Just Jada

by Anna Cove

  "Hold on," I hissed.

  I started to push through the throng, but Colleen caught my sleeve. "Wait. Don't go."

  "I have to take this call."

  "You'll want to stay for what's next."

  "Family emergency," I said.

  Colleen pursed her lips and released my sleeve and I pushed through the mass of people as quickly as I could, but it was like walking through water with chains around my legs. I couldn't move fast enough, and my brain supplied worst-case scenarios in the delay.

  "Excuse me, pardon me, please," I said, my voice cracking.

  "We've decided to split the prize this year," Dr. McNabb said, just as I broke through the last two people in my way, wishing for a fleeting second I had some of Jada's confidence to get through a crowd in a hurry.

  I stumbled out the door, letting it close behind me.

  "Hello? Dad? What's wrong."

  "You better get back here." The voice on the other line was thin and reedy and annoyed. It was the voice of my neighbor who I'd charged with looking after Dad while I was at the conference.

  "What's wrong? Is he ill?"

  "I'm too old for this. My kids are all gone. I'm done mothering."

  "Mrs. Whatney. Is. Dad. Okay?"

  "He's fine. It's me who's all wrong. Ellen's on in ten minutes and I can't take his snoring any longer. I'm tired, tired all the time, but every time I sleep he's all like—Whitney, get me a glass of water. Pronto."

  "I'm sure he doesn't say it like that," I said, my voice even. My father was the kindest, most considerate man I'd ever met.

  "Well, I had a husband for forty years and he's dead God bless him and I swore I'd never wait on a man again and now I'm here waitin' on him hand and foot."

  "Can you stay for another hour and a half?"

  Silence spread on the line. I listened for sounds of distress, but all I could hear was the dulcet tones of Pat Sajak and his Wheel of Fortune playing in the background.

  "Mrs. Whatney."

  "I really want to watch Ellen in peace."

  "I'll pay you another fifty bucks."

  The woman let out a sigh as if sitting with a sweet man was the most onerous thing she could do. She was a terrible woman. I shouldn't have asked her to stay, but we didn't have anyone else.

  In my day-to-day, I found a way to pop home between tours, but Dad had been more tired lately, so I didn't think it was wise to travel the hour plus to the city and leave him alone. I'd been putting off planning for what would happen if he worsened. Looked like I would have to start thinking about that sooner rather than later given Mrs. Whatney's attitude.

  "I'll see you as soon as I can. Stay there, okay?"

  "Fine," she said with a huff.

  I glanced at the phone, wanting to throw it into the trash can, but that would make it even more wasteful than it already was. Instead, I pushed open the door to the gala space for one more look at what life could be. From here I could see Dr. McNabb more clearly. He leaned toward the microphone. "I'd like to congratulate Doctor Luisa Garcia—"

  I set my forehead against the cool pane of glass as the door closed. There it was. It had been a longshot. I hadn't thought I was actually going to win, had I? I mean, I hadn't even come up with something to do with the money.

  I pushed through the outer door into the throng of people and the stifling city.

  At least soon I would be home and I could breathe.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JADA

  "This year—the prize will be announced in the inaugural edition of our new magazine Wellness In Our Time. WIOT, as we on the committee affectionately call it."

  Come on, come on, come on. Come out with it so I can fake a smile and get out of here. I was already loading my fake smile onto my mouth, trying to crinkle my eyes a bit so they didn't look quite so big.

  "But we will announce the two finalists for the prize here at this very special gathering. Without further ado, I'd like to congratulate Doctor Luisa Garcia and Forest Therapy Practitioner Erika Jones. Why don't the two of you come up here now and meet one another?"

  My gaze shot to where I had last seen Erika, but there was an empty space next to Colleen Hannigan. Colleen stretched her neck as she clapped her hands, looking toward the door with a frown.

  That bitch. She knew all along.

  The thought escaped before I could corral it and there were more than a few moments of me possibly frowning and showing my hand. My father clapped and gave me the look that meant do better. It was a look I was intimately familiar with.

