“Thank you.”
“Do you have any suggestions on things to do while I’m here?” she asked.
“Let’s see . . . if you are interested in art, I suggest the Nelson-Atkins Museum. You wouldn’t think it of Kansas City, but we have a rather spectacular collection, including a Caravaggio.” I didn’t know where I pulled that suggestion from. I’d only been to the museum once and only knew about the Caravaggio in the collection because Mandy wouldn’t shut up about it. I guess I was trying to impress her.
“I was thinking something more . . . casual?” she suggested.
That took me aback. I had always assumed Hector came from money. I expected his mother to be cultured and want to see the more elegant aspects of the city. I certainly didn’t expect her to ask for casual ideas.
“Um—well, not far from that museum is a beautiful rose garden,” I said, hoping she would be satisfied with that answer.
“I love roses,” she said with a sparkle to her eye. “Maybe Hector can take me there tomorrow.” She looked at her son expectantly.
“Of course, Mom. Whatever you like.”
We had a pleasant and superficial conversation the rest of our lunch until Hector had to take a call from one of his residents about a patient. He stepped outside for privacy, leaving me alone with his mother. I didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I thought I would.
“Okay, now that we have a minute alone, I’d like to talk with you about Hector,” Marisela said, peering out the window to confirm that Hector wasn’t yet coming back from his call.
“I’m not sure—”
“I like the way he looks at you,” she said.
“What?”
“He hasn’t smiled like this in years,” she said. “I’d like to thank you for that.”
“Oh. Please don’t get the wrong impression—”
“Don’t worry.” She cut me off. “I know you aren’t together. But when you haven’t seen your son happy for many long years, believe me, you will grasp at anything that brightens his life.”
Hadn’t been happy for years? What was she talking about?
“You don’t know anything about the state of his marriage, do you?” Her eyes narrowed.
I only shook my head. She turned once again to peek out the window, then returned her attention to me. “Hector is too stubborn to let go of the past. I’m sure he hasn’t told you.”
“Told me what?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Oh, a great many things. For example, I don’t think he has told you he has been separated from his wife for a couple of years now.”
My hands got clammy, and I wiped them on my jeans, grasping at the cool fabric. I wasn’t sure Hector would want me to know these profoundly personal details.
Why was Marisela telling me all this? The thought of Hector being available sent my head spinning, but separated or not, he was still married. To me, there wasn’t much difference between being separated and being married. Nothing could come from Marisela’s revelation.
“I can tell by your reaction that I was right. He hasn’t mentioned anything.”
“Marisela, I don’t know if he’d want me to know—”
“I want you to know,” she said. “Andrea is a good woman. She knows about you.”
“What?” Blood pounded in my ears. How in the hell did his wife know about me? If I hadn’t been sitting down, I would have lost my balance at Marisela’s words. Suddenly, I was joining Marisela in her paranoid checks for Hector outside.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “She is glad Hector has found someone who makes him happy.” Marisela studied me for a moment as I digested her words. “And,” she added, “I think she also hopes that his finding someone else means he’ll finally agree to the divorce.”
I was dazed, and my head swam. Surely, this is what was meant by an out-of-body experience. Not only did his wife know about me, for some reason, but she was discussing me with his mother. This was all too weird.
“Few marriages can make it through the tragedy of losing a child. I’m sure you know what happened.”
I nodded, still wordless. I didn’t know the details, but I knew their son had died.
“Andrea became very depressed. The poor thing. It’s understandable. She ended up drinking and having to go to a rehabilitation center. Don’t worry. She’s doing much better now. But even before his marriage, my son had led a tough life.”
The revelations about Hector were coming in waves, and I was growing uncomfortable at knowing so many details about a life which he clearly wanted to keep private. I had never imagined he’d had a hard life prior to the tragedy of losing his son.
“We were very poor when he was growing up. I’m sure you can imagine, for a poor, brown kid from Mexico to make it as far as he has in life, it took a lot. He’s always had to fight. I tell you this because I think it is important for you to understand his character. He doesn’t know how to not fight, or how to stop once he’s started.”
I couldn’t believe he had come from nothing. I had always assumed he was from an upper-class Mexican home. I’d convinced myself he’d grown up with a silver spoon in his mouth. Though his mother didn’t give many details, I understood that being poor in Mexico was much more dire than being poor in the United States. My heart constricted at the thought of a little boy balancing grade school and work—selling things or stealing things. Did he go hungry? Had they even had basic utilities when he was little? I couldn’t have been more wrong about him. He was what he was because he made himself from the ground up. No one handed anything to him. He had every right to be as proud as he was.
“Why are you telling me all this? It really seems very private to Hector.”
She cocked her head to the side. “I tell you because he never would.”
I nodded again, this time egging her on. She nervously glanced out the window to ensure Hector was still on his call. We had precious little time now.
“Still,” Marisela said, “even though her mental health has improved, Andrea could only repair things with Hector at the expense of her sobriety. She is not willing to make that sacrifice, and so Hector has stayed away. At first, he held onto the hope that time would heal their relationship, but Andrea is moving on. Hector needs to also. You understand?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted.
