Blue Ice Landing

by K A Moll

  “I’m sorry,” Coy said, “but something has come up that I’ll need to tend to.” She lifted her plate, carefully scooping her meal into the awaiting container.

  “It’s no problem,” Kiley responded. Her mouth turned downward, and her shoulders slumped.

  “I promise,” Coy added, “we’ll do this again soon.” She hated feeling like she needed to. With that, she tabbed the Styrofoam closed and stepped toward the door, pausing outside the entrance to determine where to go. Coby was in her work clothes, so it was more likely that she’d gone home as opposed to the greenhouse. As she climbed, she gave further consideration to the dilemma that had kept her awake into the wee hours of the night. Maybe she was thinking about this all wrong. Maybe ‘friends with benefits’ was an option. Her lips pressed together in a slight grimace as she weighed the pros and cons. No, that won’t work, she thought, because jealousy’s already a problem. But it’s not like you want to sleep around. Maybe it could be an option. She inhaled a calming breath before knocking on the door.

  ***

  Coby tipped back for a long, slow drink, as a strong gust of wind pelted another coating of ice on the outside of her window. Summer was winter. Winter was summer. This place was crazy as hell. She swigged a swallow as emotion whipped her thoughts from one side to the other. Never in her life had she battled jealousy the way she was now. It was as if she was always on the lookout, fearful that someone would move in on her territory, worried that someone would try to take what was hers. She tipped back to finish the smooth beverage and started another. At some level, she knew that she was irrational. If only she could get a handle on the intensity that Coy brought out in her. She swigged again as a knock sounded on her door. It was most likely Coy, but she couldn’t answer until she got a grip on herself.

  ***

  “Coby,” Coy called out, “if you’re in there, would you please come to the door?”

  “I’m on my way,” Coby responded as she walked over to turn the knob. “Hey,” she said almost inaudibly. She left the door open for Coy to follow. When she dropped on the sofa, Coy sat down beside her.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” Coy began. “I know you’re angry,” she continued, “and I know I must sound like a broken record, but you’ve got it all wrong.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Coby responded.

  “I think you do,” Coy said kindly.

  Coby swallowed hard, shook her head, and fell silent.

  Coy scooted close to her.

  When she laid her hand on Coby’s thigh, she flinched and moved over.

  Coy poked her tongue into her cheek, inhaled a deep breath, and let it go. “Got a couple forks?” she asked.

  “I might,” Coby responded. She met her gaze but didn’t move to locate them.

  “Well, go on then,” Coy said, “my supper’s not getting any warmer.” She smiled a slow smile. “I’ll share,” she added, “as long as you stay away from my artichokes.”

  “Well, everybody’s got to draw the line somewhere,” Coby responded in a tone, light and humorous. What was it about this woman that she could brighten the darkest storm cloud? She needed to back away, but couldn’t. She positioned her fork over the last one.

  “You better not, Coby Lee O’Brien,” Coy warned playfully, “You fork that artichoke, and you best be prepared to deal with a heaping load of consequences.”

  Coby grinned. “I’m glad you like ‘em,” she said with a smile. “The last one’s all yours.”

  “Where’d you learn to cook like this?” Coy asked. She moaned as she chewed the last morsel.

  “Diego,” Coby responded.

  “I don’t mean just this meal,” Coy corrected, “I mean in general.” She walked the empty container to the trash. It would’ve been impossible not to notice that it was overflowing with empty beer cans and bottles.

  “Still Diego,” Coby responded. “I couldn’t cook a solitary thing from scratch before I got to McMurdo.”

  “So the job mix-up was more of a blessing than a curse,” Coy commented.

  “More than you’ll ever know,” Coby responded.

  When their eyes locked, Coy once again reached to touch her.

  Coby jumped up, shifting from one foot to the other. “Can I get you a drink?” she offered.

  “No,” Coy responded, “but thank you.” Her brow furrowed, and she bit her lower lip. “I’ve never been much of a drinker myself,” she added, “too hard on the liver.” When Coby popped the tab, Coy pressed her lips tightly together and stood. “You know what,” she said, “I think I’ll just leave you to it.”

