The Harmans were stand up people. They served neck bones with big ladles after Sunday Service and helped the Fosters repaint their home. They smiled and laughed at the grocers and had the most darling, blue-eyed son, Mox. Everyday the Harmans walked their brown lab by the creek and everyday the pastor’s old folk would run that iron-eaten pickup truck down to the fishing shop, at the bottom of Torville Mountain.
Bottom, of course, was a relative term. There was no bottom to the ravine, or at least no one cared enough to find out. The families in the holler were just fine as they were: somewhere in the vague middle of hell and sky. Pastor Harman found peace in the holler and its world-less cadence. And all the neighboring folks thought the same of the whole family, the whole community.
But to Mrs. Harman, peace and prosperity weren’t the same word. She woke each morning and watched little black birds fly through a stale gray so dry and unmoving that you could feel it crackle between your teeth. She watched the sun set while drying the dishes, that golden egg yolk sinking into the hill-carved horizon like feet in quicksand. She kept herself sane with the words of the Lord; anything too flashy and idyllic must lead to sin. That’s why every other man on her street has got lung cancer, but they all go out to play ball regardless.
Mrs. Harman worked part-time in a doctor’s office that served the surrounding tri-state area. Her duties for the previous few months were more mundane than usual – keeping office inventory, checking out patients, answering too many butt phone calls – due to the office’s inability to find another physician. It was Dr. “Catfish” Barmhurn that had finally retired after 41 years of dedicated service. His commitment to the community’s sore throats, rotting toes, and chronic chest pain was commendable to even the grouchiest of men. The hole left in his absence was immense, almost as gaping as the ravine. Mrs. Harman and the rest of the ladies that worked desk staff believed that Dr. Catfish’s office would be empty forever.
That was until October came round. Mrs. Harman’s tasks for the day were relatively simple, which was much appreciated by the mother of a four year old boy. She was asked to process a few faxes and hang the Halloween decorations. Witch legs from the ceiling; jack-o-lanterns on the counter; cobwebs in the lights, Mrs. Harman was finishing with plastic bats when she heard the CEO talking.
“And now we just got to clean Catfish’s office. Doctor’s coming next Monday, so there’s a little time. Oh, this is gonna be great.”
Doctor? Mrs. Harman quickly squashed the bat onto drywall and she stumbled over to the desk. She asked the other desk ladies if they knew of any “new doctor.” Kathy Foster’s eyes lit up like torch lights. “Doctor?”
“Why, yes. Just heard the CEO talkin him up on the phone.”
“Who is he?” The others crane their necks in to hear.
“How should I know?”
“He’s got some big shoes to fill” murmured another attendee. All the other ladies nodded in unison.
“Well, he’ll be comin round Monday…”
“Let’s wear something at least a little more nice then.”
Monday couldn’t have come faster. A big red X was drawn over it on the office’s wall calendar. Mrs. Harman reminded herself while stirring her tea the usual six times that this new physician wouldn’t change anything. The Thanksgiving decorations would still go up three days after October’s end and Kathy Foster would still gossip with the PAs and nurses. This excitement would pass; the dust would settle like it always had.
On Monday morning, the air hung like a shirt with too wide a collar for its hanger. The office staff refilled the stale mints and checked the bathroom’s cleanliness on over five occasions. The hospital CEO even straightened his collar a few more times than usual. Mrs. Harman busied herself by smoothing her fly-aways and then stumbling over to Dr. Catfish’s office for one last look-over. Chair, desk, coat hanger, filing cabinet: everything seemed to be in order, except for three small items placed on the desk. A pair of sunglasses, a set of keys, something that looked like a lighter… Mrs. Harman was unsure. All objects were unknown to her. They belonged to someone unfamiliar. Someone new.
The bass fish swimming in her stomach started to blow bubbles that bounced around her chest. She walked with awkward hesitation to the central lobby and saw the CEO talking to a figure no taller than her. In a quick glance, Mrs. Harman caught Kathy Foster’s saucer wide eyes. But before she could make any further inquiries, the CEO’s company turned around.
“Ah, Mrs. Harman. There you are! Look who’s here. This is Dr. Maishi, our new doctor.”
Thin pink lips, short black hair, dark almond eyes.
The woman gave a little laugh and said “It’s a pleasure to meet you! And please, call me Naomi” in a voice too easy to understand. Naomi had a Hepburn laugh, lazy and lustrous, and as if the cracks between her teeth had no darkness.
Mrs. Harman choked on her words. “A-Andy…” She disjointedly motioned to herself. “…and it’s nice to meet you too.”
The other desk ladies shuffled in their seats, seemingly taken aback. “Well, I look forward to working with you, Andy!” Dr. Maishi grinned at her.
She paused for a moment, and then, under the other office ladies’ distrustful stare, Andy warmly smiled back.
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