He had to be a good man if his wife looked that happy. I scanned the screen for a date on the picture; by my math, his child would be about eight years old now. I usually find it in horrible taste to search for celebrity children. Even if he wasn’t a true celebrity, I had the same feeling about looking up their child. But I wasn’t looking for a tacky tabloid. It was purer than that. I wanted to see the human manifestation of the happy couple in those pictures.
In the search bar, I entered: Andrea Medina and Dr. Hector Medina daughter. I smiled, thinking about a little girl with his tanned skin and her bright green eyes popping in contrast, but nothing came up. Next, I entered: Andrea Medina and Dr. Hector Medina son.
There it was—the first hit—a headline from two years ago. Intense grief snaked into my bloodstream and latched on to my heart. I forgot how to breathe for several seconds as I read the headline: Six-year-old grandson of prominent Maryland philanthropist dies in freak accident. Two years ago.
My hand came up to my mouth, and I couldn’t hold back the sickening feeling gripping me. I couldn’t bring myself to click on the link. When I searched for his family, I wasn’t expecting to see this kind of tragedy. I couldn’t bring myself to pry into his private life any further than I already had. His loss wasn’t for entertainment. I shut off my tablet and tried to fall asleep.
Chapter 6
The Mary
My hair was still dripping wet from my shower, clinging to my shoulders, when a knock at the door interrupted my morning routine. My brows furrowed. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Once at the door, I bent to peek through the peephole. I couldn’t make out his face, but I stared straight into a dress shirt over pecs I’d recognize anywhere. What the hell was Dr. Medina doing here?
Toothbrush still in my mouth, I opened the door.
“What are you doing here?” I tried to ask, but it sounded more like, “Wha a you dohee?” I gestured for him to come in then went back to the bathroom to get rid of the brush and rinse out.
“How did you get into my building? And more importantly, how did you know my apartment number?”
“I have my ways.” He grinned.
I rolled my eyes and went to the kitchen to make a green smoothie. I had to offset Dad’s cooking somehow.
“I’m surprised,” he said as he walked over to the kitchen bar and sat on a stool.
“About what?”
“You look great.”
I shot him my most insulted look, and he laughed.
“That’s not what I meant. I just expected you to have a hangover.”
“On three drinks? I’m not sure how you party, but three drinks won’t get me there. And I also have my ways.” I grinned back at him.
“Oh?”
“Yep. I stick to straight tequila, never switch drinks except sometimes maybe a beer, and I drink tons of water. The most I ever have in the morning is a slight headache.”
“I’ve learned my lesson, then.”
Horror struck, and I panicked at what I’d said. “I don’t, uh—I don’t actually drink very often. I just know my limits and what my body can take.”
“Relax, Ramirez. I wasn’t accusing you of anything.”
I changed the subject. “So, what can I do for you?” I filled my blender with spinach, pineapple, carrots, and fresh ginger root.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you at my house at eight in the morning, boss?”
He raised an eyebrow at ‘boss’ and took his glasses off to clean them.
He waited until I was done blending before speaking again. “Your car is at the hospital,” he said.
“I have a car service app. Maybe you don’t know this about me, but I’m a pretty independent woman. I’ve gotten around all on my own my entire adult life.”
“I don’t doubt that, but I was also curious about the Mary, and what that meant.”
My eyes misted over at that. He’d heard Sara and me making plans for Valentina today. My heart ached as I thought about what we were about to do, but the point of the Mary was to be as freaking cheerful as possible.
“Then I guess you are taking me shopping.”
“Okay, but drink that. There’s no way I’m letting you take that green sludge into my car.”
“You want one?” I asked and wiggled my eyebrows.
“Not for all the salsa in Mexico,” he said.
He drove, and I respected his wishes not to bring my smoothie into his car.
When he parked, he groaned. “The mall?”
“Yep.” I got out of the car and led him into a department store.
“What are we getting?” he asked.
“Oh, this and that. Follow me.”
