by Force, Marie
I did just have that conversation with myself, for all the good it did me. She’s beautiful and vibrant and smart as hell. Her story about losing her young husband so tragically moved me last night. I thought about it long after we parted company, wondering what it was like for her to become a widow at twenty-four.
It’s horrible to even imagine, way worse than what Ginger did to me. That’s nothing compared to what Carmen endured.
She gets into the passenger seat, bringing an alluring scent with her that has the attention of every part of me, despite my determination to steer clear of anything to do with romantic entanglements.
Don’t forget, my inner voice reminds me, she’s only helping you because she owes you money and her boss told her to.
It’s a good reminder that this, whatever this is with her, needs to remain strictly professional.
She puts her seat belt on. “Where to?”
“I’m meeting a Realtor in South Beach.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her frowning.
“What?”
“I didn’t take you for a cliché.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“South Beach? Really?” Every word drips with disdain.
“I asked around. People said that’s where the action is.”
“If you’re twenty-five and looking to party, sure. Do you have any idea what the commute from South Beach to Kendall would be like on an average workday?”
“Uh, not really.”
She shrugged. “If you want to spend an hour bumper to bumper each way, it’s your life to waste.”
“I usually go to work crazy early and come home super late. I rarely hit rush hour.”
“I’m telling you. You don’t want to live there.”
“And you know me well enough to say that?”
“I do.”
I laugh, delighted by her even if I don’t want to be. “Where do you think I should live?”
“You should check out Brickell. It’s a great part of town, closer to the hospital and not a total zoo like South Beach is.”
“I’ll ask my Realtor to look there, too, but I can’t cancel on her now.”
“Then let’s go to South Beach, but don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”
“Duly noted.”
It takes two seconds after our arrival for me to realize she’s one thousand percent right about South Beach—and the traffic. Even on a Tuesday, it’s hopping. I can’t imagine what the weekends must be like. The bars are doing land-office business, and the beach area is bustling with people, cars, bikes and joggers. Zoo is definitely a good word to describe it.
In a past life, I would’ve loved to live here, but not now. When I’m not working, I need a place where I can decompress and relax. That can’t happen here.
The condo is located in a high-rise with an incredible ocean view and great amenities. But on the ninth floor, I can hear the street noise, even with the doors and windows closed.
Deb, the Realtor, is peppy, enthusiastic and probably already calculating her commission on the nine-hundred-thousand-dollar condo that’s all glass and hard edges and modern features. I hate to disappoint her. “I’m not feeling this place.”
“Oh, thank God,” Carmen says, breath leaving her in a whoosh of relief.
“You hate it.”
“I hate it.”
Deb is clearly offended but keeps that to herself.
“What’ve you got in Brickell?” I ask her.
“Oh, well, I’d have to look and see what’s available.”
“I think that’d be better for me. It’s closer to work.”
“Give me a minute to check the listings.”
After Deb steps into the kitchen to work on her phone, Carmen shoots me a smug smile that I find ridiculously adorable—and funny. I love that she’s not afraid to tell me how she really feels. That’s a refreshing change from women I’ve known in the past who would say what they thought I’d want to hear rather than sharing their true opinion. I dated one woman in college who never seemed to have an original thought the entire time we were together. She was all about pleasing me, and while that has its advantages, it got boring after a while.
I have a feeling I’d never be bored with Carmen, not that I’m planning to date her. I’m just saying . . . She’s unique. And so, so pretty in a natural, unaffected way that really appeals to me. She doesn’t need layers of makeup to enhance what she was born with.
Why am I thinking about how pretty Carmen is, or whether she needs makeup? I’m supposed to be focused on finding a place to live—if I end up with a job here—and restoring my reputation. Once again, I need the reminder that this is not the time to be dazzled by Carmen.
“I’ve got quite a few in your price range, one with excellent views of the Rickenbacker and Biscayne Bay,” Deb says from the kitchen, where she’s scrolling on an iPad.
Carmen gives me a thumbs-up.
So I won’t be at the beach. That’s fine. I’d hardly ever have time to take advantage of the proximity anyway. “Sounds good.”
“Let me check in with some of the listing agents and see what I can do.”
CHAPTER 8
JASON
After she walks away, I glance at Carmen. “I’m probably jinxing myself even looking at places. The board is a long way from approving me.”
“They’ll approve you. We’ll make sure of it.”
“You’re far more confident than I am.”
“We have to make it so they’d look stupid to say no to you.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
She thinks about that for a second. “Where are we with the testimonials from former patients? I was thinking we could use them to tell your story for the presentation. If there’re photos of you with the patients, that’s even better.”
