How Much I Feel Page 8

  "Well, it's good to know it's not big news in New York anymore."

  "You can thank the twenty-four-hour news cycle for that. It moves on faster than it used to."

  I'm unreasonably relieved to hear it's not headline news anymore, but the damage is done. I hate that for the rest of my life—and beyond—any time someone searches for my name, the crap with Ginger will come up.

  Deb returns to where we're waiting for her in the condo. "We're in luck. I was able to line up a showing in Brickell. I'll text you the address. Shall we meet there in an hour?"

  I glance at Carmen, and she nods. "We'll be there," I tell Deb.

  "Great."

  We walk out together, and when we get to my car, I hold the passenger door for Carmen, who winces when her backside connects with hot leather. As I get in the car, my phone chimes with a text from my former colleague, Terri.

  Hey, it's good to hear from you. Everyone is pissed about what the board did to you. Hope things are working out for you in Miami. We sure do miss you here! I'll reach out to the patients you mentioned and see what we can do. This whole thing is utter BULLSHIT, and the entire department is pissed about how you were treated. How can YOU be scrambling to find another job?!?!

  I read and reread Terri's text, soaking in words that are like a balm on my broken heart, before passing the phone to Carmen. "From my former colleague."

  She quickly reads Terri's message. "That must be nice to hear."

  "It is. I always worked hard, respected my colleagues, filled in for them when needed and treated the nurses like the superheroes they are."

  "Let's get statements from Terri and the others in your former department."

  "For what?"

  "For the PowerPoint presentation, we're going to put together for your next meeting with the board."

  "I'm not sure how I feel about asking my former colleagues to do that."

  "You want to fix this, right?"

  "Very much so."

  "Then you're going to have to do some things that may not sit well with you, such as getting testimonials from former colleagues and publicity for pro bono work at the clinic, if we can make that happen."

  I grimace at the thought of generating attention for volunteer work. Under normal circumstances, I'd never go for that. But these circumstances certainly aren't normal. "Fine. I'll ask her." I respond to Terri's text. Thanks for the help. Much appreciated. My associate down here tells me it wouldn't hurt to have some endorsements from my NY colleagues. Do you think they'd be willing to provide them?

  I'm pained as I send a text that would've been inconceivable a few weeks ago. It still amazes me that someone else's actions can blow apart a career you've worked for more than a decade to achieve.

  Terri responds right away, putting me out of my misery. Absolutely. I'll get on that, too. Don't worry, we've got you covered, Doc.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank you. Means a lot to me.

  She sends back the smooching emoji.

  "She's on it," I tell Carmen.

  "That's great. I know it sucks to have to ask, but anything we can do to paint a complete picture will help. Right now, all they see is a scandal. We have to give them a different narrative."

  "You told me yesterday I need a seasoned crisis communication team. I'd say I have what I need with you."

  "Thanks. I'm hardly seasoned, but it's fun to use the stuff I learned in years of school."

  The traffic leaving South Beach is proof of what she told me I'd face if I lived there. I'm glad to have someone with local knowledge helping me figure out this new place. "You must've been in college when you lost your husband, right?"

  "No, I wasn't. I was working at the restaurant and trying to get pregnant. We'd planned to be young parents. I was going to stay home with them and go to school when they did. After Tony died, I got a big insurance payout that I put toward school. It gave me something to do once the initial shock of his death wore off."

  "I'm so sorry that happened to you."

  "Thanks."

  "Have you…" I shake my head. It's none of my fucking business whether she's dated anyone else since she lost her husband.

  "Have I what?"

  "I was about to ask you a deeply personal question."

  "It's fine. I'm used to it. Everyone I meet wants to know if I've dated again since I lost Tony, and the answer is I've had a lot of first dates, a couple of second dates and very few third dates. My grandmothers love to fix me up with guys they know, their friends' grandsons, customers at the restaurant. At first, I wanted nothing to do with it, but after a while, it was easier to go on the dates than to keep telling them why I didn't want to."

  "It was their way of trying to help you move on, I suppose."

  "Yes," she says with a sigh, "and I love them for it. We all suffered over the loss of Tony. He'd been part of our family for ten years by the time we lost him."

  "I can't imagine what it would be like to meet 'the one' when you're as young as you guys were." I've never met anyone I could picture spending the rest of my life with. I'd begun to wonder if Ginger might be my so-called "one" when I found out what she really wanted with me—and it had nothing to do with forever except for the stain she put on my good name.

  "It's funny that I can't remember meeting him. We used to talk about that a lot. He remembered every detail of that day, but I don't. I was with friends at an arcade in the mall, and he said the Selena song 'I Could Fall in Love' was playing the first time he saw me. I used to say he was making that up, but he swore it was true."

  "That's very sweet."

  "We lived near each other but went to different schools, which is why we hadn't met before. Tony had friends who went to my school, and they approached me to ask if I'd consider meeting their friend who'd decided he was going to marry me."

  "No way. They did not say that."

  "They did!"

  "What did you say?"