  Dead weight dropped to the pit of Coby’s stomach. “See you tomorrow?” she asked hesitantly.

  Coy met her gaze with a thin smile. “Of course you will,” she responded.

  ***

  “Hey, amiga,” Diego greeted.

  “Hey,” Coby responded. Her tone, bleak and dismal, left no doubt that something was wrong.

  Diego rested his knife and looked up. “I saw Coy take after you,” he said. “Did you two have a fight or something?”

  “No,” Coby responded, “but I know she’s disappointed.”

  “So you talked to her then?” Diego surmised.

  “Are you kidding?” Coby asked, “I may never get up enough nerve to have that conversation.” She shook her head slowly, looking downward. “It’s not right to keep leading her on, but I can’t seem to do anything else.” She took a breath, exhaled, and stepped up to look over his shoulder. “You’re julienning, right?”

  “Sí,” Diego said with a smile. “You’re a quick study, amiga.”

  “Only at this, I assure you,” Coby responded.

  Diego cut the last of his onions into long strips and started on the tall stack of celery to the left of his cutting board.

  “Perfect little matchsticks,” Coby commented with a forced smile.

  “Sí,” Diego responded, “that’s the goal.” He slivered off more and asked her if she’d chosen a recipe for tomorrow.

  Coby shook her head, saying, “No.”

  “We’ll do it together then,” Diego answered. “Flip through the pages of this cookbook for one that looks interesting.”

  “How about this one with mushrooms and carrots?” Coby asked. “Or this one with sweet potatoes and parsnips?” Her strategy was to cook with a variety of vegetables so that she could see which ones Coy liked best.

  “Good choices,” Diego responded. “Both will give you an opportunity to practice julienning.”

  Coby tied on an apron and collected a culinary knife from the drawer.

  “Make sure your cuts are super-thin,” Diego reminded as Coby set a mushroom, cap up, on her cutting board.

  Coby nodded and began to chop.

  Diego looked over. “Not so rough,” he cautioned. “You must handle a mushroom like you would a lady, with a good measure of gentleness.”

  Coby took a breath as she lightened her touch. “I’ll bet the carrots are a lot easier,” she commented.

  “Sí, but easy is not always the best,” Diego responded, “for the chef or for the taste buds.” He paused to catch her eye. “To excel, in the kitchen, or in life for that matter,” he continued, “you must stretch beyond easy and look for opportunities to step out of your comfort zone.”

  ***

  Coy opened her eyes, leaving a dream, so beautiful that she could’ve stayed. She checked the clock, pleased that she’d have another hour to sleep. She rolled over, flipped to her back, and rolled over again. Did Coby want her or didn’t she? The mixed signals were driving her crazy. She’d been flirting shamelessly since the very beginning—interest. But, she’d also been doing everything in her power to keep them at arms-length—lack thereof. And yet, she was jealous of virtually anyone and everything—interest. But, now she was drinking heavily—interest or lack thereof. That one could go either way. She tugged her blanket around her neck, wish
ing she still felt sleepy. She glanced at the clock, fifteen minutes later. If she got up now, she’d have time for a quick call to check on her daddy before her first patient. She peeled back the covers, padded to the bathroom, and dressed for the day.

  “I’ll be in my office,” Coy said. “I need to make a quick call to my parents.”

  “I hope everything’s okay,” the receptionist responded.

  “Me too,” Coy said. She shut her door, settled into her chair, and switched on her iPad. “Hey there, Mama,” she greeted. “How’s daddy?”

  “I think maybe a little better,” Marigold responded. “He isn’t wheezing like he was there for a bit.”

  Coy exhaled, audibly. “That’s good,” she said. “I’m afraid to ask if he has an appointment with Doc Stevens yet.”

  “He does,” Marigold answered with a smile and a sigh of relief. “It’s next week, the day after Christmas.”