I picked out a beautiful silk scarf that was a deep ocean blue and got a gift box for it. Dr. Medina didn’t say much while I browsed the store. We made our way to the makeup counter, and I got a coral-pink nail polish and a cream blush that complemented the nail color. It was only three items, but I had spent two hundred dollars, and it was worth every penny.
“Okay,” I instructed. “When we get to the hospital, you can’t be in the room. We will need privacy. But if you want to, in about half an hour, find yourself at the nurses’ station by Valentina’s room. You’ll see what the Mary is.” He nodded, parked his car in the parking garage, and we parted ways.
Sara met me in the locker room. I changed into scrubs and followed her out, Valentina’s gifts in my arms.
Sara walked into her room first, pushing a cart in front of her. The top of the cart was hidden from view with a towel draped over it. Valentina smiled at us weakly.
“Good morning,” she said. I shot her a wicked smile.
“What?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. I placed all the items on the counter and hooked up a speaker to the wall. I brought my phone out and played Girls Like You by Maroon 5/Cardi B because Cardi B was life and she could make any woman feel like a boss bitch. Valentina needed to feel that power.
I turned to Sara, who was already half dancing, half jumping around the room. I couldn’t turn the volume too high, this was still a hospital, but I let the lyrics seep into the hallway just the tiniest bit.
I walked up to Sara and bounce-danced with my two left feet right next to her. It’s a complete stereotype that all Mexican-American women know how to dance. I didn’t care if I looked silly, though. Actually, if it cheered up Valentina, that was even better.
Valentina threw her head back with laughter that we hardly heard over the music. She was hooked up to an IV and too many wires to get up and join us, plus she wasn’t strong enough, but she adjusted her bed so she could sit up. She bobbed her head and shoulders as Sara and I made complete fools of ourselves.
Our patient couldn’t help but grin every time a nurse walked by the room, poked their head in, and belted a single line of the chorus before walking away again. I didn’t miss when one of the residents popped his head in and sang the line as he locked his eyes with hers, and she blushed in response.
He wasn’t her doctor, so I decided to look the other way and not say a thing about it. I wouldn’t be the one to take any further happiness away from her. Some other doctor would have to say something if anything more came of that exchange.
Next on my power playlist was Cardi B’s I Like It. Sara and I stopped dancing. She removed the towel covering the contents of the cart, and Valentina winced at the sight of the hair clippers but then nodded at her.
I grabbed the nail polish and sat at the end of her bed, cross-legged. I brought her feet up to my lap, and I started painting her toenails in the bright coral shade. She smiled at me, though her eyes glistened with tears as Sara began working on her scalp.
When Sara was done with the clippers, I handed her the nail polish, and she got to work on Valentina’s manicure. I brought the volume down so we could talk over the music. I wrapped the beautiful scarf around Valentina’s head with a bow at the back. I smudged a little bit of the blush on her cheeks, and even as thi
n and pale as she’d gotten, she was still absolutely beautiful. At least to me. She smiled up at me and squeezed my hand as if to say thank you. I squeezed back.
The next part of the Mary was to talk about boys in general.
Sara jumped in first. “Did you guys see that Thor movie?” She was still finishing up her manicure as she asked. “That Hemsworth kid. Mmm.” She sounded like she was enjoying a juicy hamburger. Valentina and I eyed each other and busted out laughing.
“I don’t know,” said Valentina. “I kinda like my men nerdy.” I gave a side-glance toward the door, trying to remember the resident who had made her blush. Sure enough, Dr. Dennis was a bit on the skinny side, had huge glasses, and bright red hair. I said nothing, though.
“Oh, really?” Sara said.
“Absolutely. I like me a big brain on a guy,” said Valentina.
“Just a big brain?” Sara asked, and we all giggled like crazy at her suggestiveness.
Valentina asked Sara, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I do,” she said without looking up from the hand she was working on.
“What was that?” Valentina asked me.
Uh-oh. “What was what?” I asked.
