Off Plan

by May Archer

“Hey!” Beale blushed crimson. “Fuck off!”

  “—and the straight doctor’s probably oblivious. No harm, no foul.”

  “But he’s straight,” I said for the seventy-seventh time, like a song stuck on repeat. I didn’t want to think too closely about why Loafers being in Beale’s spank bank pissed me off.

  “You seem more concerned about that than Mase is,” Beale said, eyeing me closely. “If he’s cool, who cares?”

  “I do! I care! Have you forgotten what happened last time I had a harmless flirtation with a straight guy?”

  Beale and Rafe fell silent for a moment. They exchanged a look.

  “That was different,” Rafe said, his voice and his eyes gone hard. “That wasn’t harmless, and Thad Chambers knew he wasn’t straight.”

  “Thad’s wife would beg to differ.” I folded my arms over my chest. “Besides, smart money says Beale’s ‘cute and caring’ doctor’ll be gone by the end of the month. He’s got an escape clause in his contract, you know. He’s out of here as soon as he gets another job.”

  “I know. All the more reason to enjoy him while he’s around,” Beale said with a little smile. “Besides, his aura’s pink.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t want to know what that means.”

  “I do,” Rafe countered.

  “It means Mason is open to new experiences.”

  Rafe’s jaw dropped. “Your aura-reading is like… gaydar?”

  “No, dumbass! Jesus. Mason asked that, too, when I told him!”

  I rubbed my jaw. I’d just bet he did.

  “It just means, maybe Mason’ll surprise us,” Beale said. “Maybe he’ll decide to stay. I mean, we didn’t think you’d last either, Fenn, but here you are!”

  The two of them laughed. I did not.

  “Hey, that was a joke.” Beale kicked me under the table. “As in, ha ha? Funny? What crawled up your butt?”

  “Your sense of humor,” I said gruffly. “And it died there. Mason’s not staying on Whispering Key.”

  Rafe snorted. “Why do you care? What’d this kid do to you?”

  I shook my head. Mason Bloom had gotten under my skin like a freakin’ burr, that’s what he’d done. He’d made me jealous of my own cousin and his stupid, fake-injured shoulder. “Nothing. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up. And he’s not a kid. He’s thirty-something anyway. Older than me, maybe even older than you.”

  “Ancient,” Rafe said.

  I opened my mouth to respond, when Gloria teetered into the kitchen from the back hall wearing a pair of purple high heels, a frilly lilac dress, and an enormous bow atop her head.

  “Boys, it is hotter than the devil’s backside out there! Shoo. You don’t realize how nice and cool the bunker is until you get out in the yard.” She crossed the room to lean on the counter by the coffeepot before looking at me. “You back already, Fenn, honey?”

  “Back from where?”

  I adamantly refused to fetch any more doctors from airports.

  “Doc Mason’s suitcase got delivered from the airline this morning! You’re supposed to bring it to him.”

  “No, thank you,” I said politely. “Today’s my day off, and I already got conscripted into air conditioner repair. Loafers can haul it up the stairs himself.”

  “Whether Mason can or can’t doesn’t matter,” Big Rafe said, coming in through the back door, a vision in fluorescent orange. “Deliver it to him at the clinic. And would it kill you to be friendly?”

  There were so many things wrong with this, I wasn’t sure where to begin. I decided to start with the basics. “We don’t have a clinic.”

  “Sure we do! Second floor of the old rec center is now Whispering Key Medical Center.” Gloria smiled as she handed Big Rafe a coffee. “I was just there yesterday, and it’s looking just lovely.”

  “Yeah?” I frowned. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine, Fenn, honey. Just prickly heat! Doc Mason was really attentive. And you wouldn’t believe what he’s done with the place. Working day and night, him and Taffy, to get everything set up.”

  Big Rafe eyed me over his coffee cup. “You were supposed to be helping him.”

  “He hasn’t asked me for help.”

  “And have you offered?” Big Rafe countered. “No. So bring him his damn bag.”

  I sighed. “Do we even know that he wants the bag at the clinic? Do you know if it’s medical supplies? Maybe it’s just filled with his collection of second-best loafers, and after I cart the damn thing all the way up to the second floor of the rec center, I’ll have to cart it all the way back down again.” I was aware that I was whining. I just didn’t care.

