How Much I Feel

by Force, Marie

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. Losing your husband at twenty-four is more than enough trauma without it being compounded by greed.”

  “For sure.”

  Our entrées are served—chicken enchiladas for him and tacos al pastor for me. The food is blah compared to what I’m used to, but there’s no way I could take him home to the family restaurant, even if the food is way better. I don’t need them making this into something it isn’t.

  “Tell me about the night he caught you with her.”

  “Ugh, do I have to?”

  “I want to make sure I know the whole story so I can help you figure out the best plan.”

  He pushes his half-eaten dinner aside, takes another sip of his drink and speaks in a dull, flat tone. “She planned everything about that night to ensure maximum carnage.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “When he walked in on us, she was on her knees giving me a blow job.”

  I wince. “Damn.”

  “I heard the bedroom door open, and I looked down at her in time to see the calculating look she sent his way even as she continued to suck my dick with great enthusiasm.” He glances at me. “Sorry for being so blunt.”

  I wave off his apology. “What happened then?”

  “My first order of business was getting my dick out of her mouth, and then I was focused on defending myself because he came at me with fists flying. I had no idea what was happening, but she did. She knew exactly what was going on, because she’d planned the entire shit show.”

  “Where were their children?”

  “I don’t know. I only found out she had children the next day when I heard from my boss that my privileges at the hospital were suspended and I was to stay off the hospital campus until the board had a chance to meet and discuss the sordid mess. He’s the one who told me that all this time I’d been screwing the married mother of two teenagers and that her husband was the chairman of the board of my freaking hospital.”

  “I can’t imagine how shocking that had to be for you.”

  “It took days for me to realize our entire relationship was a setup on her part. I finally did what I should’ve done when I first met her and looked her up online. I found out that she’d been trying to get out of the marriage for years, but he refused to divorce her because all their money came from her family. If he divorced her, he’d lose everything, because they had a prenup. He was holding her hostage in the marriage, so she set out to humiliate him in the biggest way she could think of.”

  “That’s so awful.”

  “It really was. It’s one thing to go through a rough breakup when a relationship dies of natural causes, but this . . . This was on a whole other level. And then it got really fun when the New York media picked up the story and plastered it all over the city. The headlines were brutal. Brain surgeon seduces hospital board chairman’s wife. I think the source on that story was one of my colleagues who was always trying to prove he’s better than me when everyone knows he isn’t. He took great pleasure in my downfall, especially when I got suspended.”

  “Have you considered a lawsuit against her?”

  “I have, and I even went so far as to meet with an attorney who told me I’d have a very good case.”

  “So you’re doing that?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why not?”

  “Her kids have been through enough. I just don’t have it in me to drag them through the mud again.”

  “Jason . . . She ruined your life. She shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.”

  “She hasn’t ruined my life yet.”

  “She ruined your life in New York.”

  “I just want to put it behind me, and a lawsuit would keep it alive for years. I had the lawyer reach out to let her know I was considering litigation, and he said she totally freaked out about that. It’s enough for me that she’s worried I might sue her. My only goal now is officially landing this job at Miami-Dade and having the chance to restore my reputation through the work. That’s all that matters, and I can’t do the work without hospital privileges. In many other specialties, I could fly solo, but not in neurosurgery.”

  “Does it have to be neurosurgery?”

  CHAPTER 5

  CARMEN

  He looks at me like I’m insane, and maybe I am. “It took years of training to get to where I was before this happened. I’m board certified, which is the holy grail. I’d be a fool to walk away from my specialty, not to mention the research I’ve worked on for years.”

  “I’m not suggesting you walk away. I’m just wondering if you have options.”

  “Of course I do, but I’ve been on this path for most of the last decade . . .” He shakes his head as his cheek pulses with tension. “I can’t let her destroy my career, Carmen. I won’t let her.”

  “Is your goal to find a way back to New York?”

  “That’d be my preference, but I don’t think that’s going to happen. I’m persona non grata there after the board chairman personally saw to it that I was exiled to Miami. And now they’re balking at being stuck with me.”

  “Is that what they said?”

  “Mr. Augustino was rather blunt. He said the board isn’t interested in dealing with me or my scandal, but they are interested in my research. Apparently, that’s the only reason they’re even considering granting me privileges at Miami-Dade.”

  “Did he say what happens at the end of the two weeks?”

  “I assume they’ll decide my research isn’t worth the stink I bring with me. I think they’re basically giving me lip service but have no intention of granting privileges.”

  “Is there any chance at all you’d consider doing an interview with someone here in Miami to set the record straight about what happened in New York?”

  He ponders that for a minute. “I’d do it in a hot second if there was no chance of it being plastered all over the New York media. That’s not going to happen, though, with the internet. And in order to clear my name, I’d have to trash hers.”