  “Too bad he couldn’t get in sooner,” Coy said.

  “I think he’s better, so next week is probably okay,” Marigold responded.

  “I hope so,” Coy said. “Is he around?” she asked.

  Marigold nodded up and over. “He’s out for his walk,” she responded, “I told you he was better.”

  Coy took in a quiet breath. “It might be best if you walk with him until his appointment with Doc Stevens,” she suggested.

  “Okay,” Marigold said with a nod. Her response was drawn out allowing time to process her daughter’s concern.

  “It’s just a precaution,” Coy said, “nothing new to worry about.” They chatted about happenings at both places until Marigold inquired about her new friends. “Well, it’s about time for my first patient,” she said, “I’ll check-in later.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Okay, we’re all finished,” Coy said with a smile. She rolled back on her stool, adding, “Go ahead and get dressed. I’ll be back in a few minutes to discuss the results of your exam.”

  “Sounds good,” the patient responded.

  Kiley scurried ahead, nearly knocking her over, trying to hold the door open.

  Coy stepped out, frowning.

  Kiley skittered off, probably sensing that a discussion was forthcoming, but not having a clue with regard to what it might be about.

  For a moment, Coy paused to consider how the conversation might go. It was tricky because they would still need to work together comfortably afterward. She supposed that a kind, yet direct approach was her best option. She would explain to Kiley that her recent behavior toward her had all the hallmarks of a crush, and it made her uncomfortable. She checked her email, and then returned as promised.

  Kiley was outside the door when Coy stepped out. She had that gleam in her eye that made Coy want to run for cover.

  Coy’s eyes narrowed. “What?” she asked cautiously.

  “Thirty-nine-year-old female,” Kiley blurted out, “twenty-foot fall into a crevice after what looked like a seizure.” She moved about, bouncing from one foot to the other, unable to stay still. “Chopper’s on its way to pick us up,” she added. “I told Doc Harmon we could go.”

  Coy sucked in a breath. Possible traumatic brain injury. Her pulse raced. Possible blunt chest trauma. Her thoughts viciously circled the worst possible outcome. Possible pericardial tamponade. Her knees weakened and a piercing pain twisted through her lungs. She flashed back to the night of her wife’s death, the night that Fergie managed to prove the point she’d been making for years with her dying breath. She cringed as her words from the grave knocked the wind from her chest. “One hour,” Fergie would say, “that’s all you have following a traumatic injury to make a difference—one golden hour. Those who dare to practice medicine in that window need to be the best of the best. And you, my dear, are not that. I know because I had you in class.” Coy had always managed to keep on, to keep on in spite of her wife’s criticism, until that night. No one else seemed to judge her incompetent. She’d always been able to put Fergie’s words out of mind, knowing that they stemmed from her own deep-seated issues. Her wife was a person who needed to stand on someone else’s back. They would never have married, had Coy taken the time to get to know her better. With the exception of that critical error she made on the night of Fergie’s death, marrying her was the worst mistake of her life.

  Kiley’s eyebrows squished together. “Our last appointment canceled, remember?” she reminded.

  “Of course I remember,” Coy snapped, “but that has nothing to do with anything.” She poked her tongue into her cheek, fighting the urge to bite her nurse’s head off. “At issue here,” she continued with a glare, “is that you made a significant treatment decision without consultation.”

  Kiley shook her head with her mouth hanging open. “No, I didn’t,” she responded.

  “You most certainly did,” Coy shot back. “It’s not your place to decide which of us is best suited to handle an emergency situation.” With that, she sprinted down the hall to speak with Doc Harmon.

  ***

  Coy opened the door to the library. It was actually more of a reading room, but the fact that it was in her building made up for its limited selection. She paused to listen to a woman reading from A Scarlett Letter, making her way past the row of occupied over-stuffed chairs. Unable to concentrate on her book, she unwrapped her granola bar.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Kiley blurted out loudly as she came through the door.

  Coy laid her Kindle on the middle cushion of the worn leather sofa. “Did you need something?” she asked.

