by Emerson Rose
If she only knew.
I reassure her that it’s all been taken care of legally with the hospital and that I am comfortable working for Marcus. She’s not buying it. She drops the subject knowing all too well how stubborn I am. But we both know this isn’t the end of it. She’s one of the few people who know what happened to me and why I stay away from men. Doing home health care for a single man is way out of character for me.
Next is my mother, and another explanation of my new temporary life. She plays twenty questions asking about Marcus’s full name, occupation, and address. She will undoubtedly hang up and Google him immediately. When she’s done with her own investigation, she will probably call a private investigator. She loves me with the fierceness of a mama black bear, and she will not stop until she is satisfied she knows it’s safe for me to be living in Marcus’s house.
I’m afraid she won’t be finding what she wants. Been there, tried that.
She is, however, satisfied that I am alive, although suspicious of the arrangement. She will only let me go on one condition: that I promise to keep my phone charged and within my reach at all times.
Done.
When she starts reminding me where the numbers 9, 1, and 1 are on my phone, I respectfully say goodbye and hang up.
Then, with much trepidation, I dial Lana. She’s furious, overwhelmingly concerned, and over-the-top, as usual.
“You moved in with him?” she yells.
“I just explained this to you, Lana. I’m doing home health care for him temporarily.” I’m getting tired of explaining myself and reassuring everyone that I’ve made the right decision. Maybe a major shakeup in my life was overdue?
“This guy is hot, isn’t he? What’s his name again? I’m gonna look him up and see what kind of fire you’re playing with. Don’t get me wrong, I’m over the moon that you’re finally getting involved with someone, but you really need to be careful. I can’t believe you quit your job!”
“You’re not hearing a word I’m saying, Lana. I’m his nurse, it’s a professional relationship, and I didn’t quit my job; it’s a leave of absence.” I try unsuccessfully to explain it to her again when she interrupts.
“Fucking hell, Imani, I just Googled this guy. Are you kidding me with the professional relationship shit, really? I’m insulted that you think I’d fall for that BS. This guy is fucking hot; have you fucked him yet? Is he good? I bet he’s a machine. Wait, didn’t you say his leg was broken? How do you do that with a broken leg?”
And on and on she goes, firing questions at me like a machine gun.
I try to slip in an answer once in a while, but she’s on a roll. I flop onto my back and stare at the white gauzy material hanging from the canopy. I listen until she’s quiet.
“You finished?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m blown away. Imani, this is so not like you. I don’t know what to think.”
I take advantage of her rare moment of silence to answer her questions.
“First of all, I wasn’t trying to bullshit you about working for him. I am really his nurse. And as for your second question, yes, he has a broken leg; that’s why I’m here. And finally, no, we haven’t fucked, so I don’t know if he’s good let alone if he’s a machine.”
If I’m totally honest with her, she’d freak out and call the cops and report me missing, gone crazy, a danger to herself and others. I’ll wait until there’s something more to tell. Lana’s not the jump into the deep end of the pool of new information kind of friend. She needs to be given small bits to ponder and get used to slowly from the shallow end.
When we hang up, I make one last call to the hospital and make an appointment for Marcus to have a CT scan today. I thought I’d have to use my connections as a nurse and pull a few strings, but I found out fast that string pulling wasn’t necessary for Marcus Castillo.
People know who he is. The woman in Scheduling told me he donated a large sum of money to the hospital to add a psychiatric wing years ago.
A psychiatric wing, that’s interesting.
Her nervous tone leads me to believe that they’ve dealt with him before. She asked for a confirmation phone number three times, three. And his appointment is today.
When I return to the living room, Marcus is working. He has a stack of files and mail on the coffee table and his computer on a pillow in his lap.
“What did you do to the people who work at Seattle Trinity? I just got off the phone with the hospital. As soon as I say Castillo, they’re falling all over themselves trying to please you.”
The look of satisfaction on his face says it all, but of course he tells me anyway. “Imani, people may not like me but they know better than to disappoint me. I told you before, in my world I use people to get things done and fear is my key motivator.”
“You don’t scare me,” I say.
“I don’t, do I?”
“No.”
“What do I make you feel, Imani?”
I’m not sure there are words to describe how he makes me feel. It’s a complicated mixture of intense physical attraction and a tender connection to something else: his heart, his soul? I just don’t know, I’m in foreign territory when it comes to relationships.
Never had one, never wanted to.
Talking about feelings makes me uncomfortable. I pick at a piece of invisible lint on the couch and search for the words to answer his question.
“Come, sit with me.” I round the couch and sit next to him.
“I know what you’re feeling because I feel it, too. I see it in your eyes, the way you blush, your quickening pulse, the way you fidget, and the yearning that glows from every pore in your body. I don’t know what to call either, so how about we just show each other instead?”
His arm is stretched out on the couch behind me. He tucks a loose curl behind my ear and gently takes my chin between his thumb and forefinger to lead me to him.
