Chapter 3
three
GREER
The brass sign at the front door confirms I’m in the right place. An ironic laugh slips through my lips. At least I’ve gotten a job. So why is my stomach twisted?
While I interviewed at a clinic closer to my aunt’s house, the position was for its sister clinic here in Parran.
Since I still use an app to get around the tiny incorporated areas, I didn’t realize where I was headed until it hit me like a freight train.
Right outside the brick building I’m to spend much of my time is the red light that led to one of the most mortifying moments of my life.
It calls me back to the roar of a Harley’s tailpipe as it stalks me down the highway.
I keep replaying it in my mind like a movie clip.
It certainly feels fantastical. I didn’t expect to find myself back at the scene of the crime, but here I am, not even twenty-four hours later.
Assuming things work out, I’ll be seeing that damn traffic light every day. I’ve spent three very uncomfortable minutes today waiting for the stoplight to change. I’ve never been so hyper aware of every noise, listening for the rumble of a bike.
It’s been impossible to forget him, if for no other reason than that he’s now on my social media.
I made the mistake of telling Allie when the follow request popped up.
She stole my phone from me, accepted it, then with an unremorseful smile told me, “You can thank me when you’re riding off into the sunset on the back of a Harley.
” Did I glance at his profile? Of course not.
I clicked on every post, studying it with more attention than a wronged wife who found the other woman’s profile.
Pulling in a deep breath, I push open the paneled wood door and step onto grey linoleum.
The receptionist window is a simple cut-out in sheetrock with a painted ledge.
Through the opened privacy screen, I can make out a woman searching for something at a desk.
She holds up a pair of cat-eye glasses with a victorious smile before sliding them onto her face.
I plaster on a smile, hoping to make a good first impression. “Hi, I’m Greer Guidry.”
“Oh, the new nurse,” she says, flattening her palm against her forehead. “I completely forgot you were coming.” She throws back her rolling chair and gestures for me to come to the side.
She beats me to an interior door, holding it open. As I meet her at the entryway, she hands me a clipboard. “Go ahead and fill out the new hire paperwork while you wait to see Doc.”
I follow her rushed footsteps down a short hallway, my surroundings a blur, before she shows me into an office.
A wingback chair is posed in front of an oak executive desk with gold fixtures.
The walls are bare, with freshly filled nail holes marring the beige painted walls.
A bookshelf is left empty, two cardboard boxes resting beside it.
I’m onboarding during a transition. The elder doctor is moving to the Houma clinic full time with his nurse. A new physician, Dr. Bergeron, will be here. Keeping both clinics open full time will provide more necessary medical care to an underserved area.
“Looks like Dr. Hebert is ready for the move,” I remark.
“Yes, but the new furniture is delayed,” she says. “Dr. Herbert is fitting you in between patients, so it may be a bit of a wait.”
“I thought Dr. Bergeron was here.”
“You’re meeting with Dr. Hebert again today,” she informs me, turning to leave.
But the whole point in coming is that Dr. Bergeron and I have a chance to meet?
Feeling edgy, I uncross my legs and try to get comfortable in the khaki pants and tailored blouse.
The outfit is dressier than most things in my closet.
I took extra time on my appearance, but it feels like false advertising.
There’s no way I’m bothering with a full face of make-up for work, and my hair is going to be pulled back daily.
It gets in the way while I’m working, and people get weird with my vibrant red color and think they’re free to touch it.
It only takes a few minutes to complete all the required paperwork, so I'll probably have to wait a bit. The doctor is taking the time to shoot the breeze with each patient before moving on to the next. I can hear his voice traveling through the thin walls. At least he doesn’t rush from patient to patient simply for profit.
A surge of anxiety pulses through my veins when the gray-haired physician finally rushes through the room in a blur. The worn leather office chair squeaks with movement as he gracefully takes a seat behind the desk.
Dr. Hebert mumbles an apology about my wait before flipping open a file on the desk. He clears his throat with an air of authority while studying its contents. “Greer Guidry…” He ruminates over the word, as if trying to recall why I’m in front of him. “You were told all the particulars?”