  "I said I'm fourteen, and I'm not marrying your friend. They begged and pleaded with me to at least talk to him, which I said I'd do, mostly because I sensed they weren't going to let up until I did. I figured I'd talk to him once, tell him to get real and move on."

  "But that's not what happened."

  "That's not what happened."

  I'm completely captivated by her story and more than a little heartbroken to know how it ended. "Don't stop now! I have to know the rest. But only if you want to tell me."

  "It's one of my favorite stories to tell. He called me that night and every night for a month. My parents were all over me about who I was on the phone with every night. I can't recall the specifics of what we talked about, but I do remember laughing—a lot. He was hilarious. I think that was the first thing I loved about him, that he could make me laugh even when I was annoyed with him."

  "An important quality, for sure."

  "It took two years of being best friends before my parents would officially allow us to date."

  "Holy crap. That must've been a long two years."

  "It was, and believe me, I was so pissed about it. I thought my parents were impossibly old-fashioned. But when I look back at it now, I can see how important that friendship was for everything that came later."

  "It set the foundation."

  "Yes, exactly."

  "No one waits two years to date anymore."

  "Right? It's all about instant gratification."

  "It's a lovely story. I'm so sorry you lost him the way you did. I can't imagine what that must've been like."

  "Worst day of my life."

  Without thinking much about it, I reach over and cover her hand with mine, giving a gentle squeeze. The second my skin connects with hers, I realize I've made a critical error by touching her.

  The subtle gasp that escapes from her lets me know she feels the same thing I do.

  Even knowing why it's a bad idea to leave it there, I don't remove my hand. "You don't have to talk about it if it's too painful."

  "It was a long
time ago."

  "Still… Some things never get easier with time."

  "True." After a long pause, she releases a long deep breath. "I was working at the restaurant when the cops came. At first, I thought it was him. He would pop by to say hello sometimes when he was on duty. He worked second shift, three to eleven, so our work hours were the same. There were two of them, and I remember looking around them to see if he was with them. They said something to my dad, and he… He just crumbled." After another pause, she continues. "I think I knew Tony was gone the second I saw my dad's reaction from across the big room."

  "God, Carmen. I can't imagine."

  "It was pretty horrible, but we had a ton of support. The department was amazing. They took care of everything. That first week was just a blur of people and food and so much heartbreak. The restaurant became the gathering place for everyone, and it went on for days. It seemed like half the city passed through, even before the actual wake and funeral. Thousands of police officers came from all over the country. It was so amazing and overwhelming."

  "I don't know what to say."

  "There's not much to be said. My grandmothers, who were both widowed, were incredible. They helped me find a way through the grief. It took a while, but I bounced back. I thought he'd approve of me going to school since I wasn't going to be a stay-at-home mother after all, and I didn't want to waitress for the rest of my life. Although, I made almost as much at the restaurant last year as my salary at the hospital."

  "He'd be so proud of you. I'm proud of you, and I just met you."

  "Thanks. I like to think Tony would be proud that I survived it. He loved me so much. I never had any doubt about that."

  "He was lucky, and he knew it. Smart man."

  "We were both lucky."

  The GPS directs us to the address Deb gave me, and I finally release my hold on her hand as I find a visitor parking space. "We don't have to do this now if you're not up for it."

  She smiles warmly at me, making the breath catch in my lungs. Affection of any kind from her feels like a rare, special gift. "You just heard about this. For me, it's old news."

  "I suppose it is."

  "Not that it has ever reached the point where it doesn't still hurt. It just doesn't hurt like it did at first when it was like an open wound, and I wondered if my life was over, too."

  Is it weird that I hurt for her? Probably. The ache stays with me as we go inside and take the elevator to the seventh floor, where Deb is waiting for us. My emotions are all over the place after hearing Carmen's story. She's certainly helped to give me perspective on my current predicament.

  So what if my career is a mess at the moment. No one is dead. It's sobering to realize the full magnitude of what she went through at the tender age of twenty-four. I try to picture her surrounded by people and police officers and compassion and endless sympathy. After knowing her for two days, I have little doubt she was strong and resolute through it all, determined to make her young husband proud of her.

  I'm heartbroken for people I barely know.

  As we step into the condo, I can tell this place is special. It's modern and fresh but still warm and inviting. The view of the bay is dazzling. We're high enough that we can see the boats and activity but not so high that it seems like we're looking down on a tiny village. In New York, I'd been on the twenty-eighth floor of my building, far removed from the goings-on below. That'd been a good thing there. Here, being a little closer to the action below seems good.

  "I love it," I tell Deb.

  "I do, too," Carmen says. "This kitchen is to die for. You have two ovens, and the best fridge money can buy. We have three of these at the restaurant."

  "I'm not sure how I feel about glass doors on the fridge."

  "My Abuela says it's incentive to keep it clean."

  "Your Abuela is a wise woman."

  "Take a look at the bedroom," Deb says. "I think you'll like it."

  The condo has just one bedroom, which is fine with me. I don't expect to have many visitors, so I don't need a guest room. My mom prefers a hotel to my guest room when she visits. She jokes that I didn't have room service at my place.