“This thing between us, I don’t...,” He blinks slowly and shakes his head in disbelief, “I don’t love people. There are a few that have been like family to me, but they have never seen my heart. I have it locked away on purpose to protect it from something like this. But you, Imani, you have the key. You came along in my darkest moment. I was ready to surrender when you unlocked my cold heart and stole it for yourself.”
His lips claim mine as his words claim my heart. We are two of a kind, hiding our hearts from love, protecting ourselves from the pain that it brings with it.
A greater force is at work here, though, and it seems it has different plans for us. Our kiss is different from any we have shared so far. It’s slow and sweet and tender. It’s full of a calm peace that resonates deep in my soul.
His lips stray from mine to my cheeks and then, finally, he places a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose.
“That is but a fraction of what you do to me, Imani.”
A hurricane of emotion sweeps through my chest, and my eyes brim with tears.
I feel the same way about him, but the lump growing in my throat is keeping me from saying it out loud, so I nod.
“I am glad you agree. You should do that more often.”
Why does he always have to end beautiful moments with a cocky comment?
I roll my eyes when he looks away, but he knows I’m doing it.
“We have that in common, you know,” he says, while removing pillows out from under his leg.
“What?”
“Eye-rolling, I’ve noticed you do it a lot.”
“That’s because somebody gives me a lot of reasons to. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to Dominus before lunch starts.” He’s already dialing Mr. Black for a car.
“You do remember you have a broken leg, right?”
“I was wondering where that smart mouth had gone. Mr. Black will drive us, and I’ll stretch out in the back.”
“You’re taking pain meds before we go. I won’t take no for an answer. You haven’t had anything for pain sin
ce you’ve been home. If you’re going to be moving around all day, which you insist on doing, your pain is only going to get worse.”
“If it makes you feel better, I will. But I don’t need it. I believe I mentioned my high tolerance for pain yesterday.”
I wonder for the second time what he’s been through. A mother that didn’t want to feed him, comfortable with pain, nightmares, and sleeping pills.
I hope someday he will feel comfortable enough to share his pain with someone, even if it’s not me. That kind of shit doesn’t just go away on its own. If anybody knows, I do.
I tried for a long time to ignore the side effects and the pain caused by my attack. Every time I shoved it somewhere, it popped up somewhere else like fat in a girdle oozing out over the waistband. You can try to hide it, but it’s still there.
I’m still a little surprised that I shared the reason for my nightmares with him. He does something to me. Opening up to him is easy and natural.
I was leery at first, but deep down I wanted him to know something about me that not many other people know. I trust him, and I wanted to prove it. I can only wait for him to do the same with me. Sharing demons is a delicate balancing act, and I think he may have as many as I do.
Maybe more.
I hold out two pain pills and a bottle of water that I retrieved from his bedroom.
“Aren’t opioids bad for me if I’m having blackouts?” he asks, and I have to admit he has a point.
“Well, the sleeping pills didn’t kill you, so you may as well not be in pain.”
He laughs at me and brushes my hand away, refusing the pills.
“You said if it made me feel better you’d take them and I’d feel better.”
We have a mini-stare down before he takes one of the pills from my hand and pops it in his mouth with no water. I wrinkle my nose and cringe. This amuses him immensely.
“Help me up. It’s time to go.”
I help him with the crutches, and we make our way slowly to the foyer. Magically, there are two light coats draped on the back of a chair next to the doors. I slip into mine and help him into his.
Outside in the circle drive there is a car unlike any I’ve ever seen idling by the curb. It’s a pearl-white sedan, ridiculously expensive and outrageously extravagant. Typical Marcus.
“What kind of car is that?”
“A Maybach convertible. You like?”
“Well, it’s fancy and big like you.” I open my eyes wide and give him my own version of a ‘gotcha’ smile.
“Touché, Miss Jefferson. It’s spacious. I favor it over the others most of the time.”
“How many cars do you have?” I can’t fathom why anyone would need another vehicle when they own one like this. And it blows me away that he has to think for a while about how many he has. My God, really?
“Six, well no, I take that back. Five now that one of them is in the river.”
“Shit, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”
We are quiet while Mr. Black exits the driver’s seat to open the door for Marcus. He hands me his crutches, and I watch him sit and pull himself in across the back seat effortlessly, all six feet four inches of him.
“I’ll sit up front with Mr. Black.” As spacious as the Maybach is, there’s still no room for me to sit. He nods, but I can see in his eyes that he wants me with him.
I close the door and slide in the front next to Mr. Black. The front of the car is separated from the back by a dark window that is meant to provide privacy to the occupants in the rear.
Mr. Black catches me checking out the window and presses a button that opens it so I can see Marcus. I wish I could hold his hand. It’s such a small separation, but it feels like he’s in California and I’m in New York. It’s irrational, crazy, unreasonable, and insane.
Like us.
When we’ve driven a mile or so, I blurt out, “Stop the car.”
Mr. Black glances at me like I’m nuts, and maybe I am. But right now, I don’t give two shits what he thinks, and I must have just enough wild in my eyes to concern him because he pulls over to the side of the road.
