Sonny Throckmorton; Casey Kelly: "And my heart is sinkin' like the setting sun, setting on the things I wish I'd done. Oh, the last goodbye's the hardest one to say. This is where the cowboy rides away."
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When Kiki and I started dating, she made sure I attended all of her family functions. At the time her grandparents were still alive and they ruled the roost. Kiki's father had two older brothers and one younger sister. Kiki's mother was an only child and as such her mother's parents doted over Kiki and her brother. Those gatherings were always crowded with all the aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, and their extended families.
Since Kiki appeared to be in love with me, I got the once over from all of her family tree. Mostly friendly but some had doubts.
"What is it you do for a living Ryan?" from Kiki's Uncle John as about a dozen of the adults gathered around one of the food benches.
"I'm an assistant dispatcher. I help schedule fleets of trucks."
That failed to impress any of them, but I acted confident enough and said that it was a good job for me. I truly believed it. I couldn't afford a college degree, and no one was stepping up to pay for one for me. This job had a future even though I lacked a degree. Well I was about the only one without that precious diploma so Kiki got an earful while I was purposely distracted.
Apparently Kiki dismissed their concerns and I passed the sniff test. Kiki and I married later that year.
When the trucking company I worked for went under, shortly after we married, we were forced to pay for our health insurance. Being relatively healthy we opted to go with only major medical. Kiki's father's brother, uncle Tad, was a family doctor. He agreed to waive most of his fees for us so I along with Kiki became his patients.
According to Tad, we lived in the big city. His practice was in a town of about six thousand people and thirty miles away. Our town was fast approaching fifty thousand people. Tad's office was his alone. He didn't believe in teaming up. I don't know the exact count, but he employed at least a handful of people.
Over our first two years of marriage, I think I saw Tad once when I contracted strep. I got a penicillin type shot in the butt. There were a few more visits for physicals and bloodwork but nothing serious. Kiki saw Tad several times until she got pregnant. Tad shied away from delivering babies, something about malpractice insurance being astronomically expensive. Instead, he recommended a specialist in our town. We'd previously agreed to wait much longer to start a family but somehow Kiki's birth control pills failed. Uncle Tad brushed it off saying they weren't foolproof.
So along came Nathan, my eldest, just after our third anniversary. Two years later I was holding Ginger in my arms. That lady doctor did a very good job, I think. Let's face it, if Kiki liked her, so did I. It's not like a guy has any clue what's it like to be pregnant and scream out babies. Driving sixty miles round-trip to see Tad, with sick children, didn't last long. We started using providers closer to home for emergencies.
Life was good. I progressed up the ladder and am now managing five people. Kiki went back to work part time when Ginger entered pre-school. My management job included medical benefits which really helped cut down the out-of-pocket expenses. Although we'd quit using Tad, it was still sad when he died of a heart attack. At the gathering after the funeral Tad's widow handed me some envelopes.
"These are copies of your medical records from Tad's practice. We wanted to make sure each of his patients got their records. Don't worry, I haven't peeked."
The envelopes were sealed, quite securely. I hadn't been to see Tad in a few years, for myself anyway, but I'd taken the kids a few times. I just wasn't getting sick. Kiki's envelope was a lot thicker because she was still seeing him for annual physicals and the likes. Ginger and Nathan's envelopes were thin as they had only been to see him a few times. Rather than misplace them, I went out and put them in the trunk of our car.
It was a few days later when I opened my trunk to put some boxes of work related stuff there. After loading the boxes, I brought the envelopes back into the house. Putting mine in my briefcase I took the other three into the kitchen.
"Hey Kiki, Tad's office wanted to make sure we all had copies of our medical records" as I Tossed Kiki and the kids envelopes to her.
Kiki's reaction certainly wasn't what I was expecting. I really couldn't put a finger on it. Anxious? Made no sense. I repeated what I'd been told "Don't worry, I haven't peeked."
Another odd reaction as Kiki's eyes were glued to the envelopes, like I'd handed her a grenade with the pin missing. She counted out three envelopes a few times.
Gathering herself, and after counting to three again "Did you get yours too?"
"That I did. Dinner smells good, what's cooking?"
"Um, yeah, roast, potatoes, and salad. It'll be ready in about thirty minutes."
I have a home office. Since some of the information on my computer is sensitive, I always keep my office locked. That also meant I was responsible for keeping it tidy. Such is life. For the next twenty minutes I answered emails.
Kiki's eyes were red-rimmed when I sat down for dinner. Ginger and Nathan had to be peeled from in front of the television.
'Why the tears?"
Swiping her palm across her face "It's just sad that Tad died so suddenly and so young."
Again I was struck with how different Kiki was acting. She basically hadn't shed a tear at his funeral. Death affects people differently I guess.
I'm not a neat freak, especially in my office. I do, however, know where everything is. About a week later I started to suspect that someone had been in my office because things weren't exactly as I'd left them. Nathan or Ginger would have made a mess, so maybe Kiki cleaned up after them? Kiki denied knowing anything about it. Maybe I didn't know my home office as well as I thought.
Kiki perked up within a week and in my mind the sex increased. For the next six months things were running smoothly.
