Chapter 11
Clinical Language Barrier
FIONA
“Good morning, Mrs. Ibarguen,” I say when I arrive at the clinic at seven and find her already standing at the door, waiting for me. It’s the first of June, but there’s a bit of a chill in the air, and we’re both wearing jackets.
“Good morning, Dr. Carson,” she replies. Her greeting is more enthusiastic than mine was.
I didn’t have time to stop and get coffee this morning. Not that I’m sure I would have even if I’d had time. I don’t know if I’m masochistic enough to go back to drinking that gas station swill, and the thought of stopping into Betty’s and seeing Tre… What was I thinking?
Thirty-three years of life and I’ve never done anything as stupid as kissing Richard Alan White the Third.
I hate myself, and I hate him. And I really hate that the kiss has been intruding on my thoughts for most of the weekend.
I wish I could call this whole thing off, but I don’t want Henley and Montank and their five-hundred-room resort in Kalomish any more than Tre does.
“You can call me Fiona,” I tell Mrs. Ibarguen distractedly.
“Oh. Alright. Fiona,” she says, like she’s testing it out. “You can call me Jean.”
“Okay, this way.” I lead the way to my office, and Jean Ibarguen follows.
“You know,” she begins conspiratorially, “I’ve always thought you were nicer than people said.”
I say nothing, refusing to release the pent-up sigh that wants to escape from my lungs as I wonder how long it will take people to get over the fact that I didn’t immediately move back to Kalomish at the first opportunity. Like there’s not an entire world out there.
“A lot of people don’t like that you left for so long,” she tells me, seeming to know exactly where my thoughts have gone.
I don’t bother letting her know that I’m already well aware of that. “Take a seat,” I say instead, gesturing to the office chair behind my desk.
“But my boys left too. Some people just need to see what’s out there.”
“Mhmm.” I drag a chair around my desk and place it next to hers. Once I’m seated beside her, I begin showing her how the computer works and, fortunately, the subject of my personal likeability fades from focus.
We spend the next forty minutes going over how to enter the files into the computer system. And while she started out timidly, she’s a quick learner. I think she’s better at reading Dr. Restin’s handwriting than I am, too.
“It seems like you’ve got the hang of this. I’m going to get a cup of coffee. Would you like anything?” I ask.
“No thanks,” she answers, focused on the computer screen. I have a feeling she’ll tear through these files.
I nod and leave her to it. Natalie and Carol are in the reception area chatting quietly. “Mrs. Ibarguen—Jean—is in the office. I’m going to go grab some coffee. Do you guys want anything?”
Natalie says she’ll take a coffee too, and Carol shakes her head.
I sit in my truck for a moment, trying to decide if I should go to the gas station, which is farther away, or to Tre’s diner, where I risk running into him.
I’m less afraid of how awkward it’ll be, and more concerned that I’m going to see him and realize it wasn’t just watching Eddie bang some unknown woman that had me all hot and bothered.
I’ll have to see him sooner or later though, and if they’ve realized anyone broke into the trailer over the weekend, I’m more likely to overhear gossip about it at Tre’s diner than at the gas station, so I bite the bullet and drive to Betty’s.
When I walk in, Tre is nowhere to be seen, and I’m not sure if the feeling that washes over me is relief or regret. But at least I don’t hear anyone talking about a break-in on Henley and Montank’s property as I wait in line.
“What’s going on with you and Tre?” Ewan asks, sitting next to me at Malcolm’s.
“What do you mean?” I question suspiciously. If Tre let something about Henley and Montank slip, we’re done. Game over. I take a sip of my beer as I wait for Ewan’s answer. It’s from a local brewery, and it’s pretty good—not too hoppy with a smooth finish.
“Well, we were up on the Swammish fishing earlier…”
“Okay? What does that have to do with me?” I guess that explains why Tre wasn’t at the diner this morning.
It’s like he and Ewan are long-lost brothers.
It’s annoying. I wish they were dating. Then I’d have a legitimate reason not to sleep with Tre beyond his just being an asshole.
It’s not like he’d be the first asshole I ever slept with, I think and immediately hate my brain.
