| Chapter One 44 Days to the Devon Falls Leaf Festival A person should never have a boss who makes it impossible for them to speak in complete sentences. —Malachai Flynn *** “I can’t believe I’ve let the entire town of Devon Falls take over my wedding. This place is known for exactly two things: an annual festival celebrating a bunch of dead leaves and a statue of a poop emoji.” I choke back a laugh while Dr. Jack Lancer, my boss at Lancer Family Medicine, rubs his fiancé’s back. He looks like he’s trying to hold back a smile himself. “I hate to say it, hon, but we both knew what we were getting into when we decided to hold our wedding as the launch event for the Devon Falls Leaf Festival this year.” Benson jerks his head out of his hands and glares at Jack as he sinks lower into his chair. “You should have talked me out of this idea the second I suggested it,” he growls. “What the hell was I thinking letting this place plan my wedding? Bringing in the high school band to play at the ceremony was bad enough. Adding a dance troupe to the cake-cutting is the last straw. We’re canceling the whole thing and eloping. Tell Henri to call off the goats and the maple syrup fountain. We’re getting married in Aruba. I’m ending all of this before the poop emoji statue ends up taking center stage during our vows.” “Babe, you know very well that the statue isn’t supposed to look like a poop emoji. That was an accident.” “And you hate hot weather,” Dr. Marie Lancer, Jack’s mother and my other boss, reminds him from where she’s standing next to my desk studying something on her tablet. “Plus, Jack’s father doesn’t fly well. Are you going to tell Alan he has to miss your wedding, sweetie?” Benson drops his head back into his hands again as he sinks even further into his seat across from me in the office’s waiting room. “Save me, Malachai,” he mutters. I try to give him my best sympathetic look from where I’m sitting behind my desk, but the effort creates a strange squeezing sensation in my chest. Am I sometimes jealous of Benson? Maybe. When he first moved to Devon Falls, he was essentially the town pariah: the guy who came here to destroy Devon Falls’ beloved annual leaf festival. A year later, the festival is more popular than ever and he’s so well-liked that the entire town has turned his wedding celebration, which is taking place on the leaf festival grounds the night before the festival fully opens, into an actual festival event. There are rumors that Vermont’s beloved state cow, Vermonica, might even make an appearance. “Great,” Benson grumbled when he heard the news. “Because more manure is just what this wedding needs.” He may be prickly and complain constantly about how the Devon Falls festival planning committee has taken over his wedding, but I think somewhere deep down Benson loves just how much this community has embraced him and made him one of their own. I swear I saw him blush when Henri Fontaine, our town’s matriarch and the festival manager, patted his cheek the other day and told him she couldn’t imagine a better opening to the festival than his wedding. Meanwhile, I can’t even walk into Falling All Beans, our town’s coffee shop, without someone taking a not-so-subtle step away from me. I’m not a complete town pariah like Benson was; the Lancers and Benson and the Fontaines have never been anything but kind to me since I arrived here. Everyone else? Their reactions are a lot more hit-or-miss. Avon Loseff, the son of the town’s former mayor, whispered the word “criminal” under his breath when I ran into him at the Farm-Acy last week. Things like that tend to happen when you end up homeless and squatting in a barn with a meth lab in it, fail to tell the authorities about said meth lab, and then nearly get people killed because of your silence. That all happened a year ago, right after Benson arrived in town. I was so certain I’d be fired after the town discovered what I’d done that I showed up to work the next day with my letter of resignation. Dr. Lancer (or Jack, as he keeps telling me to call him) barely glanced at it. “Do you want to leave?” he asked me. “Uh, no,” I stuttered. “But I really screwed up, and—” He ripped the letter up. Right on the spot. No one at the office has ever mentioned it since. If only the rest of the town shared the Lancers’ level of forgiveness. No one in Devon Falls is exactly mean to me—that’s just not the vibe of this place, unlike the town I grew up in. It’s more like they’re wary. And I really can’t blame them for that wariness after what I did last year. If only I could manage to live in just one town in Vermont without somehow becoming a complete and utter outcast. When I first left Alcott, the town I was born in about eighty miles northwest of here, I was sure that leaving my county and finding a new home would give me a whole fresh start. Unfortunately, things haven’t worked that way. This is why you’re leaving Vermont, I remind myself. This is why you can’t stay in this state. My eyes drift toward the screen door of the office that shows a wide view of the front porch, where I’ve been watching the office mailbox with at least one eye for days now. In this age of electronic communication, who even sends snail mail anymore? I couldn’t believe it when I read that this acceptance or denial notice would be coming by post. I swear, it’s been actual torture waiting for this letter to arrive. My heart skips in my chest as my eyes brush past the box, with its red flag still raised high in the air. The flag that clearly means mail needs to be picked up and no new letters have been dropped off yet. It’s the first day of September. The news is supposed to arrive this week. How long am I going to have to wait? Does news coming later mean I didn’t get in? Does it mean I’ve been waitlisted? Does it mean that I— “Malachai? Are you