by K A Moll
Willow’s eyes widened, looking at her as if she’d just killed her grandmother’s hamster in a mouse trap. “He’s not riding in the trunk,” she said firmly.
“No, of course not,” Keegan answered, considering how she might react to a suggestion that she call them (Willow and the cat) a cab. “I’ll go with whatever you suggest.”
“It’s legal for him to ride without a carrier as long as he’s restrained—”
“So, you want to hold him on your lap?” Keegan clarified, concerned that if he got loose inside the car he could cause an accident.
“I think he’ll be okay,” Willow responded. “He rode on my lap when I brought him home as a kitten and did fine.” She took Ripple out and held him tightly against her breast. “We should toss this in the trunk,” she added, handing Keegan the empty carrier.
“Definitely,” Keegan answered, resolving to not allow her face to react until she was out of Willow’s direct line of sight. It shouldn’t have surprised her that she had every intention of allowing the cat free access to her condo, but nevertheless it did. Her adrenaline surged, watching Ripple try his best to wiggle out of her arms as she started her engine. “And, you’re sure you’re okay holding him?”
Willow nodded. “The roar of the engine startled him. He’ll settle in a minute.”
I hope so. Keegan thought, nodding. She signaled, merged into traffic, changed lanes, and stopped at the light. From here on out, you take the BMW. It was a boring car, but at least it had a backseat. If the garage followed through on their promise, it’d be ready to be picked up tomorrow morning. Her muscles relaxed, seeing her building in the distance. “And, we’re almost there,” she announced, nodding toward the forty-five-story building that was surrounded by fancy restaurants and designer shops.
“You’re in the heart of the Silk-Stocking District,” Willow commented, her voice fading away as she spoke. The Upper East Side was home to some of the priciest real estate in New York City and also the wealthiest families.
“I just have a three-bedroom condo.”
“In the Silk-Stocking District,” Willow repeated, a thin smile gracing her mouth. “You’ve done well for yourself, Keegs. I’m really proud of you.”
In the span of two decades, financially, Keegan had gone from having next to nothing to being well off—and she’d done it while paying off one and a half million dollars in student loans. Doing surgeries around the clock will do that for you. She caught a break at the light, rolled down the ramp, and pulled into her reserved spot. “And, we’re here,” she announced, feeling the distance between their two worlds acutely. As she turned off the engine, she glared at Ripple. “You can stop anytime now,” she said with an edge to her voice.
“I’m sorry he was so noisy,” Willow responded quietly.
“At least he didn’t get loose,” Keegan answered, determined to not be too negative. “Do you think we should try to put him back in his carrier?”
“I think he’d go crazy if we tried to do it here.”
“Then, I suggest we make a run for the elevator,” she said, crossing the checkerboard floor as quickly as they dared with the unhappy cat. When Mrs. Schmidt stepped in with her nippy Chihuahua, chaos erupted, a cacophony of barking, snarling, hissing, and yelling reverberating throughout the building.
“Watch it.”
“Hold him.”
“Oh shit, you’re bleeding.” Keegan grabbed the cat, stuffing him—swiftly and gently—into his carrier. Then, she reached into her pocket, pulling surgical gloves out, and snapping them in place. “You’re okay,” she soothed, seeing Willow’s eyes widen. “It looks worse than it is.” Damn cat should be declawed, she thought, applying pressure to her inner forearm.
Willow moved to see Ripple in his carrier.
“He’s fine. Don’t worry about him.”
“I was just checking.”
“What can I do?” Mrs. Schmidt asked, holding her hateful little canine in one hand, and interfering with the other. “I need to do something.”
“A clean piece of cloth,” Keegan responded, “do you have one?”
“I have a clean handkerchief,” she answered, reaching into her purse.
“That’ll work,” Keegan said, placing it over the laceration. “Thanks.” The make-shift bandage was blood-soaked by the time she got Willow into her bathroom. “A couple of butterfly stitches should fix you right up,” she said, cleansing the wound, and reaching into her bag.
