Cocktails on the Beach

by Helen Hardt

  “That doesn’t matter, mi amor. As long as the baby is healthy.” Eljon’s tense expression relaxed as he offered his wife reassurance.

  “Thank you for allowing me to talk to you and take some pictures for the advertising campaign I’m working on with Dr. Stanic. It’s very important that people understand the challenges faced by small clinics like Isla Tortuga Verde Clinica Medica and how they can help.”

  “Anything for the doctor. He’s takes good care of us.” Ana gave a tiny sob and covered her pregnant belly protectively. “Especially our baby. Every day brings us closer to holding our precious bundle in our arms.”

  Guilty frustration rose in the back of my throat, the taste bitter. I hadn’t been able to prevent Ana’s miscarriages, and now this pregnancy was in jeopardy. Her blood pressure was through the roof. I was waiting for Martina to check in with the results of her urine test. If protein was present, my diagnosis would be preeclampsia, a complication that could be fatal for Ana and her baby.

  A quiet knock signaled Martina.

  I poked my head out of the exam room.

  “Da results not good, Doctor Man.” She held up the test strip.

  “Damn it.”

  Treating severe preeclampsia required a fully outfitted medical center. Ana needed monitoring, medications I didn’t have, and if her condition worsened, the baby might need to be delivered early. A pre-term baby needed NICU support. Thirty-four weeks was early, but with the right care, most infants developed normally.

  On a tropical island in a clinic with two treatment rooms, one physician, and limited equipment and meds, the odds of a positive outcome for Mom and baby were zero.

  Icy fear washed over me. I couldn’t feel my hands and feet. I couldn’t breathe. A gray fog crept into my peripheral vision.

  “Doctor Man.” Martina’s fingers bit into my shoulder as she hissed at me. “Ana and da baby need you. Dey don’t got nobody else. You do da best you can.”

  My best wouldn’t be enough. Not in this situation.

  “Call the hospital on Montserrat. Ask how soon they can get an air ambulance here.” I lowered my voice. “Tell them it’s critical.”

  She nodded and scurried down the hall. I closed the door and drew in a slow breath.

  “Is everything okay?” Eljon’s eyes were wide.

  “Ana, your blood pressure is very high. Sometimes this causes preeclampsia in pregnant women. It can be a serious complication.” I braced myself. “I don’t have the medicine needed to stop this from getting worse. For now, I want you and Eljon to remain at the clinic so I can monitor you.”

  Britt blinked as the implications of the situation registered. Her gaze skittered from me to Eljon to Ana and back to me.

  Do something.

  She didn’t speak the words out loud, but I heard her loud and clear.

  I dropped my head, staring at the scuffed beige tile floor.

  “Thank you, Doctor.” Ana reached out for her husband, who grasped her hand in a white-knuckled grip, sad resignation on her face. “Can we be alone for a few minutes?”

  Britt scooped up the recorder and followed me out of the room. Before the door shut, Ana began sobbing while Eljon murmured what sounded like a prayer. Wind and rain lashed the clinic, adding its fury to mine.

  Doc warned me there would be times like this. People with injuries or medical conditions too severe for what we could do with our limited resources. He’d lost patients because of that and still carried the grief physicians felt when they failed their patients. I did not want Ana and her baby to be my first.

  “What are our options?” Britt leaned against the hallway wall, shoulders hunched, arms folded.

  Our. As if she were part of Isla Tortuga Verde. If I wasn’t so worried about Ana, I’d smile.

  “Martina is calling the closest hospital to have Ana airlifted out.”

  “How close?”

  “It’s an hour flight.”

  Thunder boomed again, and dread rode the fear careening up my spine. I jogged to my office to see what Martina had found out.

  “How long is da delay?” A thunderous look rivaling the storm outside darkened Martina’s usually placid countenance. She covered the phone with her hand. “Da ’copter can’t fly because of da storm. I told dem a baby and momma need help.”

  I plucked the phone out of her hand. “This is Dr. Stanic. Who am I talking to?” I inhaled to gain control of my anger.

