by Jody Kaye
“Bring her back.” Renata nudges my shoulder, not moving my solid form an inch.
“Who?” I act stupid.
“You know who.” Renata pauses, facing me. “Dusty, stop worrying so much about what people think of you since the accident. Right now, the only thing hammering your cognitive abilities is testosterone. You’re being a stubborn man, pure and simple.”
“I can’t.” The problem isn’t bringing Cece back. It’s if she’d come back to a guy who wouldn’t hear her side of the story. I treated her like crap when she let bygones be bygones and put Sylvie first when she had the flu and I was oblivious. Well, not really oblivious, but my parenting guilt makes it feel that way. Not to mention, I yelled at her for showing up to check on a patient and bringing a gift. It startled me to see her at Sylvie’s bedside. The way the two interacted was what I figured I’d be soon watching up in Boone since Cees and I had discussed the next steps in our relationship.
I overreacted when she made my ego question if I wasn’t man enough for her. I lost my cool when she showed the compassion that attracted me to her in the first place. I’m also sure—after alluding to how her own mom and dad didn’t quite excel at parenting, let alone the indications of what their marriage was like—I’ve fallen further down the ladder of acceptable men to date. Women like Cece Wescott pull themselves up by their bootstraps.
“Stop letting your pride overrule your heart. Beth didn’t fall for you because you were an engineer and I doubt whatever attraction you and Celine have has a gosh darn thing to do with who you were before. She’s friendly with the man you are now. While you did your best to keep whatever was going on between the two of you private, for some months you were happier than I’ve seen you since we lost Beth and she’s the reason why. Celine is to you what you were to my daughter. Don’t let a second chance slip away. I still have a family, but it’s also a lonely life without someone to love.”
I blow out a deep breath. “I wouldn’t know the first way to fix the stuff between us, Renata.”
“Don’t go searching for a grand gesture to start anew. Sometimes the simplest answer is the one that does the best to start healing.” She sniffs the flowers.
I had to run out during my lunch break to buy a new shirt and bra. Waiting for the cashier to ring me out, I’d believed as days go this one couldn’t get worse. This morning I’d been spit up on by a newborn who had just nursed. Then, smelling like ode to curdled milk, I needed Gloria to help a mother restrain a toddler with a double ear infection so I could look in his ear with the otoscope without causing any more damage.
Snipping off the blouse’s tag, I sliced the fabric near the back yoke and had to use a suture kit to repair the damage, which meant taking off the shirt and sitting in an exam room in my underwear. Gloria suggested making a matching hole in the opposite side and pretending it had blowout shoulders.
“Speaking of blowouts, with my luck today, the next baby I see will have a leaky diaper.”
Gloria finds my joke hysterical, though, I mean it.
“Your afternoon patients are all potty-trained.”
This alone should help me relax, but my hackles raise entering an exam room and seeing the dad who was sure he recognized me. His daughter is back with a head cold. I check her ears and press under her tender cheeks to diagnose a sinus infection.
The only reason she’s not squirming is because she feels awful. Meanwhile, the dad who also remarked she’s been like this for days, hasn’t been attentive at all to his child this time. He tries to chat me up. I respond to his questions about me with questions of my own about his daughter’s health history. In an instant, his phone is more important than her cold.
Sure I’ve dodged a bullet, that’s when he switches between whistling and humming “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond.
The situation reeks worse than me smelling like baby puke in the line at the department store an hour ago. I close my eyes, able to breathe in my nose and out my mouth to maintain my professionalism since I have on a clean top.
I wash my hands and let him know the prescriptions she needs were sent to the pharmacy. Done with the exam, it’s as if all three of us are trying to squish through the doorway into the empty hall at the same time. My hasty exit is like the rest of today, anything but easy.
“Go wait in the play area for me while I talk to the pretty nurse.” The dad instructs his sick daughter.