“She’s asked him for a divorce many times over the last two years, but he always refuses.”
“He still loves her,” I said.
“No.” Her forehead scrunched up a bit. “He doesn’t love her. He will always care about her, but the romantic love they shared is gone. For both of them.”
“Then, why won’t he give her the divorce she wants?”
“You’ve met my son, right?” She laughed. “He’s got some ego in him. He believes himself to be perfect, and a perfect man wouldn’t get a divorce. He won’t admit defeat.”
“So it’s pride?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think it’s pride but also something more. He took his vows very seriously, Carolina. Even now that he has met you, he is battling himself to let go of his past. The vows he has made to his first wife are still important to him, even if he isn’t in love with her anymore. She is also the mother of his only child. He’s having a hard time releasing his responsibility for her.”
Hector joined us back at the table, and I couldn’t ask her any of my million questions.
I had been so wrong about him and what I thought he cared about. I had misjudged him, and I had no right to. Marisela was obvious with her intent. I knew a Mexican mother matchmaker when I saw one. She took one look at me, like Ramiro’s mom used to look at me, and decided I was meant for her son.
If Hector was indeed engaged in an internal battle to let go of the past, I couldn’t be the one to nudge him in the opposite direction. While I wasn’t too concerned about getting married, I knew if I ever did, it would be for life—no matter what. I understood Hector’s demons now, and I couldn’t stand between him and Andrea
, despite what Marisela wanted. This was Hector’s life, and he had to live with his own choices.
“I’m taking some time off,” he said slowly as if he were trying to get my attention.
I focused on his words. “Okay,” I said. “Going anywhere fun?” I sipped on my coffee.
“Yeah. I’ll show mom around here for a few days, then I’m taking her to Colorado Springs before she heads back home. I’ve never been, and I think she would enjoy it.”
“Colorado Springs is great,” I managed to say.
As we said our goodbyes, Marisela drew me down to her level to embrace me. I returned the hug, and she whispered in my ear. “Give some thought to what I said.”
Chapter 14
Warpath
Hector left town shortly after his mother arrived. They wanted to take a short trip, which left me with plenty of time to think about what his Mom had said. There was no doubt Marisela hoped for Hector and me to be something . . . more.
But I couldn’t bring myself to cross that line. Separated or not, I couldn’t push Hector to betray that golden band around his finger—especially if it still meant something to him.
I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. A door had been opened for us—Marisela made sure of it—but we couldn’t very well step through and forget about the real world.
A married man was still a married man, and I couldn’t be budged on that point. I decided then that I wouldn’t follow Marisela’s counsel. Maybe I’d see her again someday and explain why I continued to stay away.
My thoughts were more traitorous than my intent, however. I daydreamed about two signatures on divorce papers, a parting of ways, and a different sort of relationship between Hector and me. We would devise new research together, discuss patient cases before bed, offer treatment adjustment suggestions. It was a type of future I was willing to envision, unlike any I had ever considered with anyone else from my past.
When Hector finally returned, he went on a rampage. I briefly worried that his mother had told him what we had talked about, but I quickly dismissed the idea. He wasn’t only being an ass to me; he was treating everyone at the hospital the same.
No one at work had seen his wrath before. He had been nothing but a cool-headed boss, and he was well-liked in general. He never belittled anyone he was teaching, and he always looked at ways to improve the skills of all the residents under him.
Which is why everyone was taken aback when, after returning from vacation, he was a changed man.
“Are you an idiot?” Hector asked Dr. Dennis.
“Excuse me?” Dr. Dennis asked, his cheeks becoming rosy.
My jaw dropped. What the hell?
Hector shoved the tablet into the young doctor’s hands.
“Look at it very carefully.”
With shaky hands, Dr. Dennis did as instructed.
“Now, read the chart carefully,” Hector hissed. “What did you do wrong?”
Dr. Dennis shrugged. “I’m not sure what I should be looking for—”
“He doesn’t know what he should be looking for,” Hector said, this time mocking Dr. Dennis.
I glanced at the patient, who was luckily heavily medicated, and she didn’t stir at the loud voices in her room.
Dr. Keach had been standing next to me, and I clearly heard him snicker, though he tried to cover it up by clearing his throat. I felt horrible for Dr. Dennis who looked like he had shrunk several inches in height. I’m sure he heard Dr. Keach’s laugh as well.
“Either you’re an idiot, or you’re trying to kill her,” Hector said.
“No—I, uh,” Dr. Dennis started to say, but Hector shoved him to the side as he snatched the syringe from Dr. Dennis’s hands before he could administer it into the IV line.
“The dose you ordered is twice as much as the patient needs.”
Dr. Dennis reddened. “I was only following the dosing from the night physician.”
“And if the night physician ate shit, would you eat shit too?”
“Dr. Medina,” I snapped. “We are in a patient’s room. Why don’t we take this to a conference room or the lounge, perhaps?”
