“No,” I repeated. “You’re absolutely right. I’m their doctor. I’ve been training my whole life to be their doctor. I don’t need charts to treat them. I’ve worried about all of them from the minute I was old enough to worry, even the ones who think I’m too smart to talk to. When I was in medical school, I used to call Eggs every Sunday to check up on them all.” I wasn’t really talking to her anymore. I was just sort of talking. “Honestly, I love surgery. I love treating kids, but I want to treat kids in Montana. I want to make the Special Spurs Rodeo an annual thing. I want Taylor to get to meet other kids with prosthetics who want to compete.” It didn’t matter what my father wanted or if Wyatt was a stubborn jerk of a man. Conway was where I belonged. It was where I always wanted to be. Nothing else mattered.
Shaking his head, clearly confused, one of the committee members looked around and quietly questioned, “Who’s Taylor?”
At the same time another administrator spoke to me directly, asking, “What is the Special Spurs Rodeo?”
I choose to only answer the second question. “A rodeo I organized this year for kids with special needs. It’s a funny story really.”
“Why’s that?” Dr. Stewart asked.
I smiled. “I was suffering from primary anorgasmia and my best friend who’s a drama major thought it would be a good way to get the attention of the town stud.”
One of the doctors coughed, spitting water across the table.
“Was?” Dr. Stewart asked, smirking.
“Yes,” I smiled. “I got my rode-O.”
A couple doctors laughed.
The hospital president cleared his throat, and shaking his head, said, “I think we’ve somehow drifted into territory that might need a human resource intervention.”
I shook my head. “Not really. Dr, Stewart’s right. I don’t want to work here. You all seem lovely, but I want to go home.” As I said the words, I felt like a million pounds lifted from my shoulders. Feeling fancy-free and full of vigor, I added, “I also really want to take off my bra. It’s killing me.”
When I booked my flights for the interview, I gave myself a few extra days to get the lay of the land and possibly find a place to live, but once I knew I wasn’t taking the job, I didn’t need to be there anymore. So I left. It felt so empowered to cash in my chips and go home feeling like a winner. I had Bev pick me up at the airport and drive me to the police station so I could talk to my dad. Bev was excited for me that I knew what I wanted, but she was also absolutely delighted for herself. She said, “Without you, Caroline, Conway is just drab, drab, drab. The only other people who get me are children.”
Then she got utterly fixated on me moving in with her. “We could get a little house in town; I would decorate it, of course.” I let her rattle on, but I was pretty sure that I wanted to live on my own. Also, I didn’t want to live right downtown. I wanted to live somewhere that I could sit on the porch and feel the breeze.
“You’re not really listening to me,” Bev noted.
“Not really,” I answered.
“Are you thinking about Wyatt?” she asked. I hadn’t been. I’d been trying to put Wyatt out of my mind since I made the decision to live in Conway. “No. I mean a little bit always, but I wasn’t lamenting his idiot ass or giving in to the way my heart feels swollen and bruised right this second.”
“Did you stay for him?” Bev asked tentatively.
“No, but I was hoping that since I’m staying, he might consider moving away,” I joked but it didn’t feel funny. Bev didn’t think so either because she didn’t laugh.
Instead, she said, “I ran into him. He looked thin.”
“Thin?” Wyatt was a huge guy. No one ever described him as thin.
“Yeah, papery, sort of sallow really, like the wind might blow him over.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I said, turning to look out the window because I didn’t want to picture him that way. I still couldn’t understand why he broke my heart because clearly he broke his as well. “Let’s not talk about it,” I said tightly. “Suffice it to say I stayed for you.”
That, she laughed at. Then she reached for my hand and squeezed, silently telling me she loved being my bestie.
When we got to the station, she put the car in park, turned off the ignition, and faced me, twisting her whole body and leaning against the driver’s side door, like she was lounging on an armchair. “Are you ready for this?” she asked.
“I’ve had thirty years to prepare,” I snarked.
“Stop being cocky. I’m actually worried.” My eyes, which had been resting on the entrance to the station, shifted to her face. She looked fairly tense and legitimately concerned.
“It’s gonna be fine, Bev,” I said calmly.
“He’s gonna be mad,” she said.
“Yeah, but it’s done. And I know it’s what I want. He can’t stop me.” I smiled at her. “Someone who I trust implicitly has been trying to tell me for years that I’m an adult and he can’t control me. I finally know that’s one hundred percent correct.”
Grinning, Bev said, “I have no idea who you’re referencing, but man, that bitch is smart.”
My father happened to be standing at the front desk when I walked through the station doors. I was kind of awkward and discombobulated, smacking my suitcase into the doorframe and laughing at my own clumsiness.
“Caroline?” my father said, naturally surprised to see me.
“Dad.” I smiled. The police station waiting room was like my living room as a kid. Surrounded by its maroon carpets and outdated commercial grade seating, I always felt comfortable like your feet do in a pair of socks that never slip down, just cushioned and supported.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, clearly disheartened.
“Coming home.” I smiled again.
“But you are not due home for a couple of days.”
“True, but I changed my plans.” I took a deep breath and bit the bullet. “I didn’t take the job.”
His eyes flared, bulging a little like a cartoon. I almost laughed.
He turned to the officer who was behind the desk, Officer Gail Stevens. She had a very uncomfortable bunion on her right foot. It was a wonder that she wore shoes and got through the day without complaining. My father said to her, “I’ll be back. I’m just gonna give her a ride home.”
I smiled at her, too, taking a step farther into the room. “Gail,” I said kindly. “How’s the foot?”
She appreciated my concern and smiled back. “The same, Doc. But I’m alright, switching on and off between the Tylenol and the Motrin like you suggested and those pads help.”
“You should make an appointment. I was just reading that there are some new advances in those kinds of surgeries.” My father was beside me now, buzzing with his need to get me out of the station and into the car so he could bust my chops about my choice to turn down the job.
“Ugh, surgery for my foot? I don’t know.”
I shrugged. “We could just discuss it. I’d really like to see you pain free. I hate thinking that you're uncomfortable, and this new technique is less invasive.” She didn’t look convinced, so I joked with her. “Worst case you get to spend a little time gossiping with the boss' daughter.”