  “And you won’t do that because of her kids.”

  “Right.”

  I totally respect him for doing what he can to protect her children from further humiliation. This day has been a good reminder about the danger of leaping to conclusions about people. “What about asking her to contact the Miami-Dade board directly?”

  His grimace tells me what he thinks of that idea. “That would require me to speak to her, and I’m not willing to do that.”

  “Even to save your career?”

  “I wouldn’t do it to save my life.”

  “Could you text or email her so you wouldn’t have to speak to her?”

  “Ugh, I really don’t want to have anything more to do with her if I can avoid that.”

  “Maybe have the lawyer do it in exchange for possibly not suing her?”

  “I suppose I could do that, as long as we leave the option open to sue her. It gives me pleasure to imagine her sweating that. I’ll hit up the lawyer tomorrow.”

  While I ponder other options, the waiter clears our plates and leaves dessert menus. Since Jason hardly touched his dinner, they box it up for him.

  I order fried ice cream to buy myself time to think about a strategy that might work to change the board’s mind about him. I have one idea that’s been floating around since earlier.

  “How would you feel about doing some pro bono work while you wait to meet with the board?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “There’s a free clinic in Little Havana that does amazing work in the community. The doctor who works there was recently in a serious car accident and will be out of work for quite some time. The nurses are doing their best to keep up, but they could use some help.”

  “I’d have to check with my insurance carrier. I’m still an employee of East Coast and covered by their insurance, but I also have my own policy due to the high-risk nature of my specialty. I’m pretty sure I can get coverage for any volu
nteer work I do through that one.”

  “Let me make a few calls and see if we can make this happen.” My cousin Maria is a nurse at the clinic, but I’ll keep that to myself until I know whether I can pull this off. “In the meantime, check with your insurance and let me know.”

  “I’ll call in the morning.”

  I push the fried ice cream toward him.

  He uses the second spoon the waiter brought to take a bite.

  “What about past patients?”

  “What about them?”

  “By now you must have a few satisfied customers who can attest to your skill and the care they received from you.”

  “More than a few.” The note of cockiness reminds me of the man I met this morning. That seems like a lifetime ago in light of what I’ve learned about him since.

  “Can you reach out and ask them to send testimonials we can share with the board? We need to show them the other side of the story.”

  “I can ask my former assistant in New York to handle that. She would have all the contact info.”

  “Do it. It certainly can’t hurt anything. Have them write to me directly.” I give him my new business card, which includes my email address. “Don’t go through Augustino.”

  “You don’t trust him?”

  “I barely know him. I have no idea whether he can be trusted, which is all the more reason to funnel everything through me. After being misled, he may not want you any more than the board does, for all we know.”

  “True.”

  “I need you to know that I’m willing to do whatever I can to help you, but I don’t want to lose my job over it.”

  “I understand.”

  The waiter brings the check, and we both lunge for it, knocking it off the table, which makes us laugh.

  It’s closer to Jason, so he grabs it. “This is on me.”

  “I’m the one who owes you money.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  “I am worried about it. I pay my own bills.”

  “You’re helping me figure a way out of this mess. That’s all the payment I need.” He pulls out the black American Express card again to pay the bill. “I’d be losing my mind if I didn’t have your help in figuring out how to handle this situation.”

  “I still say you should have someone far more qualified than I am helping you.”

  “I don’t know anyone else I can ask, and you know the area, so that gives me an inside track I could never get with someone else.” He signs the credit card receipt and stands, waiting for me to go ahead of him as we leave the restaurant, which has thinned out since we arrived.

  I glance at my phone, stunned to realize that it’s after ten o’clock. How did two hours go by in a flash? Ever since I lost Tony, time has been my enemy. It either goes by too quickly, making me wonder how it’s possible that life just marches on without him. Or it drags interminably, leaving me to question how I’ll fill all the time I have left in a life that no longer includes him.

  The valet driver has Jason’s car parked right outside the door.

  He hands the young man a twenty-dollar bill. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  “No worries. That car is sweet. Did you drive it here from New York?”

  “I wish. I was short on time, so I had to have it shipped.”

  The valet hands a business card to Jason. “If you need someone to take it back for you, give me a call.”

  “Will do. Thanks.” Jason holds the passenger door and waits for me to get settled before closing the door. He slides into the driver’s seat and hands me his take-home bag to hold for him.

  “What about social media?” I ask when we’re on the way back to my place.

  “What about it?”

  “Have you thought about using your accounts to change the narrative?”

  “What accounts?”

  I look over at him. “You’re not on social media? At all?”

  “Nope. Never had the time for it.”

  “Well, that’s a golden opportunity to take control of your own story. We should set you up with an Instagram account that shows you getting to know your new city, and if we can make the free clinic idea happen, that’d be even better.”

