A walk in the hospital park which Dr. McCain expected me to have with Fiona was turning into a pure lie; Fiona remotely unlocked her soft-top Porsche with a single tap on her key fob. The car was as purple as the moccasins on her feet. As for me, my first day’s denim Jeans and plain shirt looked shabby on my body. My oversized mechanic work boots squeaked as we strolled, and Fiona certainly didn’t like to see me in those. Nonetheless, she cuddled my arm in her laps. She was supportive. Our heights matched.
But where was she taking me to?
I had no answers as I was being carried away for sure. She stalled with me before the passenger door of that Porsche parked in a small space in the congested parking lot.
“Are you okay?” Her windy voice refreshed my ear canals.
I nodded at the speed of light. “Yep, you just healed my heart.”
Fiona giggled and in doing so, my arm in her laps brushed against her pointy busts—sending crazy impulses to my brain in the process. I giggled too. I loved to see her laugh, yet I had no idea if she took my statement seriously because I was indeed serious; she had a unique healing touch.
“Can I take you home?” Her eyes begged me to say “yes”.
“Yep, I want to know you more,” was my high-speed response.
She guided me into the passenger seat, buckled me and off we cruised to the heart of California. We arrived in a calm neighbourhood. So far, I heard the barking of a bulldog on the asphalt road and the engine sounds of two cars: a Rolls-Royce and a Lamborghini. Her home was a white two-storey house surrounded by palm trees and a blue swimming pool in the front yard. I couldn’t help but admit that her life was good.
Fiona walked me to her home. A wedding portrait of her and Dr. Wheelbarrow was there for me to look at on the cream wall. She removed the portrait right away in my vicinity.
“Why removing the beautiful photo?” I asked as I walked by a white gold fireplace.
“That’s my late husband. I want to start a new chapter with someone else,” said Fiona without making eye contact.
My heart jumped under curiosity. “Someone else, who?”
“Someone…who’s interested in me,” stammered Fiona.
I closed in to her. “Who’s interested in you apart from me?”
“Nobody else,” she muttered while looking down at her babyish feet.
Enough. I was done with beating around the bush. I cupped her cheeks and forced my lips into hers. The portrait fell from her hand as we kissed as if biting off each other’s lips.