Willow bit her lower lip, watching intently.
Keegan kissed her forehead. “The worst is over,” she said softly. “I promise this won’t be too bad.” She lined up the edges of the laceration and pushed them together. “And, there you go,” she said, applying the last butterfly stitch. “You’re good as new.”
Willow smiled thinly. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”
Keegan kissed her forehead and lips. “You’re no trouble,” she murmured, kissing her again.
“Oh, I think I am,” Willow answered, looking over to check on Ripple.
“Un-fucking-believable!” Keegan said, staring. “You’ll never guess what we forgot.”
“His cat box and litter.”
“His cat box and litter,” Keegan echoed, her head shaking slowly. “Sit tight,” she sighed. “There’s a drug store on the corner. I’ll run down and get what we need.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
An elegant, pristine, living space, Keegan’s condo was the home of a surgeon. The walls were adorned with textured white wallpaper. The floors were hardwood, a beautiful, rich, golden color. The kitchen and bathroom had glossy ceramic tile. In the living room, the largest flat screen TV that Willow had ever seen hung boldly on the wall. In the bedroom was a king-sized bed and candles. Off of the kitchen was a butler’s pantry larger than Willow’s bedroom. There were no knickknacks or pictures, no grocery list on the counter, no newspaper or crossword on the coffee table. The only personal items, out and visible—with the exception of the candles which Willow knew were for her—were medical texts and journals. Willow’s heart ached thinking that the woman she’d loved for so long had lived her life without taking time to smell the roses. Keegan spent her time at home, not relaxing, but preparing for work. And, in that moment, as she stood staring at walls of medical textbooks and journals, she vowed to bring flowers into her world.
“They didn’t have one like the one you have at home,” Keegan greeted, coming through the door, “so I got one that’s a little different. I hope it’ll work.”
“It’ll be fine,” Willow answered, noticing that the only difference was that hers had a rim designed to keep litter in the box. If the current arrangement continued, she’d need to buy another just like it for Keegan’s condo, but for a night now and then, the one she’d purchased would be fine. She went to her, putting her arms around her neck. “Thanks for going to get it,” she said, kissing her.
Keegan smiled, slipping her arms around her waist. “You’re welcome.”
“And, thanks for fixing up my arm,” Willow continued, kissing her again.
“No thanks required,” Keegan answered softly.
“And, thanks for setting out candles,” Willow murmured, molding to the contours of her body, and kissing her again. “I love how you take care of me.”
“I love how we take care of each other,” Keegan responded, gently rocking her back and forth. Her smile broadened. “So, you noticed the candles, huh?”
“I did,” Willow answered, wiggling her eyebrows. “Bodes well for tonight.”
“It does,” Keegan responded, her slow kiss electrifying the air around them. And with a breath, she separated their bodies. “So, you looked around while I was gone?”
“I did,” Willow answered with a smile. “Your place is beautiful.”
“Did you check out the view?”
“Not yet, but I was about to.”
Keegan stepped over, opening a pair of pearly white drapes to reveal a gigantic window.
&
nbsp; Peering down, Willow saw the streets of Manhattan; cars galore, designer shops, fancy restaurants, brownstones, and high-rises. “It’s really something,” she said, her smile and tone lacking in enthusiasm. “Nicole would love it.” With so much in common, it was no wonder that she and Keegan got along so well.
“I know it’s not the kind of place you’d choose to live,” Keegan said quietly, “but I promise, one day we’ll live in a place you love.”
“I love you,” Willow responded. “And, I’ll love being wherever you are.” At the sound of a series of meows, she nodded toward the bathroom. “Probably should get him out and settled if we want time to enjoy those candles.”
“Yes, we should,” Keegan responded, setting the cat box in her bathroom, and pouring litter halfway up.
“So, if there are places that you don’t want him,” Willow warned, “now’s the time to shut the doors.”
“Just let him out.”
“Okay, here we go,” Willow responded, twisting the handle that released Ripple from his confinement. “He did okay with Phyllis so hopefully he’ll do fine here.”
