I catch his wrists and ease them down. “I’m fine, I promise. Logan’s been monitoring me for a concussion. And this,” I say, gesturing at my forehead, “I just stumbled and hit my head.”
He exhales hard through his nose. “Thank god. Oh, Rosie.” He shakes his head. “That must have been terrifying.”
I nod, feeling a girlish comfort at having my dad worry over me. “It was. But it was over fast. That’s why we drove the rest of the way. Logan wanted to fly out of West Virginia. I wouldn’t get back on a plane.”
I almost mention the headache, but that reminds me of the whole conversation I just had with Pearl, his text messages, and his abhorrence of having to drive with me, so I just leave it at that.
“I can’t believe it. Rosie, I’m so glad you’re okay.” Dad shakes his head slowly. “I guess when your flight got canceled, maybe that was the universe telling you something, huh?” He’s smiling, trying to make it a joke. It doesn’t quite land, given I’d thought the same thing.
The silence stretches. “I’ve been putting balm on it,” I offer. “One of Mom’s recipes. It’s been helping. Plus, I packed some anti-inflammatory tea, so the headache was mostly gone by day two.”
His frown is immediate. “It’s really best to see a doctor for these kinds of things, sweetheart.”
“A doctor would have told me to put arnica, or some other topical on it.” I keep my voice even. “Which is what I did.”
“That’s not the point. What if the cut had gotten infected? What if you needed stitches? If Logan hadn’t been there—”
“I would have handled it. I didn’t have a concussion. Dad, I may not be a doctor, but I studied herbal medicine for six years.”
He gives me a patronizing smile and a pat on my shoulder. “I’m just saying, in these cases, it’s best left to the professionals.”
The back of my neck feels hot. I have every reason to let the comment go—it’s what I usually do. And with his wedding, the fragile state of our relationship, the long day sitting heavy on my shoulders, I should—but I hear myself say, “I am qualified, Dad. This is literally what I do. Treating a bruise or a cut is well within my scope of practice.”
“Of course it is, honey. I’m just saying, if there’s a doctor nearby—” he waves about the room, “best to consult one. There’s seven in here alone.” He chuckles.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to break open an old argument. To remind him that surgical patients who meditate have reduced post-op pain and shorter recovery times. That acupuncture can treat allergies just as well, if not more effectively than over-the-counter drugs. That eighty percent of the world’s population relies on herbal medicine for healthcare—not as a hobby, not as a lifestyle aesthetic, but as medicine.
But he’ll call it woo-woo. He’ll smile condescendingly. And if I push, he’ll say what he always says—that I should have justgone to medical school or become a pharmacist if I wanted to be taken seriously.
So I say nothing.
“Anyway. I just wanted to come say hi before dinner.” I touch his arm briefly. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Of course. Oh—Pearl’s put together a little speech. She’ll come find you beforehand, so you can stand with her before she announces me and Jo to the room. My girls together.”
“Sure, Dad.”
“Alright,” he kisses my cheek. He knows something is off between us. But for such a smart man, miraculously, he doesn’t understand what.
Or maybe he does and just doesn’t care.
I blink hard and turn away before he can see the disappointment on my face.
I wave goodbye and make my way out of the billiards room, waving my hand through someone’s cigar smoke.
Dinner tonight. Wedding tomorrow. After that, I could just catch a bus. I don’t have to stay for the rest of the week. Nobody would care either way.
Chapter 13: Logan
I’ve been staring out the window at the garden terrace and the ocean beyond for the last half hour in a state of numb panic.
The storm weaves through the palms. I watch them bend, the leaves whipping around, resilient and sharp. I’m sure I have emails to catch up on. Case reports, patient charts to review.
But I can’t seem to move from this spot.
I keep staring at the palm trees.
The room is beautiful, as I knew it would be. Like the rest of the resort, it’s bright and spacious with the faint smell of clean, white linen, polished wood. There’s a recessed sitting area with a low sectional. A fully stocked bar cart. The bedroom and sitting room open onto a balcony overlooking the estate, and on the opposite end, a bathroom with a jacuzzi and a walk-in shower, with six shower heads and a teak bench.
