by Rada Jones
Carlos followed. He sat across her desk, staring at his hands.
“What’s happening, Carlos?”
He shifted in his chair, his bruised eyes avoiding her.
“What’s up, Carlos? You started so well. Everybody loved working with you. Always patient, smiling, ready to help. Then you changed. People complain that you’ve been short lately. What’s going on?”
“You were there, Dr. Steele. You heard him.”
“Carlos, there’s more to it than that. You’ve been struggling for a while.”
Carlos shivered.
“Are you sick?”
“I need to grab a candy bar. I skipped lunch. My sugar must be running low.”
Emma handed him her power bar. Her mouth watered. I don’t need it anyhow. I’m heading home.
“You’re diabetic?”
“Since I was twelve.” He unwrapped it and took a bite. He struggled to chew. His face was bruised, his thick nose crooked. He finished, rolled the wrapper into a ball and put it in his pocket.
“Thank you.” His eyes, black holes, met Emma’s. She shivered.
“Carlos, is this about Faith?
“How do you know?”
“She told me. I’m sorry for both of you. It must be hard.”
“It is. I had nowhere to go. I slept in my car, until George took me in.”
“He’s a good man. I’m glad he’s your friend.”
“Me too.”
“You think it’s all over with Faith?”
“Yes. Faith did things I can’t forgive. I said things she can’t forget. It’s over.”
“It must be hard to work together.”
“They don’t put us on the same team.”
“Let me know if I can help.”
Carlos nodded, his hunched shoulders spelling defeat.
It’s sad, but he’ll get over it. He’s young, he’s smart, he’s handsome. She will too. It just takes an awful long time. Even after love dies, it still hurts.
“About Ben.”
Carlos turned red. “Fucking Jew!”
“Come on, Carlos! How is this better than what he called you?”
“He’s not here to hear it. And he started it.”
“Carlos, we’re not in kindergarten. We’re grown-ups. We work together like professionals. We respect each other.”
“Is this how he behaved? Grown up?”
“No. That’s why he got demoted. He lost his position as assistant director. He got a warning. He’ll have to go through sensitivity training.”
“And you think that’s enough? Dr. Steele, do you have any idea what it took for me to get here?”
“No, Carlos, I don’t. Tell me.”
“I was a street kid from Puerto Rico. My father? I don’t even know his name. My mother worked three jobs to feed my brother and me. She was never home. I was twelve when I joined the gang. I was fourteen when I went to juvie. Do you have any idea how hard it was to get myself together? To get my GED? To go to college? I got my degree working nights as a janitor. I walked dogs. I went hungry. For eight fucking years. I did whatever it took to pull myself together and never go back. And now this fuck calls me an incompetent spic?”
“You just called him a fucking Jew. What do you know about his life?”
Carlos glowered. “I know plenty. He’s got an ugly past. I know. I was there for some of it. I heard about the rest. One of these days…One of these days I’m going to talk, no matter what. It’s worth it, just to see him fall apart.”
“Carlos, you need to stop. You won’t throw away all your hard work just because he called you names? You’re smarter than that, Carlos. I hope you are.”
Carlos shook his head. He stood up and headed to the door.
“Good night, Dr. Steele.”
Driving home, Emma wondered what that meant. It’s none of your business, leave me alone? Or is it: I’ll think about it?
She pulled in the garage. She dropped her Crocs, walked in the kitchen, and dropped her bag.
I need wine to warm me up inside. 19 Crimes, 2017 Shiraz, South Eastern Australia. “British rogues, guilty of one of nineteen crimes, were sentenced to transportation. This wine celebrates the rules they broke and the culture they built.” The wine reminded her of Carlos. She opened the bottle and poured the dark ruby wine in a tall glass. She inhaled. Almost black. Rich aroma. Dark fruit. A hint of honey. Her mouth watered. She lifted the glass.
She heard a sound in the house. She froze. She put down the glass. Head up, chin forward, she listened. Nothing. The pipes? The heat? A burglar?
She crept to her bag and grabbed the scalpel. It won’t do much against a gun, but that’s the best I’ve got. She slid toward the living room.
The noise again.
She blew the door open. Taylor froze.
“Taylor?”
“Mother?” Taylor laughed.
Emma saw herself through Taylor’s eyes. A scared, overweight, middle-aged woman in dirty scrubs threatening the world with a scalpel. Move over, Hitchcock!
“Welcome home, Taylor.”
15
Emma was late on Thursday for her date with Faith. They planned to hike Silver Lake Mountain, and Emma couldn’t find a pair of hiking pants that fit. She ended up with a pair of maternity pants she hadn’t worn since Vincent. She pulled her red Hyundai next to Faith’s black Chevy pickup, wondering about her taste in cars. She knew some girls loved tractors, but a truck?
They headed up the path, Faith first. Emma scrambled behind her trying to keep up. She hadn’t hiked in years. Ever since she’d chaperoned Taylor’s class in seventh grade. It hadn’t been much fun.
The other parents bragged about their kids’ soccer goals, violin concertos, and volunteering. Emma wasn’t into bragging. She didn’t have much to brag about, either. “Taylor’s doing great. She hasn’t killed anyone yet. That we know of.” Fortunately, nobody asked her anything. They only talked about themselves and their kids. As usual, she listened.
