How Much I Feel

by Force, Marie

  She makes me wait a long time before she replies. “I want the full story before I agree to anything.”

  “Fine.” I stand to leave. “I’ll tell you the whole sordid tale tonight over dinner.”

  “Wait. I never said anything about—”

  “Please?” I give her my best imploring look.

  After a long pause, she writes something on a piece of paper and hands it to me.

  Her address.

  I’m weak with relief. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Pick you up at seven thirty?”

  “That’s fine.”

  Right at seven thirty, I park on the street outside her building and walk up two flights of stairs to Carmen’s apartment. I feel guilty about the way I insisted she see me tonight. The fact is, I don’t know what else to do. I need someone who knows the local area and can help me figure out a plan to ingratiate myself with the hospital board so they’ll take a chance on me.

  If they don’t, my career and years of research will be in serious jeopardy.

  I can’t let that happen. I’m so close to a critical breakthrough that’ll have a major impact on the treatment of pediatric brain tumors. It’s important work that I’ve devoted tremendous time and resources toward, and I can’t let one conniving woman ruin all that progress.

  As I knock on the door, I refuse to give her that in addition to what Ginger has already taken from me, namely my reputation as well as my faith in humanity and womankind.

  The door opens, and once again, I’m struck speechless by the sight of Carmen Giordino. She’s wearing a black wrap dress that accentuates the curvy figure that makes me want to drool. Her dark hair is down around her shoulders, and I’m delighted she’s left it curly rather than straightening it into submission.

  When I say the last freaking thing I need is another romantic entanglement with someone associated with my work, I mean that with every fiber of my being, and yet . . . I’m incredibly attracted to this woman.

  “Come in. I’m almost ready.” She gestures to the kitchen. “I opened a bottle of wine if you want some. Glasses are over the dishwasher. I just need another minute.”

  I can’t imagine what she still needs to do to improve on perfection, but I know better than to ask. I wander into the kitchen, pour half a glass of red wine and wander around her small but stylishly furnished apartment. My gaze is drawn to an array of framed photos on the wall. One is of Carmen with a handsome dark-haired man in a police uniform. Next to it is their wedding picture.

  I suddenly remember what happened earlier at the police station while recalling my earlier observation that she doesn’t wear a wedding ring. I realize with a sinking feeling that she must be the widow of a police officer. Before I can begin to process this new information, she returns, bringing a scent with her that makes me want to get closer to her.

  She notices I’m looking at her photos.

  I feel like I should say something. “Handsome guy.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “What happened?”

  “He was shot and killed on the job when he walked in on a robbery in progress at a convenience store.” The words sound well practiced, as if she’s said them a thousand times before.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” She takes a sip of her wine. “We’d been together since our freshman year of high school and married almost a year.”

  I ache for her. “What was his name?”

  “Antonio, but we called him Tony.”

  “You were a beautiful couple.”

  She smiles even though her dark eyes are sad. “We were happy together.”

  “How long ago did you lose him?”

  “Five years. He was in his second year on the job.”

  “You must’ve been very young at the time.”

  “I was twenty-four.”

  “Oh damn. I really am so sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  Something about the way she says those words indicates that even though five years have passed, the loss is still fresh for her in many ways.

  “Where should we go for dinner?” she asks.

  “You’re the local expert. You tell me.”

  “What do you like?”

  You. I like you. The words pop into my brain, an involuntary reaction to an innocuous question and the sort of thought I have no business having toward my new colleague. “I’ll eat anything.”

  She thinks about that for a second. “I know where we should go.”

  I follow her out of the apartment, changed by the information I learned inside her home. While I can’t and won’t deny I was instantly attracted to her, I need to respect what she’s been through, dial back the attraction and focus on getting my life sorted.

  If I keep my mind where it belongs—on fixing the disaster my promising career has become—then I won’t do anything stupid like allow myself to fall for the beautiful young woman who may hold the key to my redemption.

  CHAPTER 4

  CARMEN

  I’ll confess to having had a bad case of preconceived notions about the good doctor. Such as—if he looks like a sexy surfer dude and is also a brain surgeon, he must be a tool. In other words, a man like him can have anyone he wants, so I expect him to be full of himself and constantly looking for a better offer.

  “We’re going to Coconut Grove. It’ll take a while, but you’ll figure out all the various parts of Miami.”

  “I had no idea it was such a sprawling city.”

  “It’s massive, especially when you include Miami Beach. And traffic is a nightmare, always.”

  “I’m seeing that.” He no sooner says those words than a car cuts in front of us and crosses three lanes of traffic to take an exit. “What the hell?”

  “Get used to it. People are allergic to turn signals around here.”

  “I thought New York drivers were bad.”

  “They’ve got nothing on South Floridians.”

