Shark Out of Water

by DelSheree Gladden

  A waitress appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, a few seconds later to take their drink order. Guy had been a customer often enough to order without a menu, but Charlotte had to ask what her choices were. The lemonade she ended up ordering contrasted Guy’s espresso, but she was likely heading home to relax while he was gearing up for a long, long night.

  “So,” Charlotte began, “I’m guessing you don’t usually go to your patients’ funerals.”

  Guy shook his head. “No, not at all. I only have patients pass away rarely, but I typically do not attend their funerals.”

  “But this patient was a friend, right? You had known her since college?”

  Guy was surprised Charlotte remembered such details from their first conversation. “Oui. She was a friend.” His original reason for asking her to accompany him had been to escape talk of the funeral, of Patricia, but he found himself doing the exact opposite. “Her parents asked me to be a pallbearer at the funeral.”

  “Wow, that must have been difficult,” Charlotte said. “Although, I suppose it was probably a comfort that they asked you. Whatever guilt you feel about her death, clearly they don’t hold you responsible. I know that doesn’t negate what you’ve been going through, but it must be a relief to know that.”

  Slowly, Guy nodded. “I wanted to help her so badly. Now, that time has passed. That has not been easy to face, regardless of guilt or blame. I will never have the chance to see her well and happy, and neither will her parents.”

  His head fell. Even more than feeling responsible for causing her to feel so desperate that she took her own life, he grieved for that lost chance. He wanted her to be the happy, sweet little girl everyone had spoken about at the funeral. He wanted to bring back that innocence and joy, for her, for her family. It was no longer a possibility, and that affected him deeply.

  “So, what are your plans for the weekend?” Charlotte asked, sipping her lemonade with a casual air.

  Caught off guard by her abrupt change in topic, Guy could only watch her for a moment. She was playing at relaxed, but she still watched him carefully. The corner of his mouth turned up as he realized she was trying to distract him from his emotional wounds. Somehow, he knew she understood how difficult this day had been for him, but she also understood dwelling on it was only doing more harm.

  Leaning against the back of the booth, Guy felt some of the tension in his shoulders slip away. “Dinner with friends,” Guy finally answered.

  “Friends? Plural? Just how many women do you take out at once?” she teased.

  “Moi?” Guy said in mock shock. “Why would you think such a thing of me?”

  Charlotte laughed at his exaggerated response. “Oh, I can’t imagine why. You are a terrible flirt, Guy Saint Laurent. I’ve seen how you tease those women at the hospital cafeteria. I hear they’re not the only ones you’re like that with.”

  “You have been checking up on me?” Guy asked. He was actually somewhat surprised. She had stuck in his mind after their first meeting, but he really did not think he had left much of an impression on her, even after their following run-ins.

  Smiling, Charlotte stirred her lemonade with her straw slowly, captivating Guy with the motion. When Charlotte spoke, it startled him into looking up to her thoughtful eyes.

  “There are two kinds of men who are as flirtatious as you.”

  “Are there?” Guy asked. He grinned at her. “And what two types are there?”

  Charlotte let go of her straw and crossed her arms. Her eyes remained leveled at him, but they were not accusing. “There are the men who are so self-absorbed that they actually believe every woman they meet wants to be seduced by them, and then there are the men who enjoy making women feel good about themselves with compliments and attention they wouldn’t otherwise get. One is looking to get laid. The other is trying to do something nice without getting locked into a serious encounter.”

  “And you wish to know which one am I?” Guy asked.

  Smiling, Charlotte shook her head.

  “Non?”

  “No,” Charlotte replied, “I already know.”

  “Are you so sure of your assessment?” Guy regarded her curiously. Whatever she did at the hospital, he was confident she had missed her true calling. She would have made an excellent psychiatrist.