“That.” With her free hand, she pointed back and forth between my eyes. “Your crazy expressive eyebrows almost did a back flip, you looked so angry when I asked Sara about her boyfriend.”
Sara finally looked up and smiled at me but answered Valentina first, saving me from having to voice my honest opinion. “Oh, she doesn’t like Brian.”
“Brian?” Valentina asked.
“That’s my boyfriend. Dr. Ramirez here doesn’t approve.”
“What’s wrong with him?” Valentina asked.
“Oh,” Sara saved me again, “she would never say. She’s too good a friend.”
When she refocused on finishing the manicure, I mouthed to Valentina: piece of shit. She nodded with a sad smile.
“How about you, Dr. Ramirez?”
I stiffened. I knew Dr. Medina was probably listening.
“I’m too busy concentrating on my career for that. I’m focused only on you.”
“Uh-huh,” Sara said. Done with her work, she sat back on the chair and crossed her arms. “What about Ramiro?”
Valentina perked up at that. “Who is Ramiro?” she asked, rolling the r’s seductively.
“Lord, help me,” I said, looking at the ceiling. “Ramiro is my oldest friend. He and I grew up together, and now he is a mechanic at my dad’s garage. But I absolutely do not see him like that—”
“But he sees you like that,” Sara said.
They were both staring at me now, expectantly.
“Guys, stop. I get enough of that from my dad.”
“Oh yeah,” said Sara. “He’s already planning your wedding.”
I rolled my eyes.
Neither Sara nor I asked Valentina if she had a romantic partner. She never talked about it, and we both intuitively knew it might be a touchy subject for her. Since I’d been her doctor, she’d never had anyone join her at any of her appointments, and no one came to visit when she was admitted overnight. This led me to believe she was alone in the world.
“Well,” said Sara, “I have to get back to it. Let me know if you need anything, Valentina.”
“Guys, thanks for this.” We both nodded and left her room.
It was the absolute girliest thing to do. Neither Sara nor I were girly, and I knew Valentina wasn’t either. Still, somehow, bonding over something as trivial as makeup was soothing to the soul. I knew we all felt lighter than we had yesterday.
I expected to find Dr. Medina at the nurses’ station, watching our little show unfold and poking fun at us, but he wasn’t there, and I sighed with relief. Thank goodness he was probably too busy to listen to us make fools of ourselves. He’d question if I was actually cut out to be a doctor.
Chapter 7
A Grilling
I was hesitant to leave my shift on Friday. Valentina had been nauseous all morning, and now she lay in bed, tired, panting, and weak. We couldn’t force anything into her body that she didn’t bring back up. I sat next to her, watching helplessly. We’d been battling her cancer for weeks—battling it aggressively—and I knew it would get worse before the tide turned. Even though I was a doctor and knew better, there was that tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me this was not a battle to be won.
“Valentina, we need to explore—”
She raised a hand to silence me. “No,” she said in a breathy voice that broke me.
“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to stay on the trial. We can explore other options. Less aggressive treatment.”
Valentina grabbed my wrist, and I could tell from her body shaking that she was trying to squeeze my arm fiercely, but the grasp was so gentle, my eyes softened.
“Okay. You are strong. So strong. I’m going to trust that you know your limits.”
“I told you at the start, Doctor. I want to live. Put me through hell if you have to, but be as aggressive as you can. I can take it.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I’ve gone up against ruthless fighters, bigger, stronger, more experienced. Sometimes they’ve beaten my body to a pulp, but I’ve still found a way to rise and keep fighting. Trust me, this right here,” she swept her hand across her body as if it were on display, “this is nothing compared to some of the fights I’ve won. I’m a professional athlete—a fighter. This all you got, doc?”
I smiled at her confidence. This is what it took. Sometimes. Sometimes it took better doctors, but she already had the best. I didn’t mean me. She had Dr. Medina now. It was at that moment that I knew deep in my gut that Valentina Almonte would live. She had what it took, and so did her care team.
