by JD Hawkins
I return to the living room and toss Toby a beer, which he’s almost too self-absorbed to catch.
“What does she do?” I ask as I move to sit on the recliner.
“She’s an actress,” he says. I don’t say anything, waiting for more. “Well, she’s in-between castings at the moment, so she’s teaching yoga classes and doing promotions for yoga pants on her Instagram—but she’s gonna make it. Trust me. She’s special. It’s not her fault producers don’t recognize talent these days.”
I sip my smoothie and nod gently.
“I love her, Mia. I’ve never felt this passionate about anything… About anyone. I can see myself with her, you know? I can see the future with us together in it, and it looks beautiful. It looks right. It’s like there was this part of me that was missing, you know, but I never knew it was missing until I met—”
“All right, all right,” I interrupt. “Spare me the sonnet. What happened to Carrie?”
“Carrie?” Toby says, looking at me with confusion for a second, then suddenly remembering. “Oh! Carrie! No. Carrie turned out… Carrie was just sexy, and I was just horny. Besides, she had a boyfriend of, like, ten years.”
“Uh-huh,” I say. “And Sarah? And Ella? And Natasha?”
“Hey!” Toby replies, arm wide with indignation. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing,” I say with a smile. “I’m just…‘noticing.’”
“This is nothing like that, Mia,” Toby insists. “This is the real deal. This is fireworks in the mind, waking up in a sweat, no appetite, pain in the chest, love! Here—” He holds out his inner wrist to me and closes his eyes. “You’re a doctor. Take my pulse. My heart’s slamming like a motor when I just think of her. Go on.”
I do nothing but slurp my smoothie noisily, then say, “Unfortunately there’s no diagnostic procedure for love, Toby. Lovesickness is just a turn of phrase.”
His eyes pop back open. “Not to me. I got lovesickness really bad, Mia. You’ve got to help me.”
“What can I do?”
Toby sighs heavily and then goes to put the beer down on my coffee table.
“Coaster,” I say, and he grabs one to use.
“She’s married to some guy who made billions on Wall Street. Now he lives in California funding a bunch of indie movies. I mean, he’s not a bad guy, but he can’t give her what I can give her.”
“Does she even know you like her?”
“I love her,” he corrects. “And I think she does but… She’s loyal. And I’m not a homewrecker, Mia. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not an adulterer. I wouldn’t do that to her, for a start.”
“Toby,” I say, with a soft, caring tone. “Do you ever think—and don’t get angry with me for saying this—but do you ever think that maybe you fall for these women because they’re already taken? It’s not like you don’t meet tons of women every week. And somehow you only get obsessed with the ones who are already spoken for. Perhaps you’re just attracted to things you know you can’t have? Or perhaps you’re a little afraid of actually following through with a commitment, so you end up in these situations because they’re safer?”
Toby glares at me for a second, then shakes his head as if disappointed.
“Why do you always say that, Mia?”
“Just an observation.”
“Maybe it’s just that the best women are already gone!”
I laugh gently then lean over to take his hand. “Toby, you’re my brother, and I love you. And if I could magically ‘unmarry’ this woman for you, I would. But I can’t.”
Toby laughs back and puts his hand over mine.
“Thanks, sis. I love you too. It’s enough that I can bug you with this shit. You’re the smartest, most trustworthy, beautiful person in my life—you know that? You’re my rock.”
I smile over my smoothie straw and wink. “Yup. That’s me.”
“Anyway,” he continues, “it’s your day off, right? Let me take you out for lunch. Some guy lent me a classic Jag and I wanted to show you. I’ll even let you drive. We’ll go down PCH, get some food, you’ll tell me all about what’s going on with you, it’ll be fun.”
I turn to look at the clock and then wince regretfully.
“I can’t.”
Toby looks dejected. “Come on. I promise I won’t keep talking about this woman.”
“No, it’s not that. I have a staff meeting in an hour or so.”