  I finally unstuck my feet. The crowd turned to me as I moved through, clapping politely, but it wasn't enough. I was supposed to win the award. I had worked so hard for it. My application was perfection—perfection. And tying for a nomination? I might as well have lost. As it was, if I did win, it wouldn't receive much recognition in the WIOT, or whatever it was called. Riot with a fucking speech impediment.

  I managed to get this all out before reaching the front and did a little fake dance of joy across the stage. I took Dr. McNabb's outstretched hand and tried to echo his smile.

  "Congratulations, dear."

  "Thank you," I said, ignoring the urge to append dear to the statement.

  He nodded, then his gaze turned toward the crowd. "And Ms. Jones? Where is she?"

  "She was here a moment ago," someone called.

  "I saw her leave," someone else supplied.

  "She had a family emergency," Colleen Hannigan said.

  "Ha," Dr. McNabb said.

  "Does that mean I get the prize?" I joked. "Since I'm actually here for it?"

  Dr. McNabb's expression grew serious. "We'll notify her via phone, of course."

  He spoke too loud, and the microphone caught his words, causing the applause to trickle down to nothing and whispers to spread over the gathered therapists in a wave. For people whose job it was to keep secrets, they sure were a bunch of gossips.

  I managed to stay upright while McNabb blabbed on about what this meant, but I didn't really hear his words. I knew I should have listened, but my mind was going over and over what had happened. Maybe my father had been right. Maybe I should have gone to that conference in Phoenix. What would my life look like then? I would have no patients—no time for them as science would be tantamount to everything else. Would I enjoy that?

  I tried my best to do what everyone expected while up there on the stage and afterward as people were congratulating me with tight smiles. I really tried. But by the end of the night, I noticed the committee gathered to the side of the stage and I decided to stop stewing and actually do something about it.

  "Hi, hello," I said, inserting myself between Colleen and McNabb. "I was wondering... and feel free to just shoo me away if this is an inappropriate question," I said, picking up the well-worn light self-deprecation my father employed all the time, "But did I do something to offend the committee?"

  "Of course not." Colleen placed a hand on my sleeve. "We were going to choose you, but some of us thought it was important to recognize the alternative therapy crowd this year."

  If I hear the term alternative therapy one more time, I'm going to smack the mouth that says it.

  "The organization thinks that whole body wellness is important and with the new magazine coming out," Dr. McNabb said. "Well, we wanted to do something cutting edge."

  I'll give you cutting edge. "I see, and I understand completely," I said with a smile. "But is this kind of therapy even scientific?"

  Colleen nodded. "There's some science to it, but I've done it myself and it certainly is relaxing."

  "Relaxing is different from therapeutic. You can go to a spa for relaxation, but it won't help you get over losing your job."

  Colleen removed her hand, and I realized what I'd thought had actually come out of my mouth. Shit.

  "I mean... is this woman a licensed therapist?"

  "She's more of a guide rather than a therapist, but she's doing really good work, Dr. Garcia, you should check h
er out."

  My father would be proud. I didn't allow my face to change a smidge, though the words slashed across my cheek. "I will do that," I said. "In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you lovely people?"

  Colleen Hannigan, Dr. McNabb, and a few others pursed their lips and shook their heads. They did not approve of my interference.

  They weren't the only ones.

  As soon as I excused myself, my father grabbed my elbow. His pearly smile extended to all those around him except for me. He was the only person I knew who could split a smile like that. He should join the circus.

  He took me to an isolated room and leaned in close. "Stay away from them," he hissed. "If you're seen tampering with the committee at all, you'll be disqualified."

  "I wasn't tampering. I was just talking to them."

  His grip tightened on my elbow, pinching so it hurt. "From now on, you only talk to me, got it? You can be so damn childish sometimes, Luisa."

  I glued my mouth shut, knowing better than to challenge him when his voice reached the steely stage.