  “Just to say that I was sorry one more time,” Kiley responded, sitting on an adjacent chair.

  Coy took a soft breath. “I’m sorry as well,” she offered. “I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

  “Why were you?” Kiley asked.

  “Not tonight,” Coy responded.

  Kiley dropped her eyes. “Alright,” she mumbled, standing, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You know what,” Coy said with a soft sigh, “come back, we’ll talk now.” There was no reason to leave her worrying about what was coming. “To be honest,” she began, “I was already upset with you before you nearly had us out on that trauma.”

  Kiley tilted her head as she sat back down. “You were?” she asked. “About what?”

  “If you think for a moment,” Coy responded, “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” She shook her head. “It’s not like we haven’t talked about it a dozen times.”

  “When I pushed through to hold the door open for you?” Kiley asked.

  “Yes,” Coy responded with a nod. “And if you’re not doing something like that, you’re doing something else that makes me uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t mean to,” Kiley said.

  “I know you don’t,” Coy responded. She paused to meet her eye. “We’re not girlfriends, Kiley, and I need you to get a handle on what looks to me like a crush.”

  “I understand,” Kiley responded through teary eyes, “and I’ll try.”

  “That’s good then,” Coy said as she rested her hand on Kiley’s arm. “That’s all I can ask.” She smiled kindly. “And I’ll be as patient as you need me to be,” she added, “as long as I see progress.” She looked up when the door opened and closed, catching a glimpse of red hair, a carryout container, and fiery eyes. “Crap,” she blurted out, standing, “I need to go.”

  ***

  Coy closed her eyes for a moment, summoning strength from her peaceful surroundings, before heading off to find Coby. It was one of those days when she couldn’t deal with one more problem. She checked the greenhouse. A couple of women were picking flowers, but Coby was nowhere to be found. She checked the music room, not expecting to find her there because they tended to play guitar at a certain time. She peeked into the galley, nodded to Diego, and headed for the stairwell. She closed her eyes, inhaled a deep breath, and tapped her knuckles against the door. “Coby, open up,” she called out
. She knocked again, this time louder. “I know you’re in there,” she added. “Please open up so we can talk.” She placed her ear against the surface, listening. There were no sounds, but she had the sense that Coby was on the other side of the door. “I give up,” she sighed, “you let me know when you want to talk.”

  ***

  Coby lifted a brew from the slash in the cardboard carton, popped the tab, and took a long swallow. She had a problem, actually more than one. “Two days,” she muttered, “two fucking days and you’re blowing it again. You’re a sad piece of shit; that’s what you are.” Five years of sobriety before Antarctica and yet two days seemed like such an accomplishment. She slugged down another gulp. When Coy reached for Kiley, she’d nearly lost it on the spot. She’d always known that Kiley had a thing for Coy, but had never suspected that the feeling was mutual. She was sure that if she asked her, Coy would deny that it was. She guzzled until she felt a buzz. Had Coy not no-shown dinner, she never would have known about them. Maybe not knowing was better in situations where you couldn’t do anything about it. She swallowed hard and opened another. Golden liquid dribbled from the corners of her mouth as she finished it off in one gulp. Dear God, she’d almost walked in on them. It had been a good day until it wasn’t. She sucked down another—and another—and another—until her supply was all used up. The ceiling spun round—and round—and round—as she looked to the doorknob. “Gotta get up,” she slurred as if by some miracle it would reach down to help her. Finally, she pulled up, groaning, and dropped back down, clutching her abdomen. Her eyes watered as she reached into her shirt pocket for her cell. “Diego, I’m sick man,” she said. “Come up.”

  ***

  Coby heard Diego’s key turn the lock. It was pure luck that she’d thought to give him one.

  “Hey amiga,” he said gently as he came toward her.

  She was in a fetal position, laying diagonally across her bed, moaning. She turned toward him, clutching her abdomen and massaging her back. “Hurts real bad,” she mumbled. In the next moment, she clamped her palm over her mouth.