“I’m just messing with you,” Bryson said. “And I’m good. Just tired. I always experience this adrenaline rush before I give one of these talks, but once it’s done—”
“You’re drained.” Derrick nodded. “I get it. Not that I spend my time flying around the country—oh, wait, didn’t you give a speech in Puerto Rico last year? Make that flying around the world—giving speeches.”
“Technically, Puerto Rico is still the United States,” Bryson pointed out.
“Whatever.” Derrick gave him the finger again. “All I’m saying is that you’ve come a long way since those days of administering rabies vaccinations at The Sanctuary.”
“I’ve done all right.”
“Just all right? I do more clout chasing using your name than my own. I’m damn proud of you, man.”
“I was lucky. I worked hard too,” Bryson quickly added. He’d be damned if he downplayed the blood, sweat, and frustrating tears it had taken him to get to this point in his career. “But I also know luck played a role. If the student who had originally been chosen for that research team at Tuskegee had not transferred to UC Davis, I would be spending most of my days repairing perineal hernias.”
“Instead, he’s the one who probably spends his days with his hand up a Yorkie’s ass,” Derrick said.
“Boston terrier,” Bryson said. “Or a corgi. Those are the breeds most prone to perineal hernias.”
Derrick lobbed another fry at his head. “You’re still such a fucking nerd.” He wiped his fingers on a napkin, then said, “I hate to be the one to start the goodbyes, but I gotta bail. Nicole has already sent three ‘Have you left New Orleans yet?’ text messages.”
Thank God. He hoped his relief didn’t show on his face.
“You better get out of here before she sends another one,” Bryson said. He stood and gestured to the table. “I got this.” He slipped three twenties from his wallet and dropped them on the table to cover their drinks and Derrick’s fries. “Thanks for making the drive from Baton Rouge. I appreciate it, man.”
“You know I wouldn’t miss the chance to see the great Bryson Mitchell in action.”
“Your ass,” Bryson said.
“I’m just messing with you.” Derrick laughed. “Hey, we need to get together again before you leave town. How long will you be in New Orleans?”
Bryson paused for a beat. He hadn’t shared this news with anyone outside of his immediate family, Doc Landry, and the upper management at the surgical hospital.
“Permanently.”
Derrick stopped in the middle of putting on his jacket. “Come again?”
Bryson grinned. “I just accepted a position at the Animal Surgical Center of Southeast Louisiana in Metairie,” he said, then shrugged. “I’m home.”
“I can’t believe you waited until now to lay that news on me,” Derrick said. “What made you make that move?”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Bryson said ashe followed Derrick out of the bar. “I want to be closer to my parents, for one thing. When the surgical center contacted me, I answered instead of letting the call go to voicemail. The rest is history.”
They stopped at Derrick’s black sedan, which was parked just outside the door.
“North Carolina’s loss is Louisiana’s gain,” Derrick said. “I’ll be back in New Orleans in a couple of weeks. I’ll hit you up.”
Bryson pulled him in for a one-arm hug and tapped him on the back. “Be safe on that drive back to Baton Rouge,” he said.
He waited until Derrick was in his car before continuing on to his Jeep, pausing while a party of six filed out of the Mexican restaurant next to Cooter Brown’s. He slipped behind the wheel of his granite-colored Wrangler Sahara and backed out of the parking space.
He drove up Carrollton Avenue toward the small place he’d rented on Bayou St. John. He had never seen more creative photography than the pictures that had been used in the ad for this short-term rental. It was half the size he’d anticipated and the floors creaked if he looked at them too hard.
The only upside was that it faced the water.
Bayou St. John was a far cry from Bayou Cane, Lake Boeuf, and the other spots he grew up swimming and fishing in, but he would take what he could get. The real estate agent he’d hired had several condos on Lake Pontchartrain for him to tour next week. If he was going to move back to Louisiana, he damn sure was going to have a view of the water.
As soon as he entered the house, Bryson dropped to his haunches and held his arms out for Bella, the sable and white papillon who had been abandoned at one of the clinics wherehe’d done his clinical rotation. She jumped into his arms, gave him the required lick on the chin, then started barking up a storm.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bryson said, smoothing down the hair on her butterfly-shaped ears. “I told you it was going to be a long night.”
