Page 14 of Love Bank
I blinked and Poppy came back into focus, waving her hand in my face.
“Oh, you poor dear. You’re distraught over the inmate situation. We’ve got to do something about it. I’ll ask around and see if anyone has ideas. Hang in there, sweetie.”
She patted my arm and hefted her mail back over her shoulder before exiting the clinic, off to spread the gossip equivalent to a big juicy cinnamon roll I’d just given her. She’d couch it in terms of wanting to help, but really it was all about the gossip factor.
“Thank you, Poppy,” I yelled after her, finally shaking the image from my brain and focusing on what was important: getting my little situation fixed whether Mr. Sutter would help or not. He may have no interest in reining in his little inmates, but the good citizens of Auburn Hill sure would.
I could take that to the bank.
* * *
Due to patient appointments, I ended up taking my lunch break much later than usual.
“I’m headed out back for lunch, Keva,” I called to the lobby area. Our last patient had just left and I needed some substance before I called the fertility clinic down in San Francisco that’d called for a specific sperm sample. Unfortunately, I did not have sperm from a six-foot-eight male Olympic athlete with a genius IQ. Good luck finding that kind of sample without a hefty price tag and an ironclad contract to remove all paternal rights.
“Oh! Your mom just called. Do you want me to get her back on the line?” Keva poked her head through the door as I got my lunch out of our tiny refrigerator. Looked just like our sample refrigerators.
I considered for a second and then decided against it. “No, thank you, I’ll have to call her back later tonight.”
She was harder to get ahold of than that Olympian sperm sample, but my stomach wasn’t having anything to do with postponing lunch. I loved the woman, but I had to be prepared mentally to talk to her. If you thought I had a thing against men, you should see the giant boulder sitting on Mom’s shoulder. I guess being a single mom to Lavender after a painful divorce and then being abandoned by my biological father while still pregnant with me was enough to turn her against men for all time.
When I signed on the dotted line to lease this building, I’d made sure I could expand out the back and put in a patio. Some of the things you become starved for as a nurse on twelve-hour shifts at the hospital was fresh air and sunshine. My clinic had to have a back-door patio for employees and clients alike. My mom always had a thing for being in the great outdoors and I guessed that had rubbed off on me.
I stepped out the back door, letting it swing shut behind me, and took in the biggest breath my lungs could handle. My eyes closed of their own accord and I tilted my head up to the sun. Ahh, pure bliss.
My lunch today consisted of a leftover Cobb salad I’d made for dinner the night before. I hadn’t eaten much of it due to my stomach being off. And why was my stomach off, you may ask? Too much Mr. Sutter and not enough peace and relaxation. I didn’t deal well with animosity between people. Probably would have boded well for a long-term relationship, but then again, I’d never let a man in close enough to have an argument with me. If I didn’t like a man, I just walked away.
But the warden?
I couldn’t walk away. He was next door every day, all day, just sticking me with the needle of his existence. While picking through my dinner, I hadn’t come to any great conclusions. I had zero confidence Mr. Sutter would see the error of his ways and apologize to me or Jesus for his ill manners.
I popped open the top of my Tupperware container and brushed a leaf off the rattan chair I’d picked out at a flea market and dragged all the way over here. Quite the feat in my little Karmann Ghia convertible. Even got stopped by Chief Waldo with a warning to put a red flag on the back of the chair to warn drivers. That was some baloney considering the cushions on this thing were a bright watermelon color. Pretty sure that was warning enough.
Sitting down, I dug into my salad, appreciating the way the blue cheese dressing gave the salad a tang that wouldn’t have been there otherwise. Life was too short to eat subpar food.
That must have been the seagull’s motto as well since one stood stock-still on the back retaining wall, eyeing my salad like it knew I’d lose my focus and that’s when it would swoop in for a tasty treat. Little did he know I had no intention of looking away until I’d inhaled the whole thing. Nothing I hated more than birds with their beady eyes and sharp beaks. Damn things swept right over your head, scaring you, and then they were the ones to crap their pants and leave a mess. Tell me one good thing a bird did for humans. Nothing. That’s what.
“You can go on back to the beach. I’m eating this whole thing. Not that I need the calories, per se, but it’s damn good and I made it. I earned it. You. Did. Not.”
That’s right. I was talking to a seagull now. I hadn’t had a best friend since elementary school when Lacy Brown went all boy crazy and ditched me for prettier friends who helped her sneak notes to the most popular boys in school. Lavender was so much older than me, she didn’t want me around much as kids, and when she turned eighteen, she moved to LA and never looked back. My mom had become my best friend, which was great and all, but the minute she retired a few years ago, she’d been traveling all over the world nonstop with her single friends. I was happy for her, but I missed having someone to confide in and someone to share my day with at the end of a long week. My social skills were deteriorating.
The seagull made eye contact finally, his eyes all knowing, like he really could reason in that pea-sized brain of his. His beak face said “I’m watching you and I know you’ll slip up one day.”
A loud meow broke the staredown. I wrapped my hands around my dish and only then dared to look down and take in the orange striped cat sauntering into my patio. The poor thing was missing some fur in a few patches, leading me to believe he or she was one of Yedda’s retired cats from next door. The outdoor cats never learned to become indoor cats even though Yedda plied them with treats. Inevitably, someone opened the door and one of them made a run for it.
“I suppose you want some of my salad too?”
She—I decided she was a female since males in general were currently/always on my shit list—came right up to me and twined right through my legs, rubbing her fur on my stockings like I was her new scratching post.
She let out a few more meows, then a hiss when she came out from under the little patio table my heavily guarded salad currently rested on. She crouched down low and hissed again, her gaze directly on the fat seagull on the wall.
The seagull squawked but took off, flying away from us, thankfully leaving me out of the shit drop zone.
“Well done, little kitty!” I would have pet her, but a huge sneeze snuck up on me and rattled the metal table, scaring the poor thing. She jumped a foot in the air and then turned around real slow to look at me with a “how dare you?” narrow-eyed gaze.
I kept my hand over my mouth and nose, that familiar tickle making my eyes water. I was allergic to cats. Unfortunate to have a cat sanctuary situated right next door, but that’s another reason I had air purifiers in every room of my clinic.
She and I engaged in another staredown, her unblinking eyes eventually creeping me out. What was it with cats? It’s like you could see their hate for you clearly stamped on their bored little faces.