Faith’s orange leggings moved swiftly, sidestepping boulders and puddles. She made it look easy. Emma scrambled behind her, watching her feet. The trail was uneven and muddy. She had already slipped twice.
She’d never talked to Faith outside work. Not much at work, either. There’s no time to chat in the ER. And if you ever do, it’s at 4 a.m., after the evening rush dies down. For an hour or so. By six, the heart attacks start coming. By seven, the nursing homes find those who died overnight. By eight, the hangovers stop by for work notes, and by nine you’re back in business.
She was hungry for air. She stopped to catch her breath, pretending her boots needed tightening.
I wish we had gone for a pedicure instead. Too late now. It’s a small hike. Less than a mile. How bad can it be?
Faith waited.
“You have kids?” Emma asked, making conversation.
Faith shook her head. A tear ran down her cheek.
Do I know how to break the ice or what? Her parents are another minefield. So is Carlos.
“They’re seriously overrated. You can have mine if you want her.”
Faith’s periwinkle eyes widened. She laughed. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I’d tell you, but we don’t have the whole day. You want kids?”
“I always wanted kids. Carlos didn’t. And…the other men in my life didn’t either.” Faith shrugged. “Too bad. I know I would be a good mother. I didn’t want to have a kid whose father didn’t want him. My own childhood was bad enough.”
“I’m sorry about that. Mine wasn’t that great either.”
“Was it your father?”
“No, he died when I was a baby. My mother was mentally ill.”
“Lucky you!” Faith said.
Emma laughed. Faith blushed.
“I meant you’re lucky that your father wasn’t mean to you. That came out awful.”
“Funny though. What was wrong with your father?”
“He was a religious nut. Everything had
to be done by the Bible. I couldn’t start the microwave without praying first.”
“I didn’t know they mentioned microwaves in the Bible!”
“They did, in my father’s. That’s why they named me Faith. It was either that or Genesis.”
“You were lucky.”
“I guess.”
The stony path got steeper and steeper. The trail became an irregular rock stairway heading straight up toward the sky. Emma had trouble putting one foot in front of the other. Her heart pounded fasted and faster. She ran out of air. She felt faint.
She stopped to rest. She drank water. Faith waited.
Emma looked up. A stairway to heaven. She looked down. Between the branches, she caught a glimpse of blue water, far below.
“We’ll have a beautiful view when we get there,” Faith said.
If we get there.
“How much further, you think?”
“We’re about halfway, but it gets steeper toward the end.”
“Doesn’t it always?” Emma spat.
Faith laughed. “Just like the night is darkest just before dawn.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Last winter. Carlos loves the outdoors. We used to hike, bike, and kayak together in New Hampshire. Here too, until…”
“I’ve heard New Hampshire is beautiful. I’ve never hiked there,” Emma said, trying to change the subject.
“Do you really think Carlos will come back?”
Emma stopped to breathe. She could hike, or she could talk. Not both. She chats like she’s window shopping, while I’m dying. But she’s ten years younger, and in amazing shape. Not me.
“I do. People need time to understand themselves. They come, they go, they wiggle. It’s hard to get together. It’s hard to break apart. But the question is: should you take him back?”
“It’s hard to be alone.”
“I know. Were you happy with him?”
“Not when he drank. He got angry.”
“He’s a mean drunk?”
“Aren’t they all?” A shadow passed through Faith’s limpid eyes. “Why do I always get involved with nasty men?”
“Faith, you’re so young. You’re beautiful and vibrant! You’ll find a man who deserves you. You have time to have children, if that’s what you need.”
“I loved Carlos.”
“You still do?”
“I don’t know. He’s comfortable. He’s safe. He’s home.” Faith slowed down as she climbed the last dozen rough steps. “Change is hard,” she said softly.
Emma nodded, too winded to talk.
“But it’s necessary. Like iron forged in fire, we all have to go through the events that will shape us into the people we need to become,” she declared.
Too tired to care, Emma followed her to the top. Far, far below, Silver Lake glimmered in the morning sun. Covered in pine trees, the mountains were dark blue but for the white snowcaps. The blue sky stretched forever. The beauty filled Emma’s heart with joy.
She grabbed her phone to take pictures and stepped forward to avoid a tree branch.
A rock rolled under her foot. She slipped. The other foot followed. She slid, feet first. She reached for the tree branch. She missed. She hit the ground, sliding down. Nothing ahead but the lake. A mile away.
The void smiled.
She wished she’d been a better mother. A better doctor. A better person.
The void called.
She tried to grab the ground. The rocks rolled with her.
The void sucked her in.
She stopped.
Faith had grabbed her. Holding her hood with one hand, a tree branch with the other, she dragged her back.
They fell back on the trail.
The lake sparkled. The sun bathed the mountains as if nothing had happened.
Nothing had.
“Thank you, Faith.”
Faith smiled, her eyes bluer than the sky above.
“Of course. That’s what friends do.”
Emma’s eyes burned.
It’s good to have friends.
