The Choice

by Alice Ward

“Michelle, honey. Did Grant just write you a check?”

  I groaned and dropped my forehead in my hand, my eyes still on the spreadsheet. I would never understand how he knew so much.

  Michelle’s eyes grew wide, the paper in her hand crumbling into her fist. “Um…”

  “Well, I’m guessin’ that’s a yes,” Nash guessed correctly. “So here’s what you’re gonna do, Michelle. Since you decided that you’d rather have money than have my friend, you’re gonna turn your tail around and leave his place, understand?”

  Michelle blinked, and I wondered if she was trying to understand all those vowels. Nash was country. Tennessee country… and damn proud of it.

  “He… he broke my heart,” Michelle wailed.

  Nash laughed, and I could imagine him rolling his eyes. “Darlin’, why don’t you just go on and cash that check? I’m thinkin’ it’ll solder up the cracks quick enough.”

  I noticed that Wayne had disappeared with three of Michelle’s bags. He probably called the apartment’s security for assistance. He’d be seeing a bonus in next month’s check.

  Michelle changed tactic, and from the corner of my eye, I could see her watching me. “Nash… maybe you and I should get together. You know, we could, um, talk.”

  Nash laughed. “Sure, darlin’. Why don’t you go on and scoot out of Grant’s place? Maybe we can get together in a couple days after you simmer down. Have drinks. I know this place with the best dirty martinis. In no time, you’ll forget all about my stuffy friend.” He laughed again, and I inwardly groaned, wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next. “And don’t worry… Grant and I have shared plenty of women, so it won’t be awkward or nothin’.”

  I opened my email, tuning the rest of the conversation out. This was pure Nash Levington. He’d been this way since college, when I’d ended up being his roommate. While I’d clawed my way from the foster care system, scoring a thirty-six on my ACT in order to receive a scholarship at Harvard Business School, Nash had bounced into the same college through donations from his wealthy father. It wasn’t that Nash wasn’t smart enough to get into Harvard on his own, but he simply just didn’t care.

  He was too busy having fun.

  At first, I hated him. The son of a bitch would never shut up, but then he had grown on me. With his natural Southern charm and funny personality, he’d gotten me to loosen up — a little. And I’d given him some structure, helping him not to flunk out of his classes and catch all hell from his father and exceptionally asshole-ish grandparents.

  Yeah… we’d been a good team. And when I moved to New York, he came along, liking the busy metropolitan area. Not that he was in the city that much. Nash was almost always on the move — liked to travel, tour with his mom, the one and only Luna Kline Levington, country music legend.

  A woman who’d taken me under her country wing and fed me so much cornbread and sausage gravy I gained a full ten pounds freshman year. For a little while, I’d started talking with a Tennessee accent too I’d been around her so much.

  Luna also given me jobs, ways for me to make extra money during my college years. I’d done everything from being a gofer to serving as concert security. Smart woman that she was, she knew I had too much pride to simply take her money, so she put me on the payroll.

  I smiled at the memories, especially of the times I had to tackle a fan who’d jumped the security line, hoping to lock lips with the great Luna.

  It was about that time that I started hitting the weights on a regular, almost obsessive basis. If I was going to offer anyone protection, I needed to be more than skin and bones to do it. And I’d wanted to offer Luna protection, so I took the weight lifting seriously, getting stronger and bigger within months. I couldn’t protect my own mother. But I could protect the one who’d been a surrogate of sorts. I just wished I’d met Nash when I was thirteen instead of eighteen. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned into this cold shell of a bastard if I’d known the warmth of his family during those terrible teenage years.

  I was a weight lifting addict to this day. I liked the punishment as much as the award of my muscles shredding as I lifted additional weights. I liked pushing myself harder, faster to get ahead.

  Feeling the burn made sense to me. You had to pay for what you got in this life, and if I wanted to be stronger and powerful, I had to pay that price too.

