by Jody Kaye
I wrap my stethoscope around my neck. “Everything checks out fine. If you don’t have any more questions, the nurse will be back in a few minutes.”
The little girl sitting on the exam table shakes her head. She’s been swinging her knees back and forth since I tapped them with the triangular tipped rubber hammer. Annoyed, her father has been trying to silence the methodical banging her heels make against the steel drawers.
“One last thing, I saw we have all new stickers up at the checkout desk so make sure you snag one of those.” I point at my lapel. I hadn’t been able to resist a shimmery fish sticker when the receptionist unboxed them. It was a coup because the infant in for his six-month check-up before I saw this patient had become mesmerized by the colorful scales during the exam. I may change up my sticker every week.
The girl oohs and aahs, and I tell her there are others like it. She should choose two. She may have a sibling. I’d had two cavities filled as a child. It earned me an extra treasure chest prize, and I selected one Morgan was thrilled to get.
“If you don’t mind me asking, have we met before? You look familiar,” her dad asks, helping his daughter jump down while I scrub up.
I don’t have the heart to mention getting off the exam table is pointless. She needs shots at this physical. There was a mom here last week irate over the charges for a second appointment. Her husband had walked out of his son’s preventive care exam without following her checklist. I wasn’t sure what was more surprising; a wife making a list, a husband needing one, or the idea the second trip in to see a provider was free. Then again, I’m learning as much now about nuances of healthcare administration as I did about medicine when I was in the PA program.
“I don’t think so. I’ve only been at this clinic for a few weeks. Not long enough to forget a face yet.” I blow off his insistence we’ve met.
This has happened to me before. For all we know, he pulled his vehicle in alongside the next pump over during a recent fill-up at the gas station. I have no reason to jog his memory. The inclination to do so means I’m stuck here longer. My feet are more tired from standing all day than they ever were dancing in stilettos. Thank goodness it’s almost quitting time.
With his daughter distracted, I grimace and point at my upper arm, mouthing, “shots”.
He gets the wide-eyed aha look at my gesture and turns to distract her.
I scoot out of the tiny room, handing the notes I’ve taken over to Gloria who is organizing files behind the nurses’ station. “Last one of the day.”
“Oh, yay!” She sounds enthused, then her lip curls. “You gave me shots at four forty-five in the afternoon? On a Friday no less. Some warning would have been nice.”
“I didn’t know until I got in the exam room.” I shrug. “But I’ll make it up to you. One of my girls, Aidy, works at Baked Beans. She swears they make the best chocolate-filled croissants. I’ll bring you one on Monday morning to make up for it.”
“Deal.” Gloria spins on her heel toward the supply room where the locked cabinets holding injections are.
“Hey,” I call after her. “She’s got a rainbow on her shirt.”
Gloria walks back holding up what I know are tie-dyed bandages we stock for teens. “This is the third time this week. I’m getting smart to you, but what happens when we run out of these.”
“Everybody loves Tweety Bird?”
Gloria pauses with her hand on the knob of the exam room door. “They do not. They love Scooby-Doo bandages and getting Sylvester the Cat is worse than the shots.”
I laugh. I like Gloria. She’s in her mid-forties and is quick to speak her mind. With sons in high school at home, she insists there’s no reason to mince words. Teenagers have a similar attention span to a fruit fly.
Gathering my things to leave, I wince hearing the little girl cry. While I’ll always feel bad, Gloria says I’ll get over the reaction. Right now, I’m sorry she has to deal with it. But: croissant.
Checking my cell, it has several missed calls from Sloan and group chats between the mill girls trying to coordinate a day we can all go out on the town. Without Hailey, Aidy stuck behind the bakery counter, and me scooting off with my tail between my legs, last weekend didn’t count.
I pull my coat around my shoulders. The sun is still rising late and setting early. It’s cold out there, and the thought of a breeze sends chills down my back. One of my favorite things about North Carolina are days when the wintertime temperature lands squarely in the mid-eighties. It’s a pleasant reminder the sultry summer is on its way. We’re in desperate need of one soon.