16
Carlos needed his stuff. Faith was at the hospital. He’d just grab his stuff and go.
He climbed the old sloping staircase and unlocked the door. The spotless kitchen felt foreign. She must be pleased I’m no longer here to leave a mess. I’ll get in and out before she gets back. He propped the door open with a boot. He got her those boots. That was before…
He shook his head to banish the thought. His boxes were in the spare room. He grabbed two and took them to the car. Three trips later, the car was full.
I’ll come back for the rest.
He took a last look around. Faith’s faded pink robe hanging on the door. Her ER Pearls book, open on the coffee table. Her slippers, shaped like her feet. Nothing of his, but the picture of the day he proposed. Him, kissing her. Faith, smiling, looking at his ring.
I wonder if she still has it.
He headed to the door just as Faith stepped in. Her beauty took his breath away, as always. Her golden hair, alive with movement. Her indigo eyes sparkling against her flushed cheeks. She smiled.
She’s not surprised.
“I was expecting you, but I thought you’d call first.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
“How considerate! I never get to see you, these days. Sit.”
“I need to go.”
“Why the big rush?”
Faith stood in the door, blocking it. Carlos sighed.
“Is this how you treat old friends? You come in like a burglar and leave without saying good-bye? What’s wrong with you, Carlos?”
“You know damn well, Faith. There’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You think there’s something wrong with me?”
“Come on, Faith. There’s no point in opening old wounds!”
“Oh, but there is, my friend. I miss you.”
“I don’t miss you. And you’re lying. You don’t miss me. You miss him!”
“I miss him too. But he’s gone. You’re here!”
Carlos shook his head. He tried to get past her.
She grabbed him. She held him close, lifting her beautiful rose mouth to his. Her perfume, honey, jasmine and moist earth, enveloped him. His knees weakened.
He tried to disengage. She clung to him. His knees gave.
They fell on the floor. Her lips found his. Her tongue tasted him.
He forgot to resist. She slowly, lovingly, opened his buttons. She kissed his face, sucked on his earlobe, breathed short hot breaths under his chin. She stroked the place between his legs where his brain had melted.
He forgot everything: Dick, the car in the driveway, George waiting for him with a beer. He forgot everything but Faith. Her scent, imprinted in his soul. Her moist mouth, hot in the open zipper of his jeans. He hurt in the beauty of the feeling. Nothing else mattered. He was whole.
17
Emma punched the ER silver door opener and flew in through the door. She’d been upstairs, in the hospital, assisting with a code. Like I don’t have enough to do in the ER. I’ve been away from my patients for half an hour. That’s insane. Any doctor should be able to manage that. She huffed, rushing to her desk.
Kurt was waiting in her chair.
“You care for a walk?”
Like I care for an STD.
She checked the board. Five new patients waiting to be seen. Plus all the others.
“Now?”
He nodded.
They walked out through the ambulance door. Walking from there to the main entrance gave them three minutes of privacy. Five, if they stopped to tie their shoes. Eyes and cameras were everywhere, watching, but they couldn’t hear.
“That death, the other day…”
“Yes.”
“It was hypoglycemia.”
Low blood sugar? “How low?”
“Her blood glucose was 12.”
Twelve? How can that be? Normal is 90 or so. At 60 they ge
t weird. Lower, they seize and behave like a stroke. How could Kurt miss that?
“Was she a diabetic?”
“No. And before you even ask: we had already checked her glucose. It was normal!”
“How did you find out?”
“I have friends.”
The coroner’s office.
“How could that happen?”
“I’m wondering if she got insulin. The next-door patient, Room 21, was a diabetic with a glucose in the 500s. I ordered 30 units of insulin for him. What if she got it instead?”
“That would be a huge mistake. ”
“Shit happens. With all the interruptions, I’m surprised we don’t make more mistakes.”
“You checked your orders?”
“I did. They were correct. Still, the nurse may have given it to the wrong patient.”
“But they have to check the patient’s ID first.”
“They would. Unless they got distracted. I don’t know what happened, but I thought I’d warn you. This is going to come out, and we won’t look pretty.”
“Nope. Can you think about any other scenario?”
“I can’t. It’s got to be the insulin.”
Damn. That’s exactly what I needed.
Emma’s job hung from a thread. The ER metrics had been bad for years. To fix them, the hospital had fired all the docs and hired a contract group. Fortunately, the group took them on. Emma became director. They told her to improve the metrics and lower the costs. Soon. Or else. She hadn’t.
I’m screwed. Even if it’s a nursing error, and the nurses are Mike’s responsibility, not mine, Gus will drop me faster than a hot potato. Ann is waiting in the wings to take my job. Oh well. It was good while it lasted.
The heck it was. This job sucks. Being director is not doctoring. It’s politics. Filthy business. It sucks to fail. But it would be awesome to no longer be on call. And tell them all to fuck themselves. I get five job offers a day. In places more exciting than this. I could go to Australia, where they have kangaroos. Or to New Zealand. They have penguins. I love penguins!
Back at her desk, smiling wide, she logged into the system. Ann stared as she passed by. Emma waved.
I can’t wait to see you on call 24/7. Fucked from above and from below. It’s all worth it, right there.