  Half an hour after we arrive at a Mexican restaurant one of my friends told me about, I’ve come to realize my preconceived notions about him were grossly unfair. He’s not a tool, and he hasn’t looked at anyone but me and the young man waiting on us.

  That’s not to say the other women in the room aren’t looking at him, but he seemed completely oblivious to the attention he received as we followed the host into the dining room. One woman dining nearby with a man is practically panting as she stares at my companion.

  Women are gross sometimes. I want to snap at her to keep her eyes where they belong, especially since she’s old enough to be Jason’s mother.

  And yes, he told me to call him Jason and not Dr. Northrup. That happened on the ride to the restaurant in the same Porsche that landed me in jail earlier today. I still can’t believe that actually happened, I think with a nervous laugh.

  He looks at me over the top of his menu. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was just recalling my time in jail.”

  “I’m glad you’re laughing about it.”

  “The alternative would be to cry hysterically.”

  “Nah, no need for that. You handled it like a champ.”

  “I’m glad you think so. On the inside, I was quaking.” I lean in to whisper. “I’ve never even been to detention.”

  He laughs, and the sound washes over me like a soothing balm, surprising me with a familiar feeling of comfort. “You’re a very good girl, aren’t you?”

  “Yes! I always have been.”

  “Here’s a newsflash. You won’t go to hell because you spent an hour in lockup.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because. Hell is reserved for the truly bad people, and you’re a truly good person.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  He dips a chip into salsa. “Am I wrong?”

  “I try to be a good person and help others.”

  “There you go. An hour in the clink isn’t going t
o undo all that goodness.”

  “If my grandmothers find out about it, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “There’s no reason to tell them or anyone. It was a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

  “It was an hour in jail.”

  “Think of it as life experience. Now you know what it’s like to be arrested.”

  “That’s the kind of life experience I could do without, so you can quit trying to make it into something positive.”

  “It’s a good story you can tell your kids someday, about the time Mommy stole a Porsche and got herself arrested.”

  I’m in the middle of a sip of water when he says that, and I cough as water comes spewing out my nose and mouth.

  He loses it laughing again, and every female head in the place—and a few of the male heads—swivels in his direction. “Do you need CPR over there?”

  I wave him off and use the white cloth napkin to wipe the water off my face. “A, I did not steal a Porsche. I borrowed it to do your dirty work. And B, I didn’t actually get arrested, because I was never arraigned.”

  His brows furrow with concern. “You know there was nothing dirty about what went down with Betty, right?”

  “I heard what you did for her. It was very nice of you.”

  “It was no big deal. I felt so bad for her when we ran into each other at baggage claim yesterday, and she was crying because her guy blew her off. Then her bag never came, and I couldn’t just leave her there by herself in a strange city.”

  “Most people would’ve walked away and left her to fend for herself.”

  “Well, I’m not most people.”

  “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  The waiter arrives with salads for both of us.

  “Talk to me about what you want to see happen with this so-called campaign of yours.”

  “I’m looking for community service opportunities, things I can do to stay busy and make a difference at the same time.”

  “With publicity or without?”

  “Preferably without, but I do need a way for the board to find out I’m doing it.”

  “We could make that happen.”

  “We could, could we?”

  I’m unnerved by his amusement as well as the intrigued way in which he looks at me. Since I lost Tony, I’ve been on more first dates than I can count but have mostly avoided confronting the reality that the love of my life is gone and never coming back. Everyone who is anyone has told me that someday I’ll find love again, and while I’m not opposed to that, I certainly haven’t been looking for it.

  Today and tonight with Jason . . . It’s the first time I’ve felt anything for another man since Tony died. The feelings he arouses in me are unexpected and mostly unwelcome. I don’t want to react to him the way I do. I want to help him with his problem and be on my way, with my debt to him paid.

  But with every minute I spend in his magnetic presence, it becomes clear that nothing about my association with this man will be simple.

  “Carmen? Are you okay?” He seems genuinely concerned as he watches me across the table.

  “I’m fine, and to answer your question, I’m sure we can find a way to make sure the right people hear about your outreach efforts without making it into a media circus.”

  “That’s good,” he says, sounding relieved. “The last thing I’m looking for is any more media attention.”

  “You promised you’d tell me the whole story of what happened in New York.”

  “I know.” He puts down his fork, wipes his mouth and sips his margarita, taking a full minute to gather himself before he speaks. “You should know one thing before you hear anything else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I thought I loved her, and I assumed she loved me, too. I thought I’d finally found ‘the one.’” His entire demeanor changes. “I’m sure you think you’ve got me pegged. Reasonably handsome dude, a doctor, must be a player, must have a different woman in his bed every night, and so on.”

  “Those thoughts never crossed my mind.”