At this moment, I can’t correct his condescending tone or that he’s gotten my medical degree wrong without kneeing him in the balls. So instead I place her file on the nurses’ station countertop and pretend to go over my recommendations.
His child scampers away—to the germiest part of the waiting room—to spread more. I sigh and make a mental note to find the extra Lysol in the stockroom.
“I remember where I’ve seen you before.” I can feel the heat of his gaze undressing me.
“How nice.” I try to sound disinterested in catching up.
His fingers rub the silky fabric over my forearm. “We could talk about this back in the exam room where it’s a little more private. Play doctor?”
“Uh,” Gross “no.” My face twists. What did he expect? That I’d service him in a pediatric office?
“In that case, I’m not sure how I feel about someone like you treating my kids.”
“Excuse me?” I step further away. “I can assure you, I am qualified.”
He tries to invade my space again, but something comes over me the way it had when I wouldn’t let Morgan degrade Dusty.
“It’s also appropriate to tell you this facility makes patient safety a priority.” I point up to the ceiling. “These video cameras are top of the line. Brand new actually. The firm my brother works for upgraded all the feeds this winter. He did most of the installation himself. Come to think of it,” I touch my fingertip to my lip twice. “I’m almost certain he mentioned it’s the same system they’re using at an upscale strip club in Brighton.”
I see the gears clicking and steam come out of the father’s ears as they do. I want to make a snarky comment that using all that brainpower must be difficult for a dumbass like him. I mean, what man hits on a former exotic dancer and a split-second later acts like an entitled family man?
Yet, people never dig far enough to see past what’s on the surface, do they? For me, it was easy to ignore the fact that Dr. Randolph was an acquaintance of Carver’s when he was the pediatrician I shadowed. When he offered me a full-time position on his staff and the office was having their security system upgraded, I chalked it up to coincidence. Now? Well, if it is as innocuous as dumb luck, I’m glad luck’s on my side.
“You don’t say.” He tries to brush off the panicked animal feeling.
“I do. You wouldn’t happen to know the name of the club? It’s right on the tip of my tongue.”
“I’m sure I don’t.”
“Hmm… And I’m sure next time you’re offered a choice of providers, someone else will be seeing your children. I assure you, the concerns you have that I’m not equipped to treat them appropriately have been heard.” I turn my back as Gloria rounds the corner.
“Your afternoon going any better, Cece?”
“So good. So good. So good.” I repeat loud enough for the dad scurrying away with his tail between his legs to hear.
“What was all that?” Gloria asks when the lobby door slams shut.
“Creep sent his kid away and tried to come on to me.” I start laughing at the absurdity.
“Isn’t he married? What an asshole.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure, Hon, anything.”
“Jot a note in both his kid’s files that I’m not interested in having them on my patient load. I know it’s not professional, but it’s for the best. I’ll follow up with the office manager and Dr. Randolph to tell them why.”
“They’ll understand.” She assures me, logging onto the computer.
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur.
I get into my car and the smug satisfaction that I’ve handled the rude family man has dissipated. If I were on my way back to the factory, Sloan and I would be all over the topic. But since I’m now living alone in the condo there’s no one to share the small victory with.
I go home to a new and unusual sense of loneliness. No one is outside of my bedroom distracting me with a late night chat session or yanking me away from Netflix and out of my sweatpants for a drink at the club.
I consider dropping by Holly’s with a six-pack before remembering she’s managing at Sweet Caroline’s tonight. Laurel is in charge of their kids during her sister’s shift. I could text or call one of my friends to say, “Can you get over the nerve of this guy?”, but it somehow lacks in comparison.
I’m low on food, and sitting alone in the big living room all evening isn’t as appealing as the freedom having my own place seemed while I was finishing college. I stand by my word, it was time for me to leave the mill and venture out on my own. I’d accepted Carver’s generosity too long and need to be an independent adult.
Adults eat at Wafflehaus as long as they do it before midnight, right?