  Charlotte leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she peered over at him. “I wouldn’t have come with you tonight if I wasn’t sure.” She smiled, causing a strange pain in Guy’s chest. “You aren’t as mysterious as you think, Guy. Anyone who really looks at you knows you’re a good man. You wouldn’t care about your patients as much as you do, or take the time to make an overworked cafeteria worker feel like she’s the center of your attention if you weren’t.”

  An uncomfortable feeling settled around Guy. “You could be reading too deeply into my actions. Perhaps I simply enjoy the attention I receive for my compliments and supposed consideration. I broke up with my last girlfriend because she asked me to babysit her cat.”

  Guy was not sure why he told her that, or even why he was trying to convince her he was less than she imagined, but he felt an odd compulsion to make sure she knew he was not Prince Charming. He had no intention of sweeping any young maiden off her feet and carrying her away to eternal bliss.

  Seeming wholly unfazed by his words, Charlotte only cocked her head to one side as she continued to watch him. “Cats really are overrated,” she said.

  That was her only response? Guy frowned, not sure how to reply to such a comment. Charlotte was surprising and baffling him. His chin fell into his upturned hand as he frowned. Instead of trying to puzzle it out, he took a page from her book and redirected.

  “What are your plans for the weekend?”

  Charlotte’s lips twitched, as though she were trying not to laugh at him. “I’m going to visit my parents out of state. It’s been a while since I’ve visited and I…I need to talk with them about a few things.” She shook her head and laughed at herself. “I’m supposed to be a grown adult, but I still go to my parents for advice when I have a tough decision to make. Does that seem silly?”

  Her smile had disappeared, and Guy suspected whatever advice she needed was not as casual as she was trying to make it sound. He was not the type of child who went to his parents for advice. That was probably due to the fact that his mother’s advice was unfailingly for him to move back home, as though that would fix anything. His father’s advice was just as helpful, telling him to push through a problem, with no specific guidance, because he believed Guy should figure out the solution for himself. Charlotte seemed to honestly value what her parents thought.

  “No, it is not silly. I hope they are able to help you with whatever you need to discuss with them.”

  “What about your parents?” Charlotte asked, taking the focus off her. “Do they live here in the U.S. as well?”

  Guy shook his head. “They are still in France. They would never leave. If I want to see them, I must go home.”

  “Do you see them often?”

  Shrugging, he said, “Not as much as I would like to, but I go home as often as I can. I’m leaving for a visit in a week, actually. My sister is returning as well, from wherever she is right now. My parents are celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary.”

  “How wonderful for them,” Charlotte said with a smile. “Your sister, where does she live?”

  “It depends on the week.” Guy shook his head. “She has a flat in Paris, but she travels so much for work that she rarely sees it.”

  “What does she do?”

  Guy hesitated answering. Women were often intimidated by Sabine’s profession. That mainly applied to women he was dating, however, and while he did not fully understand what his odd relationship with Charlotte was, he doubted she would be put off by Sabine’s work.

  “Sabine is a fashion model. She mainly works the European circuit, but she has been working here in the United States more often lately.”

  Charl
otte surprised him by laughing. “How did I not see that coming?” she shook her head and chuckled. “You come off as the absolute stereotype of a French man, arrogant, charming, and seductive. Of course your sister would be a gorgeous French fashion model! Are your parents painters or musicians?”

  It was too much, Guy began laughing and shaking his head. “My mother is a wonderful painter, but my father works in finance. He did, anyway. He is retired now.”

  “Do they live in a gorgeous Parisian flat overlooking the Eiffel Tower?” Charlotte was grinning, now, enjoying teasing him, but Guy could only shake his head again.

  “A château in Beynac-et-Cazenac, actually, a city on the cliffs.” Guy smiled at the thought of being there soon. As much as he did not want to be badgered about moving home, he was anticipating the calming atmosphere of the country.

  “Is that where you grew up?” Charlotte asked. “I didn’t have you pegged for a country boy.”

  “Pegged?” Guy asked.

  “I meant, I didn’t imagine you as having grown up out in the country. You seem very comfortable in the city.”