“And off he goes,” Keegan announced, watching the feline slink from his carrier, and disappear into her living room.
“We should keep an eye on him for a while,” Willow suggested, her eyes narrowing with an idea. “Do you have any old pictures of you and your family? We could look at them for a while.”
“I do,” Keegan answered, a slow smile building. “In the closet. I’ll be right back.” Several minutes passed with sounds of rummaging in the background before she called out, “Found ‘em.” When she returned, she presented Willow with two hefty leather-bound albums, setting both on her lap.
Willow set one to the side, opening the other. “Awww,” she said softly. “Would you look at that thick head of curly hair.” She touched the picture with her fingertip. “And, that sweet smile, wider than the world.” She tilted her head, cooing at the next several photographs. “Awww, and there’s that adorable dimple,” she continued, turning to kiss Keegan’s lips. “Such a cutie.”
“I was five in this one,” Keegan said, pointing. “It was the first day of Sunday School, memorable because it was the last time I wore a dress. My mom grew weary of our battles after that.” She took a breath, pointing to the middle-aged man, towering above her in the picture. “That’s my grandpa,” she said quietly, “the one person in my family who got me, accepted me for who I was.”
“You have his eyes,” Willow responded softly.
“And, his dimple,” Keegan added with a smile. “He was a shrimper with a sixth-grade education, the wisest man I’ve ever known.”
Willow stroked her hair, kissing her temple. “I wish I’d had the chance to know him.”
“He’d have loved you,” Keegan answered softly. “And, there’s my dad,” she went on, “I’m sure you recognize him.”
Willow’s lip curled slightly. “I do.”
“And, there’s my mom,” Keegan added, pointing to the woman sitting on the swing beside her father.
“She was a pretty lady.”
“Still is,” Keegan said, flipping through pages. “Here they are in a recent picture.”
“Your dad’s really thin,” Willow said quietly, deciding that it was time to let go of at least a portion of the anger she harbored against him.
Keegan swallowed. “Yeah, he is.” She took a breath and let it go. “He’s been sick for a couple of years. Poor prognosis.”
Willow rested her head on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“But, he’s a fighter,” Keegan added, turning the page to a lighter topic, “so I don’t want to count him out.”
“Awww, the shrimp boats,” Willow cooed, enjoying the next series of pictures.
Keegan nodded, smiling. “Some small towns are filled with restaurants and unique shops. But not my hometown, mine is a fishing town, a town of harbors, seafood, and boats.”
“It’s beautiful. I wish I could’ve seen more of the area when I was there as a kid.”
“Maybe one day soon you’ll get another chance. I need to go down to sort out a medication issue for my dad. Maybe you’d like to tag along.”
“I wish I could, but I don’t think I have time. If I don’t keep my nose to the pavement, I’m never gonna find a job.”
“So, we’ll fly down over a weekend,” Keegan proposed, “a quick trip down and a quick trip back. Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“Over a weekend,” Willow said pensively. Roses, she’s trying to smell the roses. “I’d love to,” she responded, enjoying the twinkle in Keegan’s eyes.
“Get down,” Keegan yelled, ejecting from the sofa as if it were a launch pad.
Ripple, being a smart cat, jumped from the counter to the floor, disappearing under the china cabinet.
“Cats are tree-climbing hunters by nature. He’s surveying his new realm.”
“I don’t care what he’s surveying, he’s not going to do it on the counter.”
“I let him get by with it at home.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. It’s unsanitary.”
“I’ll stop,” Willow said, looking away, worried that Ripple might be more than Keegan wanted to deal with. As if sensing what was going through her mind, Keegan sat down beside her.
“I didn’t grow up having pets,” Keegan said quietly, “and, to be quite honest, if it were just me, I wouldn’t have one. But it’s not just me. It’s us now. And, you have a cat, a cat that you love dearly.” She brushed back a lock of her hair, peering into her eyes. “So, now I have a cat, a cat who I will expect to learn some basic household rules.” When her phone rang, she retrieved it from the inside pocket of her jacket. “I knew it was too good to be true. Sooner or later, I was bound to get a call from the hospital. Welcome to the life of a doctor.”
