Not Quite Enough (Not Quite series)

by Catherine Bybee

  Shortly after noon the next day two small miracles shed light in Monica’s world. Walt arrived in an ambulance, a real equipped medical transport, complete with a portable monitor and supplies. The second miracle was power. Real power, not the flaky kind that was knocked out with the wind. Monica would have been giddy if she’d managed anything other than a catnap beside the red room wall.

  Like a zombie, she led Walt from patient to patient, explaining everything she’d done. “The antibiotics are dangerously low. We’ve managed a gram of Ancef on the worst of them, and a secondary dose on these four,” she said pointing to those in the room. “We ran out of tetanus last night. Our gauze, antibiotic cream, splints… everything is nearly gone. There’s not quite enough of anything to fill everyone’s needs.”

  Walt shook his head and pulled her aside. “We need to get Mari to the main hospital.” Mari was a thirty-two-year-old woman who’d come in with a penetrating wound to her abdomen. Every hour her vital signs grew graver.

  “I didn’t think she’d make the trip in the back of a truck.”

  Walt patted her on the back, as if assuring her for her decisions. “She might not make it anyway. I can’t operate here. It’s worse than Donald thought. No one told him half the building crumbled.”

  “Shandee assured me the only thing under the debris was a storage room.”

  Monica hid a yawn behind her hand.

  “When was the last time you slept?”

  She was fading, and knew it. “It’s been a while.”

  Walt tilted his head to the side in question.

  “Back at the main hospital. But I’ve managed a few winks against the wall.”

  “Is there any place you can go here? A quiet room?”

  “Are you kidding me? The people are roaming the streets. Most have lost their homes. You saw it out there. If it wasn’t for Trent, I wouldn’t have managed even a shower since we arrived.”

  “Who’s Trent?”

  Monica glanced around the room searching for him. He’d left during the night for a few hours, and returned with coffee. Thank the heavens.

  “The pilot. He’s around here somewhere.”

  As if Trent heard his name being called, he emerged in the doorway.

  Monica waved him over.

  “Trent, do you remember Dr. Eddy?”

  “Walt,” her colleague corrected her.

  The men shook hands.

  “Thanks for stepping in,” Walt said.

  “There’s not a lot I can do.”

  Walt glanced between them. “Can I ask a favor of you?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can you get Monica out of here for a while? She needs some sleep.”

  She wanted to argue. She’d already put Trent out enough. The poor guy didn’t have much of a choice. As it was, Monica recruited any able-bodied person to some task or another. But Trent had something none of the rest of them did. He had a house that still stood… and a shower. “You don’t have to,” she offered but knew her lame voice gave away her desire for a little downtime.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I keep waiting for you to drop.”

  Walt laughed. “Not our Monica. She’s the embodiment of the Energizer Bunny.” He nudged Monica with his shoulder. “Get out of here. I don’t want to see you for at least ten hours.”

  Monica’s eyes grew wide. “But—”

  “Another group of medical relief arrived. I’ll have Donald send more help.” He made shooing motions with his hands.

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Go.”

  Monica caught Trent’s smile as they turned around.

  “Oh, and Monica?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You did great.”

  Chapter Seven

  Trent shot out of bed, his heart racing, sweat dampened his sheets.

  He didn’t remember his dream. He didn’t need to. His body recognized the uncomfortable burn of memories… lost dreams. It had been two years since a dream forced him from his bed.

  Why now?

  But he knew. A woman slept in his home, a beautiful, intelligent, and smart-ass woman who sparked memories.

  With his sleep patterns completely screwed up, Trent pushed back the covers, encountered Ginger who had taken to the bed since the earthquake, and padded barefoot around his room. The moon shed some light inside the house, and kept him from running into walls. He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and walked quietly past his guest’s bedroom and out onto his back deck.

  The warm Caribbean air was a welcome relief. Up here, on his perch that overlooked the ocean, he could forget the world literally crumbling around him. Here he could listen to the gentle waves far below and the crickets calling in the night.

  Here he could forget.

  Here he could heal.

  Ginger walked in a circle at his feet and curled up in a ball before settling to sleep in a different spot.

  Jamaica had been his sanctuary, a sabbatical that was no doubt coming to an end. It would take years for the island to regain its legs, for tourists to have a desire to return.

  He could relocate Alex and Betty… if they wanted to leave. Blue Paradise Helicopter Tours could return when the island rebuilt.

  Without work, without something occupying his mind, Trent would likely feel guilty and he’d avoided that pesky emotion for a long-ass time.

  The past five days he’d felt plenty.

  Has it only been five days?

  Five long, grueling days that would all fold into themselves for some time to come if he stayed on the island.

  Ginger whined at his feet and jumped up. The crickets grew quiet, and the night seemed to pause.

  The earth rolled, a small shock that stopped nearly as soon as it began. Trent wondered if it woke his guest. Did Monica open her eyes and roll back over? Ginger was already curling back into a fuzzy ball to sleep. Ah, to be a dog…

  A noise from inside the house, and Ginger lifting her head, answered his questions about Monica.