Before I clocked out, I finished noting in her chart and met Sara in the doctors’ lounge. The week had kicked my ass. Valentina’s case was only the tip of the iceberg. I had many other demanding patients and a group of new interns who didn’t know an esophagus from a rectum. I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep through my day off tomorrow. I was frowning when Sara spoke up.
“Don’t even think about it.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You are not bailing tomorrow. I won’t let you break your dad’s heart.”
I groaned. “Fine. What time do I have to be there?”
“Six is good. And please do something about your face. I want pictures.”
“I’m not doing my makeup for a cookout.”
“Fine. But if you don’t do your own makeup, I’ll be doing it for you.”
Sometimes I couldn’t understand why I’d become best friends with such a bossy and intrusive woman. There was no way out of this, and I knew it. A voice we weren’t expecting startled us.
“Am I invited?” It was Dr. Medina. We heard him but couldn’t see him. Then, he sat up from where he had been lying down on the couch. He turned to face us.
“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a party in my presence. It would be rude not to invite me, don’t you think?”
“Uh—” I’d never seen Sara at a loss for words, and this was amusing.
“I’m not sure it would be your thing, doctor,” I said.
“Why not?”
“It’s very casual. My Dad is hosting it, and the guest list does not include many, um . . .”
“Doctors,” Sara finished for me, saving me from having to say, dude, you’d stick out like a sore thumb in the barrio.
“I don’t only socialize with doctors.” He looked from her to me. “And I don’t know any people in this city. It will be nice to have a conversation with someone other than my cat.”
I couldn’t help the snort that escaped me. “You have a cat?”
“Is that funny?”
Who the hell was I to judge? “No, Doctor. Of course not. We’ll see you at six.” I rattled off Dad’s address, and he asked for my phone number.
“In case I need
help finding the place,” he said lamely.
After he left, Sara studied me with a massive grin on her face.
“What?”
“He asked for your phone number.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down, or tried to, anyway.
I shook my head at her.
“Your children will have the eyebrows of gods.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“I don’t think Ramiro will be very happy with you bringing home a date.”
“It’s not a—” but Sara had left the lounge with my soda in her hand before I could finish speaking.
Of course, I didn’t arrive at Dad’s at six. I knew that man, and he would be working all day to get ready for the cookout. I wasn’t even a little surprised when I showed up at ten in the morning, and Ramiro was already there helping.
I turned into the driveway, and the sight of his black pickup truck forced a sigh out of me. I loved Ramiro very much, but I’d never been in love with him. He was more like a brother to me, but he didn’t see me as his sister. Not yet.
Both Mom and Dad had told me that after I was born, they had somewhat jokingly agreed with Ramiro’s parents that I would marry their son one day. When we were little, and girls still had cooties, even Ramiro had recoiled at the idea. But as we grew up, his view changed, while mine remained the same.
When we were in high school, he told me he would wait for me forever, that I was his soul mate, but I knew deep down that I wasn’t. I told him not to wait. He’d dated women over the years, but he always swore, even before starting anything with someone else, that he was only waiting for me to get back to him.
Ramiro kept waiting even when I insisted there was nothing to wait for. First, he waited for me to finish college. Then, he waited for me to finish medical school. Now, he claimed to be waiting for me to finish my residency, so I would be less busy. I’d assured him things wouldn’t slow down after that. My career was not the reason I wasn’t with him.
I couldn’t deny part of the fault lay in me. I’d dated some, though no one seriously. Every man I’d ever given a chance to never went past a few dates. Either he hadn’t understood the demands of being a physician, or he was a fellow physician who had a schedule as busy as mine, and we never saw each other. Each relationship was doomed before it had a chance to take off. But even though I’d dated plenty, and I was no virgin, I never had the heart to tell Ramiro; I swore to myself that the minute I got serious with anyone, I would tell him. Of course, I used to be sure there was someone out there for me, but these days, I wasn’t so sure.
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