  Just like I’d paid the price in business, working longer and harder to get to the top. It had taken five years to make my first million, but only two additional years to make my first hundred million after that. At that point, I realized there had to be a better way to watch the stock market and understand the numbers it was trying to tell me. So I built software that, at first, was just for me. I shared it with a few buddies… and the rest was history. Between my own investments and software development, I hit a billion when I was twenty-nine years old. That’s when I began investing in real estate, buying apartment buildings as they became available and starting a management corporation to oversee them.

  I still couldn’t believe it. From orphan to this…

  Looking up from my computer, I glanced around my favorite place… my office. My empty office. Michelle was gone.

  That was yet another complaint of those around me. When I worked, nothing else mattered. I had an eerie ability to tune everything out, move into a space no one else could touch.

  I’d been able to do that since…

  My phone rang. Looking around, I found it still lying on the table by the door. Walking over to it, I picked it up before heading into the main living area of the penthouse. It was empty too. She really was gone.

  I answered the phone. “Thanks,” I said to Nash.

  “No problem, man. I’ve been cleanin’ your messes up for a while now.”

  I chuckled. “And I’ve been cleaning up yours.”

  “That’s what friends do.” Nash’s accent wasn’t so pronounced now that he didn’t have an audience. “Now… about the real reason I called. Meet me at the gym.”

  I glanced at the time. “I’ve got a building supervisor meeting across town. I can meet you in a couple hours.”

  “Fine. I need to hit something. And it might as well be you.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Journey

  Sweat seemed to drip out of every pour of my body as I biked to my first home health appointment of the afternoon. Popping the last bite of a protein bar into my mouth as I pulled up and parked at the old apartment building, I looked around and frowned. The old place had cracks in the sidewalks big enough to consume a small dog if the poor thing wasn’t careful, and part of the front steps looked like they were about to crumble.

  I tapped the iPad, double-checking that I was at the right place for the newest patient on my schedule. I was. At least the elderly woman lived on the first floor, but the building still seemed dangerous, especially for someone who was a risk for falling, as Mrs. Johnson was.

  Draining the last of my water, I swiped a wet towelette over my face, neck, and chest, then smoothed back my hair, making sure the ponytail was straight. Using another towelette on my hands and arms, I felt somewhat presentable as I shrugged into my cotton home health jacket, rolling up the sleeves to my elbows.

  Taking a deep breath, I made a mental adjustment from the nursing home I just left. There, I was a cheerleader, encouraging the residents to participate and have fun. Now, I was wearing my physical therapy assistant hat. My real hat. Well, the hat I’d wear until I could begin the Doctor of Physical Therapy program this fall.

  I sighed. Until I could hopefully begin it this fall.

  Getting accepted into the highly competitive program had been one of the greatest days of my life. It was also a day that had nearly paralyzed me with worry. How was I going to be able to handle the expenses? The time commitment? I was hoping to be able to work at least part time when school started again, to offset the need of crushing student loans. But could I do both and still take care of my sister?

  It was one o
f the reasons I had picked up so much additional work this summer. I wanted to save every penny I could. In addition to working the home health job and taking on the temporary activities coordinator role, I also taught yoga classes in Central Park three days a week, tucking every cent of income I could away so I could continue to make a wonderful life for me and Jaz.

  I made a good salary… if I lived anywhere else but New York. Here, the basic cost of living felt oppressive. We were lucky. Mee-maw’s apartment was rent controlled since it had been in her family since almost forever, making my rent more affordable than most. If you called eighteen hundred a month for a studio apartment affordable. I called it crazy, but I didn’t want to leave the city. Didn’t want to take Jazzy away from the only place she’d ever known.

  Besides, she had been doing so well at her new school, absolutely loving the emphasis on art and dance. No… I didn’t want to take that away. I could do this. I just needed to stop feeling sorry for myself and get to work.

  Hauling my bag onto my shoulder, I held the iPad to my chest and jogged up the steps and through the front entrance. Knocking on apartment three, I waited. And waited. Knocked again, then sighed in relief when I heard the distinct sound of a walker scooting and thunking its way to the door.

