Cynda and the City Doctor: 50 Loving States, Missouri (QUARANTALES Book 1)

by Theodora Taylor

  I blink the tears away as best I can since it’s not a good idea at all to touch my face.

  It works to a point. And by the time my vision clears, Rhys is on the phone with the hospital, letting them know we’re on the way with a possible COVID patient and that they should have the necessary equipment ready to go.

  I know it’s unsafe, but I press my foot into the gas pedal, pushing it even faster.

  We’ve got to get there on time. We have to. I can’t lose Mavis like I lost my father.

  Chapter Eleven

  Three Years Ago

  “I want to come home with you. I want to meet your father and be made to feel massively uncomfortable because of our opposite skin color by your townspeople. I want to be with you in Guadalajara this weekend. That’s what I should have told you yesterday morning.”

  I read and re-read the message at least ten times to see if I was missing something. But no, Rhys seemed dead serious about wanting to come home with me to Guadalajara even after all my warnings.

  “But why tho?” I started to type back.

  Another text came through before I could hit send. “I miss you.”

  He missed me. My heart squeezed. And my thumbs hovered above the keyboard as I tried to decide…

  Send the irreverent “But why though” text anyway?

  Or erase that text and replace it with the truth? I miss you too.

  “Haven’t seen you smile like that since you got to town, pumpkin.”

  I didn’t realize I was smiling until my father said that.

  I looked up from the little church alcove where I’d hidden away with my phone to find Dad standing above me. Tall and still super handsome despite his paunch and grey beard. He had kind brown eyes that I wish I’d inherited—kind eyes help in the medical professions. But I’d been a composite of my mother’s side of the family. I’d gotten my grandma’s beauty, my mother’s winning smile, and my post office worker grandfather’s shrewd gaze.

  No kind eyes for me.

  But I frowned upon further observation of my father that night. He was sweating profusely and seemed a little out of breath.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Yes, yes,” Dad answered, waving me off. “Just danced too much with my bride. It was smart of you to find somewhere dark and cool to take a break. You must be my daughter. I was thinking the same thing.”

  I laughed and scooted over.

  Dad had a way of making a request and a compliment at the same time. It always made people, including me happy, verging on eager to do anything he asked.

  Rachel doesn’t deserve him. I thought that to myself as he sat down beside me and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the sheen of sweat from his forehead.

  Dad had seemed jovial and happy to be getting remarried again for a second time. And I was trying to be happy for him. I know he was from a different generation, and he was probably lonely without my mom for those months before he met Rachel. But I didn’t love his wife.

  Not because she was Thai. Who cared about that when I’m dating a White guy? And it wasn’t because she was almost twenty years younger than him with two kids either. In fact, I liked my stepsiblings. They were funny and a little bit weird. Their opposite dynamic reminded me of my two best friends, Billie the nerd, and Gina the knockout.

  What I didn’t like was how Rachel was constantly snapping at them. Like her kids just walking around and breathing was some kind of burden. I also didn’t like how she ignored them while clinging to my dad like a second skin. Or how she acted resentful when he gave the twins any kind of attention.

  Yes, it was their completely unnecessary second wedding. And maybe this was her way of displaying love. But she almost seemed like a jealous older sibling whenever dad tried to engage A and E in conversation. As if being interested in them was an insult to her.

  I mean, I kind of got it. My dad was one of those doctors who made you feel like you were the only patient he had in the world when you were in his office. Who wouldn’t want that kind of attention 24/7?

  But her behavior had been hard to take since I arrived back in Guadalajara. And even more so as she became drunker and drunker at the reception after their vow renewal. I’d found myself yet again wondering how Dad could have married her. She was absolutely nothing like the woman he claimed to adore. I couldn’t stand it.

  And that was part of the reason I’d ended up here in the alcove debating whether or not to send Rhys an “I miss you too” text.

