“Whatever. You break your leg sometime, and then tell me what to do. You know what I’m saying?”
I shake my head but don’t answer her. I do not know what she is saying, honestly.
“So, I gotta go!” she singsongs. “Say hi to the family for me!”
The line goes dead, and I let my hand fall to my side. Tension creeps through my body, starting in my gut. On the other hand, I realize that I’m just now feeling it. So that means I didn’t feel it this morning, and maybe that really was because of Dr. Warner.
But here it is again, right back where I started. It’s like a thundercloud going over the sun. The gallery seemed completely possible, and everything felt for a moment like it was going to work out. Now I am shrouded in doubt again, worrying about things I can’t control.
Didi sounds suspiciously pain-free. With her tendency to go overboard, I wonder if anybody is keeping an eye on her back in New York. But I am too far away to do anything about it. And I have plenty to keep me busy here. More than enough.
I slide the heel of my hand across the plaster wall again, happy to have something solid to push my weight against. My dad catches my eye from across the room and I jerk my chin at him, to get his attention.
“What’s up, JoJo?” he asks.
“I was just thinking, is the plaster okay like it is? Maybe we don’t have to drywall?”
He leans back on his heels, contemplatively scanning the wall from here to the front window.
“You could be right,” he nods. “That would save us a couple of days, to be honest. We could give the floor an extra day to harden.”
“Yeah? Would that work?”
“Yeah, I think it would,” he smiles at me, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear. “You’re a genius, JoJo. Just like your old man.”
I love the praise, and I feel pretty good as he walks away, but I can’t shake the rain clouds that have covered my mood now. All the things I have to do crowd into my mind at once, all jockeying for position, and I can’t focus. And then I remember I may have a way out of this.
Picking my cell phone back up, I find Dr. Warner in my contact list.
Hi.
I squint at the phone. That was a terrible message. But he replies right away.
Hi, yourself. What’s up?
For a moment, I’m not sure what to say. Do I flirt? Do I make an appointment with Jen or something? Then again, I think we’ve already discussed the parameters of our arrangement. I should just be direct, right?
I think I need to see you today. Six o’clock, my place?
He answers in ten seconds.
I’ll be there.
Chapter 13
Sturgill
Sometimes I wish I had a little bit more to do. Only four hundred people live in Willowdale, and they hardly ever seem to get sick all at once. Apparently all the sunshine and ocean air really is good for us.
When I was in Costa Rica, the situation was a little different. I guess the point of the Peace Corps is to go to places that really need help, but that was much more urgent. People in the United States don’t generally die of dysentery. People in South America, especially in the more remote areas, sometimes do.
I thought about staying there, based on some kind of heroic image of myself. It was nice to get extremely busy. Wake up at five in the morning and get done sometime around midnight, that was the usual day. Everybody was focused on the mission: saving lives, making a better future.
In Willowdale, things hardly ever get all that urgent.
Of course, sometimes people pass away. Thankfully, they usually die of old age around here. Old age is terrible, but hardly tragic. People live full lives, and then they take their leave. It’s nature.
Before she passed, my mother told me this was the ideal aspiration. Shepherding my flock from the cradle to the grave, and having a wife and children, of course, too. I haven’t managed to put that last part together, but I think my mother would be proud of the shepherding part, at least.