  As soon as Mrs. Johnson opened the door, heat hit me in the face like a smack. It was oven hot inside the small space, and the sweet little woman looked like she’d been sitting in a sauna, which she effectively had been. The hot afternoon sun streamed through the windows, which would have been nice in the winter, but was tormenting now.

  Still, I gave her a smile, introduced myself as her physical therapy assistant, and asked if I could come in.

  “You sure can, but I can’t promise you won’t melt. I’m afraid it’s a bit stuffy in here.”

  A bit?

  Sweat was literally dripping down her walls, which was worry enough by itself. Worse, such conditions were a Petri dish for mold and fungus. The combination was enough to take down the healthiest of people. And Mrs. Johnson with her newly diagnosed hydrocephalus wasn’t healthy at all.

  “Before we begin, I’m going to go check with your building manager about the temperature in here.”

  The elderly woman just shook her head, fanning herself with an ancient copy of The Times. “Well, you can try, but he’ll just ignore you. Says the window unit is my responsibility.”

  I growled under my breath. I knew what she was telling me was right. Not right as in ethical, but right in that owners were only required to provide heat to their tenants. Which was stupid. Summer heat could kill just as quickly as the winter cold. And it was still officially spring right now. I couldn’t imagine how this room would feel in June, July, or August.

  “Are you able to buy a new one? I could help you get it installed if you can.”

  She shook her head, looking down at the floor, her embarrassment evident. “Not right now, honey. My rent went up in January, then my medication costs went up too. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, to be honest.”

  Anger competed with sadness as I looked in Mrs. Johnson’s eyes. Our system was failing people just like her. And I didn’t know how to fix it. Well, I might not be able to fix the system, but I could help this woman right now.

  There was a charity that provided fans or window air conditioners to the elderly and disabled. I had them on speed dial and only needed to tap a couple times before I had them on the phone. Hope became a living thing in Mrs. Johnson’s eyes as she listened to me explain the situation. A grin spread on her face when I told her that a new unit would be delivered around four o’clock that same day.

  Next, I got on the phone with the social security department and helped Mrs. Johnson apply for medication assistance, wondering why someone hadn’t done this already. But I already knew the answer. There were just too many cracks in the system that allowed too many people to fall so far down they could never climb out.

  After that, it was time to provide actual therapy for the woman, but truth be told, it was terrible getting close to her. She smelled of a noxious mixture of sweat and incontinence, neither of which was good for her fragile skin.

  “When will your aid be by?” I asked casually, not wanting to offend her in any way. Most home health patients were allowed a nursing aid to come in at least once a week to help with bathing and minor cleaning if needed.

  She looked at me blankly, and I could see her attempt to recall her new home health schedule. “I’m not sure.” She scratched her sweat-matted hair. “A day or two, I guess.”

  It didn’t matter. She needed some relief now. It was outside of my scope of treatment, but I couldn’t let her exist another minute like this. I remembered with vivid clarity how it felt to be dirty… the embarrassment in addition to the misery. I didn’t care if I got fired, I was going to help her bathe now.

  “How about we get you in the shower, Mrs. Johnson? It will provide you some relief from the heat, and I’ll incorporate some of our exercises at the same time.”

  She smiled. “That sounds good.”

  That was what we did. After taking her blood pressure and oxygen saturation, I pulled on my gloves and got to work, glad that she had a shower stool and could just sit under the cool water after I helped her wash. While she relaxed, I whirled around her apartment, gathering all her clothes and sheets, tossing them in the little washing machine in her kitchen. I couldn’t stay long enough to put them in the dryer, but I set a timer to remind Mrs. Johnson to do it herself. I found another set of sheets and made her bed. Then I took a closer peek at her kitchen.

  Damn it… these crazy tears.