  “Oui, I am. You were right before. My parents moved to the country for retirement. I grew up in Paris, in a large flat, but it was on the Seine, not by the Eiffel Tower.” He shook a finger at her. “You did not guess that correctly, at least. I am not all stereotype.”

  Even though Charlotte laughed again, she looked at him seriously. “You know I was just joking. You are very far from a stereotype, even though I think you enjoy letting people think that of you.”

  “It is what people expect.”

  Charlotte did not respond to that. She shook her head as if she did not believe him, but she chose not to argue. He still was unsure of what quality Charlotte possessed that felt so comforting, but he found himself wishing he could have stayed with her longer. Unfortunately, it was time for him to get back to the hospital.

  “Charlotte, I regret that I must say goodbye.”

  She looked over at him, startled. “Has it been that long already? I hadn’t realized.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry if I kept you longer than I should have.”

  “Please do not say you are sorry. I would stay much longer if I could, but I will have more than one person cross at me if I do not arrive on time. I enjoyed speaking with you very much.” He hesitated, not sure why he suddenly felt so insecure. He feared pushing this any further, but he also feared leaving his next interaction with Charlotte up to chance. “Could we do this again?” he asked finally.

  Her fingers paused in their stirring of her lemonade. She did not look up at him right away. Even when she did, there was indecision in her eyes. That same strange pain blossomed in his chest again. Did she really not believe what she had said about him, that he was not the cavalier and arrogant version of himself he portrayed?

  “I… I would like that,” Charlotte said. She met his eyes squarely, showing him her fear, but also her anticipation.

  “You would?” He could not keep the surprise from his voice.

  Charlotte laughed. “Yes, why wouldn’t I?” She said it casually, but it was clear from her expression that there were definitely reasons she would not. Guy did not know what they were, but something was pushing her to turn him away.

  Before she could change her mind, Guy pushed his mobile phone across the table to her. He kept his hand on the phone, ready to pull it back if needed. “Would it be too brash of me to ask for your number?”

  Charlotte tapped her fingers on her own phone. After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed it toward him. “Not if you give me yours as well.”

  Smiling with relief, Guy abandoned his own phone and picked up hers. He heard her let out a breath as he worked on saving his number into her contacts. By the time he had finished, she was holding his phone out to him. They traded phones once again and Guy felt great relief as he slid it into the pocket of his suit coat. “Merci beaucoup, Charlotte. For talking with me, and for your number. I am looking forward to doing this again.”

  “So I am,” Charlotte said, and Guy was almost sure she meant it.

  He forced himself to stand after leaving enough cash on the table for both their drinks. Charlotte followed, and Guy hoped he was not imagining her regret at having to end their time together. Neither one spoke as they exited the restaurant. It was not until they reached the sidewalk and were faced with the prospect of going their separate ways that they both attempted to speak at the same time.

  Charlotte laughed and allowed Guy to speak first. He had meant to say a simple goodbye, but instead, he said, “You know, you can call me if you need to talk about anything, yes? You have been so kind to listen to me the last few times we have met. I would be happy to exchange the favor.”

  “Return the favor,” Charlotte corrected with a smile that seemed to tremble at the corners. “Thank you, Guy. I really appreciate that.”

  Reluctantly, he extended his hand toward her. She took it and they shook slowly, neither one eager to part. “Aren’t you supposed to be kissing me or something?” Charlotte asked, her playful smile returning.

  “Excuse me?” Guy asked, surprised, yet not at all reluctant to answer her question.

  “I thought the French were always kissing each other on the cheek when they said hello or goodbye. Perhaps you’ve been too Americanized for that, though,” Charlotte said.

  Guy stepped closer, and this time he was not teasing. “Not at all,” he said as his free hand slipped to the back of her neck. He heard her breath catch, felt her body go completely still. Yet he did not pull back. His lips pressed gently first to one cheek, and then the other, lingering a fraction of a second too long.

