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CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jay
I close my last email. It’s the best bit of news I’ve had in six weeks! I’m a free man. The courts having finalized our divorce. Cheryl is safely back in South Africa and in good hands.
Now all I need is to figure out how I’m going to fix the mess with Simmi.
A knock at my door breaks my brainstorming. “Yes.” I cringe when our part-time nurse walks in.
“Ethan, sorry mate. It’s been a long day.” I show the man to a chair. “How can I help?”
“Just wanted to let you know all patient visits are up to date and so are their files.”
“Great.” I pause. I can see there’s more to his mundane, unnecessary report.
“Erm, well, I’d like to know if there’s a possibility of a full-time position with the clinic?”
I lean back in my chair and consider his question. “Honestly, at this stage, I don’t know.” I don’t know if and when Simmi is returning. If she will chance working for me again. If she’ll forgive me.
“But if you’re willing to hang around until I do, which won’t be more than a couple of weeks more, I can give you a straight answer.”
Fuck I hate tagging people along by a thread.
Ethan stands and reaches out his hand. “Yeah sure. Thanks.”
He walks out, leaving me to wrap up and return home to weekend filled with regret and emptiness. I make my way to the reception. “Thought you’d be gone by now.” I check my watch.
“Naw. Thought I’d do the cash ups and final pathology reports for ya.” Meryl grins and I open the small bar fridge, handing her a beer.
“Oh, by the way. Simmi asked me to keep an eye on Alisha Zerwick. She’s gone missing, so has Mickey.”
“Shit.” I knew something was wrong. But between sorting Cheryl shit out and my other patients I stupidly allowed them to slip through the cracks, “Something is not right with Mickey. How o we go about locating them?”
“It’s with the cops now. I made sure our awesome sergeant is on the case.” She reassures ad shuts down her computer.
“So.” She swivels in her seat, peeling back the church key of her beer. “Simmi is back.”
I almost choke. “Why are you telling me this?”
She considers me, then crosses her arms and legs, and takes a sip of her beer.
“I’ve not asked or even judged. This bullshit Doris is trying to sell all over town, is it true?”
I take a long hard swig of my own beer.
I have nothing more to lose. “Yes and no.”
“Explain,” she demands, not arrogantly, but like a mother who wants to know her kid behaved the way he did.
I tell my receptionist-come-surrogate mother, as that what’s she become to me over the last months, the sorry, long-assed story of my failed marriage and crazy ex-wife.
“Ah huh.” She nods and downs the last of her beer.
“Seems to me you have some explaining to do.” She drops the empty can in the recycle bin.
“I tried, but she wouldn’t stop and listen.”
“Would you have?” She leans with her elbows on her knees.
