“I’ll call you right back.”
When she hung up, I immediately pulled onto the road. I thought I was somewhere in Nevada but I wasn’t sure anymore. The yellow dashes in the middle of the road began to blur together in a solid line. I watched the line like it was leading me to her. Bea called back a few minutes later.
“She’s okay but she doesn’t want to see you, and I know Ava well enough that I can tell nothing will change her mind.”
“Please tell her I wasn’t with another woman. I was just having dinner with a colleague. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I imagine calling you was the bravest thing Avelina has done in a long time.”
“You have to talk to her, please.”
“Head to Missoula and get some sleep before you kill someone on the road or yourself. We’ll be back Monday.”
After we hung up, I pulled off the highway and found a motel. The room stunk of cigarettes and the shower was caked in mildew. I pulled the brown and maroon paisley comforter off, threw it on the floor, and doused my hands in sanitizer. I slept on top of towels I laid across the sheets. In the morning I grabbed a stale doughnut and weak coffee from the free continental breakfast in the lobby and headed out to my truck, where I discovered my bike had been stolen from the back. In my sleep-deprived state the night before, I hadn’t even thought about the possibility of my bike being stolen. I slumped into the driver’s seat and finished my disgusting doughnut.
Still in the motel parking lot, I shaved with an electric shaver using the side mirror of the truck. After one half of my face was shaved, the batteries died. There are just certain times in life when every fucking thing we do seems so arbitrary. Why in the world did I shave my face to begin with? I drove to a drugstore and got more batteries and a lot of weird looks from shoppers.
At checkout, the gum-popping, teenage female clerk smirked at me. I decided to let humor prevail. “Do you like this look?” I smiled and pointed to my face.
“That’s dope.”
“Thanks, dawg.”
“Peace out,” she said, and I walked out.
I didn’t turn around but I held up a peace sign and said, “Word.”
I made it to Missoula late Saturday evening and found a hotel. On the road I had called the hospital and set up a time to meet with the chief the next day. He essentially offered me a great position over the phone. Everything was falling into place. I found a local newspaper and started searching for a permanent dwelling, somewhere between the hospital and the ranch.
That night in the darkness and quiet loneliness of my hotel room, I thought back to being in Ava’s bed, holding her close to me, the way her hair smelled of lilac and cinnamon, and how her skin was so smooth and warm under my fingertips. I fell asleep to the sound of irregular raindrops pattering against the storm drain outside the window and the vision of Ava’s body in my arms.
In the morning I went for a run, checked out a few houses for rent, and got ready to meet the chief at the hospital. When I got there, they gave me a tour, showing me their state-of-the-art institute. I was surprised by how cutting edge the facility was. The chief of surgery was well aware of the work that I had done, likely due to what my father had told him. He questioned my reasons for moving to Montana twice throughout our conversation, and both times I gave him the same answer.
“I love it. It’s God’s country.”
He laughed a little reluctantly the second time. “It’s a big change from Los Angeles.”
“I need a change, and I have family here.”
“Ah. Well, the job is yours if you want it. We can bring you in on the full rotation in two weeks. Until then we’ll get you into an office so you can start getting some work done.”
His secretary showed me to an empty office. I had a small box of paperwork and a few things that I had brought from the hospital in L.A. I made my way around the hospital, introducing myself to the rest of the staff. It was a Sunday so it was relatively quiet. I met some nurses, who whispered and giggled like teenage girls when I walked away. In the afternoon I headed out to look at more houses for rent. I found a place that was perfect, a small place near a lake about an hour from the hospital and an hour from the ranch in the opposite direction.
A young man who was fully gray on top but couldn’t have been more than twenty-five showed me through the house.
“I saw a corral and shed down on the property. Can I have horses here?”
“Yep.” He stood near the door and eyed me as I examined the inside of the kitchen cabinets.