  But I put the phone aside when I noticed my dad was still sweating and after taking a seat. And breathing a little too heavily.

  That was the first thing I would regret when remembering that night later on. Seeing the signs and not doing anything about them other than asking again, “You alright, Dad?”

  “I’m fine. That Rachel sure can cut a rug though. If I hadn’t come to find you, she would have had me dancing all night. Just give me a minute or two to get myself right.”

  That was my second regret. Doctors are terrible at diagnosing themselves. Everybody knows that. They either think their symptoms are fatal or nothing at all. No in-between.

  But that night, I’d been so caught up in my should I or shouldn’t I loop, I’d let him distract me away from my worry when he asked, “You texting that guy you’ve been seeing for serious?”

  My eyes widened at his guess.

  And Dad answered my unspoken question with, “Usually your thumbs fly when you’re talking to your girlfriends. Never seen anybody else text so fast. Before she died, I told your mother, you should switch from piano to texting for your Beauty Queen of America talent.”

  “I probably would have won if I had,” I agreed with a laugh.

  “Oh, you won. Those judges just didn’t know it. But I do. Bet.”

  He patted his heart. The one neither of us knew at that moment was about to give out on him.

  I shook my head with a little laugh. My dad got even sweeter than usual when he was drunk. And way more St. Louis. Usually, he sounded like Billy Dee Williams, sophisticated and smooth with perfect enunciation on top. But when he had a few too many, he sounded exactly like where he was from. Kinloch, Missouri.

  “We should get you home,” I told him.

  “Nah, I promised Rachel one more dance.”

  Third regret. I should have insisted on him leaving with me. But instead, I rolled my eyes and answered, “And if Rachel wants it, you should do it, right? Dance and drink too much even if it’s bad for your health.”

  I must have had a few too many too. I couldn’t keep my true feelings from tumbling out.

  “You don’t like Rachel much, do you?” Dad easily guessed.

  “She could treat her kids better,” I answered, trying to keep my tone as judicious as mom’s whenever she had something negative to say. “You know, like they’re her children and not her competition.”

  “She just likes attention is all,” Dad said with a wry chuckle. “And as for the twins, they’ve got me now. They’re bright kids, but they’re lacking stability and love. And I’m just glad it’s not too late to give it to them. Rachel is fun, but I wouldn’t have married her if not for them. I tell you it feels like God let me live after your mama died so that I could be the father they deserve.”

  So that was why he’d married her….

  My many reservations about Dad’s new set up melted away in that moment. I should have known that it wasn’t just Rachel he’d fallen in love with but her wonderful kids. Of course, they were the reason he put up with his fun, but horrible mother of a wife.

  “This is why you’re my hero and everybody else’s, too,” I told him.

  Dad waved me off. “I ain’t nobody special. Now tell me about this man you texting slow.”

  “It’s…I don’t know. I mean, maybe it’s something. But I don’t know what.”

  My father raised his eyebrows. “You bringing Mr. I Don’t Know home to meet me? You can sleep in your old room and we can put him in the back hous
e.”

  Dad was making the same request as Rhys. And something rippled in my stomach at the thought of bringing The Fine Prince home to meet my father. Fear? Excitement? I couldn’t figure out which.

  “He’s White by the way,” I let my father know.

  Dad’s lips thinned, but then he took my hand in his. “Used to be unimaginable to bring a boy outside your race home to meet your daddy. But the world’s changing. Even Missouri. Bring him home. Let me meet him, and I’ll tell you if he’s worth you knowing for sure.”

  “Alright, Dad, deal,” I agreed with a soft smile. I picked back up the phone with my free hand. “I’ll text him right now and see if he can—”

  I never finished that sentence. I cut off when my father gripped my hand tight. Too tight.

  “Daddy, what’s wrong?” I asked.

  Then I screamed when he suddenly pitched forward.

  And that was my last regret. Screaming instead of immediately jumping into action. Maybe if I’d called 9-1-1 and started chest compressions just a few seconds earlier things would have gone differently.