I’m out in a flash, slamming the front door and crawling into the back with Marcus. He lifts his casted leg, and I slip under it and rest it across my lap. It’s heavy but it’s better than sitting up front on the other side of a divider.
He smiles knowingly and takes my hand. Like two magnets, we connect.
Mr. Black watches us in the rearview mirror briefly before he closes the partition, giving us privacy.
The rest of the ride to Dominus is quiet. Marcus plays with my fingers absently in his lap, deep in thought. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, checking his actions and reactions for anything out of the ordinary anticipating another blackout.
“Sir?” Mr. Black’s voice comes through a speaker overhead from the front seat.
Marcus presses a button on a center console and says, “Around back.” And a few moments later, we pull into a parking lot and stop at the rear entrance to Dominus.
I stare out the window at a cold, wet day not unlike the other three-hundred and sixty-four days of the year in Seattle, Washington and wish for the warm sun on my face.
“He thinks you’re suffering from the Nightingale effect, you know,” he says when Mr. Black exits the car.
“The what?”
“The Nightingale effect. You’re a nurse and you’ve never heard of it?”
“No, you’ll have to explain that one to me.”
“It’s when a caregiver develops romantic feelings for their patient while they are in their care, but when they are no longer in contact with them, the feelings fade.”
“And Mr. Black is worried about that.”
“He brought it to my attention, yes.”
“Do you think that’s what’s going on between us?”
“I hope not.”
“Well, I can assure you I am not suffering from the Nightingale effect. I would never know if I were either because you don’t let me out of your sight.”
“You’re damn right I don’t.”
Mr. Black opens the door, effectively ending this absurd conversation. Nightingale effect, pfft.
Inside, I follow Marcus down a dimly lit hallway. His crutches click-clack all the way to the end where we stop in front of a door with a gold plate that reads Mr. Castillo, CEO.
Mr. Black presses a code into a keyless lock and swings the door open for us.
“I’d give you a tour of the restaurant, but they’re setting up for lunch. We can go out onto the floor before the first reservation arrives. I’ll show you around then.”
He leans on his crutches and points at a couch opposite a beautiful mahogany desk that’s situated in the middle of the room. The office smells of leather and lemon wood polish, clean and masculine; two of my favorite things.
“I have some catching up to do; it’ll take about an hour. You can wait here or, if you’re interested in testing out the Nightingale effect, Mr. Black can take you wherever you want to go.”
Mr. Black is right behind Marcus, carrying his laptop and briefcase. He stops short and looks at me with a guilty expression.
Marcus leans on his crutches again and looks over his shoulder to see Black’s reaction to being outed on his theory. He’s so ornery.
“It’s alright, Mr. Black, I understand. You’re just looking out for your boss, but it’s not necessary. I’ve been a nurse for ten years, and I’ve never had romantic feelings for a patient. I’ll wait here. I’m yours for twelve hours. Knock yourself out.”
Black lowers his head and goes to work setting up Marcus’s computer and emptying his briefcase of folders and notebooks.
Marcus takes his seat behind the desk and Black shows himself out. When the door is closed, he fixes me with a stare.
“What?”
“You’ve never had romantic feelings for a patient?”
“Not until you.”
“So
you do have romantic feelings for me?”
“Yes, I think I’ve made that pretty clear, haven’t I?”
He leans back in his chair and props his elbows on the armrests, steepling his fingers together.
“I’m going to have to let you go home at some point, aren’t I?”
“Well, yes, my family and my best friend are freaking out about this arrangement.” It’s true, they are, but I’ve had trouble staying away from him since the moment I laid eyes on him. I couldn’t even sit in the front seat of the car without him for five minutes. Going home sounds like a punishment.
“Tell me about your family.”
“Just a second,” I say, eyeing an armless chair in the corner. I need to elevate his leg before we do anything else. I drag it across the room and go to work propping while I tell him about my family.
“I have one sister, Latoya. She’s three years older than me, she’s married, and she has two children that I love like my own. My mom is a gymnastics teacher, and my dad’s a veterinarian. We’re a pretty normal family, nothing exciting.”
I stand up and place my hands on my hips when I’m satisfied that he looks comfortable. Marcus is staring past me, lost in thought.
“How’s that?” I say, pointing at his leg.
“Hmmm? Oh yes, it’s fine.”
“Where’d you go just then?” I ask.
“I was wondering, did your mother teach you gymnastics?” he asks with a twinkle in his eyes.
“Why yes, Mr. Castillo, she did, and I can deliver a calf and give a huge injection of penicillin thanks to my father, so you better watch yourself.” I lift my chin up and give him a quick nod.
“I’ll remember that when I have a pregnant horse or a massive infection,” he says with a chuckle.
Before I can ask questions about his parents and family, he leans forward and pulls his computer into his lap and, just like that, I’ve lost his attention; the conversation is over, and I’m dismissed.
I wonder if he’s being rude or could this be something more serious going on? I’ll never know until I talk to someone who knows him well. So far, Elena is the only person I’d feel comfortable talking with, and she’s up and disappeared.