“You’re blowing me off for a staff meeting? Is that any way to treat your own brother? And why the hell are going to a meeting on your day off anyway?”
I sigh. “It’s just… The hospital is still looking for a new administrator, so there are a lot of big decisions the senior doctors have to contribute to at the moment. It’s just a temporary thing until we get new management, but I really am expected to chip in. It’s mandatory.”
Toby shrugs his disappointment, taking a long gulp of his beer. He knows better than to try to persuade me—I’m as stubborn as he is.
For a minute we just sit there, relaxed and comfortable with each other, drinking our drinks. It’s weird, but the only time I feel like I can sit like this and not immediately start overthinking things or getting up to do some chore is when I’m with him. Likewise, the only time Toby seems anything less than hyperactive and animated is when he’s with me. I guess we balance each other in some way.
I glance over at him and smile as he sinks back into the couch, closing his eyes, probably allowing himself to feel the tiredness of last week’s partying.
“Hey,” he says groggily, opening his eyes again. “How are you? And don’t tell me about work. Tell me about you.”
“I’m good,” I say, then stop myself when I realize I was about to talk about work instinctively. “Nothing much going on with me, really.”
“No guys hovering around, trying to distract you from your dream job?”
I shrug to hide my slight avoidance of the question. I’d tell Toby about Colin, but I’m not even sure what the situation is myself. “No.”
“Goddamn,” Toby says, looking at me warmly. “I don’t know if you’re just really good at ignoring approaches, or the guys are terrible at getting your attention. ‘Cause there’s no way there aren’t at least five guys who are infatuated with you currently.”
“You know I don’t get out much. The only person I’ve really hung out with recently is Maeve,” I say, and Toby instantly raises an eyebrow.
I know what I’m doing, and mentioning Maeve is just a sly way of distracting Toby from asking any more about the men in my life. The thing is, Maeve and Toby have a little history. In retrospect, it’s not a surprise. Toby was always drawn to women as big, bright, and striking as the precious stones he deals in. Maeve was always up for any man courageous enough to try to tame her. You could practically see the sparks between them when I invited them both to a birthday party a few years back. It was like putting two wild animals in the same cage. The only question was who would devour the other.
I heard afterwards they were seen making out in a back corner of the restaurant, but when I asked about it later, they both said that was as far as it went. In a funny way, I think I’m the only reason they didn’t take it further. Both of them are just about cautious enough to not embroil me in what might have been the most explosive relationship in L.A.
Though whenever I mention the other’s name, there’s always a sense of some unfinished business between them…
“She’s good,” I say to Toby. “Still hot. Maybe hotter.”
“Goddamn,” Toby says with an awestruck tone, draining his beer as if to cool himself. “Speaking of which, I got you something real nice.”
He rummages in his breast pocket for a second and then pulls out something that catches the light almost magically, as if it was light itself, some real-life special effect. It’s only when Toby hands it to me and I take it carefully that I can identify what it is: a fine white gold chain, its lightness and thinness akin to a thread of silk. And in
between every few inches of links is a tiny, perfectly cut diamond set in a bezel, barely perceptible but for when the stones catch and manipulate the light even more intensely than the gold chain.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, unable to keep the thought silent.
“Right?” Toby agrees. “Put it on.”
“No… I just want to look at it,” I say, laughing.
“Well, I don’t need to see you in it to know it suits you.”
I somehow manage to turn my eyes from the gorgeous thing to Toby and frown.
“I can’t afford this.”
Toby laughs heartily. “Who said anything about money? It’s yours. A gift. You’re my sister, for fuck’s sake.”
“No, no,” I say, immediately handing it back, avoiding taking another look at it lest it make my morals weaker. “I can’t take it.”