  “Hey, Luka. This is Virgil Bridges. We worked together a couple of times when you were on temp duty here.”

  Bridges was one of the medevac pilots. He was a good guy. If he said the air ambulance was grounded, it was with good reason.

  “Did Martina give you all the details? I have a thirty-year-old female, thirty-four weeks, gravida three, para zero. Diagnosis, severe preeclampsia.”

  “We’re grounded.” Bridges’s declaration was grim. “One of our choppers almost went down on an earlier run. We’re waiting for the all-clear. As soon as we get it, I’ll send the team out.”

  “We don’t have time.” I curled my fist around the phone. “She lives on one of the other islands we support and didn’t come in until her symptoms were bad.”

  “My wife had preeclampsia during her last pregnancy. I know the risks.” Bridges blew a heavy sigh. “Do what you can. You’ll be my first run as soon as the weather clears. Good luck.”

  I wanted to throw the phone across the room. One of the first things I learned about island life was the threat tropical storms and hurricanes posed—flooding, landslides, wind damage, erosion. We followed the weather reports like sports addicts watched ESPN.

  The storm battering Isla Tortuga Verde was part of a massive system sitting over the Caribbean that wasn’t forecast to clear until sometime late tomorrow. Ana couldn’t wait that long.

  “Martina, stay with Ana. I need to know if anything changes. Vomiting. Seizures. Chest or belly pain.” I ticked off the symptoms as I grabbed my slicker out of the closet.

  “Where are you going?” Britt grabbed my arm. “Is there anything I can do?”

  There was nothing anyone could do, but I had to try. “Oz has a fishing boat. For charters. It’s the sturdiest vessel on the island. I’m going to ask him to take Ana and me to Montserrat.”

  9

  Britt

  Luka had forgotten all about me.

  He was completely focused on Ana. In the last hour, her condition had worsened. As I helped prepare supplies for the dangerous journey to Monserrat, Martina explained the risks. Stroke, heart failure, liver damage, placental abruption. I didn’t understand all of it, but it was scary as hell. As soon as I was home, I was going to educate Mona all about preeclampsia. I didn’t want to lose her or my niece-or-nephew.

  My heart ached for Eljon. He stayed next to Ana, praying with her, smoothing her forehead, keeping her calm, but those were trite efforts when her life and that of their unborn child hung in the balance.

  I’d never felt so useless or so privileged. Allergies? Get a shot. In a car wreck? Call the ambulance. Having a baby? Check into a labor and delivery room with all the amenities of a five-star hotel and a whole team of medical professionals just for you.

  Luka was taking care of fifteen hundred people with little more than aspirin and duct tape. Now, he was risking his life for his patients. Montserrat, Martina told me, was four hours by boat in good weather. No telling how long the trip would take in the middle of a storm.

  I was catching it all on video. Since I didn’t know what kind of footage I’d need for the campaign, I’d been recording everything. Luka’s house calls to those on the mountain, the patients who came to his clinic, Martina, Shark Rock, the town, the ocean. Everything. Last night as Luka and I reviewed the day’s footage, I realized I was capturing memories for myself as well.

  Watching Luka through the lens of the video camera gave me a degree of objectivity. Anyone could see the danger in the undertaking. Blue-black clouds hung low over the ocean, rain coming down s
o heavy I couldn’t see Fred and Ginger’s bars at the far end of the harbor. Wind gusts shredded palm fronds, and several upended trees evidenced the storm’s fury. Oz’s fifty-foot boat rocked and rolled against the dock as five-foot swells pummeled the cove. Luka and Eljon stood on either side of Ana, steadying her bulky profile as they timed the waves and movement of the boat to get her onboard safely.

  When I lifted my head and watched Luka, there was no objectivity. There was only emotion—fear lodged in my throat, trepidation in the pit of my stomach, and love in my heart.

  “Ana and da baby, dey be alright.” Martina stood next to me at the shore-end of the dock, holding the hood of her raincoat tight beneath her chin. She yelled because of the wind, but I heard the certainty in her voice.

