Blue Ice Landing

by K A Moll

  Coy turned the monitor off when her pulse began to race.

  ***

  “Well, hey there, Packer Backer,” Coby greeted with a grin. It had been difficult to stay away from her these past few days.

  “Hey there yourself,” Coy said with a return smile. “Those were some pretty fancy moves you were making over there,” she declared. “I particularly liked the one between your legs.”

  “Oh God,” Coby sighed bashfully, “you were watching.” Her face reddened. She looked down and away.

  “Of course I was watching,” Coy said. Her voice was lower, more sensuous. Her pink running shorts left the seam of her panties visible and her black tank top clung intimately to her breasts.

  Coby sucked in a breath. She felt the urge to run but stayed.

  “I’m sorry,” Coy said with a soft smile, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “You didn’t,” Coby said, forcing her gaze to remain steady.

  “Okay,” Coy chuckled, “whatever you say.”

  The clank of the gym door caught their attention.

  Coby looked over and back. “Well, I’d better go shoot hoops with Diego,” she said.

  “You should,” Coy responded. She nodded toward the row of chairs near the basket. “I think I’ll just mosey over yonder and watch ya’ll’s game.”

  Coby’s eyes widened.

  “Unless you don’t want me to,” Coy added with a wink.

  “You can if you want,” Coby croaked, “as long as you don’t expect too much.”

  “It’d be hard not to,” Coy flirted, “after what I’ve already seen.”

  ***

  The game was one-on-one.

  Coby took the ball out on the top of the key. With a handful of dribbles, she backed Diego down to the basket.

  Swoosh, all net.

  Coy clapped and whistled.

  Coby stole a glance.

  Coy tilted her head, smiled, and winked.

  Diego powered to the basket. He took his shot.

  Boing on the rim, then swish.

  Coy clapped.

  Coby pressed her lips together and played more aggressively.

  They were evenly matched, but in the end, Diego won by one basket.

  Coy clapped.

  Coby’s stomach hardened and she sucked in a breath.

  “You need to step up your game,” Diego teased, “if you want to beat this macho man.” He peeled off his t-shirt and playfully pounded his smooth, muscular chest.

  Coy noticed.

  Coby’s stomach burned and she glared.

  “Hey, what’s wrong with you, amiga?” Diego asked. “Don’t be mad.”

  Coby spun without a word as a wave of irrational emotion oozed to the surface. She had to get out of there.

  “So, you’re just gonna walk off?” Diego called out. “Just like that?” His mouth dropped open and he shook his head. “Hey, wait up. I was just kidding,” he added.

  Coy came up on his flank. “Please don’t go after her,” she requested, touching his shoulder to hold him back. “It’s not anything you did or said.”

  “What else could it be?” he asked.

  “Me,” Coy admitted, “something I did.”

  Diego cocked his head.

  “Please,” Coy continued, “let me see to her.”

  “Okay,” Diego responded with a nod. “Tell her I’ll be here for a while if she wants to talk.”

  ***

  When Coby didn’t take the stairs, Coy guessed that she might be headed for the greenhouse. It was a one of a kind place—a space where you could lie back in a hammock, pick flowers, harvest vegetables, or simply enjoy the smell of fresh herbs. It was a hydroponic treasure on the ice, a place where you could gather your thoughts or calm your nerves. She opened the door, immediately spotting Coby in the far corner. She was perched between the lettuce and tomatoes. She didn’t look up, but Coy sat down beside her. “Hey there,” she cooed.

  Coby swallowed hard. “Hey there,” she responded.

  She looked away, unsuccessfully concealing tears.

  “Are you okay?” Coy asked.

  “Yeah,” Coby choked.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Coy said. “I think you’re troubled by what you believe you saw in there.” She shifted her position to meet her gaze. “And what you saw, Coby Lee, is not what you think it was.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Coby responded. “You can look at whoever you want.”

  “It does matter,” Coy said tenderly. “It matters to me.” She reached to palm Coby’s thigh, but she moved away. With that, she took a slow breath, exhaled, and stood. “You know what,” she said softly, “I can see that you want to be alone, so I’ll leave. I just wanted to be sure that you were okay.” She glanced back as she stepped into the hallway.

