Journey by Karina Sharp, Carrie Ann Foster, Good Girl Graphics

 In my research, I learned that Dr. Moore, the most highly regarded family physician in town, was retiring his practice.  I seized the opportunity to take his place and am getting to know the locals slowly, but surely.
    “Thank you so much for everything, Dr. Ferrer.”
    “You’re very welcome.  Don’t forget to take all of the medicine as prescribed, but your throat should start feeling better soon.”
    It is the end of the week and I have dealt with my usual stream of patients with strep throat, stomach viruses, pink eye, and every other common ailment that gets passed around daycares, schools, and small towns faster than dandelions take over a pitcher’s mound.
    “Dr. Ferrer, I believe that’s the last patient of the day,” my RN and right-hand gal Teresa tells me as she places the patient’s file onto the very large stack of files that need to be put away.  “Any progress in finding an assistant to help file?”
    “Not just yet, Teresa, but keep your ear to the ground for me, okay?”
    “Will do.  Any big plans for the weekend?”
    “Not really.  I think I might paint my bedroom,” I tell her as I take the stethoscope off of my neck and place it into the sterilization cabinet.  I let my dark red hair out of my loosely pinned bun and shaking strands out of their up-do.
    “What color?” Teresa asks me, locking our medicine carts and other equipment cabinets.
    “A nice, beachy blue, I think.”
    “Ooo...that’ll be nice.  There’s some fantastic blueberry picking on the weekends.  This is when they are the most ripe for picking.”
                  It’s June, and I’m aware that Maine is famous for its summer blueberry harvest.  I love blueberries: blueberry muffins, blueberry scones, blueberry martinis, blueberry moonshine, blueberry vodka…   But I digress.
    “That sounds wonderful.”  
    “There are lots of great places in this immediate area if you want recommendations.  Speaking of, where are you headed for dinner?”
    “Oh, I don’t know…”  I haven’t had much of a chance to venture out and sample local cuisine.  I have been busy unpacking, setting up my office, and fielding phone calls and texts from those ensuring I haven’t fallen off a cliff, never to be heard from again.
    “Well, if you want some awesome seafood chowder and a wicked lobster roll, go to the Maine Diner,” Teresa tells me passively.
    “I’ll have to check it out some time.  Thanks.”
    I wait as Teresa gathers a tote bag and some personal effects, and we exit my small doctor’s office after which I lock the front door behind us.
    Driving along Route 1, which follows along the coast of Maine, I roll down my windows, allowing the salty sea air to expand my lungs.  This is the life.  Although, I have yet to really experience much of what the surrounding scenery has to offer.  
    Back in my tiny cottage, I begin unpacking memories, releasing them from their cardboard storage.  Yearbooks, pictures, sorority sweats, and diplomas remind of happy days past.  There were many trips with the girls, outings with campus clubs, and, of course, cheerleading competitions.  I come across a photo of one of my fellow Kentucky cheerleaders, Derek, and me where he’s holding me high above his head with one arm in a stunt or pose called a Liberty.  This was when we won the duo stunt competition.  
    I pull out a brown envelope and am flooded with less than happy memories.  I look through pictures of me drunk, passed out, flashing the camera, and hanging on anyone and everyone.  I shudder at some of the memories of things I’ve done.  Even more disconcerting, I can’t remember a good portion of my antics without the assistance of the Kodaks.
    I put them away for safekeeping, out of sight and out of mind, then distract my thoughts away from them by devising a plan to actually go to the beach in the morning.
     

Chapter 10
     
    Journey
     
    I drive up the coast toward a neighboring town,