Over the Hills and Far Away (NOLA's Own #1) (23 page)

What the fuck?

A powerful lawn mower roared to life, too, and then I realized a fucking lawn service was tackling the jungle next door.

It wasn’t like anyone lived—

Holy shit.

No one had lived there in almost twenty years.

Phil is coming home in a few weeks. Is he…

Is that motherfucker moving back into his old family home? Is Phil fucking Deveraux moving in right next door to me?

Maybe they’re finally selling the house, or maybe someone complained to the county about the overgrowth or…

Or maybe I should just ignore it and just continue with the rest of my damn day. Whatever is going on over there is none of my business.

That was a lot easier said than done.

When Alys and Lili came home, the three of us stood on the horizontal support boards running along the fence as we gazed over at the reduced vegetation.

“What do you think it means?” Alys whispered.

It wasn’t even close to being done. The lawn service had left their equipment to start again the next day. We also noticed scaffolding on the outside of the house, so whoever was moving in was going to have the place brought up to code.

“Workers were in the house all last week,” Lili whispered back. “I saw people hauling shit out of there.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.
Had I been so wrapped up in my own shit that I didn’t notice?

I looked over at Alys, who shrugged, letting me know she hadn’t noticed anything either.

Lili just smirked at me.

“Why are we whispering?” asked Alys.

Because we’re afraid to awaken the Dark God of the Universe. That’s why!

“I don’t know,” I whispered in reply.

“You started it!” Lili hissed at Alys.

The lawn service started again the next morning.

Then, they came back the following day.

Deforesting that place was taking an army of workers. The sounds of reconstruction to the home continued to increase as the week flew by.

I ended up doing most of my meditating at night before bed. At least that way, I wouldn’t be disturbed by the sounds coming from the Plantation House, and the circulating theories of what those noises meant.

When the weekend came, Lili convinced me that my wardrobe was sorely lacking, and Alys told me that it would make me feel good to go and buy myself some nice things. I hated shopping, especially for clothes, but Lili had it in her head that I would run into Phil as soon as he stepped off the plane.

A week later, all noise from the Plantation House ceased, and once more, we were left in the peace and quiet of our corner of the neighborhood.

“Good morning, Dr. MacGregor!” Lucy called out cheerfully as I walked through the door to the clinic.

“Morning, Luce,” I replied.

I’d tried to get her to call me Kenna. Hell, she was nearly five years older than me, but I guessed the title required that she showed her respect. I should probably appreciate the gesture.

“I guess we’re fully booked all week?”

“Yes, Dr. MacGregor, and your patients have really missed you.”

She was so formal and polite. I wondered what would happen if she knew that I was really a raging pothead who secretly wished that the Enya CD she had playing nonstop would blow up and take the Yani backup soundtrack with it. I could picture her positively fainting if she saw my
real
music collection.

Rita came in before the workday began to offer me her personal condolences.

“Kenna, sweetheart! How are you doing?” She wrapped her thin long arms around me and squeezed tight.

“I’m holding up. Thanks.”

Hovering behind Rita was someone I’d never met, an attractive older woman, possibly in her mid-fifties. She was smiling nervously at me, and I smiled in return.

“I’ve found a therapist who I think can help you and Gavin out. She worked well with him while you were on leave, and I’d like for her to stay on with you, if you like her.”

No need to put me on the spot, Rita. Shit.

“Dr. MacGregor,” said Rita, all back to business, “this is Charlotte Jameson. She’s certified in deep tissue massage, trigger point therapy, acupuncture, and manual manipulation.”

I reached out to shake hands.

“It’s been a real pleasure working here, Dr. MacGregor. Gavin and Lucy speak so highly of you, and your patients have said only wonderful things.”

“Uh, thanks,” I said, a little surprised at her level of enthusiasm. “So, you feel comfortable working here?”

“Very much so,” she replied, smiling.

“That’s great because we need you.”

That put a glow on her cheeks. Seriously, we needed her. There was way too much work for only Gavin and me.

The week ended up flying by with the heavy workload. I found Charlotte to be sweet, charming, and efficient. She was a bit of a motherly figure for the rest of us. Gavin and I claimed her as ours. And even if she hadn’t been all sorts of wonderful, we still would have kept her—at least until we could have found something better.

Friday evening had Alys, Lili, and I looking forward to a couple of days off. We ordered take-out from Sushi Point and gorged ourselves while we watched a DVD of NOLA’s Junk playing live in Budokan. Two hours later, we were sitting on the back porch, enjoying our little corner of the world.