  “You’ll survive.” Big Rafe smiled grimly. “Bringing him his bag is a thoughtful gesture. It’s all part and parcel of guest satisfaction. And while you’re there, you’ll see what other kind of help he needs, and make sure he gets it.”

  “Why me? Beale’s all friendly with Mason,” I said sourly. “Send him.”

  The fact that I absolutely did not want Beale getting any more friendly with him just proved that I needed to avoid Mason a little longer.

  “Yeah!” Beale agreed. “I could go—”

  “Beale’s busy,” Big Rafe interrupted.

  “I am?” Beale’s forehead wrinkled.

  “You are,” Big Rafe confirmed. “So’s Young Rafe.”

  Rafe snorted and spoke for the first time since his father had come in the room. “Yeah? Doing what, Dad? Preparing for the Labor Day Extravaganza?” His voice was so cold I felt the chill from across the table.

  “As a matter of fact.” Big Rafe grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “That’s my big announcement! You’ll never guess who volunteered to come play—”

  “Save it. It’s already all over the papers.” Young Rafe folded his arms across his chest.

  Big Rafe frowned. “Is it? Damn. Wasn’t supposed to go up until Saturday. Catch more readers that way!”

  “Are you kidding me? You invited my ex-brother-in-law to play a show here and you think the outrage is that they published the article about it a day early? You know, a heads-up would’ve been nice.”

  “Agreed,” Beale said, adopting his brother’s cross-armed pose. “For all of us.”

  “You boys.” Big Rafe sighed the sigh of a man who was perpetually misunderstood. “You know, this island is like our family—”

  “Fucking ridiculous?” I supplied.

  “Incredibly beautiful!” Gloria countered.

  “Incredibly dysfunctional,” Young Rafe bit out.

  “In desperate need of an intervention,” Beale said sadly.

  “It’s our home,” Big Rafe continued, ignoring all of us. “It’s our refuge. But it’s not a prison. It’s not a tomb to bury yourself in. You’ve gotta use it as a foundation and build yourself something better.”

  “That was lovely,” I said, wiping a fake tear from my eye. “Somebody put that on a Hallmark card.” I let my voice go hard. “Explain to me how hauling Mason Bloom’s suitcase to his clinic is a foundation for any damn thing.”

  Young Rafe stood up, his face stony with anger. “And bringing Jayd here is supposed to, what? Help me build something better by reminding me Aimee was so fucking miserable on this island, she fled?” He laughed with zero humor, turned his chair back around and pushed it into the table with a clatter. “You take care, Gloria,” he said, glaring at his father. Then he stormed out the front door.

  “Rafe, wait!” Beale said. He shot his father an impatient glare. “This family’s not gonna be able to build anything if you destroy it before we have a chance.” He stalked out after his brother.

  “Well,” Gloria said cheerfully. “That went better than the last couple of times you were all together!”

  Big Rafe rolled his eyes at her, then turned to me. “You need to skedaddle with that suitcase. Day’s only getting hotter.”

  I stood from the table and clenched my hands into fists. “You know, I’ve been working for you for five ye
ars in March, Rafe. I captain your boat. I fix your cars. I run your errands.”

  Rafe’s eyes met mine. “I know it.”

  “Don’t you think I should get a say in what happens on Whispering Key? In the decisions that affect my life? Don’t you think the others should?”

  Rafe’s chin went up. “I think you have every right to say what happens in your life, Fenn. I keep waiting for you to speak up.” He shook his head sadly. Then he sucked in a breath and slapped his palm on the table. “Alrighty! Moving on! What’s first on the mayor’s docket today, Gloria?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I seethed. “We’re not done talking! I don’t know what that shit even means!”

  Rafe acted like I hadn’t spoken. Gloria, at least, gave me a sympathetic look, but then she turned her attention to Rafe, too. “You’re meeting with Leonard Wilkins at eleven about permits for his food truck. He’s already out back waiting.”

  “Lenny Wilkins?” I demanded. “Since when does he have a food truck?”

  “Since eleven o’clock this morning,” Rafe answered smugly. “He asked and he shall receive. Some people believe in the future of this island, Fenn. Some people have dreams. What else, Gloria?”

  “Shannon Tate returned your call about holding an exclusive show, but—”

  “Shannon Tate? From the gallery? What kind of show?”