“He was asking about you.”
“Okay. I still fail to see what that has to do with me.”
“Sis,” Ewan sighs. “He was basically asking me why you hated him, and the way he was asking it… it was like watching a fifteen-year-old boy trying to work up the courage to ask someone out on a date.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I want to make a snide comment about how much he and Tre seem to talk about me, but I can’t do that without making it obvious that I’ve been talking to Tre too.
“Please. Something is definitely going on between the two of you. I haven’t heard you call him ‘that asshole’ or ‘Dickie’ in at least a week.”
“That’s only because you haven’t heard me talk about him at all,” I counter.
“Yeah, which is noteworthy in and of itself. So, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. Are you sure you didn’t get too much sun while you were out on the river?” I ask with raised eyebrows, reaching to press the back of my hand to his forehead.
Ewan rolls his eyes as he dodges my hand. “Fine. Don’t tell me, but I’m not clueless, sis. It’s pretty clear something is going on between you guys. Anyway, since he asked me why you hated him, I explained about mom.”
“Oh. How’d that go over?”
Ewan shrugs. “He didn’t remember saying it, but he also didn’t deny it. He apologized to me. He’d probably apologize to you too. If you’d let him.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, then change the subject. The last thing I need is to hear Tre tell me he’s sorry. “You’re still coming with us over the Fourth, right? Kelly was asking when we were climbing yesterday. I guess Tess told her.”
“Yeah. Tre threw a fit about it, too.”
“Huh? Why? Why would he care?”
“Normally, we go on a rafting trip with a few other guys that weekend, and I’m the guide, so I had to pull out. Tre was pissed about it even though Kyle is going with them instead.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know. You could’ve said no when Tess asked if you wanted to come. You didn’t have to go just because of me.”
“Eh. Whatever,” Ewan says with another shrug. “I’ll go climbing with you guys this year and go rafting with Tre next year. It’s not a big deal. How’s Kelly? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Busy. She’s managing the climbing gym over in Nakton now.”
“The one that’s really popular for kids’ birthday parties?”
“Yeah.”
“There’s not enough money in the world,” Ewan says, and I laugh. He’s not wrong, but if Ewan were motivated by money in any capacity, he wouldn’t be working as a river guide.
“Whatever, you know that’s right up her alley.”
Kelly and I were briefly part of the same climbing team when we were younger, but she outclassed the rest of us so fast that she ended up climbing with the older kids almost immediately.
She messed around on the pro-climbing circuit for a bit, but she’s kind of like Ewan—too laid-back to really want to compete.
If I were anywhere near as good as her, I’d be in Austria right now climbing in the Alps, but she loves Kalomish and teaching climbing more than being on sponsored teams and in magazines.
“That’s true.”
“Do you think dad might be dating again?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No idea. If he is, he hasn’t said anything about it to me. Why?”
“There’ve been a few nights where he hasn’t come home. I just figured maybe he was seeing someone.”
“If so, it’s about time,” Ewan says.
“So?” I ask my dad, who’s sitting next to me at the long workbench in the storage unit.
It’s a bit after eight on Wednesday night, and a large printout of the picture I took of the condo blueprints is on the tabletop in front of us.
We’ve been silently staring at them for the past twenty minutes, and I’m starting to get bored.
They’re structural blueprints, so it’s one big grid of intersecting lines that means nothing to me.
My dad sighs, his chin propped on his fist. He grabs a red felt-tip marker with his free hand, pops the cap off, and says, “These seven,” as he begins circling a series of squares where the grid lines intersect.
“Each of these is an I-beam that serves as a structural support. If you take out these seven,” he states, tapping the square in each circle, “it’ll be enough to crumple the building.
It won’t completely collapse the structure the way we would typically do for something like this, but it’ll force them to demolish it and start over.
If you take out any fewer than that, there’s a chance they could salvage some of what they’ve built. ”
“Okay,” I nod, my eyes focused on the printout.
“Fiona. You won’t be able to do it. It’s too much work for one person who’s never done this type of setup before to get through in a single night.
