Next to Me

by AnnaLisa Grant

  I flip through the pages, not fully understanding what I’m seeing. All of the papers and forms I’m staring at have someone else’s name on them. I open the smaller envelope and pull out a Social Security Card with the same name as is on all the paperwork: Jenna Rockwell. I sort through the rest of the cards and find credit cards with the same name, finally finding a driver’s license with my picture, bearing Jenna Rockwell’s name.

  “I don’t understand, Oz,” I say quietly.

  “Bobby came to me and asked me to have a new identity created for you. He didn’t know when, but he knew that his term with Dellinger was going to end badly. Once he was gone, he knew Dellinger would come after you. He had me put every penny I offered him into an investment account for you, well, for Jenna Rockwell. You’ve got plenty of money to start your new life wherever you want, Ronnie.” Oz’s delivery is straight and unwavering. It makes me wonder how many times he thought about, or even practiced, what he was going to say to me when the time came.

  “What if I don’t want to be this Jenna Rockwell? I like being Veronica Matthews,” I tell him in protest. “Why can’t I just stay here with Paulina?”

  “Unless you want to become an indentured servant to Dellinger, too, Veronica Matthews has to cease existing,” he answers.

  “So, what? I’m supposed to just, what, start over? Where?” I fluster at

  Oz, picking up the pieces of my new identity then tossing them back on the table.

  “You can go wherever you want. You can do whatever you want. There are high school transcripts and an impressive SAT score for Jenna Rockwell. You can get into any school in any city and do anything. You may not have a choice in starting this new life, but you have a choice where you start it.” I don’t ask because I probably need to maintain plausible deniability, but it’s most likely that one of Dad and Oz’s old friends knows how to manipulate computer systems and forge legal documents, giving me my new identity.

  I take a deep breath and let what Oz just said soak in. I don’t have a choice about starting over because I’ve decided I never want to be connected to Senator Dellinger in any way. I saw what he did to my father. Dad had been full of life, even in the face of tragedy with Mom. Once Dellinger roped him in to doing his dirty work for him, Dad died a little with ever job, knowing how disappointed Mom would have been.

  “So…what do I do now? How long do I have to decide where I want to go? What I want to do?” I ask Oz as I surrender to the reality of my circumstance. I’ll handle the logistics of everything now and then resolve to crying myself to sleep every night for the rest of my life.

  “Do you still want to be a nurse?” Oz asks softly, seeing my defeat. “Had you already decided where you wanted to go to school?”

  “Yeah, actually. Dad and I had been saving. I was hoping to apply and start at Radians in January. But…there are some really great teaching hospitals in Chicago. I had wanted to go there, but didn’t want to leave Dad,” I tell him.

  It was during a writing assignment on the greatest cities in the world during my senior year that I discovered the greatness of Chicago. A lot of people wrote about London, Paris, New York and LA. I started to write about New York, too, but stumbled across an article about the shopping on Michigan Avenue in Chicago. That article lead to another and before I knew it was learning all about the Windy City and totally falling in love with it. I decided that one day I wanted to visit so I scanned a copy and kept every article I read saved on my computer, along with the paper that I got an A+ on.

  “Write down all the specifics and I’ll take care of everything.” Oz slides the envelope he hasn’t shown the contents of to me and pulls a pen from a drawer in the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Oz leaves me sitting in the kitchen, staring at this large, blank envelope. How did this happen? I ask myself. I know how it happened. Senator Henry Dellinger happened. It’s probably best that I’m leaving DC for good. It wasn’t just Dad’s lock-picking skills he taught me. I became a really good shot with the gun in the case in my bag, and I spent more than enough time in the gym training to know how to kick ass if I had to. If I ever see Dellinger again I’ll be putting all my skills to use.

  “Here you go, hon,” Paulina says sweetly as she fixes a plate of meat loaf and mashed potatoes and sets it in front of me.

  “Thank you,” I tell her with a small smile. “It smells and looks delicious.”

  “It’s Ozzy’s favorite. I was glad I had everything on hand when he called.” Paulina smiles warmly and a part of me wishes that I really could just stay here with her.

  “When did he call?” I was with Oz the whole time and I never saw him call her.

  “He was talking all hushed, so I think you must have been sleeping,” she tells me.

  “Paulina, this is amazing. I’ve tried to make your meat loaf a hundred

  times and it never comes out this good!” Oz kisses the top of her head as he comes into the kitchen. She’s already got a plate with a double portion ready for him. “How ya doin’, Angel?”

  “I’m ok, I guess. At least I still have you, Oz.” I smile weakly, a mix of

  sadness and joy filling me. I’ll be eternally devastated at losing Dad, but am finding a level of joy at knowing I have my second dad in Oz.

  “Actually…you don’t.” Now Oz looks sad.

  “What do you mean? Why won’t I have you?” Fear fills my eyes and begins to overflow.

  “You can’t have any contact with anyone in DC. It’s too risky. Dellinger will most likely have me monitored and if I start getting calls from a Chicago number he’ll put it together. I know it sucks, but it is what it is. I’m so sorry, Angel.” Oz takes my hand in his two huge ones and looks into my eyes. “Even though I can’t be with you, I’ll always take care of you. You’re the daughter I never had, Ronnie. I hate it that you’re having to do this, but I know that you can do it. Your dad did a great job preparing you for anything.”

