Page 7 of Doctorshipped
Why am I considering anything about her right now? I need to grab our bags, find our rental car, and drive to our hotel for the night. There’s a loud clunk and luggage starts to descend onto the conveyor. I look over at Fiona and she’s also studying Jayme. Well, I can’t fault her. The woman definitely knows how to make a unique and unforgettable first, second, and third impression on others.
When she leaned over and nestled her head on my shoulder during the flight, I didn’t know what to do, so I shrugged at first, thinking I could discretely dislodge her and maybe she’d tilt in the opposite direction without any fuss. My movement only resulted in her letting out the softest sigh and burrowing into me. It reminded me of Fiona’s younger years when she would snuggle up with me before bedtime while I read her a story. Not that Jayme is childlike. She’s definitely a woman, albeit a strange one.
I tried several times to ease her off me during the flight, but she was out cold—so out of it, she drooled. I pretended not to notice, but the woman left a damp spot on my shirt. Fiona kept looking over and giggling softly at the sight of Jayme curled up against me like she belonged there. I guess I allowed it partly to entertain my daughter. Mostly that.
I hear a thump followed by a stream of what would be expletives, that sounds more like, “buttered pickles and freckles!” Then I look over to see Jayme squatting down. Her open suitcase has fallen in front of her. Most of the contents are spread across the floor. I huff out a breath and march in her direction without really thinking about what I’m doing.
Fiona trails behind me, “Daddy? Where are you going? Oh! Miss Jayme, what happened?”
Jayme looks up at us, eyes wide, eyebrows up her forehead, and a slight shake to her head. She tries to tuck a wild curl behind her ear, but it bounces back toward her face.
“It appears the airline inspected my bag and didn’t shut the latch properly.”
Before I provide myself a good reason not to, I’m down on the floor with her, resting on my heels, picking up shirts, undergarments, and pajamas and handing them to her while she places them back in her bag.
I unwittingly grab a black lacy bra and hand it to her. I don't even realize what we’re holding between us until Jayme’s cheeks pinken. It’s been a while since I’ve made a woman blush. Our eyes lock, like they did when she was frantically pacing at the ticket counter. Time stills. She studies me and I study her. We’ve definitely had an interesting and eventful trip together. Mostly, because of her. I clear my throat and stand while Fiona continues to help Jayme collect her scattered belongings.
When Jayme stands, she thanks me. I nod, turning my attention toward the carousel where both Fiona’s and my bags are conveniently sliding down the ramp.
“Well, thank you again,” Jayme says brightly.
Fiona says, “You’re welcome,” for the both of us. We gather our luggage and leave for the car rental.
I’m sure I’ll never see Jayme again—which is definitely for the best. I can’t recall anyone ever disturbing my calm steadiness to the same extent she has this morning. She’s definitely made an impression. I’ll give her that.
* * *
Fionaand I picked up the car I purchased at the dealership first thing this morning. It’s an SUV, and she’s fiddling with all the bells and whistles as we drive toward the two-thousand-five-hundred person town of Bordeaux.
“Daddy! This seat has warmersandcoolers!”
“Stop messing with them, sweetheart. They aren’t meant to be toys.”
This earns me a full eye roll. “I think I know that already.”
I chuckle.
We turn off the highway and instantly the line Dorothy said in theWizard of Ozflashes through my mind:Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore. Except, we are. Well, not Kansas, but the land of corn. So. Much. Corn. It’s vast and endless, and I instantly register the contrast between St. Louis and this place.
I wonder whether I’ll be able to find a decent cup of coffee here, and what people do for fun. Not that I’m here to have fun. I’m here to help my daughter move forward with support, and to give her the best chance she has at a good life. I’m here to draw a line between me and everything I lost in the city I’ve loved and known my whole life.
A herd of cattle graze on the other side of an iconic wood fence. This place looks like a screensaver. Old barns, farmhouses and crops alternate outside our windows. I wonder. Is cow-tipping an actual thing?
Bordeaux. What kind of town takes a perfectly beautiful French name and butchers it to sound like a bovine that doesn’t know what to do with his downtime. If the name of the town didn’t give me pause, the sign on the side of the road does.
The image features a yellow metal square with a black icon of a cow. A car tilts up as if it’s driving over the cow. The caption on another metal sign below the cow picture reads,Caution: Cows. Don’t Say We Didn’t Warn You.
I shake my head.
“Do you know what I like, Daddy?”
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“The rows of corn move like they’re alive. If you look at them a certain way, they make a really cool pattern.”
I grunt. I hear myself do it. It’s a noise of acknowledgment. Fiona has grown so accustomed to me and my ways, she knows what it means.
“Can you see what I see?”