  “Fenn,” Rafe chided. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

  For a second, I thought about telling him in graphic detail where he could shove Mason’s fucking suitcase. I could almost hear myself saying the words. But in the end, I swallowed them down like poison, stalked out to the hall, and grabbed the bag.

  The thing was heavy as fuck—of course it was. Why would this ever be easy?—and as I dragged it across the motel parking lot and shoved it in my trunk, I couldn’t help but wonder: Did Rafe want me to leave Whispering Key? Sometimes, I almost deluded myself into thinking I was part of something here; that being a half-assed Goodman was better than nothing. Other days, like today, it was crystal clear he wanted me gone, and I was ready to take him up on his invitation. There were a billion other shitty jobs out there, a million shitty motel rooms to live in.

  The drive to town took five minutes—five minutes that got me even more pissed, because it was hot as the devil’s asshole out here and my radio had apparently decided to protest the working conditions since it wouldn’t tune in to a station—but for the first and only time in the five years I’d lived on Whispering Key, there wasn’t a parking spot in front of the rec center or even across the street. I had to park an entire block down Godfrey Pass and haul the fucking suitcase, which had somehow lost a wheel along the way, down the sidewalk to the white stucco building where block letters spelled out WHISPERING KEY RECREATION CENTER above the door.

  Inside, the building smelled musty, like it hadn’t been used in forever, but it was blessedly cool compared to the outside. The ground floor was covered in checkerboard linoleum, and a glass-covered signboard displayed a congratulatory list of the island’s recent high school graduates.

  Circa 1996.

  Double doors straight ahead led to the auditorium and the elevator, but I had way too much energy to burn off, so I took the stairs on the left and followed the sound of voices to the second floor.

  “Thought you were gonna make it better, Doc. Now it stings like a sumbitch!” Dale Jennings limped out of a room in the center of the hallway and stared forlornly down at his bandaged foot.

  “I know, Dale,” Mason soothed, following behind him. “Remember what I said? Rest it. Elevate it. Use ice. Take Tylenol. And—”

  “No ferrymones,” Dale recited sadly. “I know. Thanks, Doc.”

  Mason patted Dale’s shoulder consolingly and gave him a little smile that didn’t quite reach his green eyes. That smile made me stop in my tracks in the shadow of the stairwell, suitcase in hand, and stare at him.

  Something about him had changed in the past week, but I couldn’t figure out what.

  “Come back to see me in a few days, okay? I had Taffy set up a time for you.” Mason gestured to Taffy Simmons, who was sitting at a makeshift desk out in the wide hallway.

  Last I’d heard, Taffy was working as a waitress at Blue Smoke, a bar over on Cooter where us locals sometimes hung out for lack of anywhere else to go. The waitresses and the guests at the Smoke—both male and female—tended to favor heavy denim, skimpy leather, eyeliner, and fuck-off attitudes. But now Taffy was wearing a short-sleeved blouse, a low bun, and a bright smile, clearly pretty damn pleased with her new job if the way she jumped to attention when Loafers said her name was anything to go by.

  “Right here, Doc Mason?” She held up a small card and handed it to Dale, who gave her a wink.

  “Thanks, Taff. Say hi to Orry and the boy,” he said, shuffling toward the elevator at the other end of the hall. “See you next week, Doc.”

  “Um, Doc Mason?” Taffy asked hesitantly. “Would it be alright if I took my lunch now? Only, I need to pick up Max from school over on the mainland, ’cause Kono got a last-minute client at the salon, so I’m not sure how soon I’ll be back? And do you mind if Max comes back with me?”

  “You know I don’t mind, Taffy. We talked about that. But take the afternoon. We’ve worked hard all week.” Mason twisted his neck from one side to the other, stretching it. “I think I’ve seen every resident of the island, just about.”

  “You’re a curiosity,” Taffy said with a sweet smile, grabbing her purse from her desk drawer. “It’ll die down soon.”

  Mason nodded and rubbed his shoulder, and it struck me that he was tired. Seriously tired, to the point of looking defeated. I wasn’t sure why that bugged me so much, but it did.

  None of your business, Reardon.

  I took a step forward, ready to hand him the suitcase without a single word and get the hell out of there.

  “But for now…” Taffy bit her lip hesitantly. “You’ve got one more patient in the waiting room for a follow-up?”