  It’s not fair. I’m giving up everything of my life in DC. What are the few friends I had going to think? And my dance instructors? They’ll think I walked away from the one thing that I loved more than anything. But…this is it. I either stay in DC and let Dellinger control me like he did my father, or I become Jenna Rockwell, which means I get to have the life my father wanted me to have.

  I breathe a sigh and extend my hand to Oz, taking the first step in assuming this new life. “Jenna Rockwell. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Chapter 2

  Six years later.

  I stand here, watching them as I have so many times before. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and sometimes grandparents. They all look on and wait for this person whom they love dearly to die, too many of them long before their time. They cry and get angry, letting rage fill them at times. I saw a sweet looking mother in her mid-50s clock the hospital chaplain in the jaw with a pretty good right hook one time. Her 31-year-old daughter died from Lupus that day.

  Today though…today is one of those times when a family has chosen to have peace. I’m always amazed at these families. I understand the right-hook-momma a lot more. The patient’s parents and siblings have all gathered around this once vibrant and handsome 38-year-old man to watch cancer take its final bites out of his life. Mom strokes his hair, while his father holds his hand. They both whisper how much they love him and how proud they are of all that he accomplished. He gives them the faintest of smiles that I know took every single ounce of energy he has in him to give. He’ll slip into an unconscious state soon, and then it really will just be a matter of time. But…as I see the look on his family’s faces, I know they’re going to be some of the luckier ones who grieve and are able to keep living their lives.

  I sigh as the hospital chaplain comes in and the patient’s nurse comes out. “You doing ok?” I ask Mercy. She’s been a nurse longer than I have and I see the same look on her face every time she’s about to lose a patient.

  “Yeah, I’m ok. Thanks, Jenna. I’ve been doi
ng this for eight years and it just never gets easier. They’re a sweet family, and he was a sweet guy,” she says. Mercy is a doll of a girl at just 5’3”. Second generation Italian-American, she’s the living example of “you can take the girl out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the girl.” She’s smart, feisty, and the kind of girl you want to have on your side. She’s turning 30 this weekend but still looks like she’s 20 with her soft features and brown eyes. She gets carded every time we go out, and would tonight, too, if we weren’t going to our regular hangout, Duke’s.

  “Ok then. I’m gonna take off. You should too. I’ve already gone over everything with the new shift. I’d wait for you but I want to catch the morning dance class before I head home,” I tell her.

  “How can you go dance? It’s 7:15 in the morning and you just worked a 12-hour shift?” Her eyes are wide and she’s shaking her head. “I get home and I’m asleep before my head even hits the pillow!”

  “I normally do go home and straight to bed, but it’s a rare weekend off and I love the people in this Saturday morning class.” I grab my purse from the cabinet and round the nurse’s station to the open hallway. “I will see you tonight at 7:30. Don’t be late to your own party. Jerry said he’d hold our favorite table for us but can’t do it all night.” I give Mercy a hug and say goodbye to the other staff either on their way in or out as I take the stairs from the fourth floor to the parking lot.

  If someone overheard our conversation they might think we’re kind of insensitive for brushing over the impending death of a patient so quickly. The truth is, we have to. It’s not that we don’t care. It’s that if we got torn up every time a terrible diagnosis came in, or a patient died, we’d live in a constant state of heartache. For some, becoming a nurse was a pragmatic decision. We’ll always have a job somewhere and the hours, while a little on the crazy side, can actually be pretty flexible. For others, the major reason they became a nurse was because they wanted to be able to comfort others and help in their healing process. I suppose I fall somewhere in between. I love being a nurse for all the emotional reasons, but I also know that if I have to pick up and move, I can find a job most anywhere.

  I found this dance studio four years ago and have become almost obsessed with everything they teach there. I had been in Chicago about two years already and was in desperate need of a place I could release the stress of being in the midst of nursing school and still looking over my shoulder. Dancing had always been my passion and I put in on the back burner while I got settled and felt like I was in the clear, that I wasn’t going to have to run. Sometimes I make it for the ballroom dance, and other times its Latin dance, but my passion had become contemporary before I left DC. Sometimes I get to use the studio to work on some freestyle contemporary pieces, but that happens so rarely that I think I’m beginning to forget the art of contemporary. I love the instructors and since I’ve been working on a sporadic schedule of attendance, I’ve become familiar with several of the regulars at most of the classes throughout the week.

  The train stops four blocks from my apartment, but the dance studio is another three blocks past that. On days when I work, I have to haul ass to get to the morning class in time to change. I thought about skipping this morning, but if I don’t go today it’ll be late next week before I make it. I’m off the next two days, but then on two, off two, and then on three. I know after tonight’s birthday festivities, I’ll be sleeping off a good time all day Sunday and definitely won’t make it then.

  I love Chicago. I couldn’t have picked a better place to start the life I always dreamed of. It’s the middle of July and not sweltering. The way the wind whips around and through the city cools everything off just enough. Not to mention the breeze that we get from Lake Michigan. And the people! I love the people!