“Come on, Mia, let’s not do this whole dance now. It’s yours. I wanted to give you something to show how much I appreciate you. Besides, you know what’ll happen to it if you give it back? It’ll go into one of my drawers and never come out again. Sad to say, but you’re the only person I know with sense enough to like something like this. Most of my clients want diamonds the size of walnuts and chains that’ll fuck up their posture. No… This thing… This is you. Beautiful, understated, and forged tighter than a beaver’s asshole.”
I turn to Toby to stick my tongue out through a smile, then allow myself to look back at the necklace. Like I said, he’s stubborn, and I know there’s no chance he’ll take it back, so I allow myself to get entranced by the dance of light across it as I turn it in my hands.
“When did you say that meeting was?” he asks.
“About an hour.”
“That’s just enough time for you to check out this Jag before I drop you off then.”
“Thanks, Toby,” I say, standing up. “You win. Give me a sec and I’ll get ready.”
I move off to the bedroom, still staring at the necklace, already knowing I won’t be able to resist wearing it to the meeting.
“It’ll give me a chance to tell you more about Julia,” Toby calls as I leave.
“Who’s Julia?” I ask, then laugh and add, “Never mind.”
7
Colin
“Am I ever going home again?”
The kid has the voice of an angel. His mother told me he liked to sing. Looking up at me from the hospital bed, his question hits me like the saddest song I’ve ever heard.
The honest answer to that question is “I don’t know,” but an answer like that is never good enough for kids. They expect you to know everything, and if you tell them you don’t, they just presume the worst.
These are the facts: Jamie’s got a disease of the stomach that might turn out all right with treatment, or it might kill him within four months. The kid knows. Kids always know more than they let on, more than they can express.
Seven years old and he’s got to contend with his own mortality more than most guys do at even my age. Surrounded by brutal machines that look like they want to kill him even though they’re keeping him alive, not even able to take a bit of chocolate as a treat because it could prove fatal. His mother with two other kids, no husband, and a full-time job. Spending every moment she can by his side—though it’s still not enough, and she’s driving herself crazy doing it. She’s out in front of the hospital right now, smoking cigarettes to keep herself from cracking in front of him.
I don’t say any of this. I don’t even think it. Like I said, kids can tell. You can’t bullshit a kid, and kids don’t bullshit you. That’s the best and the worst thing about them.
I kneel down beside the bed so I’m eye level with him and smile.
“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get home?” I ask.
Jamie shrugs, but I wait a little longer and he answers.
“Play with my sister.”
“What kind of games do you play?”
Jamie shrugs again, then answers more quickly this time. “We put on shows. We sing and dance.”
“Sing and dance, huh?” I say, nodding as if impressed. “Your mom told me you like to sing. What kind of songs do you sing?”
Jamie doesn’t shrug this time, and answers eagerly, a question he doesn’t feel hesitant to answer. “Disney stuff. Taylor Swift. Bruno Mars is my favorite. Millie likes K-pop too.”
“Very cool,” I say, then frown as if there’s a problem. “Hey, Jamie, I have a friend who needs someone like you to help them out with something. Think you’re up for it?”
He doesn’t answer, but the rapt attention in his big brown eyes lets slip how intrigued he is. “What do they need?”
“There’s a girl in this hospital,” I begin, as if I’m just thinking of this now, “and she’s about your age. She’s a bit fed up being here, you see. She plays the piano very well. She knows a lot of songs… The thing is, she’s got nobody to sing them, and she can’t sing while playing. She’s got her keyboard with her and everything, but… Well.”
I stop there, letting Jamie join the dots, hoping he’ll suggest the obvious, but he’s still a little too shy. I tap his arm.
“Do you think you might be able to sing while she plays the piano?”
Jamie shrugs but I can see his lips are pursed into a smile. He’s a reserved kid, and this is about as close to a yes as I’m gonna get from him.
“Okay, I’ll tell her all about you and we’ll see how it goes,” I say, standing up. “Your mom should be back in a little while. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jamie.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
As soon as I leave the ward I seek out Jackie, the head nurse who has a superhuman ability to know everything going on at the hospital at any given moment. She’s hurrying along the corridor from the X-ray room to critical care.
