My niece’s comment has stuck with me all day. It’s still playing through my mind when Nathan pulls up to the small single-story house where our last patient for the day lives.
The seventy-two-year-old woman was a last-minute addition to our schedule. With Type 1 diabetes, she apparently has a wound on her leg that won’t heal. Not that uncommon, but definitely something that—if not properly cared for—could result in amputation or even death.
There’s a single deep bark from inside the house when Nathan knocks. We can hear shuffling and then the slide of a lock, before the door is pulled open and a familiar face pokes out.
I remember Mrs. Myers. Not particularly fondly, though. She’s been a member of my parents’ church for as long as I can remember, and one of the town’s worst busybodies. I’d noticed her at Nicky’s funeral as well, sitting front and center so as not to miss a thing.
I don’t think she ever liked me, even growing up. Once when I was maybe twelve, I’d climbed on her fence to snatch a few peaches off her tree and she caught me. You’d think I held her up at gunpoint, the way she was carrying on. Called the police and everything. She never let me live that down.
That’s what I mean about Eminence, it’s impossible to move past your worst moment.
“Mrs. Myers? We spoke on the phone earlier. Good to see you’re moving around a little.” Nathan smiles at the sour-looking woman as he gently backs her inside. “We’re here to have a look at your leg. This is Natasha, and she’ll be one of the nurses looking after you.”
“Hi, Mrs. Myers.” I try for a smile, even though I’d rather stick a fork in my eye. The thought of having to deal with her three days a week is almost more than I can handle. The only saving grace is the overweight beagle who seems to have taken a shine to me. Or maybe it’s just he smells the puppies. Either way, I’m glad at least the dog is happy to see me.
“Natasha.” She nods, saying nothing more than my name.
I’m grateful for Nathan’s presence, he cranks up the charm the moment he notices the tension, effectively distracting the older woman. He keeps her chatting as I quickly tend to her wound.
It’s not until we’re ready to leave she addresses me directly. “How is your poor mother doing?”
“She’s coping, Mrs. Myers. We all are.”
“Still,” the woman persists, “she was such a treasure, your sister. I’m sure her passing has left a hole her family will never recover from.”
Her family?
I don’t want to react—for anyone listening it sounds like she’s being sympathetic—but something must’ve betrayed the jab I heard loud and clear, because Nathan jumps to the rescue.
“We should really get going. Janet will be here tomorrow, Mrs. Myers. She’ll help you with your bath as well.” Without waiting for a response, he ushers me out the door, closing it behind us.
“It’s not that hard to switch a few things on the schedule around,” he says when we get in the car, further confirming his insight. “I didn’t realize you knew each other.”
“Most people who grew up here know each other one way or another.”
“Winona has about double the population, but it’s true there too. Anyway, like I said, I’m happy to assign her to one of the others.”
It’s tempting, but I know it would only be a temporary reprieve. I’m bound to bump into more people like Mrs. Myers or even Sheila Mantle, who think they know who I am. I can’t really control that; I’ll simply have to find a way to deal with it.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell Nathan with more confidence than I feel.
I have half an hour before the kids come off the bus, so the moment I get home; I dart upstairs for a quick shower.
I pull a shower cap over my head before I hop under the stream. This is one of the luxuries I most missed while working in the field: water pressure. Sure, we had showers, but often those would be no more than a rainwater cistern, a simple pulley system, and gravity.
Wrapped in a towel, I wipe the condensation from the bathroom mirror, pull off the shower cap, and watch my dreadlocks bounce free. I take a moment to study my reflection. The familiar face starting to show some of the strain of the past months. The olive skin already a shade or two lighter than when I arrived. My eyes land on my dreads.
For some reason, they look out of place, even though they’ve been part of me for many years. A symbol of my independent and adventurous spirit. They were rarely given a second glance until I came home. Here they’re looked at as an oddity, not so much a symbol of independence as one of nonconformity. It sets me apart in a way that almost underlines people’s opinion of me.
I pull open the top drawer of the vanity and pull out a pair of scissors. I only hesitate for a second before I firmly grab one of my dreads and cut half of it off.
“What the fuck?” I jump at Rafe’s bark and promptly drop the scissors that clatter in the sink. “What are you doing?”
He’s standing in the door opening looking murderous. I’m not sure what reaction I thought I’d get, but anger wasn’t it. It’s unexpected.
“Cutting my hair,” I announce much calmer than I feel. With a slightly shaky hand I reach for the scissors.
“Like hell you are.” He’s almost growling as he makes a grab for my wrist, twisting the scissors from my hold with his other hand.
“My hair, my decision.” I lift my chin defiantly.
“Why?” The question is asked in a much softer tone and momentarily throws me. “Taz?” he prompts, “Why would you do that?”
“They don’t fit here,” I finally concede, shrugging my shoulders. “It throws people off.”
“Fuck people.” He takes a step closer and picks a lock off my shoulder, rubbing it between his fingers. I’m suddenly very aware of the fact I’m standing here buck naked but for a flimsy towel. “They suit you. They’re a part of you. Since when do you care what others think?”
Even if I had a response to that, I wouldn’t be able to answer him. Not with his mouth just inches from mine. All I can do is watch his clear blue eyes go dark as the night, when his lips close over mine.
Rafe
She tastes like she looks.
Like spice, sunlight, and pure honey.
My arm wraps around the small of her back, pulling her body into mine. Kissing Taz is like diving in a cool stream after a long, hot day.
Refreshing, free, unbridled, and all-consuming.
Every nerve end is vibrating as her fingers slide into my hair.
Her body suddenly freezes as the sound of a horn penetrates my awareness.
“The bus,” she hisses, as she rips her mouth from mine.
“Shit. The kids.”
“Go.” Taz almost shoves me out of the bathroom, closing the door in my face.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach the waiting school bus and mumble my apologies when the driver shoots me an annoyed look.
“Sorry, guys,” I tell the kids when they come off the bus. Spencer seems happy to see me, but Sofie is not pleased and darts past me, heading up the driveway.
“Mrs. Ryan says we only have seven more days of school.” My son grabs my hand and skips beside me, chattering away.