I pick a location between the medical park and the condo, which doesn’t take me too far out of my way. A waitress about my age takes my order. I put my cell by my silverware while I wait on my dinner. Instead of scrolling, my eyes travel the patterns in the Formica tabletop. I get lost in the highlights of the gold flakes against the blue-gray veins in the faux marble. Ten minutes have already passed, and the waitress is back. She sets a plate of French toast in front of me and offers to refill my drink.
I’m not the hugest coffee drinker and cover the mug with my hand so she doesn’t pour any more in. The caffeine will keep me up and, for as victorious as I’d felt earlier, now I want to crawl into bed. Isolation has had me nit-picking my behavior and choices. The asshat father’s opinion this afternoon bubbled every self-conscious thought I squelch during work hours to the surface.
I’m forced to admit, reevaluating my life requires more effort than eating the entire side of skillet home fries with onions and bell peppers on my plate. But at least I’m coming to grips with why my food can’t touch. One word: Casseroles. When it’s all you’re served as a kid seeing protein, starch, and vegetables as separate dishes is all-consuming. In theory, did I take it too far? Duh.
I’m dining alone in a greasy spoon because I wasn’t ready for two things at once, and they would’ve been tasty had I given them a try.
A shadow passes by the door and I glance up from my next forkful of eggs and bread with drippy syrup. The air gets sucked out of the room.
Filling the threshold, Dusty searches for a booth. He notices me. His chin dips and my heart breaks. I see his shoulders slump as if he’s about to step back and turn to leave. But Dusty sighs, resigned to be the better man, and acknowledges I’m here.
Spine straight, he walks between the booths, making the tiny diner feel smaller. I shrink a little in my seat and put the fork on my plate. My back stiffens as my flat palms press into the cracked red naugahyde seat cushion.
“Mind if I sit?”
I nod across the booth, wishing he’d said my name in the deep timber he uses. It’s strange how much I’d felt like I was going to get to know about this man. I’d kept him at arm’s length and the distance between us is so much further now than the physical expanse separating us. His knees don’t even knock into mine the way they had under the table in the kitchen the morning Dusty had made me breakfast up in Boone.
“Haven’t seen you here before.”
“Haven’t been to this location before or any of them this early.”
“More of the late-night crowd?”
“I used to be.”
“Breakfast is good any time of day.”
With a shake in her hips, the waitress strolls up with a pot asking if Dusty wants coffee. It’s obvious she’s affected by him. I can’t blame her. The man is handsome, and the way his shirt binds across his biceps had always made me certain Dusty could have any woman he wants.
His eyes meet mine, searching for an awkward approval signaling I’m fine with him staying. I nod and he tips his cup up, letting the waitress fill it. He tells her he needs a few minutes to decide on the menu.
When she hears him speak, she glances at me. Her discomfort is obvious. She expects me to translate what Dusty is saying. While punctuated, it’s perfectly clear. There’s nothing unfriendly in my stare back at the waitress, but it forces her attention back to Dusty in a “wanna make something of it?” way. She gives him a wary smile and tells him to flag her down after he’s made a choice.
“Didn’t mean to interrupt your meal.” He encourages me to eat before it gets cold.
Despite the flip-flop my stomach does, I dig back into the plate. The next bite is mid-air when he rests his elbows on the table and asks, “What’s your name?”
“My name?”
Cece’s dark lashes bat in confusion. I must be acting as if I’m not all there. I’m not, or rather, I haven’t been for this woman. Renata was right. Where I’ve been is a mile ahead. The thing is, I’ve also been angry over the fallout and I haven’t been sure I wanted to give Cece a chance to catch up.
When I walked into Wafflehaus and saw her across the restaurant, my first reaction was to turn around, go home, and make a ham sandwich. The same way Sylvie and I have daddy/daughter dates, she’s out with her grandma tonight and I stopped here for a quick bite on my way home from the hardware store.