“Yes, Jenn called last night.” Dr. Hebert stares at me over his glasses.
“We’re the only medical facility that services the immediate area, so expect to be busy. Specialists come in a few days a month, but they’ll have their own staff.” Thick calloused fingers thump on the desk. “Your current address is correct?”
“Yes, for now.”
With fatherly wisdom, he remarks, “The road into town tends to flood when it’s raining hard. I’d take note of that for the future.”
No way is my VW Bug making it through that. I can’t bring myself to trade it in for a more practical SUV yet. It was my high school graduation present from Mom and Dad. “Hopefully it won’t be an issue.”
With a look of approval, he sits back in his chair, running a palm across his freshly shaven chin. “I believe the office manager told you that you’ll be working in this location with Dr. Bergeron?”
“Yes, I thought I would be meeting with him?”
“He was delayed leaving Atlanta, but will still be starting here on Monday.”
Very little notice. Will Aunt Marcel be able to handle the work without me? The surge of panic eases when I recall that Allie’s walking boot is coming off early next week, freeing her to help around more.
“Is that a problem?” Dr Hebert inquires.
“No, I’m working for my family’s bakery at the moment, so I have wiggle room to accommodate a quick start.”
The wrinkles in my new employer's forehead furrow deeper with thought, “Are you Marie and Fletcher Guidry’s daughter, per chance?”
“Yes, I am,” I answer. The bakery must have given it away. By now I’m used to everyone knowing my parents, even if I’m clueless as to who they are. My family tends to be memorable.
“I recall treating you as a little one,” he remarks with a twinkle in kind brown eyes.
The memory starts to creep back. Strep throat one July, then a stomach bug during a Thanksgiving time visit. “You had great popsicles.”
“Well, now it’s your turn to hand them out.”
The brief moment of warmth helps alleviate some of the anxiety, and the thrill of securing my first nursing job takes over. Not having to work long hospital shifts will help so much when I move out on my own, since I have Hank to consider.
After being shown out, I walk into the hallway that connects three exam rooms to the office at the end.
The nurses’ station is a nook in the front with a small desk.
Passing by, I catch the eye of the middle aged woman with a stethoscope around her neck.
She’s fiddling with an old-fashioned blood pressure cuff, trying to wrap it around the beefy arms of a man around my age.
For the first time, the aging equipment catches my eye with a bit of dread.
Dr. Bergeron may change things once he takes over the clinic.
Two heads pop up with the click of the door that leads into the equally dated waiting room. A little old lady with a walker is wearing a growing frown, as if displeased that she hasn't yet been shown to an exam room.
I wave to Jenn with a “See you Monday” before rushing to the parking lot. Other than the physician, she’s the only other employee, so I’m glad she seems sweet. We’re probably going to get to know one another very well.
The wind is picking up, and the sun is hiding behind dark clouds, giving me a respite from the heat. I can already smell the rain coming in. The interior of my car is still hotter than the hinges on the gates of hell, but at least there’s air moving around.
After leaving the small lot, it takes only a few seconds to hit the red light.
The fact that I’m stuck waiting in the exact same spot makes me snort out a laugh.
No walking thirst trap on a Harley this time, just a picture perfect street.
The old fashioned hanging sign for Hickory Chickory Dock grabs my attention.
As the light turns green, pure instinct kicks in, and I park in one of the available spots by the coffee shop.
I’m going to have to practice parallel parking, since the only lot around appears to belong to the market.
I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot the “Apartment for rent” sign still displayed in the window. Maybe it’s owned by the same person as the coffee shop, or the owner at least knows something about the upstairs unit?
The familiar aroma of chicory coffee hits me as I open the door.
It’s too late for many people to indulge in a caffeine jolt, so the coffee shop is empty of customers.
Two employees, a teenage girl and a woman in her fifties, buzz around cleaning.
The latter looks up from the glass display case, a white cloth in her hands. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, I was wondering about the apartment upstairs. Do you know if it’s still available?”