okay?” I force myself to look away from the porch and find Marie staring at me. “You seem distracted today. Are you feeling alright?” She leans over like she might put a hand on my forehead, but I duck away, shaking my head. “I’m fine. Just a little tired,” I tell her, forcing a smile onto my face. Tired and a nervous wreck, actually, but there’s no way I’m telling Marie, Jack, and Benson that the Devon Falls letter carrier, who delivers the mail from a purple zebra print bag, could either make or break my entire future today. After all, what if I don’t get in? The last thing I need is the only people in town who still regularly speak to me seeing me as a complete and total failure. “You work too hard.” Jack frowns. “Are you still taking all those credits you said you were signing up for this fall?” I swallow hard and nod. I don’t need any reminders that my daily schedule is basically untenable. I’ve got a full course load at the nearby community college campus and I work as the Lancer Family Medicine office manager and general all-around assistant to everyone else who works here full time, not to mention all the side jobs I often pick up around town for extra cash. I think the last time I got a full night’s sleep was when I was fifteen years old. Did I mention that I recently turned twenty-one? So yeah, it’s been a few years since I fully understood the term “rest.” “And here I thought he was just dreaming about Sam.” Benson sits up slightly in his chair and sends me a characteristic smirk. “I don’t dream about Dr. Evers,” I answer testily, but I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. Benson’s a little too observant sometimes, and the moment Dr. Sam Evers, Jack’s best friend, arrived in town to work at our office, Benson seemed to figure out that I was more than a little obsessed with the guy. I’m not sure how, exactly. I don’t think I’m that obvious. Maybe lawyers have strong investigative skills or something. Marie sighs and shakes her head. “Benson, please stop teasing him like this. Malachai and Sam both work here. You’re a lawyer, for goodness sake. Don’t create HR nightmares inside my medical practice.” Benson scoffs. “No problem. I can whip up some paperwork anytime the two of them want to get it on. There’s a clause in your office contracts that—” “I’m not getting it on with anyone!” I nearly shout. I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, the way my high school guidance counselor used to make me do whenever I had a panic attack. “Especially not Dr. Evers. He’s leaving in like six weeks, anyway!” Not to mention that me getting it on with anyone is a hurdle I don’t have the time or energy to get over right now. But there’s no way I’m sharing that story in the middle of my workplace. Jack frowns and lets out a long breath of his own. It’s no secret that Dr. Evers only came to Lancer Family Medicine to help out during this busy period while Jack and Benson are getting ready for their wedding. He’s made it very clear that he plans to go back to New York, where he and Jack both used to live, the second the wedding and the leaf festival are over. It’s also no secret that Jack doesn’t want Dr. Evers to leave. I’m not exactly sure what Dr. Evers’ background is, but I know his husband passed away a few years ago, and all the town gossip says he hasn’t handled it well. The only other thing I know about him is that I somehow manage to lose the ability to speak whenever he walks into the same room as me, which is definitely not working out well. A person should never have a boss who makes it impossible for them to speak in complete sentences. I enjoy and need my job. And my job requires that I have regular, meaningful conversations with my new boss, who also happens to be the biggest crush I’ve ever had in my life, without forgetting how to speak English. So. I’m working on that. Jack leans over to kiss the top of Benson’s head. “Babe, we all know that subtlety isn’t your strong suit, but Malachai’s feelings are his own business. And Malachai, regarding Sam—” “What about me?” A deep voice I know all too well rolls into the room. That voice glides, I swear, like a rolling chair moving across a long, smooth wood floor. Behind it comes Dr. Sam Evers, who steps into the office doorway from the front porch. He must be just coming back from lunch. And, once again, I immediately lose all ability to speak. I really, really, really hate what my body starts doing whenever Dr. Sam Evers steps inside my line of sight. It’s like each one of my nerves begins screaming alert alert alert while my heart beat starts racing a little faster with every step he takes anywhere near me. Human beings just shouldn’t be allowed to be as good looking as he is. Jack is pretty hot, but his friends all seem to be movie star handsome, and Dr. Evers is blockbuster movie star handsome. He’s broad and tall, with shoulders that stack widely over a long torso. He’s around Jack’s age, thirty-five, I think, and he walks with the kind of confidence and self-assuredness I can’t imagine walking with when I’m sixty-five, for crying out loud. His dirty blond hair is cut short and always looks effortlessly styled, and of course it matches perfectly with his golden-beige skin and green eyes. Today he’s wearing a green polo that hugs every muscle of his upper body perfectly, and his pressed khaki pants somehow manage to look exceptionally professional and easily casual all at the same time. I glance down at my fading black button-up shirt, with the hole in the hem that I’ve hidden by tucking it in, and the khaki pants I’m wearing that are almost a size too small for me because I’ve had them since junior high school, and I fight the urge to run and hide in the supply closet. “Hello, all,” Dr. Evers growls. Yup. Growls. He growls the words, I swear. A growl shouldn’t be sexy as