“One week,” sighed Lili. “One week, and we’ll be watching Our Boys in the flesh.”

“One week,” repeated Alys. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen them. I’m actually getting excited. When was the last time either of you got excited for a concert?”

“I was pretty psyched for System of a Down and Tool. Shit, Tool was one of the best shows we’ve been to—ever,” I replied.

“How long ago was that?” asked Lili.

“We saw Tool two years ago,” replied Alys.

“And it’s been five years since we last saw NOLA’s Junk,” I said more to myself than anyone else.

We all let out a long-winded sigh. There was no denying that the three of us were in love with them. Their music was our hearts’ anthem, the very sound our souls danced to. Our auditory worship was our collective om—raw, powerful, and so much larger than life. It made us feel that way, too.

“What are you going to do, Kenna? I mean, how will you…make contact?” asked Alys, her voice a bit hushed.

“Well, I was thinking I’d tune the TV to snow, send out some blips into the cosmos, and hope the mother ship will find me in this bayou backwater and beam me up.”

Lili cracked up, busting out in deep-bellied guffaws.

Alys stuck her tongue out at me before losing it, too.

“Make contact?” I laughed. “What the hell, Alys?”

Monday showed up with a vengeance.

My workload was a little lighter, thanks to Charlotte, but we were slammed with patients.

Lucy found me in my office right before lunch as my latest patient walked out, looking thoroughly dazed and confused from the brutal treatment I’d delivered.

“Dr. MacGregor? There’s an emergency call.”

I gave her a harassed look. “An emergency? Doesn’t that warrant a call to the hospital?”

“It’s Timothy Williams.”

Why does that name sound familiar?
I thought, feeling a wriggling sensation around the region of my heart.

“He says he’s some sort of band manager.”

Shut the fuck up.

“The drummer for the band he represents, Felix Bouvier, is having debilitating pain in his left shoulder and can’t perform. Mr. Williams would like you to see his client today—”

“Shut the fuck up!” I said.

Lucy’s eyes went wide with shock. “D-doctor?”

“Oh, sorry, Luce. Don’t take that literally. Do I have space to take him toward the end of the day?”

“I can move your last two patients to Gavin and Charlotte since they’re follow-ups. They just need some manipulations and—”

“Do that. I’ll see Felix this afternoon then.”

“O-okay.” She shot me a terrified look while nodding vigorously.

When she left my office, I slowly sat down on the massage bench. I felt like I was going to faint.

Holy shit. Oh my gods above. Holy fucking shit!

They were back already. Flipper was going to walk into my office today.

What the fuck do I do?

I wanted to beg Flipper to tell Phil that I was here, that I’d been waiting six fucking years for his ass to come home and finish what we’d started. And if Flipper thought I was a crazy whack job, I could hold him hostage—he was a little dude—and torture him with acupuncture needles and pressure points.

Yeah, totally not going to happen.

I’m going to play it cool. I’m a professional. I won’t ask anything about the band—or Phil. I’m just his therapeutic physician this afternoon. That’s all.

I felt a little panicky.
I actually should refuse to acknowledge that anything had ever passed between Phil and me—at least while we were in this office. To ask Flipper about Phil would not be ethical in any way. As long as Felix was a patient, I should act only as his doctor and nothing else.

That’s what I’ll do. Fuck me and my logical, responsible brain!

The rest of the day dragged ass. Every fucking patient seemed to just suck the life force right out of me. My insides were squirming for the time to pass, so it slowed its ass down.
Typical.

Flipper’s appointment was at three thirty.

It was now 3:27.

I was so fucking nervous that I was about to throw up. I couldn’t seem to calm my nerves, no matter how much deep breathing and brief meditation pauses I did. I hoped I didn’t look as frazzled as I felt.

Walking out to the waiting room, I saw him looking through an old copy of
Better Homes and
Gardens.
Flipper was small, maybe five-eight, and whipcord thin due to mad amounts of impressive drumming. An attractive guy, he was dark from his Mexican genes—I’d read that in an article—and loaded with tattoos and more piercings than was really necessary. From where I was standing, I could see the piercings in his nose, lip, eyebrow, and at least fifteen in one ear. His inky black hair was spiked with enough hair wax to withstand hurricane force winds. He favored his right shoulder while the left one looked frozen as he turned the page.