  The master lives up to the hype with high ceilings, full-length windows that maximize the view and space for a small office area.

  Carmen goes to check out the bathroom. "Come see this shower!"

  I wander into the bathroom to check out the glass shower with the intricate tile work and multiple showerheads. "Wow."

  "I think you need a Ph.D. to work that thing."

  "Crap. I only have an MD."

  She snorts with laughter. "Only an MD. Bet you've never said that before."

  I pretend to give that considerable thought. "I don't think I have."

  "Hopefully, the shower comes with instructions."

  "You approve of this place?"

  "I do. Although it makes mine look rather sad in comparison."

  "Yours is great."

  She rolls her eyes. "Mine is okay. This is great."

  "You can come to visit any time you want." I peruse the handout Deb gave me. "The building has a gym, indoor and outdoor pools, a hot tub and a spa."

  "I have a tiny gym in my building and laundry in my apartment."

  I laugh at the way she says that. "I'm willing to share my amenities with friends."

  "You may live to regret that offer. I love a good spa."

  I'll file that info away for later. If she succeeds in helping me land this job, the least I'll owe her is a day at a high-end spa.

  We return to the open concept living area where Deb is waiting for us. "What do you think?"

  "I love it," I tell her.

  "Me too," Carmen says.

  "If you'd like to make an offer, I'd be happy to write it up for you."

  "I'm sort of in a weird spot since I first reached out to you."

  "Oh?"

  "I'm not yet sure I'm going to be working at Miami-Dade."

  "There was an administrative snafu." Carmen steps up when I find myself at a loss for words. "We're trying to work it out, but it's apt to be a week or two before Dr. Northrup receives word that his employment is approved. Are you able to make an offer, contingent upon his job working out?"

  "I could talk to the seller's agent and see what they say. The unit has been on the market for sixty-three days, so they may welcome the interest enough to consider that caveat. I'll reach out and let you know."

  "Thank you."

  "No problem. I'll be in touch."

  I guide Carmen out of the condo ahead of me. When we're in the elevator, I glance at her. "Thanks for jumping in there. I didn't know what to say to her. I made this appointment when I thought I had a job lined up."

  "I'm sure she deals with special circumstances all the time. As she said, the place has been on the market for a while, so they're probably willing to deal. I wouldn't worry. If this doesn't work out, there're a million others just like it."

  "True, but I liked this one."

  "I did, too."

  How is it possible that in two days, her opinion has become so important to me? I have no idea how that happened, but it has, and I need to rein that in before it gets out of hand.

  If it hasn't already.

  Chapter 9

  CARMEN

  I like being with him. I like talking to him and hearing his thoughts. I like how he didn't fall all over himself trying to comfort me when I told him about the day Tony died. Some of the guys I've dated hadn't known what to say when they heard how I lost my husband, so they either said too much or not enough.

  Jason got it just right.

  It's not easy to talk about that day, but it felt right to tell him.

  I like how he looks in casual attire—flip-flops, khaki shorts, a navy-blue T-shirt from a surf shop in Maui and those sexy Wayfarer Ray-Bans.

  "What's next on our agenda, boss lady?" he asks as we drive away from the condo complex.

  "We're basically on hold until I hear back from Maria a
bout the clinic, so how about I give you the two-dollar tour? We can take some photos for Instagram that show you getting to know your new home."

  "Sure, we can do that."

  It's a perfect South Florida day, if you like it hazy, hot and humid, which I do. "Can we run by my place so I can change?"

  "Of course."

  I can't believe I'm getting paid for this. The thought makes me giggle.

  "What's so funny?"

  "I was just thinking that it's weird I'm getting paid to play tourist in my hometown."

  "That's not all you're doing. You're helping me, which is what Mr. Augustino told you to do."

  "True, but this hardly feels like work." After a stop at my place, so I can change into a casual dress and sandals, we get back on the highway. A short time later, I point to an exit. "Take this one. I want to show you where I come from." I point to planes descending into Miami International. "We're very close to MIA."

  He takes the exit, and I direct him toward Calle Ocho, the main drag through Little Havana. On the way in, we pass the sleek, modern ballpark that's home to the Florida Marlins. "Of the nearly three million people in Miami, roughly half of them are Cuban or of Cuban descent. You can live here your whole life and speak only Spanish and be fine."

  "I'm going to have to work on that. My Spanish is rusty."

  "I can help with that, too."

  As we creep along the busy street, I try to see the neighborhood from an outsider's viewpoint. I immediately feel protective of the coin-operated laundromats and massive new car dealerships. They're adjacent to rundown used car lots, graffiti, car washes and restaurants offering Cuban and every other kind of cuisine, including Taco Bell, where the drive-through line blocks the street.

  Jason navigates around the cars. "Why would anyone go to Taco Bell when there's all this authentic Cuban and Mexican food to be had?"

  "Great question. Some people were appalled when Taco Bell came to the neighborhood, but as you can see, they do good business."

  "Baffling. I'd want the real deal if it were as close by as it is here."

  "We've got the real deal at Giordino's, and it's the best Cuban in town, in my humble opinion."