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He looks at me like I smashed his Lego set into smithereens. “But I can meet you for a drink beforehand,” I offer. It’s the least I can do, and the offer seems to placate him.
“For the record, I’m against this. Trust me. Things like this don’t end well.”
“Things like what?” I taunt. Harrison is the last person I’d expect to give me trouble for a no-strings sexual arrangement.
“Relationships without a clear path forward. Crash and…” His lips pinch, he uncurls his hand like an explosion, and adds a “boom” sound effect.
I walk away, shaking my head at his nonsense. As if he’d know. And besides, we’re not in that kind of a relationship. At the base of it all, Sunny and I have a friendship and clearly defined expectations. Hell, we even have a contract.
An hour later, after scrubbing in, I enter the OR. My standard mix, a selection of alternative rock from the early two thousands to now, plays on the iPod.
“No, something different. Do the Sunny mix.”
Shelby, a nurse I work with frequently, scrolls through my Spotify mix until she finds my request. James Brown’s familiar chords rip through the room, and wrinkles around every single person’s eyes form. Behind the masks, you can’t see the smiles, but the eye wrinkles… they always give them away.
“I feel good,” James sings, and I bob my head in time to the beat as I check the monitor and converse with the anesthesiologist.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Shelby says.
“Let’s do this. Scalpel.”
My focus falls to my patient, and, like always, my thoughts coalesce and muscle memory and focus intertwine. Two hours later, the knee replacement is complete.
My next surgery is a rotator cuff tear. Before scrubbing in, I shoot off a text to Sunny. She promised to text when she got back, but there’s nothing on my phone. She left earlier this morning for Whispering Creek.
Me: All okay?
In the next OR, the nurse selects one of my frequently played soundtracks. A Chainsmoker song reminds me of dancing with Sunny on New Year’s Eve.This, I can work with.
Less than an hour later, I scrub out and see Sunny still hasn’t responded to my text. I speak briefly with the wife of my patient, check in on my knee replacement from earlier, then head back to my office.
What would the odds be that she was in a wreck on the ride home? Or if something else happened? What if she got home and checked on a cat in the barn or something? She could’ve been bitten by a snake. Or a rabid animal might have attacked her. She could be unconscious in the paddock, and no one would be nearby to help her.
Normally, I’d call my mom and have her swing by to check, but my folks are back at their place at the beach. I could call Oliver, but then he’d be clued in that she was here this past weekend. And odds are, she is absolutely fine. If I call him, she’ll be pissed because Ollie will get suspicious and maybe in his own dumbass way kick start a swirl of rumors. He might even say something to Sam.
On my phone, I type in my parents’ home address and check the route. There’s one crash over the three-hour route. No information on it. Chances are it’s not her. The timing wouldn’t jive. If she got in a wreck this morning, the wreck would be cleared by now.
Fuck it. The problem with witnessing the results of statistically rare accidents all day is that statistics no longer provide comfort to me. I dial my mom. She answers on the fourth ring.
“Hi, there, sweetie. I was just on the phone with Ollie. He’s having a great time in Costa Rica.”
“He’s in Costa Rica?”
“Yeah, with the girl from Jackson.”
“Really?” Last May, he’d flown out there to see someone.
“Do you know her?” Mom asks.
“No.” Oliver and I don’t discuss our dating lives much. He texted back in May. There’d been some late season avalanche, and he’d been worried about her, but I didn’t probe. But if he’s in Costa Rica with her now, I’ll need to try to remember to say something the next time I see him. Ask for a name, at least. I rub the back of my neck, biting down frustration. “Mom, I’m not calling to talk about Oliver.” But the fact that he’s out of town makes this request much easier. “Do you know anyone who could swing by the ranch and check on something?”
“What do you–”
“It’s Sunny. She visited me in Houston this weekend. She had a singing gig Saturday night. Left this morning. She was supposed to call when she got back and hasn’t.”
“Oh, dear. Let me think. I’m sure we can get someone over there.”
“Patty? Who’s that?”
