by J. L. Berg
“I didn’t think about it.”
I grinned, folding my arms in front of me. “You got off work early, were eager to pick up your daughter, and the first thought in your head wasn’t, Maybe I should use that phone number Dean wrote down for me before he left with my kid?”
“I—”
“You wanted to sneak up on me,” I said, cutting her off, sending Lizzie a lazy wink, which caused her to giggle. “You wanted to see just how well I was living up to my word, didn’t you?”
Her arms flew up in the air. “Okay, yes!” she admitted. “I did. But do you blame me? I show up to a town I’ve never been to, and I’m living in someone else’s house, working for another person I barely know, and then you show up and offer to babysit my child when I basically have no other choice.”
“You’re not a very trusting person, are you?”
“Are you?” she fired back.
“Yes,” I answered firmly.
“Well, good for you. Some of us don’t have that luxury.”
And there it was. That haunting look I’d seen in her eyes the night before. It was here again, and the instant I saw it, I wanted to pull her into my arms and erase it, no matter the cost.
But I knew, if I did, she’d bolt. Like a deer caught in the headlights, she’d run and never come back.
So, instead of pressing even further, I backed down.
“I’d better go,” I said, meeting those sad eyes once more. “I need to get some things done.”
“But what about lunch? And my finger fish?” Lizzie cried out.
I smiled in her direction, leaning forward, like I had a special secret just for her.
“Here’s the trick, kid. Are you ready?”
She giggled, scooting up onto her knees so that she could lean forward over the table.
“Use your fingers,” I whispered loudly so that her mom could hear.
Lizzie laughed wildly, her hand covering her mouth but doing little to muffle the sound.
“And make sure your mom does the same,” I instructed before rising from my seat.
“But what about your food?” Lizzie asked.
I threw enough cash down on the table to cover the two meals plus an ample tip.
“Well, now, your mom will have no excuse but to eat fish with you!” I said, giving her one last wink.
Cora began protesting the money I’d just dropped. I ignored every word as I walked away. I knew my mama would be appalled by my behavior, but someone needed to show Cora Carpenter that in this town we took care of one another.
Even if she didn’t like it.
It didn’t take Jake long to track me down after he returned home from his business up the coast, and we met up for a late beer at one of our favorite places in town, Taps. Since his return to Ocracoke earlier that year, I’d grown accustomed to seeing the various new sides to my childhood friend. After all, we had both changed a great deal since high school.
But, sitting across from him tonight, I could see the stress from the clinic was weighing heavily on him.
That, or it was something else.
“Dude, you look like hell,” I said after several microbrews samples arrived on the table for us to try.
In an effort to attract tourists, Gavin, the bartender and longtime friend, had recently renovated the long-standing restaurant and given it an updated tap-house feel, hoping locals would appreciate the selection of brews as well.
We did.
Jake and I came in every chance we had, slowly making our way through the impressive menu as we dined on the equally ambitious bar food.
“Kind of feel like it, too, but thanks for bringing it up.”
“Please tell me this is just clinic stress and not some precursor to you making a beeline out of here again.”
He set his beer down as his face went rigid. “No. Hell no. I’m not leaving. Not ever again. This? This is just me pushing through. Betty leaving was a solid blow, one I honestly wasn’t prepared for. Leave it to the highly trained, prepared-for-anything cardiothoracic surgeon to crumble at the first sign of distress when his only nurse retires.”
“Is there anything I can do? I don’t know shit about medical stuff, but I’m sure I could come in and—”
He held up a hand. “It’s fine. Really. Cora is learning the ropes. It’s only been two days. One and a half actually.”
“How is she doing?” I asked. “I mean, is she acclimating well?”
He nodded, helping himself to the nachos we’d ordered. “She’s going to be great. Honestly, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better.”
And there it was. My window. To ask about Cora. To tell him about the way she’d shied away from my touch. The haunted look in her eyes.
It was right there, hanging in the silence, but I let it go.
Why?
Because this wasn’t Jake’s problem.
And it wasn’t mine either.
I needed to step back and mind my own business.
She clearly didn’t need my help.
“I’m just desperate for it to simmer down,” he continued. “Molly and I have been back together for only a handful of months, and with the wedding coming up—”
“You want time,” I finished, understanding his dilemma.
“I know that’s lame and selfish. But that’s just where I am.”
“It’s not lame or selfish. You’ve given yourself completely to this town. Wanting a little time with your fiancée isn’t asking much. Are you sure you don’t need anything? And don’t give me that shit about having it all under control.”
He chuckled, taking a sip from one of the amber-colored glasses, before answering, “As much as I want to say no, I can’t. I really do need help.”
“Knew it. And who better to help than your loser best friend who has nothing to do?”
He gave me a hard stare. “That’s on you, buddy. There’s nothing holding you back.”
I ignored him and instead pushed ahead. “So, what do you need me to do? Take temperatures? Make appointments? If you say anything that has to do with the phrase turn and cough, I’m out.”
A familiar grin that used to get me in a lot of trouble formed across his face. “Filing.”
“Filing?” I repeated, feeling less than enthused. “All my experience with bookkeeping, not to mention the fact that I own and operate my own company, and you want to use me for filing?”
“Operated.”
“What?”
“Past tense. You do own a company, well, co-own, but as for the operating, that’s all your brother these days. Don’t take credit for that.”
My eyes rolled as that familiar twinge of guilt gnawed at my gut. How long would it continue to do so until I finally broke down and did something about it?
“Whatever,” I finally answered, ignoring the churning feeling in my stomach like I always did. “Anyway, filing?”
“Yep. There’s days’ worth. When Betty left, I put a few in a stack and told myself I’d get to it later, but later never came. There’s stacks on top of stacks. It’s just damn embarrassing. And Cora is so immersed in learning—”
“I get it. You need someone to do the grunt work. Have you ever considered hiring a secretary?”