fuck, right? It should be scary or intimidating or terrifying… something like that, shouldn’t it? But Dr. Evers speaks in this voice that’s low and rumbly and almost dark and seems to sit inside of my body for hours after any conversation we have. And I’ve never seen him smile—he’s basically the opposite of Jack, that way—which makes his presence even larger somehow. When I was a kid, I’d sit on my mom’s thread-bare couch and dream of getting the fuck out of Alcott, Vermont. Back then, I’d often see people who looked like Dr. Evers on our television screen. I’d imagine what it would be like to be in the presence of someone so in control and perfectly put together that they were almost otherworldly. The men and women who looked like that seemed a million miles away from the men and women my mother and I were surrounded by: everyone we knew who lived in Alcott always seemed so small, so lacking, so destined for failure. And fail they did, one after the other, at everything from holding down a job to staying out of jail. But the people on the screen? The ones who looked like Dr. Evers? They were reliable. They were dependable. They were strong, and they always succeeded. I used to dream of meeting someone like that in real life. “Hey, Sammy.” Benson waves, and Dr. Evers rolls his eyes. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t use that nickname anymore.” Benson looks back and forth between Jack and Sam innocently. “Did we agree to that? Huh. Must’ve forgotten.” Sam shakes his head, but he’s got a kind of fond expression on his face that wrings another drop of jealousy out of me. I understand the feeling, though. It’s weird how Benson Lewis grows on you even as he’s bugging the crap out of you. I can’t figure out exactly how he does it. Maybe it’s because he does things like leave sandwiches on my desk when he knows I don’t have any time between classes and work—and he probably knows I don’t have money for the maple turkey sandwich from Luis’ cafe, which I love—in between making snarky remarks about Devon Falls’ obsession with textile arts and teasing me about my not-so-secret crush on Dr. Evers. I can’t even imagine what Benson’s done to win over Dr. Evers himself. “Hello, Sam.” Marie sends Dr. Evers a bright smile. “We were just wondering if you’d reconsider our offer to stay at the office permanently? Rather than leave in October?” The question seems to roll through the small office space, creating a wave of silence with it, and for a moment it feels like everyone’s holding their breath while we wait for an answer. “No,” Dr. Evers finally says. His voice is succinct. Direct. “I believe I was clear about when I’d be departing Devon Falls to return to New York.” “Of course,” Jack says quickly. “We don’t want to pressure you, buddy.” He shakes his head. “We could just use the help around here, and the patients really like you. That’s all.” Dr. Evers nods. “That’s very good to hear. I ran into Donna Brightly as she was dropping off the mail, so I took it from her.” He steps across the room and passes a pile of letters to me, and I do my best to ignore the slight tingling in my hand that seems to linger there after our fingers brush together. Then I spot the envelope on top of the pile, and I almost choke on my next breath as I see the lettering printed on the front. BILLINGTON UNIVERSITY, BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS I try to thank Dr. Evers, but I can’t make the words come out. I’ve lost the ability to speak again, and for once my boss has nothing to do with my frozen vocal chords. Dr. Evers frowns at me. “Malachai,” he asks in that horrifyingly perfect grumble of his, “how are you feeling? You suddenly look awfully pale.” “I’m. Uh. I’m.” Oh, great fuck. I take a deep breath and burst out a word. “Fine!” I send him and everyone else in the office a weak smile as I do my best not to clutch the envelope so hard in my hands that it crumples. “If you’re sure.” He waves as he heads out of the lobby and down the hall toward the patient exam rooms. “Jack, Benson, I’ll see you for dinner tonight.” “Bring some of that excellent chocolate pie you make,” Benson calls after him. He stands up and stretches. “I’ve got to head back to work for a few hours. Malachai,” he asks, “are you really sure you’re okay? You’ve turned like four different colors in the last few minutes. I’ll stop teasing you, okay? I know I’m an ass, but I mostly don’t mean to be, and—” I shake my head. “I’m okay, Benson,” I tell him. “I, um, just need some air, I think. Can someone watch the phones for a minute?” “Of course, love,” Marie says. “Take as much time as you need.” She and Jack share a quick glance, but I barely notice it as I hold onto the envelope and basically make a run for the front door of the old Victorian house that Lancer Family Medicine resides in. I get to the porch before I realize I’m holding my breath. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for: the chance to achieve every dream I’ve ever had in my life. My dream to get into a nursing school I’ve always wanted to attend. My dream to get out of Vermont, a place that’s never accepted me. My dream to find the kind of life I’ve only imagined could ever be possible. I swallow down a gulp of fear and make my first tear into that envelope. I tug the piece of paper inside from its confines, and at first, the whole world seems light and real and perfect. And then that same world begins to go dark around the edges. Back when I was growing up, after she’d had a particularly bad day at work, my mother used to sit on the couch with me sometimes. I remember her blowing cigarette smoke rings at the ceiling as she told me everything that had gone wrong that day. “Malachai,” she said once, “I swear, some people just aren’t meant to be happy.” In moments like these, I’m sure she must have been right. |