“Jackie, a word?”
“Of course,” she says, without stopping. I match her pace beside her.
“That young girl who had surgery a week ago, the one with the keyboard.”
She nods. “We’re still monitoring her, Doctor Pierce. It’s touch and go.”
“I’d like to introduce her to Jamie tomorrow. Get them together in the same room—with the keyboard.”
She slows down to look at me and reveal her concerns, absently smoothing her bun. “I’m not sure about that. Both Jamie and Veronica are in a pretty fragile state at the moment.”
“That’s exactly why they need something to keep their energies up,” I say. “Poor boy’s shy enough as it is.”
“Can’t we just get him one of the Nintendos?”
“He’s not that type. He’s a sensitive kid. Creative. I think he’d like to make a little music with Veronica, have a project to focus on. Even if they just talk for a bit, it’d do them a world of good. Can you have a chair ready for her tomorrow morning? Please.”
Jackie searches my pleading eyes, and a moment passes.
“All right.” She shakes her head, a smile breaking through her worry. “I’ll see what I can do. You better thank your lucky stars you’ve got those dimples, Doctor Pierce.”
Flashing me a wink, she hurries off. I make my way toward the locker room, feeling elated. That’s my last bit of work for the day—although I’ve yet to see just how much hard work this staff meeting is going to be.
Staff meetings have never been my thing. I’m not good with authority, and in my experience, big meetings tend to favor the more theatrical or attention-seeking members of staff. Personally, I prefer being more direct when I have a problem—and letting everyone know I’d prefer them being direct with me, too.
But Santa Teresa is a whole new ball game. There are three times as many doctors and nurses as there were at Dunhill, so the personal approach often gets buried. Either way, I’m not planning to draw any attention to myself. With life, just as with women, it’s more important knowing when to shut up than to speak. To that end, I’m pretty interested in the meeting.
Sizing up my colleagues, get
ting a glimpse of the dynamics, feeling out the politics. As a doctor—as in any workplace, really—half the challenge is dealing with your colleagues. There’s doing your job, and there’s being a good employee. If I didn’t know that a while ago, recent history sure as shit taught me the hard way.
People are already gathering outside the room when I arrive. They’re grabbing last cups of coffee and water from the vending machines, some of them heading inside in a hurry, as if getting in quickly will help them get out faster, others smiling and chatting and milling around like they’re waiting to see a concert.
I recognize some of them. A couple of the doctors I’ve already met, Jessie the receptionist, and Jackie the head nurse, of course—but the rest are still just faces I’ve seen around. Still, almost everyone seems to recognize me, looking over with smiles and glints in their eyes, like I’m an expensive meal they ordered.
“Doctor Pierce,” someone says, and I turn to see a short, curvy woman in her forties step toward me confidently. “I’m Doctor Beatrice Walker, cardiovascular surgeon. I’m glad to finally meet you.”
Her dark hair is straight and shoulder length, bangs cut so precise it’s like a fellow surgeon did it. She’s got dark eyes and full lips that seem to rest in an expression of matronly calmness. A perfect face resting on her neck like an ornament. Her body thick but graceful. I warm to her instantly.
“Pleasure to meet you too.”
“Let me get you something,” she says, gesturing at the coffee machine I’m standing next to. I notice in my peripheral vision the glances from some of the others, glaring at her as if she’s taking ownership of me. Perhaps she is.
“Nothing good ever comes out of these machines,” I say, looking at it. “But sure.”
“I recommend the mocha,” she says, reaching across me to drop a few quarters in. “The chocolate powder almost disguises the terrible taste of the powdered milk, which nearly hides the disgusting flavor of the actual coffee.”
I laugh appreciatively as the cursed liquid dribbles into the plastic cup, and when I catch Beatrice’s eye again she smiles. I take the coffee and raise it to her in a toast before taking a tiny sip. It’s every bit as terrible as I expected.