  He smiles, but it’s a sad version of the earlier smiles that lit up his entire face. “Sure they didn’t. The truth is, I work like a fiend. Or I used to work like a fiend, back when I had a job and a research team and surgeries scheduled back to back. I’d work sixteen or eighteen hours straight without blinking an eye. I had no time to be a player, and besides, I’m just not wired that way.”

  “How’re you wired?”

  “I always imagined that once my training was finished, I’d find someone I liked well enough to spend forever with and get married and have some kids. I never had the desire or time to chase a different woman every night. That’s not to say that some of my doctor friends don’t do that, because they do. But it wasn’t my thing.”

  He takes another sip of his drink and props his elbows on the table. “I met Ginger at a fundraiser for childhood cancer. A doctor I went to medical school with had invited me. He’s a pediatric oncologist now and was one of the sponsors. Since my research focuses on malignant pediatric brain tumors, he thought I might be interested in the event. I was by myself at the bar when she approached me. We started talking. She was funny and beautiful, and it’d been a long time since I’d taken even five minutes for myself. When she asked if I wanted to get a nightcap after the event, I was all in.”

  The retelling of this story seems to pain him, and I feel for him, even if my goal is to help him without getting overly involved. That goal slips further out of reach with every minute I spend with him. I like him. I don’t want to like him, but I do.

  “So we went to the bar in the hotel where the fundraiser was held, and we continued to talk and laugh. Pretty soon it was last call, and we were the only ones left in the bar. When she produced a room key and asked if I wanted to join her upstairs, I didn’t hesitate. I’d had more fun with her than I’d had with any woman in years. That was the start of it.”

  “How long were you with her before you learned the truth?”

  “Three months. And I own the fact that I should’ve asked more questions, but I was busier than hell at work and with her if I wasn’t working. It was the most fun I’d had since before med school. I fell completely in love with her, or so I thought.”

  “She never mentioned her husband or children in that time?”

  “Not once. With hindsight, I can see that she was intentionally vague about her life away from me. She told me she was on several boards, including the organization that had the fundraiser the night we met, and her volunteer work kept her super busy. I also realized, after the fact, that she was intentional about us not being seen together in public after that first night. She told me she wanted to hibernate with me, and that was more than fine with me. After spending ten or twelve hours in an OR, I was fine with a home-cooked meal and a night in bed with her.

  “By the time she invited me to her home in the Hamptons for the weekend, it never would’ve occurred to me that she was married or had children.”

  “The thing I don’t get is if she wanted out of the marriage, why didn’t she just ask for a divorce?”

  “I didn’t understand that, either, but later I learned that it was about humiliating him with a younger man who, in her words, was everything the husband wasn’t—young, sexy, hot in bed, successful in a way the husband would never be. It had nothing at all to do with me and everything to do with paying her husband back for years of ignoring her as well as protecting her bank account. Or something like that. I may never know the full story of what went on between them. One thing I do know is she never intended for it to become public. That wasn’t part of her plan. The fact that her kids were deeply hurt is what bothers me the most.”

  “Because of what happened in your own family.”

  “Yeah. It’s the worst thing ever to have everyone in school find out that one of your parents has been having an affair. Kids have no ability to understand that shit, and it shouldn’t be something they have to deal with.”
/>
  The forceful way he says that tells me he’s never gotten over what his philandering father did.

  “It’s really important to me that you know, that everyone knows, there’s no way I would’ve been part of something like this if I’d known the truth. And yes, in this day and age, anyone with a cell phone has the ability to find out anything they need to know about anyone else. But it never occurred to me that I needed to be suspicious of her. I thought I’d finally found someone I could spend my life with. Instead I found myself embroiled in a scandal that screwed up my entire life and threatened a career I’ve given everything to. Sometimes I still can’t believe it actually happened.”

  “I’m really sorry she did that to you.”

  He looks up at me, his expression madly vulnerable. “You believe me?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He exhales a deep breath. “I’m sure some of the people I worked with in New York couldn’t believe I had no idea who she was, but I really didn’t. I had nothing to do with the hospital’s board of directors. I worked so much that it was all I could do to find time to eat and sleep a few hours every day. What did I care who the chairman of the board of the hospital was? As long as he stayed out of my way and let me do my job, I had no reason to deal with him. My boss was the chief of surgery, not the chairman of the hospital board.”

  “I’ll never understand why people do the things they do sometimes. After I lost Tony, a woman who was married to one of the other officers in his squad started a fundraising effort for me and then kept the money. I never asked her to do it, but people were so nice afterward. They wanted to help. I didn’t even know she’d started the fund. I got caught up in that mess at a time when I had zero defenses.”

  “People suck.”

  “Sometimes. Thankfully not all the time. There was so much more good than bad after Tony died, but the idea that someone would actually take advantage of his death for their own gain was so impossible to believe.”

  “It’s disgusting. Did you ever get the money?”

  “A year or so later, and she ended up charged with a crime. It was awful on top of everything else I was dealing with.”