  I paused where I was. Maybe I could just drop the bag on Taffy’s desk while Mason was in his office, doing his thing, and no one needed to know I’d been here.

  Mason dropped his hand and sighed. “Do I?”

  “I can stay?” Taffy offered, clearly reluctant.

  “Nah.” Mason waved a hand. “Go on. I’ve got it.”

  Taffy grinned and headed for the elevator, herself. “Thanks, Doc Mason! You’re a lifesaver!”

  “Aren’t I?” Mason said. He sighed again. “Who’s the patient?”

  “It’s just—”

  “Little old me!” Gerry Twomey rushed into the hall from some waiting room I couldn’t see, grinning from ear to ear. He stuck out his hand. “Gerry Twomey. Remember me from the other day, Mason? I told you to call me Gerry?”

  Gerry lifted a hand to push back his thick, spiky brown hair, and his short-sleeved button-down shirt gaped nearly to his navel, displaying his tan chest.

  My eyes narrowed. Gerry needed to back the fuck up. Why was every guy on the key falling on Mason like hyenas on a fresh kill? And why the fuck was Mason allowing it when he was straight?

  “I remember. And I said you could call me Doctor.” Mason nodded as he shook Gerry’s hand with polite interest. “How can I help you?”

  Gerry looked momentarily crestfallen, and I felt a vicious satisfaction at that, but he rallied quickly.

  “Well, you said to come back if my sore hip didn’t get better. And, ah, it didn’t.” He massaged the back of his hip with one hand. “So here she is, ready to be examined again.”

  “I told you it could take a few weeks for it to get better, Mr. Twomey. I suggested that you make an appointment to follow up since I won’t be doing walk-ins anymore.”

  “Oh, gosh!” Gerry shook his head and grinned wider. “Silly me! All that just went zoom! Right over my head.” He stretched his hand up, miming a plane flying while also arching his back seductively. “I think I was a little distracted last time w
e were together. And so were you.” He wagged a finger. “It’s Gerry, remember?”

  I gritted my teeth.

  “But since I’m here now…” Gerry twisted so his right ass cheek was thrust in Mason’s direction. “Maybe you could check it?”

  “Not today, Mr. Twomey,” Mason said firmly. “There’d be no point.”

  Gerry took this denial as encouragement, because that was how Gerry seemed to work.

  “Real quick?” Gerry breathed. “Please?”

  “I…” Mason let out a deep breath, and it looked like he was waffling. Like he was going to let Gerry into his office. Like an idiot. “I think…”

  “Hey!” I said, strolling out of the staircase, carrying a suitcase, totally casually. “Hi. I need an emergency consultation.”

  Mason whirled to look at me in confusion. Gerry did, too.

  “Fenn?” Mason said. He spied his bag. “Is that my—? What are you—?”

  I grabbed his elbow, all but pushing him into his little office, then I turned to Gerry. “He’s not your type, Gerry. Leave him be.”

  Gerry pouted. “You’d be surprised at how many people think they’re not my type, then come a’knockin’ in the end. You did.” He grinned slyly. “In fact, my headboard still has the—”

  “Goodbye, Gerry.” I squeezed into Mason’s office and closed the door behind me.

  The room was half office, half exam room, with a large metal desk in one corner, a big, padded exam table in the center of the room, and an old, rattan sofa that had seen better days set against the opposite wall. It smelled like fresh paint and antiseptic. It also smelled like Mason Bloom and his fucking cologne.

  Mason reached the exam table and whirled around, hands on his hips, eyes spitting green fire in my direction. “What the hell was that? How dare you!”

  “Me?” I threw his suitcase onto the sofa. “You know what Gerry really wanted you to check out, right? Here’s a hint: it was several inches away from his hip.”

  “No, Fenn, I had no idea!” Mason shot back. “For I am but an innocent doctor, untried in the ways of males—and females, for that matter—who mistake my office for the Happy Ending Massage Parlor. Christ, I’ve been propositioned by more people in the past week than in the past thirty years, and half of them were old enough to be my grandmother.” He rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest, and I noticed that he was wearing another perfectly pressed button-down under his white coat, along with another pair of creased khakis and a fresh pair of loafers. “If you have an issue with your… paramour making a pass at me, kindly take it up with him, Mr. Reardon.”