  “I hope so,” I hollered back, raising the video camera to keep recording.

  “Doctor Man make it be so.”

  How I wished I shared Martina’s faith in Luka. He was incredible, for sure. Dedicated and resourceful when it came to treating his patients. Loyal and thoughtful when it came to his friends. Idealistic and principled when it came to the CFA campaign. Eager and generous and passionate and vulnerable when it came to me.

  But he was just a man.

  One man who gave everything to the people he cared about. What would it be like to be loved by such a man?

  Tears blurred the image.

  I would never know. Luka’s life was here on the island. He would never be happy returning to a big city hospital. More than that, the people here needed him. It would be pure selfishness to ask him for something more than a temporary fling.

  Doctor Man doesn’t do flings, and neither do you.

  I snorted a snotty sob-laugh. Now my inner guide was a cross between Master Po and Martina.

  “Dry da tears, paadi.” Martina rubbed my back. “Doctor Man come back to ya.”

  He might come back, but then I would leave. The storm could delay my travel, but only for a day or two. My life—my family, my career—was in Denver. Loss and grief sat heavy in my chest. It felt like my heart had been chained to an anchor and thrown into the tumultuous sea.

  Luka strode back down the dock toward us, bent against the wind. Ana and Eljon were secured inside the boat’s cabin. Oz was above, in the cockpit area. The man’s willingness to take Luka and his patients out into the storm was more proof of how much the islanders respected him.

  “Call Doc Rodriguez and fill him in. Ask him to cover until I get back. If anyone needs a doctor, they’ll have to go to Belle Isle. Stay in touch with Bridges at the hospital. Let him know we’re on our way. I’ll try to make radio contact with him if I can.” He crouched so he was eye to eye with her and gripped her shoulders. “Martina, I—”

  “Not da time for farewells, Doctor Man.” She patted his check. “I see ya in a day or two.”

  “I love you, Martina.” He pressed a loud smack to Martina’s cheek.

  “I know dat, Doctor Man.”

  When it was my turn, Luka looked over his shoulder at the rocking boat and then back at me.

  “Go.” I blinked away the tears mixing with the rain on my cheeks. I couldn’t distract Luka with desperate confessions of falling for him or wanting more. Not now. Not when Ana and her baby needed him more than I did. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

  He tunneled his fingers through my hair and kissed me hard and long and deep.

  Then he turned and ran back to the boat.

  I thought I heard him shout, “I love you, Britt,” as Oz steered away from the dock, but it was just the cruel wind and my imagination.

  10

  Luka

  I returned to the island once Ana and the baby were out of danger. When I got back three days later, Britt was gone. I missed her by a few hours. Martina told me she’d taken the last ferry of the day but couldn’t wait any longer or she’d have missed her flight back to Denver.

  I used a lot of four-letter words. Martina didn’t chide me once.

  I think she knew.

  I gave myself twelve hours to act like an ass. I walked down to Ginger’s and got drunk on mango bellinis. At midnight, Oz found me passed out at the end of the dock. The next morning, he asked me about the song I’d been singing as he threw me into bed.

  “Something about rocks and mountains,” he said the next day.

  Behind the Oakleys I wore to cut the glare of the sun and hide my hangover, I’d archly informed Oz the tune was “Rocky Mountain High” by the one and only John Denver.

  Life on Isla Tortuga Verde continued as it had before Britt Connolly arrived and changed everything. I made rounds on my mountain bike, ate conch fritters at Fred’s since it was his turn, swam out to Shark Rock, and cared for my patients. Everything on the island was the same, except for me.

  Ten days later, Martina burst into the exam room where I was stitching up a gash one of the tourists had sustained on a nearby coral reef. “Doctor Man, hurry up. Britt on da phone.”

  My heart started thudding.

  “Ow! Hey, be careful, dude.” The tourist, a young surfer type on spring break, jerked away when I accidentally poked him.

  “Dat be Doctor Dude to ya, young man!” Martina glowered at the guy. “Go. Dis one can wait.”