  He pulled back slowly. Charlotte’s breathing came haltingly, but his had stalled altogether. For too long, neither one could do anything but stare at the other. It was Charlotte who finally broke the silence. “Well,” she said shakily, “that answers that question.”

  “You have more questions which need answered?” Guy asked. His mouth turned up in a wicked grin.

  Charlotte let out a held breath at his teasing. “Any other questions I have can wait until next time. You’re going to be late for work.”

  Sighing, Guy forced himself to step back and release her. “I will see you again soon, yes?”

  Charlotte nodded, a smile playing on her lips as she said goodbye for real. Guy watched her walk away, knowing he was going to be late, but not caring nearly as much as he should. He only turned back toward the hospital because his phone began ringing, no doubt Dr. Canton demanding to know where he was. He was about to answer the call and offer his apologies, but found himself confronted with a different doctor, one he knew not only from helping out on the oncology floor the past few weeks, but from his days of medical school rotations.

  “Guy,” Dr. Myles said, “are you just coming in?”

  “Oui, traded shifts with Canton.”

  Myles nodded, but his thoughts seemed to be on something else. “Was that Charlotte Brooks you were just talking to?”

  Guy nodded.

  “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

  “We just met last week. Stumbled into each other at work. She was on your floor, actually, delivering paperwork or something. I meant to ask her what floor she works on.” Guy shook his head at his forgetfulness.

  For some reason, Myles’ brows knit together in concern. “Guy, she doesn’t work at the hospital.”

  “Comment cela?” What did he mean Charlotte did not work at the hospital? What else would she be doing there so often?

  Myles set his hand on Guy’s shoulder, forcing him to focus. “Guy, she doesn’t work here. She’s one of my patients.”

  Chapter 10

  Ce que je fais?

  Guy paced back and forth in his office. The one good thing about the night shift was that it was less busy. That was also a bad thing. It was that night, at least. Guy’s mind had already been filled to near-overflowing from the funeral. He did not know what to do after learni
ng about Charlotte.

  His patient. That was all Myles had told him. Technically, he should not have even said that, but he was concerned for his patient and his friend, concerned Guy had no idea what he was getting himself into and that Charlotte would only be hurt. His pacing increased, taking him back and forth across the tiny room at a frenzied pace. Myles did not need to say much more in order to send Guy crashing. He was an oncologist. His patients all had cancer. Charlotte was his patient. Was she dying?

  He could not take it any longer. It was late, nearly midnight, but he dialed anyway.

  “Guy?” Vance asked sleepily. “Are you okay?”

  “Non, je veux dire, oui. J'ai besoin de votre aide. Je ne sais pas quoi faire.” It all came tumbling out at once, leaving Guy breathing hard, desperate for an answer.

  “Guy, English, please. I only caught three or four words of that.”

  “Je suis…sorry,” Guy apologized. “Vance, can you come to the hospital?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  “Oui, but I cannot leave. I need to talk. I do not know what to do.”

  “About Patricia?” he questioned. “I’m not sure what…”

  “Non, about Charlotte,” Guy said impatiently.

  Vance’s sigh echoed over the phone. “I’ll be there in twenty.” He ended the call a moment later, leaving Guy to go back to his pacing. Every minute felt like an eternity. He was scowling, frustrated at everything, by the time Vance finally knocked on his office door. He yanked the door open with an impatient growl.

  “Simmer down, Guy,” Vance grumbled.

  “What?” Now was not the time for stupid American phrases!

  “It means calm yourself.” Vance rolled his eyes. “You’re the one who dragged me out of bed in the middle of the night to talk. You could at least make sense when you call so I know what I’m racing here for.”

  Guy glared at him. “You told me to call you tonight if I needed to talk.”

  “Yeah, and I meant it, but I thought we’d be discussing Patricia’s funeral, not whatever is going on with some woman you’ve only spoken to a few times!”