  My father's irritation showed through in a set of wrinkles on his forehead. He massaged his forehead. "The nerve of those people. This has Colleen Hannigan's fingerprints all over it. She's been prattling on about inclusion at our board meetings. Should have known she would push it on the Calver committee."

  "Why did—"

  Dad steamrolled over me like I wasn't there. "If we let this girl win, where are we going to go next? Zoo therapy?"

  I'd never seen him this angry before. Sure, I was disappointed, and I'd reacted to that disappointment in my own way, but there would be other awards.

  He turned back to me. "The committee will be watching you. You'll have an interview later this month. You need to be better than you've ever been. You need to be out there and visible to the committee, without them knowing you're working them."

  I shook my head. "I don't know if it's worth it. Maybe I should just focus on my practice for now and prepare for the next award. I have plenty of money to keep it going for—"

  My father's eyes practically bulged out of his head as he took my shoulders and shook me. "Is that how I raised you?"

  I froze.

  "Answer me. Is that how I raised you?"

  "You raised me to work hard," I said, forcing a flat tone into my voice.

  "I raised you to be a winner. And so far, you're not doing that, Luisa. Your practice is failing. You nearly lost an award that should have been yours. I want to retire this year." Dad dropped his arms. His face softened. "Do you think I can leave my practice to someone who can't even win a simple award?"

  My mouth nearly fell open. "You're leaving?"

  "I was. Not if you don't win, though."

  I blinked. My father's practice, due to the success of his books, was full of celebrities and politicians. It would set me up for life. It would let me do whatever I wanted to do. It would give me freedom. But was that the life I wanted?

  "I can see you wavering."

  "I'm thinking," I snapped without thinking.

  "Maybe you need a little inducement."

  "No, I just need a minute."

  Dad leaned his head back, his eyes narrowing. "Maybe if you needed the money, you would try harder to win. Maybe that's the problem."

  "Dad." I shook my head.

  "Yes, why didn't I see it before? You've always been missing the hunger I had. It's because I've given you everything before you've even needed it. It's my fault, really."

  I was shaking my head so hard it threatened to pop off. "I need that money. Please don't."

  "It's gone." My father snapped his fingers. "You win the Calver and you win back your trust fund as well."

  My jaw went slack. My shoulders slumped.

  My father released hold of me and I almost toppled over.

  He shrugged, rubbing his hands together. "Garcias don't lose."

  ...

  ERIKA

  "I what?"

  "You've been chosen as a finalist for the Calver this year."

  "A finalist?" I had stepped off the train and was trying to shrug out of my too-heavy fall coat as I broke into a sweat. "Did I hear you right?"

  "Yes."

  "I thought Dr. Luisa Garcia had won. I heard it at the ceremony."

  Dr. McNabb chuckled on the other end of the line. "You should have stayed for the rest of my sentence, at least. You were both finalists. How is your family emergency?"

  I glanced down the empty street. I'd spoken directly with Dad since hopping the train and he was fine. The whole thing seemed blown out-of-proportion. "Fine now. You know how it is."

  "I do, indeed," he said.

  "So, what's next?"

  "The committee will want to interview you later in the month so we can make our final decision."

  The corners of my mouth pulled up. "I can't believe it." I let out a muted shriek. "This is so wonderful."

  Dr. McNabb laughed, then coughed as the laugh caught in his throat. "It gives me great joy to hear your excitement. This is a prestigious award, and it's only given out every three years to someone who really deserves it. You're the first in our community who doesn't have an advanced degree."

  "Oh," I said, my voice artificially chipper.

  "But we think your work is very important. The programs you've developed—they're truly revolutionary, Ms. Jones. Keep up the good work, and the committee will contact you soon about that interview."

  My spirits began to lift again. I was a finalist. It didn't matter whether I won. It was enough that my work was recognized.

  My bus pulled up. I stepped on and even the usually surly bus driver's mouth twitched with a hint of a smile. "Ms. Erika, what has gotten into you today?"

  "I almost won an award, Hal," I said, flattening my dollar bill and feeding it into the machine.