  “Hey you! I thought you had given up on the craziness of coming here straight from an overnight shift?” Marco says with his beautifully sexy Latin accent. He and his wife Carina opened this studio 15 years ago when then moved here from Miami. They’re just the sweetest, most attractive couple I’ve ever known.

  “It’ll be too late next week if I didn’t come today. I’ve got the weekend off and I wanted to kick if off right!” I shout as I scurry to the back of the studio where there are a few dressing rooms so I can change in a hurry. I brought my jazz dance shoes since I didn’t have time to check the calendar online and see if this morning was ballroom or Latin. “Besides,” I say to Marco as I emerge. “You would miss me too much!”

  “True, true, mi amor,” he says with a kiss to my cheek. “Ok, everyone, today we’re going to cover the basics of Salsa! Find a partner and give yourself plenty of room. Jenna, would you and Carina help some of our new friends?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  “Thank you, love. There are only a couple of new people today. Can you work with Sam? He’s been coming for a little while, but still a little clumsy. I’ll work with the other guy. It’s his first time.” Carina casually points to “the other guy” standing nervously on the other side of the studio.

  “Holy hell! Who is that?” I whisper to her in shock. Standing there, fidgeting like a boy at an eighth grade dance, is the best looking guy I’ve ever seen. He’s tall, definitely over six feet, has brown hair, and has that sexy I haven’t shaved in a few days look. He’s wearing jeans and a fitted shirt with a faded Captain America shield on it and what I can already tell is a totally badass tattoo peeking out from his left sleeve. He’s also wearing, of all things, Chucks. Sneakers of any kind are the worst shoes you can wear to dance in. The rubber soles catch and I’ve watched more than my share of first-timers plow face first onto the floor. Marco and Carina have been very happy to have me here when that’s happened. I’m their unofficial staff nurse.

  “I know, right? I think he said his name is Landon. Want me to get his story?” Carina asks with a wink. I love how passionate Latin people are about all things, but especially romance. This is probably the 20th guy in four years that Carina has tried to set me up with. I haven’t actually been out with very many of them. We talk after class and most of them come on too strong. There have been a few who actually sparked my interest enough to give them a single date, but that’s all I’m willing to give. I don’t know why I can’t bring myself to get emotionally involved with anyone. Maybe it’s my still-present fear of Dellinger, or maybe it’s just me. But I’m 25 years old for crying out loud. I want to settle down one day and have an awesome life like my parents did. That’s never going to happen if I don’t start giving a guy more than one or two dates.

  “Um…ok,” I say to Carina with a smile. “Why not?” Just because there wasn’t a spark with many of the guys here at the studio doesn’t mean there couldn’t be with this one. There are the guys at work who have asked me out, a couple of doctors, too, but I have this thing about dating people you work with, especially at a hospital where the politics are ridiculous. Let’s hope that once this hot guy opens his mouth, he doesn’t flush his chances with me down the toilet.

  I smile briefly at Landon from across the room and he gives more of a sexy smirk. Flustered, I turn quickly to find Sam while Carina draws Landon’s attention.

  Sam is an average guy, good looking. He’s definitely your boy next door. When I ask him about why he’s taking dance lessons, I have to admit that my heart swoons just a little.

  “I’ve been dating my girlfriend for almost two years now and she comes from this really great Cuban family. I’m going to ask her to marry me in a few months at her parents’ anniversary party. There’s always dancing when her family gets together, and I’m always on the sidelines. She’s never said anything to me about it, but I just want her to know that it’s important to me that I at least try…for her.” A huge smile spreads across Sam’s face and he glows. He’s clearly so in love with this girl.

  “I think that’s awesome, Sam! We’re going to make sure you’ve got

  moves she didn’t even know you had!” I tell him with a
hug.

  “More like moves I didn’t know I had!” he laughs.

  Marco starts the music and does the basic steps for the class to follow. He shouts the directions out in his passionate accent and I can tell the really new people don’t totally understand him yet. He’s a trial-by-fire kind of teacher. He believes in throwing the music on and letting the beat move us. Unfortunately, some people and the beat don’t get along very well.

  Carina wasn’t kidding about Sam being clumsy. He’s got two left feet, but I applaud his persistence. He’s working so hard. If he sticks with it, I think we can whip him into shape in time for his big proposal.

  I can’t help but sneak a few looks at Landon. He’s not doing too badly for his first time, if this is his first time. Carina has him spinning her around and he’s following her really well. Some people have natural talent, and his natural talent is really sexy.

  The class of about ten follows Marco’s lead, with a few pauses so he and Carina can show us in slow motion what the moves are supposed to look like. When the hour is almost up Marco comes and whispers in my ear.

  “Dance with me. Let’s show them how this is really done,” he says. He cocks his chin down and his head to the side and looks at me from the top of his eyes.

  “Not the Latin smolder! You know I can’t resist the Latin smolder!” I hang my head, knowing I have no argument.

  “Oh, do it, Jenna! You and Marco make a great dance team!” Carina says with a bright smile.

  “Ok, ok! I’ll do it…but only because I love you dearly,” I tell him with a faux defeated voice.