  ***

  “I was hoping you’d still be here,” Coby said.

  Diego picked up his ball and came toward her. “I’m sorry about what happened,” he offered, “I didn’t mean to give you a rough time.”

  “It wasn’t you,” Coby said with a hard swallow, “it was Coy.” She met his gaze. “And it’s me who’s sorry,” she added.

  “I don’t get it,” Diego said, “I was right there. I didn’t see her do anything.”

  Coby took a breath and released it. “She checked you out, man,” she said, “and all I could see was red.”

  “No way,” Diego responded. “Trust me; I’d know if she did.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and added, “Poor, amiga. You got it bad, don’t ya.”

  Coby nodded. “Yeah,” she said, “I’m a mess.”

  “Sí, you are,” Diego responded. He shook his head and released a soft chuckle. “But, after tonight, you may be on the road to doing a whole lot better.”

  “What makes you think that?” Coby asked.

  “Just think about it,” Diego answered. “You storm out, jealous. She knows it’s because of her and takes off after you. After all that drama, I for one, have no doubt that you both know for sure that the other one cares.” He nodded and chuckled again. “You can’t fight Mother Nature. You can try, but eventually, she gets tired of waiting and takes matters into her own hands.”

  “Maybe,” Coby responded, “but it can’t go anywhere.”

  “Oh, amiga,” Diego said. “Did you not hear a word I just said? I think it already has.”

  Chapter Nine

  Coy stepped out of the exam room, pausing at the front desk. “Do you have a minute?” she asked. “I need to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure,” the receptionist responded, “just let me finish this message.” She typed a couple of lines, clicked send, and looked up. “How can I help?” she asked.

  “I know I’m to have all the new appointments until January,” Coy said, “but if this woman calls, I want you to schedule her with someone else. Doc Harmon gave his okay.” She scribbled down Coby’s name and handed over the slip of paper.

  The receptionist adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses to look through her bifocals. “No worries,” she said. “There may have been an issue had Ms. O’Brien not called to cancel her appointment with you, but since she did, you should be fine.” She fingered the keys, bringing up her record. “In fact, there’s a note here that says she doesn’t want to see you, only one of the other Docs, whenever she comes in.”

  “Alright, good,” Coy muttered, “thanks.” Her chest tightened, and she sucked in a breath. After a several moment delay, she started down the hall toward her office. She should’ve been glad that she and Coby were on the same page—but she wasn’t. Her reaction was irrational. It was never a good idea to treat close friends or family, not if there was another option. The same held true for potential girlfriends. There was nothing to be upset about. She should be pleased that Coby had the good sense to deal with the issue before it became a problem—but she wasn’t. It was a while before she got her mind back on
the business at hand.

  “Hang on,” Marigold answered, “let me get your daddy.”

  “No,” Coy responded. “I want to talk with you for a minute first.”

  “Okay,” Marigold said, “let me sit down.” She settled into the chair behind her sewing machine.

  “I’ll bet he didn’t make his appointment yet,” Coy said, “did he.” She knew that even though he’d said he would, he wouldn’t.

  “No,” Marigold said with a shake of her head, “he didn’t.” Her lower lip began to tremble.

  “What, Mama? What are you crying about?” Coy asked with a quick intake of breath. “Have his symptoms gotten worse?” She felt the need to control but was helpless in this situation.

  “I think so,” Marigold said.

  “Worse, how?” Coy asked. She was too far away; too far away to assess and direct; too far away to take her daddy by the hand and make him go in. She should never have come here, but if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have met Coby. Dear God, what was she going to do?

  “I’m not sure,” Marigold said. “It just seems harder for him to draw up his breath.”

  “He needs to go in,” Coy said firmly. “He needs to go in now.”

  “I know that,” Marigold said, “but your daddy’s a full grown man and he has a mind of his own. He doesn’t want to.”