There’s a bag in my daughter’s booster seat with parts I need for my next project. I’ve been hiding out at Renata’s, getting around to a few things I’ve wanted to fix. Laurel texted to see if I’d re-key her front entry. I agreed as long as it was during a weekday. One of Renata’s friends asked if I’d replace some boards on their back porch. Both gigs are a decent way to stay busy since I like what I’ve been doing the past few years. I haven’t found a full-time job yet and, at some point, I’ll have to hash it out with Carver. If your paycheck comes direct deposit, it’s hard to refuse to cash it.
We both know I don’t need the money and it’s Carver’s way of leaving the door open in case I change my mind and want to come back. The day I quit, I meant what I’d said to Morgan. He’d been so amped up, so angry, it wouldn’t have taken much for him bursting in to turn tragic. But I’d also refused to see my role in any of this beyond being the good guy who got the raw deal.
Had I once in the past year said to my buddy, “I’d like to ask your sister out?” No, what I’d done was make sure that reality and the one I pretended to be content living in hadn’t intersected. Bucking up the courage to run it by my friend, and having him laugh in my face, was along the same lines as Cece rejecting me.
Morgan had trusted me in the beginning and his perception changed the more Cece and I hid what we were doing. Even if Morgan guffawed, I know now Cees had been waiting on me to get off my ass and do it. She would’ve said yes. Her brother might have perceived my actions as less stalkerish. The way he is about keeping Cece safe, he may have even reacted the opposite way. While I’m certain things not working out between Celine and me has become a huge thorn in everyone’s side, letting your sister date someone who can defend her in a back alley is a safe bet.
A little lightbulb goes off over Cece’s head when she figures out nothing I’ve said to her so far denotes we know one another. “Celine.” She gives me a reticent smile
“Pretty. Anyone give you a nickname?”
“My friends call me Cece, but this guy once called me Cees. It always made my world stop.”
She’d never shared that. I have to take a sip of caffeine to restart my heart. “Hmm… You seem like the unstoppable sort… determined… like you have a damned serious direction you’re headed in.”
Cece scratches her neck behind her ear, looking away with endearing shyness. The club’s clientele notwithstanding, Cece hasn’t had a ton of experience with guys. If I’d paid more attention I
would have known demure Cece is the real her. She’s in a passenger car with an itinerary and stops before she makes it to her destination. I’m riding more of a freight train, full speed ahead.
I’d accepted Beth disembarked and grieved that loss. She and I had been traveling the same route. Beth hadn’t forced fatherhood on me. I was all in the day I became a dad. And as the pain of losing Beth subsided, I hadn’t liked my love life sitting at the station. Then Cece came along and my feelings for her grew. It was an express ticket.
I pushed for dinner at Royce’s when she conveyed interest in midnight pancakes at Wafflehaus with a side of bacon. Before either of us had a chance to digest our first date, I forced her into a romantic weekend away. I’ve known all along Celine Wescott belongs by my side, but I’ve been trying to speed her up and drag her to where I am. I haven’t even been willing to go back a few paces and meet her halfway.
So seeing her at the place she would have come to with me months ago, it’s clear to me; This is the last second chance we’re getting.
“Dusty.” I give her my name and tap my temple. “I, uh, had an accident a few years back. It affects my speech. It’s all up here, though.” I know she knows this, but we can’t go back the way we were. This is a fresh start. “Tell me about you.”
“Okay…” She rubs her palms on her slacks. “I ah, work in a pediatric office and.” She pauses, gnawing on her lip. “Dusty, I need to be upfront. I just got out of a relationship and it ended horribly. I did a lot of things wrong. So. Many. Things. The biggest is not being honest about my feelings. My mother is an addict and I chose to use her drug habit as an excuse to hide how terrifying it was I’d never felt worthy of his attention. Also, I’m trying to get over being a tad bit compulsive.”
I huff with a wolfish grin. I like the direction the conversation is going in and see Celine’s apology for what it is. “This guy?” I prod.