The next day, pool waves lap at my waist while I pretend to watch the water-volleyball match before me. Can’t help but monitor the conversation happening behind me. Skeezy bit of eavesdropping, if I’m honest. Hopeful for information I probably don’t want.
“How you holding up?” Yayoi asks.
“I’m fine,” Joss whispers. “You know me.”
“Yeah, which is how I know you’re not fine.”
Exactly. Score one, Yayoi.
Joss snorts. “What do you mean?”
“Well, for starters, your smile looks like Willem Dafoe when he played the bad guy inSpiderman.”
Ha. Don’t laugh! I rub my mouth, hoping that will stifle the snicker.
“What does that even mean?” Joss asks, all offended.
Yayoi’s tone turns thoughtful. “Sort of... deranged.”
Joss huffs. “There’s nothing wrong with my smile.”
“Smile like a normal person is all I’m saying.”
Luckily, Talia swims over to me before I burst into laughter. “You hear about this hurricane, Doctor F?”
“Franklin? Category one now, right? When are they saying it’ll hit?”
“Landfall Tuesday morning.” Her mouth spreads in that impish grin. “You know what that means?”
She wins a chuckle from me. “Office will be closed?”
“Office will be closed,” she says with a wild hoot of a laugh and a shimmy in the water.
“We aren’t even in the cone.”
She sighs. “I know. Anyway, I got to get home. Been three hours, so my boobs are about to explode.”
I jiggle her shoulder. “Your oversupply is out of control. You have to stop pumping after you breastfeed, dollface.”
She brandishes her hands at me, shooing me away. “Quit doctoring me.”
I shoot her a look. “I’m your doctor.”
“Mind your business.”
She struts away through the water as I boo her. The conversation behind me has turned from interesting topics to hair products, which... No, thanks. Not interested. Instead, I hop out of the pool and head to the porch, where a lively argument over hospital hurricane policies takes place.
“It isn’t fair,” Kevin says. “The Team A people have to stay in-house until the all-clear. That could be forty-eight hours or more if the storm is bad.”
Cassie splays her palms over the table, full on serious mode. “We can’t expect people to drive in for their assigned shifts in the middle of a hurricane. That’s ridiculous.”
I slip into the only empty chair, the one beside Geoff, who leans onto the table. “That’s not what he’s saying.”
Cassie crosses her arms. “Then, please, enlighten me.”
“Team A and Team B should both be in-house,” Geoff says, “and they can switch on and off until the all-clear.”
She throws her hands up. “That’s preposterous! We’d have to pay both teams disaster pay the entire time. That’s double the amount of salary.”