  Maybe if I’d been looking at him instead of at my phone, I would have registered that my dad really wasn’t alright.

  But that wasn’t what happened.

  I didn’t do anything I should have done from the start of our conversation. And less than an hour later, he was dead on arrival, the victim of a massive coronary attack.

  He never got to meet Mr. I Don’t Know.

  And the next morning I woke up to a text from the guy we’d been talking about when Dad died. “Hello, Cynda. Found your glass slipper—also known as a Dansko. You should come straight here when you return on Monday and The Fine Prince will put it directly on your foot.”

  He was just asking for me to make fun of him for referring to himself in the third person and by his 90s-licious nickname.

  But all I felt was rage. And grief. And….and….

  “I think you’re scared. Scared of getting close. Scared of intimacy.”

  Forget Rhys and English-accented analysis. He didn’t get it. Didn’t understand me. He still had two parents. And a crazy-ass sister, and a brother, too. And though he hadn’t talked much about his family, English boarding school didn’t exactly scream “I grew up not rich.”

  He didn’t get it. Didn’t understand what it was like to have someone you loved ripped away, just like that. To be all alone.

  Plus, the twins needed me. Just like they’d needed Dad. And Rhys only liked me for the same reason all guys liked me. Because I was a pretty bitch who could never be caught. What was that one Taylor Swift line about being a nightmare disguised as daydream?

  Well, I guessed it was time to teach him that life lesson.

  Wiping away tears, I texted him back, “Not feeling St. Louis anymore. Have decided to stay here. Maybe make up with Ingrid. Best of luck.”

  Then I blocked his number so that I wouldn’t have to answer any follow-up questions.

  Chapter Twelve

  A break-up text. The subject of much lore and countless Medium articles.

  Not the nicest thing to do, I’ll admit. But my father was gone and the twins needed me. Under the circumstances, ghosting out had been all I could manage.

  However, against all odds Rhys had ended up here in Guadalajara. Sleeping separate from me in the back house, just like my churchgoing father had wanted. He was also helping me make the twins’ dreams come true via his rent check.

  And now he’s in the back seat of my Honda, holding Mavis up to keep the fluid in her chest at the bottom of her lungs and her airway as free as possible while she struggled to breathe.

  We screech to a stop in front of the hospital less than forty-five minutes, door-to-door. Record time. But was it good enough? Mavis lost consciousness again on the drive over. And though she still had a pulse, it was extremely weak.

  I stand by helplessly as a team of orderlies dressed in face shields and full protective gear pull Mavis on to a gurney. Rhys gives the admitting nurse further instructions, but it sounds like they’ve got oxygen waiting in a sealed off room. Also, the hospital’s one ventilator is on standby. Thank goodness.

  But then that’s it. We can’t go any further on Mavis’s journey. We’ve been too exposed to safely enter the hospital with her.

  There’s nothing left to do but leave and wait to see if she makes it.

  I drive us home in a daze. The memory of waiting for news of my father sits heavy in my head as I park in back and get out of the car.

  “Cynda, you okay?”

  I look up to see A and E, the twins I vowed to love and raise in my father’s absence, standing on the porch. They both look worried.

  “I’m fine,” I assure them, putting more strength into my voice than I actually feel.

  Rhys chimes in, “Unfortunately, we’ve been exposed to a patient presenting with signs of COVID. We’ll both need to quarantine for a few days. More if the patient’s test comes back positive.”

  He’s right, I realize. But…where will I stay if I can’t be in the house with the twins?

  A answers my unspoken question for me. “So she’s staying with you until you know whether you got the Rona or not?”

  “Yes, she is,” Rhys answers. His voice is flat and terse. “But she’ll be available to you as always. By mobile or text. We both will. E, you should have my number as well…”

  E shoots me a significant look before pulling out her phone. I can almost hear her silently screaming, “OMG, Cyn, did you really score a quaranboo, just like I said?”