  “I’m done. See your family doctor when you get home. Keep it dry and stay off the reefs.” I tied off the last stitch. “Martina, collect the payment from Mr. Galway, please.”

  I ran to my office and snatched the phone from the desk.

  “Hello?”

  “Luka!” Britt’s sweet, familiar voice reached out from 2,500 miles away. “I’ve been trying to reach you all week. How are you?”

  “I’m good.” I lowered myself into the desk chair. “The island is still cleaning up from the storm. We just got WiFi back last night, and phone service has been spotty. How are things there?”

  Why didn’t you wait?

  Do you miss me?

  Does your heart ache like mine?

  That’s what I wanted to ask her.

  “Have you seen the baby yet? I called Ana at the hospital, and they set up a video chat for us. He’s so tiny!”

  “Not yet. I came back to the island with Oz the next day. The doctors at St. John’s got Ana stabilized, but she started having kidney problems. They ended up doing a C-section. Eljon said it will be a few weeks before the baby is ready to leave the NICU, but he’s doing well for a preemie.”

  “I got Care For All to cover an apartment for them in Montserrat so they can stay there and get over to the hospital to see the baby. What does it feel like to have a namesake?”

  I heard the smile in her voice. It made me feel marginally less miserable. “Luka Eljon Mendoza. It’s quite an honor.”

  “A well-deserved honor. My God, babe. You risked your life for them.”

  Babe.

  I decided to go for it. We didn’t stand a chance at forever, but maybe now and then would do. Britt had to go on vacation somewhere so why not Isla Tortuga Verde? Seeing her once or twice a year was better than nothing.

  “I miss you.” I pressed the phone to my ear.

  “I miss you, too.” Her voice went husky. “I waited as long as I could, but I had to catch my connecting flight in Miami.”

  “We got back a few hours after you left.”

  “Oh.”

  Just oh. The disappointment hit like a ton of bricks.

  “How’s the campaign coming?” I stood and began pacing.

  “Seymour, my boss, loves the footage. We’ve been through the video and stills, and a transcriptionist is typing up the interviews. I have a bunch of meetings scheduled with folks at Care For All. Their PR people, Finance, the board of directors, and reps from some of the other projects they fund. And guess what!”

  “Tell me.”

  “CFA hired Drummond to handle all of their marketing and advertising. Seymour said this will be huge. He wants me to get a better perspective on the scope of their operations, so he set up a three-week junket with sto
ps in Thailand, South Africa, Kenya, India, Greece, and France.”

  I wondered if she was packing condoms but then castigated myself for the thought.

  “Congratulations, Britt.” I surprised myself at how genuinely enthused I sounded. “That sounds like a great opportunity.”

  “Your clinic showed me the consequences when medical care isn’t readily available. This is a project that really matters. I can’t go back to making up cheesy slogans for dating apps after my experience on Isla Tortuga Verde.”

  “I’m glad you don’t have to.”

  “Seymour asked me to have something mocked up for the CFA board by the end of May.” She paused. “Would you consider coming up for the presentation? I thought it would be nice to include Martina and Doctor Rodriguez, too.”

  “May?” I stalled to cover my disappointment that her invite wasn’t exclusively for me.

  “Does that give you enough time to find someone to cover for you?”

  The hopeful lilt was all I needed to hear.

  “We’ll be there.”

  Though Britt hadn’t been there when I got back from the emergency trip to Montserrat, nothing would keep me from making the trip to Denver in May.

  11

  Britt

  I twisted the silver bangle on my wrist and watched the second hand sweep the face of the clock in the conference room. This was it. My big moment. I’d been working night and day for the past two months to launch a campaign that would save people like Ana Mendoza and her baby. And provide the necessary equipment and meds doctors needed so they didn’t have to risk their lives like Luka had.

  The eight hours Martina and I had waited for word of their safe arrival were the longest of my life. We drank coffee and played dominoes and Martina taught me Creole swear words. I told her about Mona and Nick and my friends and my parents and how I felt like I no longer fit in, and she gave me Master Po-worthy advice.

  “Maybe it be dem dat no longer fit.”