  “I don’t know how I feel about volunteering at the clinic to get attention.”

  “That’s the whole point.”

  “I know,” he says, sighing. “I hate doing altruistic things for attention. It feels seedy.”

  “Under normal circumstances, it is seedy. These are not normal circumstances. If you want to save your career, you’re going to have to suck it up and court some positive attention.”

  “I hate this.”

  We’re about a mile from my place when blue lights flash behind us.

  After glancing in the rearview mirror, Jason pulls the car over. “What the hell?”

  “This can’t be happening twice in one day.”

  “First time for me. Grab the registration for me, will you?”

  I open the glove box, where the registration was the only thing in there this morning, and immediately realize it’s not there. “Um, Jason?”

  They put us in the same cell I was in this morning, the door closing with the same shocking clatter that jolted me the first time around. The cop said he pulled us over because the car had a taillight out, but when we couldn’t produce the registration for the very expensive car, he had no choice but to bring us in until they could confirm that Jason owns the car.

  And so, here I am. In jail. Again.

  To my credit, I held it together the whole time we were told to stand with our hands on the hood of the car, our legs spread. I held it together when they told us we were being taken in until they could determine who owns the car. I held it together when they cuffed us and put us into the back seat of the squad car. But being back in that cell with the toilet sitting out in the open takes me right over the edge.

  I disintegrate into helpless laughter.

  “What the hell is so funny?” Jason asks.

  I can’t breathe or talk. I wave my hand to encompass the entire situation.

  “This is not funny. It’s the last goddamned thing I need right now.”

  Even knowing he’s right, I can’t stop laughing. Could this day be any more ridiculous? It takes me five full minutes to catch my breath, and by then Jason is truly pissed with me for laughing.

  “It’s a good thing they took our phones, or I might be tempted to get your Instagram account up and running with a photo from jail.”

  That draws a small smile from him, as if he can’t help it, even if he finds nothing about this funny.

  “Can’t you use your connections to get us sprung?”

  “I tried that. The patrolman said he was in high school when my husband was killed, can’t just take my word for it and needs to confirm the info I told him. But he did say he was sorry for my loss. So here we are.”

  “Jesus.”

  I wince at the cavalier way he utters the Lord’s name.

  “What?”

  “My grandmothers would cut out your tongue for saying that.”

  “Sorry. Fuck. Is that better?”

  “Much.”

  He laughs, and the sound rolls through me like a hot bath, soothing and calming. I like making him laugh, especially since he’s had nothing much to laugh about in the last few weeks.

  An older officer comes to the door of the cell. “You’re Tony D’Alessandro’s wife?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Come with me.”

  “May I bring my friend?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We follow him through a series of corridors into a nondescript room with a table and chairs and not much else.

  “You can wait here.”

  “The car is mine,” Jason says. “It was impounded earlier after a misunderstanding, and the impound lot didn’t return the registration. I didn’t realize it until we got stopped.”

  “We’re looking into it. As soon as we confir
m what you’ve told us, you’ll be free to go.” The officer looks to me. “You’re free to go now. I can have someone drive you home if you don’t want to wait.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll wait for my friend.”

  “You want some coffee?”

  “No, thanks. We’re good.”

  “I’ll do what I can to get this figured out for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I don’t think it’s locked, but I’d rather not know if it is, so I don’t check.

  Jason takes a seat at the table. “You should go.”

  “It’s fine. I’ll stay.”

  “You have to work in the morning.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “I said I’d stay, and I will.”

  “Are you afraid to leave me to my own devices?”

  “Terrified. I’ve got enough of a mess to clean up without you making it worse.”

  He’s startled until he figures out that I’m kidding, and then he begins to laugh. He laughs as hard as I did earlier. Like my laughter, his has an edge of hysteria to it that I can certainly understand. Rule-following overachievers like us don’t end up in jail, let alone twice in one day for me.

  “You’re a regular jailbird today,” he says when he finally quits laughing.

  “Only because of you! I was minding my own business when you and your Porsche showed up to cause trouble for me.”

  “Admit it. This is the most fun you’ve had in a long time.”

  I cross my arms defiantly. “I’ll admit to no such thing.”

  The smile he directs my way sets off that flurry of reaction inside me that’s been happening all day. I’ve never had an opinion on instant attraction, because it hasn’t happened to me before. Tony and I were friends for two years before we started officially dating when we were juniors in high school. I’ve seen my friends and cousins come home dazzled by a man they just met, but most of the time the dazzle doesn’t last.

  “What’re you thinking?”

  His question startles me. “Huh?”

  “You just got all serious, and your brows were furrowed.” He does an impression of the face I was making.

  “Oh, um, I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular.” I can’t very well admit to the object of my instant attraction that I was pondering the phenomenon of instant attraction.