And I know it might seem like it’s only the sheriff’s department that’s looking into what happened at Bridal Mountain, but I guarantee it’s not.
The feds are definitely in the loop. They’ve probably already been to check things out, even if word hasn’t made it all over town yet. ”
I look up to meet his blue eyes. His eyebrows are drawn together, and the muscles along his jaw are tight. “Have you ever known me to fail at something, dad? Has there ever been anything I’ve set my mind to that I’ve failed to accomplish?”
“There’s a first time for everything, Fi. And this,” he says, waving at the blueprints in front of us, “is hubris. This is Icarus shit.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not. I can do it.”
“Walk me through how, exactly, you think you can pull this off on your own.”
I force myself to remain still and meet his gaze.
“I’m going to use an oxyacetylene torch.
I should be able to burn through each I-beam in a matter of minutes.
I’ll have plenty of time to set the charges,” I lie.
I knew this would come up, and I can’t tell him I’m going to have Tre helping me with the prep.
That would definitely be a mistake. So I did some research and watched some videos to figure out the fastest way to cut through steel.
“And how the hell are you going to get an oxyacetylene torch out to Hay Creek?”
I shrug. “I’ll get a trailer for my bike and tow it out there along with everything else.
It’s only seven beams, dad. That’s doable.
I’ll wear a mask, and there will be nothing at the scene to identify me.
” I wait for him to contradict me. I’m prepared to argue the point if he tries to tell me I’m wrong, but he only lets out a long exhale.
“When you notch the I-beams, you have to do it right, so that there’s no chance of the beams remaining stacked on each other when the charges detonate. If they don’t slip apart, they won’t pull the building down on itself.”
“Okay,” I agree as he sketches how each beam needs to be cut.
“You still owe me five thousand dollars for supplies,” he says when he’s done.
“I’ll get it to you by this weekend.”
It’s Friday before I actually run into Tre working at Betty’s when I stop in for coffee, and he looks as uncomfortable as I feel.
I can’t help but wonder if it’s because he’s remembering having me pinned against the wall of the trailer at the construction site, or if it’s because Ewan finally told him why I hate him. Maybe both.
Seeing him standing behind the counter with his bright grey eyes—which are definitely tracking my walk up to the register—and his slightly mussed hair is bringing back memories of the trailer.
I stop myself from folding my arms over my chest. Surely my bra is hiding the fact that my nipples are suddenly rock hard, and I wonder if… Nope. Not doing that.
“Hi Fiona,” Tre greets.
“Hi. Can I get a cup of coffee? Please,” I tack on as an afterthought when I set my stupid to-go cup that he made me buy on the counter between us.
“Yeah, sure,” he says, jerking his eyes back to my face. I’m pretty sure he was staring at my tits, and that knowledge does nothing to cool the heat that’s coiled between my thighs.
He grabs the cup and walks toward the coffeepot, unscrewing the lid as he goes.
There’s a small copy of the blueprints inside.
There are seven beams circled in red felt-tip marker and a note, which says, ‘We need to cut through these I-beams’ with a drawing showing how we need to cut them to create the right geometry for them to slip apart once the explosives detonate.
According to my dad, without that, they can stay stacked together like Jenga blocks, which isn’t what we want.
Tre pulls out the paper, subtly pocketing it before filling the cup.
I hand him a five-dollar bill when he comes back. There’s a slip of what looks like receipt paper already wrapped around the cup when I take it from his hand, carefully avoiding touching his skin.
Unfortunately, his stupid face is distracting me when I reach out for my change, and his fingers brush across mine. I say nothing as I turn and head for the door.
Once I’m back inside the safety and solitude of my truck, I peel away the receipt that’s wrapped around the cup.
Goddamnit. Ewan was right. We’re passing each other notes like we’re back in high school, and I’m not sure it matters that they’re about blowing shit up. His note says, ‘I need a distraction at Columbia Auto Repair at 1 PM on Tuesday.’
Does he not realize I have a job? I have patients? And seriously? He couldn’t schedule this at noon so I could at least try to turn it into a long lunch thing? He is the worst! I fume as I crumple his note and throw it on the passenger floorboard.