  “He’s just afraid, Mama,” Coy responded. “He’s afraid Doc Stevens will tell him something’s wrong.” She released a breath, knowing that it was. “What if I made the appointment for him?” she asked. “Do you think he’d go then?”

  “You’d have to ask him,” Marigold said, “but I don’t think so.”

  Coy looked off with a sigh. “Well, you know what, it’s worth a try,” she said. “Go on, call him down. Let me see what I can do.”

  “Cyrus Tobias,” Marigold hollered, “your daughter wants to talk to you.”

  When Coy heard his steps drawing closer, she took and exhaled a calming breath. “Hey there, Daddy,” she said softly.

  Marigold stood, allowing her husband to have her chair.

  “Hey there,” Cyrus said.

  Coy listened to his breathing as they chatted. “You haven’t made an appointment with Doc Stevens,” she said as her lower lip began to quiver. “Do you hear that high-pitched whistling sound when you breathe?” Her eyes teemed with tears. “You can’t wait any longer, Daddy,” she sobbed. “You have to go in now.”

  “Aww, don’t cry, honey,” Cyrus said. “I’ll go in.”

  “I can make you an appointment if you want,” Coy offered.

  Cyrus shook his head. “That’d be too embarrassin,’” he said. “I’ll make it.”

  “Tomorrow?” Coy asked.

  “Yes, honey,” Cyrus promised with a strong nod, “I’ll call tomorrow.”

  ***

  When Diego came around the corner, Coby knew that someone was about to get a huge piece of his mind. He came to a halt two stations down. “You think this is a democracy?” he shouted.

  The line cook looked up, shocked.

  “You think my seasoning is off?” Diego screamed as he slammed a dish down before him. “You think you know better than I do? You think you have the right to adjust my seasoning to your own taste?” His face was bright red, and he looked as if he might have a stroke.

  The guy’s eyes widened to discs. “No, Chef!” he responded. If he didn’t watch it, he would pee his pants.

  “That’s good then,” Diego said. “I thought we were gonna have a problem. Carry on.”

  “Yes, Chef!” the line cook said. He exhaled as Diego walked past.

  Diego stepped Coby’s way. “I like that you’re fast, but not sloppy,” he complimented, “and you have good work ethic. You’re doing a good job.”

  “Thanks,” Coby responded.

  “You like it here?” he asked.

  Coby nodded. “Yes, Chef,” she responded with a smile, “more than I thought I would.”

  “Are you ready to try something new?” he asked, “or are you happy where you are?” He held her gaze. “Either way is okay by me,” he added. “You need to decide for yourself.”

  “I’m happy where I am for now,” Coby responded. “You’d be surprised how much you can learn by listening to others.”

  “No, amiga,” Diego said, “I wouldn’t.”

  “Can I ask you something?” Coby inquired.

  “Sure,” Diego answered. “What do you want to know?”

  “I was just wondering why we don’t have more low-fat or broiled offerings,” Coby said, “that’s all.”

  “Because too much would go to waste,” Diego answered. “That’s not what people want to eat.”

  Coby’s shoulders slumped. “Oh,” she responded.

  “If you want,” Diego offered with a knowing smile, “I could teach you to prepare a few dishes that your girl might like.”

  “Yes, Chef,” she answered. “I’d like that a lot.” Her eyes widened. “You think we have enough time to fix something simple for her to have tonight?” she asked.

  “Sí,” Diego responded with a nod, “something simple, and only one serving of it. If she likes it, you can prepare something for her for tomorrow.”

  “Cool,” Coby said with a widening smile.

  Diego lifted a binder from an upper shelf. “Here,” he said as he flipped to a particular section. “You look through these and pick something out.” He pointed to a box in the upper right corner of the first page. “Make sure your prep time is less than an hour.”

  “Would the one you just pointed to be okay?” Coby asked. She hadn’t read much for a very long time and didn’t trust her comprehension to be accurate. Reading had always been an extremely taxing, slow, and frustrating process.