  He sensed her eyes on him before she stepped beside the open French doors. “So was that a four?” he asked.

  She chuckled. “Hardly. I just can’t sleep.”

  Trent looked over and caught his breath. Her hair was ruffled from sleep, her eyes still half-open, or maybe half-asleep would be a better description. She wore tiny sleeping shorts and a soft pink T-shirt that said “Classy” over her breasts. Breasts that were not held up by a bra. He noticed her pert nipples through the thin fabric at the exact moment he realized he was staring.

  After shifting his gaze to the landscape, and not that of the beautiful woman standing in his home, he said, “It’s a nice night not to sleep.”

  She walked around him to the other cushioned chair and curled her legs under her as she sat. “It’s nice out here,” she said just above a whisper.

  “In about thirty minutes it’s going to be even better.”

  “Oh?”

  “Sunrise.”

  Monica leaned her head back with a sigh. “I don’t think I’ve watched a sunrise. Plenty of sunsets on the West Coast.”

  “Do you live by the ocean?”

  “No. I’m an hour and a half from the shore. I wouldn’t mind moving closer, but coastal living is so expensive.”

  They sat in silence for a while. Monica was alone in whatever thoughts were running through her mind, and Trent was stealing a glance at her bare legs and comfortable presence. It dawned on him that if she wasn’t with him at that moment, he’d wonder where she was… what she was doing.

  He pinched the bridge of his nose and wished the thought away. His skin heated just thinking of her. It’s chemistry. Nothing more, he told himself. The brief affairs he’d had while living on the island were always with a tourist visiting for a week, maybe two. Mutual sexual satisfaction that never ended up with the woman sitting across from him watching a sunrise in his home.

  Monica might not be a tourist, and she certainly wasn’t there on a pleasure trip, but she was
just as temporary.

  “I was thinking—” Monica interrupted his thoughts. “You fly the helicopter for tourists, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does this mess mean you’re out of a job?”

  Not hardly. But he understood her question. “In a way. Tourists won’t return anytime soon.”

  “Are you going to stay here? Will you lose your home?” There was real distress in her voice.

  “Nothing so dire. Blue Paradise has other locations.”

  “Oh, so you think they’ll transfer you?”

  He chuckled.

  “What’s funny?”

  “I’m part owner of Blue Paradise.”

  Her lips formed a perfect o. She shifted her gaze back to the ocean. “Will you stay here and help rebuild?”

  He shrugged. “Probably not. Getting groceries is going to be a problem and living on a generator long-term is a lot like camping.”

  “It sucks that you’ll have to leave your home.”

  And his sanctuary. “I’ll be all right.”

  Now she laughed softly. “You’ll find another place for shorts and flip-flops?”

  “Maybe.”

  The dark sky started its slow dance toward light. The faint glow of blue stretched out on the horizon and grew steadily until orange and red rays filtered through the distant clouds. He glanced over and saw the wonder on Monica’s face. Her bright ice blue eyes never left nature’s opening act. Even the crickets seem to hold their breath, and the birds held off their morning song, as the sun rose.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  He shivered. Just watching her sent a different sort of chemistry through him.

  She caught him staring and offered her smile.

  He knew then that messing with Monica wouldn’t be a simple exercise in sexual relief. No, it would get complicated… very complicated.

  “I’ll make some coffee,” he said suddenly, pulling himself out of the tractor beams of her gaze as he left the patio and escaped into the house.

  Monica watched as Trent fled the patio as if she were the head “pregnant” cheerleader walking into the high school football team’s locker room, and he was the quarterback.

  Even Ginger popped her head out of her paws to watch him leave.

  “What’s with him?” Monica asked the dog.

  Ginger released a deep sigh and settled back down.

  Monica returned her attention to the sunrise and smiled. It really was spectacular. For a brief moment, she forgot why she was in Jamaica and just enjoyed the sky.

  Noise from the back of the house indicated that Trent fired up the generator so he could brew the coffee.

  Her mouth salivated with the thought.

  Her limbs started to twitch with a need to move. Letting Trent do all the work didn’t feel right. Monica unfolded from the chair and walked inside. Trent stood over the sink, one hand poised on each side. He was staring out the window lost in his own thoughts.

  He was a million miles away… and Monica was disturbing him.

  She started inching her way back outside when Ginger took that moment to bark from behind Monica.

  Trent’s eyes traveled to her and narrowed before they slid down her frame.

  Monica wasn’t sure if it was admiration or discontent, but she knew something about the man had changed from the moment she stepped outside to watch the sunrise. She crossed her arms over her chest, aware for the first time that she wasn’t dressed for mixed company… especially with whom she wasn’t intimate. “Did you need some help?”

  Trent shook his head and turned away, opened a cabinet. “I got it.” His tone was gruff.

  She suddenly felt very exposed and extremely unwanted. “I’ll shower then,” she said just as quickly.

  “The water’s not warm yet.”

  “It’s OK, a cold shower will wake me up.” Besides, this room was cold enough to chill her. Being alone with cold water would feel better.

  She started toward the guest bathroom when Trent’s voice stopped her. “Monica?”

