Page 65 of The Healer

Maybe if she dyed her hair?

Shaking her head, she stopped the tapping and palmed the ticket. Changing herself for anyone was a superficial attempt to heal what was broken deep inside. The call to board echoed through the gate, bringing her to the knife’s edge of her indecision. She pushed herself to her feet, unclipped the handle of her luggage, then wheeled it toward the flight attendant.

Her heart was in pieces. She needed it whole before she considered any kind of relationship. Her medical studies hadn’t covered how to heal a broken heart, well, except for psychiatry.

With a tentative smile, she offered her ticket to the smartly dressed man in a blue uniform. She glided past him, through the glass doors, and onto the boarding bridge. Now was when the lead male would force his way through security to confess his undying love, to plead with her to stay. She cast a glance over her shoulder and giggled at her silliness. If Rhys had done that, she’d have boarded the plane anyway. Or, at least, she hoped she would have.

Finding her window seat, she tucked the luggage into the overhead compartment and buckled in. She would head to her apartment first, clean up, then pop in by her parents. Carl would have died by now. Then again, he was a cactus. Settling back, she closed her eyes, leaned her temple against the cold bulkhead, and dozed through the pre-flight instructions.

The plane’s wheels touching down jerked her awake. She stretched in the confined space and flashed a smile at the elderly lady squeezed into the middle seat.

Ilona’s knees throbbed from the cramped legroom. Usually, she splurged on business class for this reason, but had taken the first flight out. Beggars couldn’t be choosy. Now that she was in Fenneg, she didn’t need to rush. Rhys and Inner City were behind her, and the elderly lady needed assistance to disembark.

With her chin in her palm, Ilona stared out the window. The airport staff darted everywhere like busy bees, wheeling away luggage, refueling the plane, and restocking the food stores.

“Sorry about this.” A twitching smile cracked the old woman’s parchment cheeks. Her gnarled fingers trembled where she gripped Ilona’s forearm. Late onset of Parkinson’s?

“No rush.” Ilona patted her cold fingers. “Are you visiting?”

“Yes, my granddaughter gave birth to a beautiful boy.” The joy washing off her pricked tears behind Ilona’s eyes.

Life for other people went on when her parents’ lives had ended. At that moment, she couldn’t imagine herself boarding a plane in her frail age to visit a new great-grandchild. Years of aching loneliness and a pointless existence stretched before her.

“That’s wonderful. Is anyone meeting you at the airport?” This woman unaccompanied in Fenneg didn’t sit well with Ilona. She sliced glances at the smiling flight attendant bidding their customers a good day. Soon, one of them would assist this great grandmother off the plane.

“My grandson is fetching me.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Ilona would trail her to ensure she found her family. Alone, in a strange airport, made the woman easy pickings for pickpockets, muggers, and murderers. Grimacing at her dark thoughts, she forced her gaze out the window again.

“Oh, where are my manners. Are you visiting too?”

Air whooshed out of Ilona’s lungs. To think her return to Fenneg was temporary bolted a bright warmth through her. She would have to leave at some point, move closer to Gran, but she hadn’t given it more thought, hadn’t poked her emotions to gauge her reaction.

“Fenneg was my home.” She loved this city, its cultural and art festivals, the sandboarding mania, Sunday morning kayaking with Dad, coffee dates in the National Rose Garden with Mom, watching movies while eating salted caramel popcorn with Evie, and sending a child home with cancer in recession. Those were Ilona’s Fenneg memories.

And despite the happiness she had known, one car accident overwrote them all. Mom’s lifeless eyes and smeared red lipstick, Dad lying in the bed with the machines ticking his life away, and the scar along Ilona’s face, flashing nightmarish images every time she caught her reflection.

“Was?”

Ilona forced a smile. How to explain her doctor-not-doctor status? “I just finished my residency. I need to choose which hospital in which city to move to.”

The older woman beamed. “You’re a doctor?”

Ilona shrugged. Discussing whether that was true anymore wasn’t for passing conversation. The flight attendant’s appearance was a Godsend. Ilona sighed and rose to help but had to duck her head. The cleaning crew boarded to sweep through the cabin, and once the elderly woman was assisted off the plane, Ilona unstowed her luggage and followed.

The grandson hurried over as soon as they waddled through the boarding bridge. Ilona veered toward the long-term parking lot. The sight of her bright red Jeep her father had given her on her sixteenth birthday shot darts of agony through her. The gift had delighted her; Dad’s broad smile with the keys dangling from his fingers, and Mom struggling to fix the massive bow on the hood. Now it served as a reminder of happier, more carefree times. With snow tires fitted, Ilona could use it in Coedwig.

She shook her head. No more snow and no more Dane, Gran, or Rhys by association. So, not Fenneg, and not Inner City. Maybe Tillden or Suddale to the south? But to start the application process again meant accepting failure, her limits, her inability to save everyone. It said much that she hadn’t lost a single life during her residency. If she had, maybe her inability to save her parents wouldn’t have hit her so hard.

She slumped. It still would. Helplessness had no cure she knew of.

After sliding her luggage into the trunk, she settled into the driving seat and reached for the seatbelt. She swerved onto the freeway, barreling along to her small apartment close to Amity Hospital. The bustle of life highlighted the bleakness of her own. Schools held sports events, shoppers chatted in mall parking lots, and a colorful hot air balloon drifted across the cerulean sky. Tall palms swayed, and folks in shorts and flip flops meandered along the sidewalks.

The warm breeze dewed sweat on her upper lip. She closed the window and switched on the air conditioning. Almost snorting at her low tolerance for the balmy weather, she turned into her dedicated parking bay.

The moment she opened her apartment door on the fifth floor, her shoulders drooped. Carl was fine, glowing lime green with health. He dominated the island in her quaint kitchen. The walls, counter, and tiles were white with the only splash of color her brown corduroy second-hand lounge suite.

Everything was as she had left it in her mad dash to pack for Coedwig. Clothes littered her bed. She gathered her nightgown, a now-dry towel, a discarded sock, and let the tears fall. Cleaning gave her purpose. While she wept, she dusted, mopped, scrubbed until her fingers throbbed, and her lower back ached. Then she collapsed into her overlarge lazy boy and stared at the flickering night lights.

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