  Diego studied her as he fingered through the recipe, line by line. “Sí, amiga,” he said quietly, “this one should be fine.” He reached for a different binder and placed it on the counter. “Here, take this one home with you this evening. You can look through the pictures and pick out something for tomorrow.” He pointed. “Your prep time is right here, but it won’t matter as much. If you get in early, you’ll be fine.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Coby responded, “I will!”

  ***

  Coby bubbled greetings to everyone she passed on the way to her room. It would’ve been impossible to cork the lightness in her mood had she tried. Hopefully, the dude with the ponytail would remember to remove Coy’s entree from the warmer just before she stepped up to the glass. She’d reminded him just before she left, and Diego had promised to do the same just before five. Her meal represented Coby’s first attempt at a brand new endeavor, a new undertaking that she might actually enjoy. Never before had she been the slightest bit interested in preparing food from scratch. For her, meals had consisted of a TV dinner, pizza, fast food, or a bologna sandwich with mustard. It had been the same for her mom and one of the few things that they had in common. She’d considered hanging around to watch Coy’s reaction, but by the end of her shift had decided not to. It didn’t matter that she knew where the new entree had come from, only that the salad bar wouldn’t be her only choice.

  Coby stripped out of her work clothes, exhaling a satisfied sigh. The job wasn’t so bad. The pay was good. She’d found things to do in the evening, most of which she could get to without going outside. And then there was Coy—seeing her; catching her scent in the hallway, and cooking food that she might like. This Antarctica thing was turning out much better than she’d expected. She tugged up her black jeans, pulled on her white crew-neck tee, and slipped into her pair of high-top sneakers. When Diego got off, they’d play basketball, but beforehand, she would head down to the music room. She whistled her way down the stairs, tugged the door open, and allowed it to close soundlessly. Lost in the low tones of the acoustic guitar and a sweet melody of her southern songbird, she reopened it, ever so slightly. The old love song had never sounded so good and she
opened the door a bit wider.

  Coy stopped strumming.

  Coby swallowed as their gazes locked.

  “Come on in,” Coy invited softly, “you know you want to.”

  Coby sucked in a long breath, let it go, and joined her.

  “Do you play an instrument?” Coy asked with the raise of an eyebrow.

  Coby nodded. “Yeah,” she answered, walking over to pick up the remaining acoustic guitar.

  “You know the song?” Coy followed up.

  “Yeah,” Coby responded, “I know it.” She tuned the sixth string and then moved to tune the fifth and so on. When the first and final was done, she looked to Coy and began to strum.

  “This is just what I needed,” Coy declared, “a bit of fun.”

  Coby glanced to her fret board as her fingers synced with those of her beautiful songbird. Her eyes met Coy’s as she joined in to sing about kissing, beating hearts, and making love. She gulped a breath when Coy rested her guitar on its stand and moved toward her. When she leaned in to kiss her, her pulse raced, her blood swooshed behind her eardrums, and she felt an overwhelming urge to run.

  Coy settled back with a tilt of her head. “What’s wrong?” she asked gently.

  “I can’t,” Coby muttered. She set her guitar back on its stand and stood to go.

  Coy’s eyes teemed with tears. “I’m sorry,” she choked, “I didn’t mean to be so forward. I just feel so scared and alone right now.”

  Coby swallowed hard, sitting back down. “You don’t want me for much more than a shoulder to cry on,” she said quietly, “but that I’m good for.” She pulled her close and kissed her temple. “Tell me,” she encouraged, “what’s wrong?”

  Coy’s lower lip trembled as she spoke. “It’s my daddy,” she said, “he’s sick.” She shook her head and looked off into the corner. “He’s sick,” she repeated, “really sick, and I can’t get him to see his doctor.” She swallowed hard and clenched her jaw. “He says he will,” she added, “but it’s only to appease me. I can tell by the way he says it that he won’t.” She clamped her palm over her mouth, trying to hold back a wave of emotion. “I can’t do anything for him from this God forsaken bottom of the world,” she cried. “I’m helpless, forced to watch via FaceTime, as my greatest fear unfolds.” She looked into Coby’s eyes, steady and strong. “And I’m so afraid,” she whimpered, “that whether he goes in or not, he’s gonna die before I get back home.”