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And heaven help me, but I think this version gets me in the girly parts even harder than the put together man did.
“What brought you back to Montana?” he asks, probably making small talk to pass time.
“That business I was here for a few weeks ago? They asked me to come back for another interview.”
“So was it business last time, or an interview then too?” His eyes leave the road for a brief moment, meeting mine.
“An interview.”
“Can I pry and ask what for?”
Sighing sadly, I look out the passenger window. “That same project Max was talking about, I guess.”
“Really?”
I begin to nod but realize he probably won’t catch it. “Yeah.” Adjusting in the seat, I cross my arms over my stomach. “I do landscaping. They invited me to interview and bring my portfolio. That was last month. Then a week or so ago, they asked me to come back and bring a proposal for the project, specifically. That was this morning.”
“And what happened?”
“Ultimately, they decided they want to keep the project local. All vendors from the area.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he slows the truck for a stop sign. When I look over at him, I see he’s looking at me. “I’m sorry,” he tells me. “It sounds like you wanted it.”
“It would have been great for my career but…” Shrugging, I pry my eyes away from his gaze. “It is what it is.”
“What does landscaping look like in Arizona? Rocks and cactuses?”
“Cacti.”
His chuckle is short but amused. “I know. I was trying to crack a joke. Make you smile.”
Oddly enough, it’s not his “cactuses” that has me smiling, but hiswantingto make me smile.
“You have to be good at what you do, if a desert landscaper was asked back for a second interview here. Landscape is different.”
“It is, yeah, but most of my summer projects are up in Flagstaff. Arizona isn’t all dirt and cacti, you know. And people are moving from out of state and wanting grass, so I get my share of challenging projects.”
“You enjoy it?”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Conversation ceases but it’s only a few minutes before he’s pulling the truck into a small parking lot in front of a standalone building, a wooden sign on the front stating it’s the Forever Health Clinic.
“If I thought something was seriously wrong, I’d have taken you into the city,” he explains, putting the truck in park. “At most, I think we’re looking at a minor concussion, if even that. But they’re usually quick to get people in the back, so we shouldn’t have to deal with any small town gossip.”
Inside, there aren’t many people waiting in chairs, and I’m brought back to be checked with hardly a wait at all. I don’t stop Ben from following behind.
I just peed in a cup and am waiting for an MRI now. I’m not the most comfortable sitting here in a hospital gown, and have my arms crossed protectively over my stomach. Even my legs are crossed, with one foot hooked under the other as my legs hang over the side of the bed.
“Where do they even put imaging equipment in this building?” I ask into the quiet room. Ben is sitting in a chair beside the cot, his denim-covered legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.
His hands are locked on his stomach and he grins crookedly. “Forever’s small but this new generation is trying hard to make it the best place to live. And that means the best medicine equipment possible. That said, there’s a helipad out back for those more emergent times.”
“Did you grow up here?”
He nods once. “I did. It’s not nearly the same as it was ten, fifteen years ago. It was about five years ago that someone came in and decided to fix it up. The changes brought in more young people. I swear, when I was a kid, the townspeople were mostly old ranchers and ranch hands. Hardly any kids. The town was slowly dying.”