He turned to me with a storm brewing in his glare. The hairs at the back of my neck raised. Something was wrong. Something had happened when he went on that trip. Hector closed his eyes, nostrils flaring, and I knew he was counting to ten. He stormed out of the room.
Taking the resident’s tablet, I scanned the patient’s chart quickly and suggested the dosage Hector would have prescribed. I knew the way his mind worked that well. While the patient could do with half the ordered dose, what the night physician—and then Dr. Dennis—had ordered wasn’t outside protocol restrictions. Neither of them had done anything wrong. “Don’t worry, Dr. Dennis. I’m sure this isn’t about you,” I reassured him, and he nodded.
I ran out of the room, trying to catch up to Hector so I could find out what was going on before he abused any more residents and scared them away from the hospital for good. He entered the physician’s lounge, and I followed.
It was lunchtime, and the room was packed. I took a deep breath before approaching him by the refrigerator.
“Who the hell took my lunch?” Hector roared and slammed the refrigerator shut. All eyes in the lounge turned to him. Shit. This wasn’t good.
“Dr. Medina,” I said. “Can we please talk in your office?”
“It’s not the time, Carolina,” he said. “I’m in no mood to talk.”
He’d said my first name at work, in front of my peers. My eyes closed for a moment as if I were trying to rewind the last few seconds. I felt the stares as all eyes turned to me.
“Dr. Medina, it’s urgent.” I pointed out of the room in a gesture for him to lead us outside.
He groaned, but then, as if suddenly becoming aware of all the eyes, he charged out of the room. On my way out, I noticed Dr. Keach. He had followed us and was lingering by the door. As I passed him, he said, “Lover’s quarrel?” loud enough for anyone near us to hear.
Fuck off, I thought. “He is having a personal problem,” I tried to explain.
“Oh, I’m sure it is personal,” he said suggestively.
“Dr. Keach, I don’t have the time or the crayons to explain to you what personal means.” I also spoke loudly enough for people to hear. I left him standing there, stunned, his mouth open.
Shit, I thought as I dashed to Hector’s office. Dr. Keach wouldn’t forget that public insult so easily—but that was a problem for another day.
I busted into Hector’s office, and I was fuming.
He stood facing the window, arms crossed, as he looked onto a view of an autumn Kansas City turning yellow and orange and golden below us.
“What the hell, Hector?”
“I’m sorry,” he hissed, but it didn’t sound sincere. He didn’t turn to face me, either.
“That little stunt you pulled,” I said, “was so unprofessional.”
“I know,” he said, this time resigned. He turned and sat at his desk. He buried his head in his hands with shame. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“What is happening?” I asked as I sat in front of him. He sat up and stared me in the eye.
“Carolina, I—I’m having a bad day.”
“I was able to deduce that, thank you, Doctor. But you can’t call me by my first name at work when you are angry. It looked like we were fighting, and you know the rumors will pick up—”
“Oh, fuck the rumors, Carolina.”
Don’t lose your temper. I schooled my face. “Dr. Medina, you are a well-established and well-respected physician. I am just starting out. I can’t just say fuck the rumors, as you have so eloquently put it.”
“I’m sorry. I know. I really meant it when I said it wasn’t a good time to talk; I knew I’d be an ass. I have a temper.”
“It’s good to know you have flaws.”
He smiled, but it was weak on his lips.
“Now, will you please tell me what’s happening?”
H
ector threw a sizable yellow envelope my way. “Go ahead. Open it. I don’t mind.”
I pulled the stack of papers out and scanned through the first page.
I took a deep breath. Oh, no. “Divorce papers?”
Hector nodded.
“I’m really sorry,” I said.
“Yeah, me too. I had a great trip with my mom. I was looking forward to my first day home, ready to get back to work, but instead, my morning started with getting served divorce papers.” Hector laughed bitterly.
“I am so sorry,” I repeated, feeling stupid. But what else do you say to someone who is utterly devastated?
“Thank you . . . she’s been asking me for a divorce for a while now. I’ve always said no, hoping we could get back to where we were, but it never happened. I guess she got tired of waiting for me to get on board with the separation—went ahead and pulled the trigger on our marriage.”
“That sucks, Hector.” Part of me meant it; another smaller, meaner part of me didn’t.
“Yeah, it does.”
“But it doesn’t excuse the way you treated that resident.”
“I know.” He sighed.
“Nor the scene you made. Now, everyone thinks we are—”
“I’ll fix it. I promise.”
I wiped my clammy hands on my scrub pants. I shouldn’t ask, it was none of my business, and yet I had to know. “Are you going to sign?”
His lips pressed together, but then he shook his head. “No. Not without one last-ditch effort to save things.”
He was a good man, and he was doing the right thing. Why, then, did it feel like that one year Dad forgot my birthday?
“Well, I need you to do me a favor. Take the day off. Go home. Stop making an ass of yourself.”
Chapter 15
Hot Man Reading
“You have a minute?” I asked as I peeked into Hector’s office.
“Sure, come in.”
I dropped the thick stack of papers organized in manila folders onto his desk, where they landed with a heavy thud.
Hector blinked at me. “What’s this?” he asked.
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