Page 32 of Let Leaves Lay Where They Fall

His zip front hoodie is no longer a match for the early morning autumn air. Cold penetrates the thin layers of cotton as if it’s not there. Rock solid nipple nubs poke under the fabric.

Leaves are starting to drop off the trees and litter the sidewalk. Halloween is just a couple of weeks away. Snow would start flying soon. He’s curious what it will be like in Maine. Coming from Las Vegas he’d never seen the stuff before his last work contract in Oregon. It had rained more than expected through the winter there. That was disappointing.

Spirit winds of graveyard residents’ whistle. Pulling on tree limbs and carrying away crisp leaves that scrape against headstones and gravel footpaths. Setting the perfect spooky New England atmosphere for the season.

Mabel sniffs at concrete planters holding wilted flowers, forgotten from Memorial Day arrangements, ironically. She waits until they exit the far side of the lot, like a good girl, to take her morning poo.

Nathan realizes he’d left his phone back at the apartment. Wondering if Jamie might have responded. Hoping for it but keeping his enthusiasm in check. His note may have been completely ignored. The adorable waiter sure had been pissed and let it be known. His distaste was completely valid. He wouldn't blame him for discarding the slip of paper, if that’s what happened. Nathan had fucked up.

Seeing him at the restaurant, after receiving a vivid message from Bertie in a dream that very morning, was a sign he needed to make amends. There was something more to their meeting on the footbridge. If Bertie says so, it’s worth exploring. She’d always been his guiding light. Apparently, death wouldn’t keep her from it.

He scoops Queen Mabel’s mess into a little plastic bag and knots it closed. Tossing it into a random trash barrel set out on the curb for weekly pickup. She looks over her shoulder, demanding he keep up. She’s ready to get out of the cold and go back home for her breakfast.

“Hold up, We’ll get there.” Nathan chuckles.

They cut the walk short, through an alley between two houses, leading just across the street from their building. Racing up the stairs and back into the warmth of the little third floor studio.

Nathan fills her bowls with kibble and fresh water. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, while she enjoys her breakfast. Eager to check his phone, left screen down on the nightstand.

Three message alerts. One from Mark. A series of, “That was such a great night. Thanks for dinner. I can’t wait to see you again. And I hope you enjoyed it too?” Nathan felt bad he hadn’t responded last night. He’d fallen fast asleep after washing concealer from his face and popping some pain pills to numb the throbbing in his bruised cheek.

“I had a great time. Text me when you’re back in town.” Nathan sends the reply. Suddenly aware it’s far too early and hopes not to disturb Mark’s sleep.

The second message is some robo generated text from a conservative Nevada politician asking for donations. Deleted and blocked. Wrong tree bub.

A third message from an unrecognized number. “Hey. It’s Jamie.’’

Flutters dance from his belly, through his chest, and curl the edges of his mouth. Elated that the cutie responded to the note he’d left. He wants to write back but it’s only half past four. The last thing he wants to do is dig himself a deeper hole than he’s already in with Jamie. He decides to wait for a reasonable hour. After the sun comes up.

Tucking the precious device in a pocket. He grabs his keys, a thicker denim coat from the packed boxes and an old messenger bag, happy he’d held on to.

Mabel hops up on the bed, nestling back into her burrow and readying herself to sleep off a full belly.

“I’ll be back in a few hours babe.” He kisses the top of her head and ruffles her wrinkly neck. She flops on her side and is snoring before he even gets to the door.

The little city almost feels post-apocalyptic at this hour. Not another vehicle in sight during the short drive to the clinic. Did the world end while he was sleeping?

One tattered woman with dreaded locks piled in a nest on top of her head pushes a shopping cart with a wobbly wheel that’s loaded up with a mountain of her belongings. Crossing the street in front of him at a red light. Nathan calls out and passes her the last twenty-dollar bill in his wallet. He could have offered her a bunch of candy bars, had his backpack not been stolen. Hopefully, the thief with the skilled tongue was enjoying his bounty of chocolate and dirty clothes.

He parks the old Cherokee in an open-air lot across the street from the clinic, instead of pulling into the underground garage like usual. New day, new Nathan.

Grabbing a handful of candy bars, bags of potato chips and two bottled waters from vending machines in the lobby and stuffing them into his bag before making way to the staff’s lounge.

There are a bundle of nurses and two doctors milling about. Preparing coffees and chatting amongst each other. DocDoc is fussing with his shiny blonde hair in a mirror while sharing his plans for the evening.

Nathan stuffs his bag into a locker. Collects a set of scrubs off a shelf and changes from his street clothes.

“That eye looks pretty rough.” DocDoc makes note.

Nathan pauses with pants still mid thighs. Forgetting he’d even had the bruise. Pulling the scrubs up and tying the waist tight. “It’s nothing.”

DocDoc steps over to him and presses a thumb against his cheek.

Nathan winces.

His name tag says Carter Kline M.D. His skin is perfectly sun kissed with no pores in sight as if he’s been molded to perfection from plaster and baked in a kiln. Heavily doused luxury cologne assaults Nathan’s sinuses.

“Follow me.” Doctor Carter instructs. Holding the door and waiting for the nurse to abide.

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