I say goodbye to the clinic’s receptionist and open the heavy wooden door to the lobby, engrossed in my cell the way people shouldn’t be when driving. It swings wide and I plow right into something solid. I swear my entire body reverberates like I’ve hit a gong. Even my inner ear is ringing.
About to lose my footing, a thick palm wraps over the dark fabric of my coat. “Woah.” The gravelly baritone husk floods my body with instant awareness.
“Dusty, what are you doing here?” Does my voice give away my excitement? God, I hope it doesn’t. I sound desperate if it does.
He lets go of my arm when I’m secure on two feet and looks at me almost as if he doesn’t know me. I stare down at my clothes. My pants are pressed. My button-up shirt leaves everything to the imagination compared to what I’ve slinked around in in the past. These new clothes are pretty and demure. Professional. I feel good about myself and yet self-conscious as Dusty takes me in. I’m concerned he doesn’t like what he sees. Our eyes meet and his lip twitches as if he has a secret.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear that’s come undone from a side braid and worry my lip. No longer concerned it’s cold outside, I can feel my cheeks tingle pink while I wait for his response.
“Neurology.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, the thick sweater he has on bunches at his bicep.
I miss those arms.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I stammer. “It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay. Check-up. Clean bill of health.” He holds up a folded sheet of printer paper I recognize as an invoice. “With a bill to clean out my wallet.”
I laugh. “Medical care is expensive. Do you have to go a lot?”
“Not anymore.” He takes a deep breath, his chest heaving. “You headed home?”
I nod.
“Walk you to your car?”
I peep my agreement.
Dusty holds the glass door open, letting me go first. We step into the cold parking lot. Crossing to the next row is hardly far enough to go to get over the uncomfortable silence before I say, “This is me. Dusty—”
“Cece—”
Each of us tries to speak at once. I titter again and Dusty’s cheeks bunch into a wide grin. God, he’s handsome. My hands ball in my pocket to stop from reaching up to touch the scruff of his beard and pull his lips close to mine.
“Nice to see you again.” Dusty hasn’t looked at me since we got outside. He turns to go and my fingers blatantly disregard the signals from my brain and catch his forearm.
“Hey, um.” How do I ask this without seeming like all I’m interested in as a free meal? “Did you still want to get together? To ah, celebrate?” My hands fly in the air and the strap of my bag slips down my arm. Dusty’s thick, calloused fingers put it back in place.
He glances around the lot, including through the rearview window of my vehicle. Anywhere but at me.
“You’re not inter-ested.”
“What? I didn’t say that.”
“Gave me lots of excuses, Cees.” His eyes finally find mine again, boring into me with the truth we’re both well aware of.
I did make up reasons to push it off. Frankly, I’m still uncertain of why I’d want to go. I don’t know where I stand in his life, and I’m petrified of what I mean to this man. I’ve read into so many of his actions. Was I more than a fling? I won’t be ready for a serious relationship until I’m establ
ished in my career and no one can drag me down to the depths my mother found herself in. But I can’t lie. I miss this man.
I recognize the possibility I miss the sex. What we had can’t go on the way it was, now can it? So, perhaps we have to go about it in a different manner.
“I’m sorry.” I wince, grabbing the bag’s strap to keep my hands occupied. “You didn’t show up later at the party.”
Dusty’s palms glide back in his hair. He rests them behind his head. “Yeah, well.” His expression sours.
I watch him search for words. Yet, those that come take me off guard.
“Your brother was being an ass.”
“Morgan? What had his boxers in a bunch?” He’d seemed happy enough to me since he never wanted me stripping to begin with.
“He’d seen us walk out of the hallway… You sprinted away from me.”
“I didn’t run.”
“Hardly touched you, Cees. You bolted. Then Morgan won’t let it rest. Paints a clear picture.”
My hackles raise. “So you’re sticking your dick in Holly now?” Wow, spiteful much?