“It’s okay,” Willow responded, “take your call.”
“Dr. Wade,” Keegan answered, frowning as she listened. “I’m not surprised. No way he wasn’t going to re-lawyer up.” She listened again, her head shaking slowly. “Like I told you before, you know as well as I do that there are no grounds of negligence on this one…Because I follow protocol, Paul, I fucking followed protocol to the letter.” When she hung up, Willow touched her arm.
“The patient’s not gonna drop the lawsuit?”
“No, and I didn’t really expect that he would. Why should he? The hospital’s going to settle with no regard for the lack of evidence.”
“I assume because it’s less expensive.”
“You got it. A lawsuit like this one drags on for months.”
“But you’re okay, right? Even if the hospital settles, nothing bad happens to you?”
“No, nothing bad happens,” Keegan responded. “I carry plenty of insurance.” She needed a drink, poured one, and in one gulp, emptied her glass. “I just wish I could get to the point where I realized that when I was asleep.”
“You will, sweetie. Just give it time.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The man in the blue tailored suit went out of his way to be helpful from the moment she walked through the front door—Dr. Wade this and Dr. Wade that—Could I get you a cup of coffee, Dr. Wade? We have bagels, would you like one? Have you checked out our CD rates? He was helpful, nauseatingly helpful, especially since he was the one—the one who’d upset Willow—the stupid one. “And, here’s your total,” he bubbled, presenting her with a printout.
Not bad for six years of college, Keegan thought, opening her checkbook, and recording the total in her register. “Make it out to the bank?”
“That would be wonderful,” the loan officer answered. “I have a stamp if that would be helpful.”
“I’ve got it, thanks,” Keegan responded, writing a check for fifty-four-thousand-two-hundred-and sixty dollars—a drop in the bucket to become a social worker compared to the cost of becoming a trauma surgeon. “Here you go,” she said, tearing the blue piece of paper out of her book.
As
the man printed her receipt, she stood. “Have a good day,” she said, thinking that the small amount of money she had invested in this institution would be reinvested in another, when her CD came due. She noticed the proximity of the bus stop to the door as she walked out. It was close, closer than she’d been able to park, but nevertheless it troubled her that with no license Willow had to ride the bus to conduct her business. She didn’t mind taking her where she needed to go, but much of the time her surgical responsibilities prevented her from doing so. From seeing post-operative patients in the early morning hours, to doing surgeries through the day, to seeing critical patients in the ICU, her days were full. She smiled, thinking about how she’d surprise her with the good news when she got home. As she started her engine, she reflected on how things were going—all things considered, pretty well. Staying at Willow’s place every third night had helped if for no other reason than staying in one place for consecutive days resulted in fewer trips across town with Ripple. She sighed, dropping from four miles per hour to two. There were bad traffic days in Manhattan, most of them actually, and then there were days that were nothing but gridlock. Those were the worst-of-the-worst, days when pedestrians passed cars, streets became parking lots, horns blasted, and tempers flared. Today was a gridlock day—and she had a stop to make at the travel agency before returning to the hospital. With two surgeries scheduled that afternoon, she hoped it would be a quick one.
“Well, Dr. Wade,” the travel agent greeted, “what a surprise. It’s good to see you again.” She smiled, motioning for her to sit down. “I trust you had a nice vacation?”
“I did, thank you,” Keegan answered, opening her calendar, explaining that she was interested in booking a weekend trip to Alabama, and providing a rundown of the details.
“We should be able to handle that without any problem,” the woman responded. “How about I make some calls this afternoon and get back to you?”
“I’ll be in surgery the rest of the day,” Keegan answered, “so an email would be better.”
“As you wish,” the woman said, checking her rolodex to be sure that she still had her email address. “I’ve got it, so we’re all set.”