I forgot I was supposed to ask my former colleague in New York about that. “I’ll reach out to Terri now.” I fire off a text to the nurse administrator, who’s the glue that holds the neurosurgery department together, and tell her what I need. I list a few of the patients I’m thinking of who might be grateful enough to share their stories of working with me. I saved their lives. Perhaps they can help save my career. “Done.” I glance at Carmen. “It’s a really good idea and one I never would’ve thought of on my own.”
“That’s because your job is brain surgery. Mine is publicity, promotion and marketing.”
I laugh at the cocky way she says that. “Touché.”
“Stay in your lane, Doc. I gotcha covered on the rest.”
I’m so thankful to have her on my side. She gives me hope that it may be actually possible to repair my tattered reputation.
“We have to tell your story as a world-class physician. You’re far more than one measly scandal.”
“The scandal wasn’t measly.”
“No, but it’s yesterday’s news. I did a deep dive online last night, and there’s been no mention of it anywhere in more than a week. While it’s the biggest thing in your life, everyone else has moved on. Well, except for the Miami-Dade board, that is. But by the time we’re done with them, they’ll be so inundated with the positive they won’t remember the measly little scandal in New York. That’s the plan, anyway.”
“I like that plan.”
“I figured you would.”
“When did you have time last night to do a deep dive online between dinner and your second trip to jail?”
She grimaces at the mention of jail. “I did it before we went to dinner, but I didn’t mention it because I was still formulating my plan of attack.”
“Well, it’s good to know it’s not big news in New York anymore.”
“You can thank the twenty-four-hour news cycle for that. It moves on faster than it used to.”
I’m unreasonably relieved to hear the scandal isn’t headline news anymore, but the damage is certainly done. I hate that for the rest of my life—and beyond—anytime someone searches for my name, th
e crap with Ginger will come up.
Deb returns to where we’re waiting for her in the condo. “We’re in luck. I was able to line up a showing in Brickell. I’ll text you the address. Shall we meet there in an hour?”
I glance at Carmen, and she nods. “We’ll be there,” I tell Deb.
“Great.”
We walk out together, and when we get to my car, I hold the passenger door for Carmen, who winces when her backside connects with hot leather. As I get in the car, my phone chimes with a text from Terri. Hey, it’s good to hear from you. Everyone is still wound up about what they did to you. Hope things are working out for you in Miami. We sure do miss you here! I’ll definitely reach out to the patients you mentioned and see what we can do. This whole thing is utter BULLSHIT, and the entire department is pissed about how you were treated. How can YOU be scrambling to find another job?!?!
I read and reread Terri’s text, soaking in words that are like a balm on my broken heart, before passing the phone to Carmen. “From my former colleague.”
She quickly reads Terri’s message. “That must be nice to hear.”
“It is. I always worked hard, respected my colleagues, filled in for them when needed and treated the nurses like the superheroes they are.”
“Let’s get statements from Terri and the others in your former department.”
“For what?”
“For the PowerPoint presentation we’re going to put together for your next meeting with the board.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about asking my former colleagues to do that.”
“You want to fix this, right?”
“Very much so.”
“Then you’re going to have to do some things that may not sit well with you, such as getting testimonials from former colleagues and publicity for pro bono work at the clinic, if we can make that happen.”
I grimace at the thought of generating attention for volunteer work. Under normal circumstances, I’d never go for that. But these circumstances certainly aren’t normal. “Fine. I’ll ask her.” I respond to Terri’s text. Thanks for the help. Much appreciated. My associate down here is telling me it wouldn’t hurt to have some endorsements from the people I worked with there. Do you think they’d be willing to provide them?
I’m pained as I send a text that would’ve been inconceivable a few weeks ago. It still amazes me that a life and a career can be blown apart in a single day.
Terri responds right away, putting me out of my misery. Absolutely. I’ll get on that, too. Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered, Doc.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank you. Means a lot to me.
She sends back the smooching emoji.
“She’s on it,” I tell Carmen.
“That’s great. I know it sucks to have to ask, but anything we can do to paint a complete picture will help. Right now, all they see is scandal. We have to give them a different narrative.”
“You told me yesterday I need a seasoned crisis communication team. I’d say I have exactly what I need with you.”
“Thanks. I’m hardly seasoned, but it’s fun to use the stuff I learned in years of school.”
The traffic leaving South Beach is proof of what she told me I’d face if I lived there. I’m glad to have someone with local knowledge helping me figure out this new place. “You must’ve been in college when you lost your husband, right?”
“I was attending community college, working at the restaurant and trying to get pregnant. We planned to be young parents. I was going to stay home with them and go to school when they did. After Tony died, I got a big insurance payout that I put toward school. It gave me something to do once the initial shock of his death wore off.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you . . .” I shake my head. It’s none of my fucking business whether she’s dated anyone else since she lost her husband.