“What? No.” Dusty’s taken aback. This is the fastest I’ve heard him respond to anyone. “What makes you think anything is going on between Holly?”
In the rush to defend himself, I have to extrapolate the meaning in Dusty’s second sentence. I hear him forget words a lot when he talks to others. It’s a sign of an underlying neurological condition and why, before we were ever together, I was patient letting him speak.
“You were with her the rest of the night and never showed up when everyone expected you to be at the mill.”
“I got the fuck away from your brother so I didn’t punch him. Embarrass you. Holly needed help. It got her home for her son faster. Everyone ditched out on their responsibili-ties to go to your party.”
“Oh.”
Dusty’s lips flatten to a line. He lets me mull over how selfish I’ve acted. “Yeah, oh,” he repeats as it sinks in. “Listen, Cees.” Dusty scrubs his jaw. “Still want to take you out. But I don’t have the energy for this shit. You’re either in or you’re out.”
“I’m in.” The words jump from my throat.
She’s in, I’ve been repeating in my head. The problem is, I’m fidgeting with my tie, wondering what I’ve gotten myself in for.
We fuck. Okay, that should be past tense: We fucked and I should’ve left that well enough alone.
I roll my shoulders, trying to get the collar of my dress shirt to loosen. In the past hour, I’ve had the creeping sensation I should have told Cece to forget about it, gotten mad when she accused me of screwing Holly, and used her attitude problem as a clean break. As if the night of her last performance hadn’t been clean enough.
But in my mind, it’s doubtless Cece is a woman who makes a man give up his thirty-day chip over and over again until he can beat his addiction. She’s smart, sexy…elusive. The last part’s gotta be it. The more Celine slips through my fingers, the more I want her. Tonight’s the litmus test to see if having her attention for a few hours is what I expect it’s supposed to be.
Landing reservations at Royce’s was easier than expected. It’s been five days since running into her at the clinic and each of the past fucking four of them it’s been a struggle to not show my face at the mill knowing she’s home for the night. Avoiding Cece this month was a challenge I was successful navigating. She still posts her schedule, and I knew when it was safe for me to be at the factory without her there.
See me struggling not to wave the white flag in surrender to the drug that is her pussy? I didn’t even want to be in it. Just close enough to smell it. To know it was mine for the taking. I don’t even expect she’ll want sex. It’s not the reason I asked her out. If this is more, it’s more. If being around Celine when we’re both dressed puts a damper on things then I guess I’ve had it wrong this whole time.
Falling back into the apprehension I had when I told Cece about the reservation, I unknot the tie, repeating the process—complete with shoulder roll.
I figured she’d hedge this time the way she had when I first brought up taking her out. Instead, she agreed right off the bat to a weeknight, though, the phone conversation lasted shorter than I’d hoped. Maybe because she stunned me stupid when she didn’t give me a sorry excuse.
With T-Minus to go until I’m picking her up, my confidence has wavered and I’m dumbfounded she hasn’t canceled. Luckily, the girl who I usually have a standing date with tonight is all about getting dressed up and having me take her someplace nice. The reservations wouldn’t go to waste.
The third time is a charm and I slide my suit jacket over my ham-hock biceps, inspecting my appearance in Jake’s office bathroom’s mirror. It made more sense to get ready here. Jake’s not around and Sweet Caroline’s is a ghost town this early in the evening.
I stride out and down the hall. Holly pops up from behind the bar, shaking out a fresh rag and wipes up a spill in an “I’m a parent. I got this.” no-nonsense fashion.
“Sweet Baby Jesus—Look at you!” She jumps. The two victory rolls shellacked on her head with enough hairspray to do serious environmental damage don’t budge. “Where are you going?”
“Roy-ce’s.” The word gets stuck halfway and my palms get clammy.
“Ooh, fancy. No wonder you’re all decked out.”
Holly’s about to ask who I’m taking when the phone rings. She answers, holding up a finger. I give her a minute. She tells the caller to hold on. “Have a marvelous time, Hon. But before I forget, it’s still a go for you taking Bhodi next Tuesday?”
