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I couldn’t help but wonder if Hugo had asked her to do that or if it was down to Dr. Harlow’s prerogative. Either way, it felt like she was mostly just checking for any obvious, physical issues.
“Very good,” she said, snapping off the gloves.
“That’s it?
“That’s it,” she said pleasantly gathering up all of her things, “I should have the results in a day or two.”
The next twenty-four hours felt like the world had stopped. Even food had lost its inherent appeal. I would cook like usual, but then just end up moving things around the plate. My mind was always elsewhere entirely. Unable to muster even the focus to chew and swallow. Drinks were a life-saver. Possibly in the literal sense. At least they took the chewing out of the equation.
I tried to function normally, I really did., trying to put all the questions and anticipation out of my mind. Like trying to resist the last cookies on the plate, it didn’t go very well. Every time I tried to do something else, even essential things like sleeping and eating, my mind went back to the tests. It had been a day, and there could be another to come.
The bell of my cell’s ringtone tinkled like fairy laughter. My glass falling into the sink as I reached for it, hoping for good news.
“Hello?
“Hi, am I speaking with Vega Alejo?
“Yes,” I said, my heart pounding, “This is she.
“Great. My name is Cassidy. Mr. Boucher sent me to pick you up.”
“Wh-wait, you mean, like, now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’d been chosen. This was real, and I was going to be Hugo Boucher’s “valentine.”
This was insane, but the excitement flooding my veins was more intense than the most powerful caffeine buzz. I’d never packed so fast in my entire life. The single suitcase was still revealing new and interesting surprises days later.
“Packing light?” Cassidy asked.
Short but powerful, she leaned against the classic Coup Deville. Resplendent in a sleek black suit with crisp white shirt. Her copper hair was artfully cropped into a pixie cut that flattered a pretty face.
“I like to keep things simple,” I replied breathlessly
“Me too.
She opened the back door with a flourish, even throwing in a little bow that made me laugh. The soft leather creaked under me as Cassidy closed the door, sealing my fate and resigning me to the future.
The landscape rolled outside the window like a film reel. Switching from downtown streets, to manicured suburbs, and finally to open highway. An expanse that would follow us the rest of the way there.
Time began to blur, my excitement leaving me unable to tell if it was minutes or hours passing me by. I hadn’t really thought about how long the drive would be. All I knew was that Hugo lived in California, which narrowed it down a bit. Even if it could still be hours.
I hadn’t exactly done much exploring of the state, spending most of the last five years in San Jose and rarely venturing out. It seemed longer, of course, it always did without a reference point, but it was actually just under two hours on the road. The green expanses of the wine country appeared like an oasis in the desert.
The car took a turn, its first in over an hour. The smooth pavement of the highway turned to the bump and grind of gravel as we rolled up on the house. Just as a light rain began to dot the windshield.
Standing like a footman outside a carriage, Cassidy opened an umbrella at the same time as the door, giving me shelter as we walked from the car to the house. I gazed in awe at the remarkable structure, which was built in an 18th century French style. A beautiful building out of place and time. Suddenly, the term ‘anachronistic’ had a new dimension of meaning.
Delivered safely to the door, I was left to my own devices. Cassidy ventured back out into the gathering deluge to put the car in the garage. Better to prevent rusting. Even that far from the open ocean.
“You must be Vega.
I’d never heard my name so much outside of school. It was disconcerting, but kind of nice as well. This most recent instance had originated from a pleasant looking older woman who had appeared out of nowhere.
“Yes,” I said, my vocabulary still handicapped by wonderment.
“This way please, he is waiting for you.
“Are you his maid?” I asked as we went deeper down the hall.
“Maid, head cook, gardener, surrogate mother, you name it,” she chuckled, “Here we are.
The door was as heavy as it looked. Creaking dramatically on old hinges as I entered the study. A true paragon of the type, complete with roaring fire, and bookcases so high they required a ladder. The door closed behind me, leaving little choice but to approach.
Inch by inch, he came into view. Like a rotoscope as I came around the couch. Looking like a painting as he read on the antique couch. Dressed more casually than I expected in slacks and a black sweater.