  A rush of unwanted and unexpected tears filled her eyes. She hesitated and felt her throat clog. “On second thought,” she said with only a slight tremor in her voice. “A quick run will give me the jolt I need for today.”

  He called her name again, but she fled to the room she’d slept in and closed the door behind her. She wasn’t sure what had changed… changed before either of them could act on the sparks that were obvious between them, but she was glad for it. She didn’t do tears and heartache. Disappoint them first. Leave before either of them could care was even better.

  Apparently she and Trent would be a “leave him with only a thought,” which was better.

  He’d probably be terrible in bed. A sloppy kisser. All wet with no meat.

  Two minutes later, she pushed out of her room, her running shoes on and the one pair of running shorts donned. She’d seen the stairs that led down the steep cliff below Trent’s home and let the early morning light lead the way. She didn’t hear anything in the house as she snuck away.

  Not long after her shoes hit the beach, she heard a bark behind her.

  Ginger.

  Thankfully Trent wasn’t behind the dog. The tightening in her chest was relief and not disappointment, or so she told herself. A quick run would clear her head; bring her back to her own level of homeostasis. A word she didn’t know existed before she went to nursing school. Her state of normalcy had always included a void of some sort in her life.

  Even those years when she lived with Jessie and Danny, life had never been truly complete.

  Monica called the dog and took off at a fast run.

  Just thinking of Jessie reminded Monica of home. Home being nothing more than an empty apartment in an inland suburb of California surrounded by other people just trying to make a buck and pay the rent. The apartment was empty now that Jessie had moved to Texas, and it appeared that Katie and Dean would be moving back to Texas as well since Dean’s construction company was expanding. The move made sense. Both Katie’s and Dean’s families lived in the big state and they couldn’t get enough of their daughter, Savannah.

  For Monica, however, not having Katie nearby, and with Jessie spending less and less time in California, made her feel strangely empty.

  Where did that leave her?

  In a go nowhere place, way too close to her mother.

  If there was one person on the face of the earth that didn’t get her it was Renee. Her mother shacked up with whoever the latest guy was, and moved on when the sex grew stale.

  Monica didn’t even know her dad. He left when she was hardly out of diapers and she certainly didn’t remember him. He was an enigma. A useless mystery, but a giant question mark in Monica’s life nonetheless.

  In short… everyone that should mean something to her had moved on.

  Monica leapt over debris swept up by the tsunami and kept running. Ginger thought it was a game and ran ahead only to stop, pant, and keep going when Monica caught up.

  People moved on.

  Just like Monica would do with the people she’d come in contact with here on the island.

  Just like with Trent.

  She’d known him for what, three days? Why did she care that he’d seemed desperate for her to leave his space?

  Because rejection sucked.

  I should be used to it by now.

  Monica pushed her body harder, dodged the foamy sea as it rushed her way, and kept going.

  The sea stopped her progression with an outcropping of rocks, forcing her to turn back.

  She wasn’t ready, but unless she wanted to go for a swim, she’d have to run back to Trent’s home and suffer his indifference through a stiff coffee and a ride back to the clinic.

  She’d find a way to avoid him after that.

  And she’d be all right. The Ice Queen didn’t crack.

  Trent sat on the steps leading to his home. Waiting for her.

  Monica slowed as she approached him, but
was ready to blow past him with the need for a shower ready as her excuse to avoid him.

  She knew he saw her, but he kept his eye on the sea. He glanced at her feet when she wasn’t two yards from him. There was a cup in his hand. “It’s probably cold by now,” he said.

  She took it from him anyway. “Iced coffee is the thing back home.” She tried to laugh off his gesture.

  One sip and she knew he paid attention. There was a slight taste of sugar mixed with a strong, albeit cold, java. “Thanks,” she said.

  Turning her back to him, she took another swallow of the coffee.

  “You left,” he finally said.

  “I needed to clear my head. Get ready for a crazy day.” Starting with you and ending with God knows what.

  After an obscene amount of silence, Monica needed to break free.

  “I’ll shower and then… can you take me back to the clinic?” Last night she didn’t feel the need to even ask, but for some reason she did now. The lack of control in her life made her shake. It wasn’t as if she could call a cab… or anyone. She had Walt’s number, but there was no guarantee he was still at the clinic, or that he could retrieve her.

  “Of course,” he said as he stood.

  Her throat tightened again. So much for the run clearing my head.

  He stood rooted on the step so she attempted to move around him. His hand caught her forearm. His touch felt like fire. Hot with a current of its own.

  “Monica?”

  She stopped and felt the air around her disappear. He stood close, too close to breathe. The pull of his gaze wasn’t avoidable. When she looked, his eyes were focused on her.

  Something behind his eyes spoke of sorrow.

  He loosened his hold and lightly traced the inside of her arm.

  She shivered and felt her breath catch again. In a bar, or a local hangout, the feeling swimming inside her and settling deep in her core would have been welcome. But here, on the beach with the sunrise a recent memory, with more life and death than anyone could ever imagine filling every corner of her world, Monica didn’t welcome it.

  It scared her more than being in a helicopter with a barefoot pilot en route to the end of the world.