I give her a thumbs up. Tuesday is Holly’s night off and her sister’s kid is at her ex’s. It’s not often Holly asks for help, but I get how much easier it is to have someone you can count on. Her son, Bhodi, is a great kid and Renata likes the distraction Bhodi provides when he’s around.
I lean my weight into the front door. Stepping out into the parking lot in a slick suit and expensive pair of shoes, I feel like the Macy’s Day Parade version of Carver. I’m missing the sleek trademark sedan, but my truck’s no jalopy. I had it washed, waxed, and vacuumed at the dealership’s detail shop when I went to have the oil changed yesterday.
About to hoist myself up to climb in, Cece catches my attention running on her toes in high heels across the main street that bisects the cotton mill and the club. She has on a long gray coat contrasting the red of those shoes in the streetlight. Getting to the sidewalk, she notices me standing there and smiles.
“Thought I was picking you up.” It’s more of a statement. I’m glad to see her either way.
“I was ready early and saw your truck out the window.”
Cees comes to a standstill in front of me. I’m looking down into her pretty brown eyes. She blushes when I don’t talk and does the lip lick thing that goes right to my groin.
“Help you in?” I find my tongue only to lose it again when she replies, “Sure.”
Around the other side of the cab, I open the door and have to lift Cece in. Seated, her knees peek out from under the gray coat. My hand involuntarily brushes between them when I see more red fabric from the skirt of whatever she’s wearing underneath. I’m tempted to unbutton her coat. It took me off guard when she’d swung the door into me leaving work. She was almost unrecognizable and maybe even sexier because of the way her clothes hid all the parts of her I’m familiar with.
Her fingertips graze my trimmed beard before she reaches for the seatbelt. Cece feels this too. We’re like magnets.
“You look nice.” She compliments. “Handsome. I’ve never seen you so dressed up.”
“Don’t look too bad yourself.”
Her brow raises. “I have a wool coat on.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not beautiful in it.” Her eyes light up when I say this and my heart beats out of my chest. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a date. I’m glad the first two minutes are nowhere close to a shitshow.
On the way to the re
staurant, I ask Celine if she likes her new job. She chats about her young patients and a nurse she works with named Gloria. I like the sound of Cece’s voice, and it’s easy to let her do most of the talking.
Royce’s is set back from the road. The front end of the truck dips down into a lot below street level, lined with old oak trees. There are plenty of parking spaces, but signs direct us to the portico where a valet takes my keys. Empty-handed, I fill my palm with Cece’s. Her soft fingers wrap around my burly paws. I don’t have to let go when we enter the steakhouse because there’s a doorman in a white jacket.
“Been here before?” I inquire as we wait to be seated.
“No. Never.” She sounds excited.
A coat check girl flags Celine down and exchanges a ticket for her coat. When Cece’s unwrapped, I’m conscious my jaw doesn’t hit the marble floor. Her red dress fits her form and matches her shoes. It rides the slightest bit above her knee, making the tone in her trim calves mouthwatering. The same color sheer lace covers her arms and the very top. She slips the claim ticket in her purse and brushes the skirt down.
“You’re perfect,” I whisper from behind into her ear. Placing a hand on her hip, I slide it toward her back to guide Cece around the tables as the hostess seats us.
“This place is gigantic inside,” she says with wonder after we have our menus.
“It’s why I like it here. Arm room.” I waggle my elbows up and down like I’m doing the chicken dance.
She tilts the menu to her face to hide her blush again before perusing the selections. I don’t give Cece a chance to get self-conscious and tell her my selection is the most expensive thing. She hems and haws between two different entrees. While the sommelier opens a bottle of wine for us, I mention the seafood appetizer has a bit of everything on it. She settles on Beef Tournedos rather than surf and turf when I order apps with more than enough to share.
The waiter sets a platter of shrimp, scallops, and crab stuffed mushrooms between us. I reach for an oyster on the half shell I’d added when he took our order. Cece’s eyes widen as the shellfish gets closer to my mouth.