as though increasing her own volume would bring back his fading voice. “And I have to go!” She hung up on Brant for the first time since he’d left for L.A.

If she survived, she’d apologize later.

The remainder of the journey was spent attempting to avoid throwing up. It was that simple. The constant start, stop, swerve, whatever that maneuver was called when he actually hit REVERSE on the off ramp, and…

It was better to not dwell on the details.

Then catching her breath was her goal, which was quickly taken from her again when they arrived. Mel’s voice failed her, as did her lungs, and she swore she’d nearly lost her bladder control as well. Fortunately, the Uber driver was able to sum up the feeling for her.

“Duuuuuuuude,” he whispered reverently.

“Dude,” Maria echoed.

Mel knew Brant was a successful plastic surgeon in a land where such a profession was one step down from the divine, but she’d assumed that meant he’d probably had a nice place, a 401K, and enough money for the occasional cruise.

Brant could buy the cruise ship and probably the rest of the fleet as well. On second thought, the house was a cruise ship, or at least it was the same size as one. Marble pillars, crushed gravel driveway, private gate…it was…

It was too much.

She fought every instinct to turn and run, to go back into the jungle, to get a long, long way from one Brant Layton. He was rich. He was more than rich, he was…and she…

For six months, she’d sat in her jungle thinking about this day, thinking about being with him again, in his arms. For six months, she’d fantasized about seeing Brant. But this…this was too much. How could she…she was poor, her parents were school teachers, she still had student loans…

“Dr. Mel? Are you all right?” Maria asked, one hand on her arm. “Why are you crying?”

“Why…?” She couldn’t find the words. She had to go, run, leave, forget all of this.

Then she looked at her young charge, at the bandages that hid a once angelic face and still covered some of the open, warm smile. I can’t take this away from her. Mel nodded slowly. Take a deep breath. Let it out slowly. That’s right. Like that. She breathed in deeply and let it out slowly. Now, shoulders back. You can do this.

Mel pasted a smile on her face. Found a cheerful lilt somewhere in her repertoire and added it to her voice, hoping the girl wouldn’t notice the way her hands were shaking. “It’s okay, Maria. I’ll be okay. It was just…the ride made me a little carsick, I think.”

Maria said nothing, but those guileless eyes showed that she didn’t believe her. Mel knew that.

But it was something they shared, that lie, and something that kept them from panicking when the front door opened and the maid—a bloody maid—invited them in.

“Dr. Mel?” Maria leaned in quietly as they got out of the car. “What does that mean, ‘holy shit’?”