  "Almost?"

  "Yes."

  "I never almost won anything. I think that's great."

  "Me too, Hal. Me too." I headed down the aisle and took my seat across from a woman who kept nodding off. We crossed the highway and entered the mountains. Home. As a finalist. A finalist. The word itself was sort of scary.

  Ever since I was young, I'd had trouble completing things. Science volcano for school? Forgot the lava. Picked up the flute and didn't even make it to the Christmas recital. Never finished college.

  Finalist. Could I do this? What did that even mean? And what would happen if I actually won the award? $100,000 could change my life.

  I turned over these thoughts as I stepped off the bus, thanked Hal, and walked through the gate of the overgrown chain-linked fence surrounding Emerald Mountain Estates. The mountains welcomed me home with a drop in the temperature and a slight crispiness to the air. When I opened the door, Dad startled awake. There was no sign of Mrs. Whatney.

  "How was it, baby?" Dad asked, bleary eyed.

  I couldn't keep it down. It just bubbled out of me. "I'm a finalist for the Calver Award."

  "A finalist?" Dad wiped at his eyes and struggled to the edge of his seat. His face looked a little yellower around his jowls than usual, but he was alert or, at least, growing more alert as he woke. "Come here and give your father a hug. I couldn't be prouder of you."

  I crossed the distance between us, bent and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, taking in his sleepy warmth. "Thanks, Daddy."

  When he pulled away, he kept hold of my hand. "Tell me everything."

  "First, where's Whitney Whatney."

  "You mean, Twitney Twatney?"

  "Dad!"

  "What? She's horrible. You and I both know it. So, I asked her for an extra glass of water or two." A twinkle formed in his eye as he smiled broadly.

  I would have given my right arm for that smile as it came more rarely these days, so I didn't chastise him. Much. I squeezed his hand. "You bad boy."

  "I've got to get in my kicks somehow, being cooped up here and all." As soon as the smile dropped from his face, he looked paler, sicklier. />
  "Your skin's warm." I pulled my hand out of his and pressed my knuckles to his forehead.

  Dad shooed me away. "Don't bother with me. I'm fine."

  "I don't know. You feel a little clammy."

  "Bet you one-hundred thousand dollars I don't have a temperature."

  I pulled my hand away and crossed my arms. He was trying to look extra awake, extra well. For me. I could see it in how he held himself. "You don't have one-hundred thousand dollars."

  "But you will after you win this prize. It is worth that much, right?"

  "Dad," I said, laughing, making my way around his well-worn La-Z-Boy and to the bathroom. I opened the cabinet and pulled out the thermometer. "I haven't won yet. Plus, the woman I'm up against is a PhD. No way I'm getting the award."

  "You're amazing in your own right. You don't need a fancy degree or award to tell you that. Look at how much you've done without one."

  As I exited the bathroom, Dad gestured to a row of clipboards with articles pinned to each one. They were all about me, painstakingly torn from the magazines and journals the library discarded, and lovingly put on display by my father.

  "Open up," I said.

  Dad rolled his eyes, but didn't argue with me, opening his mouth wide. I stuck the thermometer under his tongue and waited for the triple beats to say it was done.

  When it finished, I pulled it out for a reading. "Ninety-eight point two."

  "See?" Dad said, sinking back into the chair. "I was right. You owe me a hundred 'k.' That's short for thousand, you know."

  "I know, Dad."

  "And I was right about the other thing, too. You're going to win."

  I grinned to myself as I slid the thermometer back in its case. "Would it be too cocky to say I really hope so? I think it would do a lot for forest therapy, bring some recognition to it, at the very least."

  When I returned from the bathroom, there was a tear in the crease at the corner of Dad's eye.

  I knelt in front of him. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. It's just—I can't believe I've brought up such a beautiful, caring, considerate, smart girl. Where did you come from?"

  "From you." I poked him in the shoulder, feeling far too emotional to meet his eyes without crying. "I'm going to go work on a new meditation. Call me if you want."