Page 38 of Off Plan
Me:Hey! Not angry, promise. Settling in, but super busy. Love you lots. Love to Con, too. Call you next weekend!
I shoved my phone facedown into the comforter and groaned up at the ceiling.
That was some bitter fucking irony right there. Micah thought I knew what I was doing?Ha. In my entire life—and I mean, even including the teenaged parts, when I did almost every harebrained thing my idiot friends ever dared me to do, complete with all the broken bones and community service that earned me—I had never, ever feltlesslike I knew what I was doing.
Taking control of myone goddamn lifehad ended up with me stranding myself on an island with spotty cell service, rotting plumbing, and the most insane collection of humans I’d ever seen assembled in one place.
Livingfearlesslyhad resulted in me getting an erection under the worst, most humiliating circumstances possible, sending my serial killer slash new best friend fleeing into the night like my hard dick was a match that might light him on fire.
And now I was spending yet another night alone in my hotel room, which was way less comfortable than my old apartment, overthinking things, as usual, but now with the added bonus of sweating my ass off while I did it.
This morning being Monday, I’d officially opened the new medical center and seen my first Whispering Key patients… and if I hadn’t been firmly committed to a career in medicine and firmly indebted to the bank that owned my student loans, I might have seriously reconsidered going back to my college barista gig, because these people werecertifiable.
I’d trooped up the stairs to the old meeting rooms in the Whispering Key Rec Center where my new assistant Taffy and I had spent all weekend organizing a bunch of secondhand furniture and office supplies into something resembling a clinic, only to find thirty-four residents already crowding the makeshift waiting room, all insisting they’d gotten there first, and poor Taffy nearly in tears trying to corral them all.
It had only gone downhill from there.
Mrs. Lorenna McKetcham, aged seventy-eight, had started out the morning asking whether I planned to give out free condoms to advocate safe sex on Whispering Key, and if so, could she take some to share with her mahjong friends who’d be assembling down the hall later? “We get pretty wild after our game nights,” she’d admitted with a terrifyingly girlish giggle. Then she’d bit her lip. “We’re always looking for new members, Doc. You could stop by if you wanted to.”
I’d thanked her politely and given her a large bag full of condoms, but I hadnotstopped by. If her group had found a way to make mahjong into foreplay, I did not possess the mental fortitude to know about it.
Gloria Frye had come in shortly after that, sporting adifferentfloral dress and a pair of very bruised, heat-swollen feet stuffed, once again, into too-tight pumps. “Used to happen to my mother, too,” she’d sighed. “Does this mean I’m getting… old?” She’d only come because Mr. Goodman had insisted, she said, but she’d been grimly satisfied when she’d stepped on the scale. “Lowest weight since I graduated high school, and it’s all thanks to my miracle pineapple bread. Loaded with so many antioxidants that it improves your mood andburnscalories while you chew it!”
I’d tried to explain that this was highly unlikely, but she’d just pinched her lips, looked me up and down, and told me in a cheerful voice that she’d bring me a loaf—or maybe two—which was so perfectly passive-aggressive, I couldn’t feel anything but admiration.
Gerry Twomey, aged forty-seven, who had the most unnaturally smooth skin I’d seen in my entire life, stopped by to have me check out his hip, which he was fairly certain he’d injured by dancing. “It was all a blur once the party kicked in. I bet you know a thing or two about partying, Mason—do you mind if I call you Mason? I’m always up for a good time.”
I’d prescribed rest, an anti-inflammatory, and a follow-up in a few weeks. I’d also kinda wanted to suggest he check out Mrs. McKetcham’s group, down the hall… but then I’d thought better of it. Getting Gerry Twomey together with the Whispering Key Mahjong Society might create a public safety hazard.
Leticia Irvine, at least, had made no bones about why she’dreallycome to see me. After I’d examined her aching shoulder and prescribed some medication, she’d settled herself on the old couch at the front of the room and given me a searching look like she was assessingmyvitals, rather than the other way around. “So, new doctor. You speak Spanish? No? Hmm. What brings you to the key,patojo?”
I’d stammered something about wanting a change and a fresh start, and she’d responded with a nod and a very long, very solemn, very sigh-filled string of Spanish.
“I’m sorry,” I’d said, spreading my hands. “I didn’t understand a word… or was that the point?”
She’d pushed herself to her feet, grabbed my chin, and nodded firmly. “Bien chispudo. You’ll do okay. Come to the Concha for your lunch. I’m makingtapado. You’ll love it.”
I’d had no idea what that was either, but I’d nodded, because I was already getting that you didn’t argue with Lety Irvine, and there was comfort in the idea that at least one of the incomprehensible things on this island didn’t want or expect me to make sense of it.
And as it turned out, the seafood stew had been really fucking good.
But then Beale Goodman, who’d once again driven me the mile or so from the motel to the town center that morning and back home that evening, as sweet and good-natured as ever, had shown that he was a little bitoddas well. I’d noticed him favoring his shoulder, and he’d explained that he’d somehow sprained it while trapping a wild creature, which was… as valid a hobby as any, I supposed. But when I’d offered to treat it, he’d said he wasalreadytreating it by wearing a bracelet made of “white quartz crystals, which heal nearlyeverything, Doc.”
Seriously, between the crystals and theferrymones, it was amazing these people were still alive.
At least Beale had agreed to let me show him some stretches, proving he was odd butreasonable—
A door slammed outside, indicating that Fenn Reardon was home, after another day of successfully avoiding me.
—unlike his cousin, who remained provokinglyunreasonable.
I was absolutelynotgoing to chase the man. Hell, no. I’d tried to go after him the night he’d left, but he’d driven off in his stupid car. I’d spent an hour knocking on his door one day when Iknewhe was in there, and he hadn’t answered. I had no clue why he’d overreacted the way he had, and if he didn’t want to accept my apology for my… overenthusiasm, I wasn’t going to humiliate myself further by obsessing over it.
That was that.
Over and done.
Moving on.