  I totally didn’t. But it probably looks that way when Rhys takes me by the elbow and leads me to his door.

  I haven’t been in the back house since I spruced it up in hopes of securing a tenant.

  It looks much the same. One huge room, featuring a steel bed, a small kitchen, and a slightly larger living area. The living room was a little overstuffed with a couch and my old piano. But other than that, it was neat and ready for presentation. The only difference I can see is a wicker laundry basket sitting near the dresser drawer set. Rhys must have ordered online.

  I stand in the middle of it all, looking around. Not knowing what to do.

  “Let’s get you into the shower,” Rhys says, leading me into the tiny bathroom off the back of the small unit.

  He’s right. I should shower. We both should. But I can’t bring myself to move.

  Mavis…how long had she been laying out there before we got to her farm? What would have happened if we hadn’t shown up? The answer comes back, quick and brutal. She would have died. She would have died all alone.

  Hands unzip my hoodie and lift my tank top over my head. Not mine. Rhys’s. Rhys is undressing me like a patient who can’t tend to herself.

  Next, come my yoga pants. And then my bra and panties.

  Rhys is a doctor, but he could have been a nurse I find out in those moments. He’s quick and efficient and doesn’t linger too long on my nakedness.

  But even after he turns on the shower, I can’t make myself let go of his hand.

  “I was alone when I got the news my father died,” I tell him. “The twin’s mom had passed out and the twins were too young to sit in a hospital with me…”

  I pause…then raise my eyes to meet his as I quietly admit, “I don’t want to be alone right now while we’re waiting to hear about Mavis.”

  Rhys looks at me, and I look back at him, knowing he has every right to tell me no.

  But in the end, he doesn’t say anything. He strips out of the Raines-Jewish t-shirt. First his free arm, then he transfers our hold to his left hand so that he can strip out of that side too. He pushes his pants down after that and he somehow manages to get those off too without letting go of me.

  And no, this isn’t like that. We’re not like that. But I have to put a lot of effort into not looking down.

  The shower is small though, and we have no choice but to bump into each other as we close ourselves up inside.

&nbs
p; His cock is a situation we both pretend not to notice between us as we scrub our bodies and hair with the body wash and shampoo Rhys has in his shower.

  He must have brought all of his shower stuff in Europe. Everything on the bottles is written in French, and I know they don’t sell anything like that at Guadalajara general.

  “All done?” he asks after I rinse the French shampoo out of my hair.

  Good thing I cut it. Impromptu wash days weren’t a thing I could do easily when my hair was chemically straightened.

  I mean to answer yes, I’m all done. But instead, I ask, “Why did I make pancakes? I should have gone straight there. She wasn’t answering the phone. And I knew in my gut something was wrong.”

  Rhys shakes his head at me, as the spray continues to run down both our bodies. “This virus is particularly cruel to the old. Even if we’d gotten to her earlier, there’s no guarantee she wouldn’t have ended up in the ICU.”

  “But if I hadn’t…”

  Rhys draws me into his arms. “Ssh, it’s not your fault. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  I don’t realize how much I need to feel his arms around me until I break down crying. Gut-wrenching sobs that feel like they’ve been waiting to come out of me for a long time.

  Rhys turns off the shower and holds me until the tears dry. Until I start to shiver with the realization that I’m cold.

  Until I say, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry for the way I ended things between us.”

  His arms loosen then tighten back around me. “Don’t.” The one word is a harsh command delivered on a single breath. “Don’t start apologizing now. Three years after when it would have mattered.”

  But I have to.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I should’ve done it in a better way. But I didn’t know how.”

  “In a better way?” He lets go of me. Steps back as far as he can in the small shower. “You shouldn’t have done it at all. You should have called me. Let me help you when your father died. But no, you had to be tough. Go it alone. Pretty but cruel Nurse America—”