  I blinked hard as I stared at the emptiness of her refrigerator, then took out the water pitcher and filled it at the sink, sitting it back inside so it could grow cold. There was a carton of eggs, but on closer inspection, only one was left. I filled a glass full of water and dropped the egg inside. It floated. Crap. Finding a plastic bag for trash, I deposited it inside, thinking I’d toss it in the dumpster outside. In here, it would stink to high heaven within hours.

  There were a couple inches of milk in a carton, which seemed okay after I checked the expiration date and took a tentative sniff. Aside from the usual assortment of condiments that provided flavor and zero nourishment, that was it. Breezing through her cabinets, things didn’t look any better there. When had she last eaten a meal?

  As I helped her from the shower, I asked her that question. Her stomach growled in response. Dammit. Pulling out my phone, I dialed the local meal delivery service and got her set up on their schedule. That took care of her food starting tomorrow, but she still needed to be fed today.

  I gave her the brightest smile I could muster, grabbed my bag holding the meager twenty bucks I always carried, and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  ***

  I was nearly an hour late by the time I finished with my last patient, turned in my reports to the physical therapy director, and biked my weary ass home, but my day wasn’t over quite yet. I still had the evening yoga class in Central Park in a couple of hours, but that was fun… and much needed. After my long day, my muscles were tense, and a headache was beginning at the base of my skull. And I was starving. I’d used the last of my cash to buy food for Mrs. Johnson, not leaving enough for myself.

  Locking up my bike, I shrugged out of the backpack and rolled my neck a few times, then bent over to touch my toes, stretching my legs.

  “Heya, Journey.”

  I mentally groaned but took a deep breath before facing Charles Gains Jr., the pervy son of the building’s equally pervy supervisor. “Hi, Charlie.”

  “You’re late. Need some help?”

  As his dark eyes skated down my body, I wished I’d left my jacket on. As it was, I knew my shirt was sticking to me, and I probably had butt sweat down to my knees, which likely only turned the nasty man on.

  Picking up my bag, I hugged it in front of me, my own personal Charlie-proof vest. “Nope, I’m good. Thanks anyway. It’s
been a long day, so I’m…” I nodded toward the doorway he was standing in the middle of.

  He stepped to the side, but only enough that I needed to turn sideways to get past him, keeping my bag between us as I went. He licked his lips. Ugh. They were thick and red, his tongue a matching color. “Are you hungry? I could fire up the grill, open some wine. Maybe—”

  The deafening screech of the fire alarm cut off his words.

  Adrenaline shot through me, and I bolted for the steps, the tiredness from only a few minutes ago completely gone. Taking them two at a time, I raced up the stairs. The clomp of Charlie’s boots was somewhere far behind me.

  Halfway up to the third floor — my floor — I smelled it. Then I saw it. Smoke. Adrenaline spiked again, and I didn’t know if it was the hormones or terror that pushed me even faster.

  3C.

  Smoke came from under the door, wisps of it seeping out into the hallway. Dropping my bag, I placed a hand on the wood, the other on the knob. It wasn’t hot, but the door was also locked. I began to pound with one hand as I dropped to my knees to search for the keys in my backpack. “Jasmine!” I screamed.

  “I got it.”

  Charlie pushed me aside and stuck the key in the knob. The second he turned it, I crashed inside. Smoke filled the room, coming from the tiny kitchen. With a single glance, I saw the problem. The microwave was on fire.

  “Jasmine!”

  I called for her even as I raced to the cabinet that held the fire extinguisher. Charlie grabbed it from my hands just as I pulled the pin. Foam sprayed, and it was the first time I’d ever been grateful to the man as I left the fire to him and went in search of my sister. There weren’t many places to look in the open space. Living area, bedroom alcove, two closets, and a bathroom.

  I found her in her closet, sitting on the floor, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her eyes were wide and terrified, and she burst into tears the moment she saw me.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, rocking back and forth. “I was hungry. I didn’t mean to make the fire.”

  Sinking down beside her, I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight against me. The sound of sirens grew louder outside. “It’s okay,” I soothed. “It’s my fault. I was late. If I’d been on time, this wouldn’t have happened.”