“Have I what?”
“I was about to ask you a deeply personal question.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Everyone I meet wants to know if I’ve dated again since I lost him, and the answer is I’ve had a lot of first dates, a couple of second dates and very few third dates. My grandmothers love to fix me up with guys they know, their friends’ grandsons, customers at the restaurant. At first I wanted nothing to do with it, but after a while, it was easier to go on the dates than have to constantly tell them why I didn’t want to.”
“It was their way of trying to help you move on, I suppose.”
“Yes,” she says with a sigh, “and I love them for it. We all suffered over the loss of Tony. He’d been part of our family for ten years by the time we lost him.”
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to meet ‘the one’ when you’re as young as you guys were.” I’ve never met anyone I could picture spending the rest of my life with. I’d begun to wonder if Ginger might be my “one” when I found out what she really wanted with me—and it had nothing to do with forever except for the stain she put on my good name.
“It’s funny that I can’t remember meeting him. We used to talk about that a lot. He remembered every detail of that day, but I don’t. I was with friends at an arcade in the mall, and he said the Selena song ‘I Could Fall in Love’ was playing the first time he saw me. I used to say he was making that up, but he swore it was true.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“We lived near each other but went to different schools, which is why we hadn’t met before. He had friends who went to my school, and they approached me to ask if I’d consider meeting their friend, who’d decided he was going to marry me.”
“No way. They did not say that.”
“They did!”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I’m fourteen, and I’m not marrying your friend.’ They begged and pleaded with me to at least talk to him, which I said I’d do, mostly because I sensed they weren’t going to let up until I did. I figured I’d talk to him once, tell him to get real and move on.”
“But that’s not what happened.”
“That’s not what happened.”
I’m completely captivated by her story and more than a little heartbroken to know how it ended. “Don’t stop now! I have to know the rest. But only if you want to tell me.”
“It’s one of my favorite stories to tell. He called me that night and every night for a month. My parents were all over me about who I was on the phone with every night. I can’t really recall the specifics of what we talked about, but I do remember laughing—a lot. He was really funny. I think that was the first thing I loved about him, that he could make me laugh even when I was annoyed with him.”
“An important quality, for sure.”
“It took two years of us being best friends before my parents would officially allow us to date.”
“Holy crap. That must’ve been a long two years.”
“It was, and believe me, I was so pissed about it. I thought my parents were impossibly old-fashioned. But when I look back at it now, I can see how important that friendship was for everything that came later.”
“It set the foundation.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“No one waits two years to date anymore.”
“Right? It’s all about instant gratification.”
“It’s a very sweet story. I’m so sorry you lost him the way you did. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”
“Worst day of my life.”
Without thinking much about it, I reach over and cover her hand with mine, giving a gentle squeeze. The second my skin connects with hers, I realize I’ve made a critical error by touching her.
The subtle gasp that escapes from her lets me know she feels the same thing I do.
Even knowing all the reasons why it’s a bad idea to leave it there, I don’t remove my hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful.”
“It was a long time ago.”
<
br /> “Still . . . Some things never get easier with time.”
“True.” After a long pause, she releases a long deep breath. “I was working at the restaurant when the cops came. At first, I thought it was him. He would pop by to say hello sometimes when he was on duty. He worked second shift, three to eleven, so our work hours were the same. There were two cops, and I remember looking around them to see if he was with them. They said something to my dad, and he . . . He just crumbled.” After another pause, she continues. “I think I knew Tony was gone the second I saw my dad’s reaction from across the big room.”
“God, Carmen. I can’t imagine.”
“It was pretty horrible, but we were very well supported. The department was amazing. They took care of everything. That first week was just a blur of people and food and so much heartbreak. The restaurant became the gathering place for everyone, and it went on for days. It seemed like half the city passed through before the actual wake and funeral were held. Thousands of police officers came from all over the country. It was so amazing and overwhelming.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s not much to be said. My grandmothers, who are both widows, were incredible. They helped me find a way through the grief. It took a while, but I bounced back. I thought he’d approve of me going to school since I wasn’t going to be a stay-at-home mother after all, and I didn’t want to waitress for the rest of my life. Although, I made a very decent living at the restaurant.”
“He’d be so proud of you. I’m proud of you, and I just met you.”
“Thanks. I like to think he’d be proud that I survived it. He loved me so much. I never had any doubt about that.”
“He was lucky, and he knew it. Smart man.”
“We were both lucky.”
“Did he always want to be a cop?”
“From the time he was twelve and did a ride-along with a friend’s dad who was a cop. He never deviated from that plan. We even waited to get married until he’d completed his training. It’s comforting to know he was doing exactly what he loved when he died.”
“I’m glad you are able to see it that way.”