“Sure,” he sneered. “Give me an extra thirty to forty thousand a year, and I’ll gladly do that.”
“Right. Okay, filing. I can do that,” I said, holding up a half-empty glass of IPA. “Just do me one favor?” I asked.
He gave me a meaningful glance. “Anything.”
“Make sure that fiancée of yours sends you into work with plenty of coffee and pastries.”
He laughed, clinking his glass with mine. “Done.”
It wasn’t until I finished my beer that I realized what I’d just done.
I’d unwittingly reinserted myself into Cora’s life.
So much for minding my own business.
By the time I arrived home, I had a full belly, a bit of a buzz, and a new purpose.
&nb
sp; At least for the time being.
Filing.
I guessed it could be worse.
Leaning back in my desk chair, I removed my prosthesis and pulled off my shirt, feeling the crisp, cold air prickle my skin. Tilting my head back, I ran my hand through my hair. That nagging feeling I’d awoken with still hadn’t abated. The image of Cora jerking her hand away from mine kept replaying in my head in a loop.
It made me recall a particularly rough day in the hospital during my recovery. It was early on when the pain had still been raw and real, and the painkillers had barely been enough to take the edge off.
I’d awoken from a nap, sweat dripping off my body, shaking from the pain coursing through my veins.
Cora was the one to respond to my call button.
And it was her touch alone that calmed me.
The soft, calming caress of her fingers against my forehead as I’d breathed through the pain. It was a connection, one I’d felt once again last night at dinner.
But this time, the one in pain had been her.
Scooting up to my computer, I booted up the screen and pulled up the internet browser, intent on finding some answers.
Starting with Cora’s ex-husband.
Who was this man who’d owned her heart, and what scars had he left in his wake? What had he done to tear apart her trust, to make her pull away from human contact, to fear it even?
I had a pretty good guess, and as I pulled up the name Ashcroft, cross-searching it with the terms lawyer and Virginia Beach, the man I pulled up did nothing to dissuade that feeling.
Blake Ashcroft was the epitome of wealth. Or at least, what I assumed it to be. Even from the photos and articles I found online regarding his prominent cases and well-known family, I could see an arrogance in him. He carried himself in a way that said he thought he was above everyone else.
Just seeing his face caused a hatred deep in my gut, something I was unused to feeling. I’d never been a revenge-seeking, eye-for-an-eye type person. Hell, I’d handed over my own fiancée to my best friend. But Blake Ashcroft stirred a need to protect like I’d never felt before.
Over an hour later, I was spiraling, falling down a Blake Ashcroft rabbit hole. When I’d gone so far as to pull up Google maps to view his house—or the house where he and Cora had lived—I knew I’d gone too far.
“What the hell are you doing?” I asked myself out loud.
Sitting back in the chair, I let out a deep breath and decided it was time for bed. A quick check at the clock in the corner of my laptop confirmed that.
It was late.
But, before I could shut it down, I saw the pesky notification on my email.
Two new emails.
There were two types of people in this world. Those who could let their emails rack up into the tens of thousands without a care in the world. And then there were people like me. Those who saw one new email and had to immediately read or delete it. It was why I’d turned off the notifications on my phone. It’d driven me insane.
Pulling up the email program, I made quick work of deleting the first. Junk mail. I did not need a new duvet cover or whatever the hell the random department store was trying to sell me.
The second email took a bit more time.
When I clicked on it, my eyes narrowed in on the sender. I didn’t recognize it at first. The email address was something abstract. Nothing straightforward like mine, which happened to just be my name.
“SmartieBeachGirl5.” I chuckled. “Someone really needs to change their email address.” I laughed, feeling pretty amused until I began reading the email.
Dear Dean,
This is Lizzie.
Lizzie Ashcroft.
I found your email address on one of the small cards in the office you took me to when I needed to go to the bathroom when we were at the docks today. It had your name on it, so I figured it was yours.
Thanks for lunch. Mommy and I had a fun time eating the fish with our fingers. I think we would have had more fun eating with you though.
That’s why I’m writing you.
My mommy and I moved here to get all new things.
New house, new school. She even said I’d get new toys since I couldn’t take most of mine.
But I don’t really care about toys.
I just want a new Mommy.
Not a different one. Just a happier one.
Mommy was not happy in our old house, but I think she can be here, in our new house and our new town and with new friends.
Will you be my mommy’s friend? I want her to smile again.
Please?
Lizzie
P.S. Can you keep my email address a secret? Mommy would get mad at me if she knew, and I really like talking to you.
I stared at the email for a solid half hour, a mixture of wonder and panic washing over me. I was in awe of this kid. I had been since the moment she popped up from under that desk at the medical clinic. She was beyond her years in so many ways. Not just in academics, but emotionally, too. She saw things most adults spent eons trying to figure out. Or ignore.
She knew her mother was sad.
I wonder what else she knew.
What else she’d seen.
Cora and I had had a rough go of it. So many false starts at this thing called friendship and even a rougher start when I’d tried to make it more.
But, for this little girl, I’d do anything.
No, for this little girl and her mother, I’d move mountains. Starting with a few files, friendship, and a fresh cup of coffee.
Hello Blogiverse,
Did I spell that right? Is that even a thing—spelling a made-up word right?
Who knows? Anyway, it’s finally official!
We’re married!
That’s right. You can now call me Mrs. Handsome Devil!
Ha! Just kidding.
Blake actually hates it when I call him that, which, of course, makes me want to do it more.
We just got back from our honeymoon a few days ago, and I’m settling back into work nicely, although Blake would rather I not work. I don’t know how many times he’s tried to bribe me to quit. I’m pretty sure I could fund a third-world country for an entire year on what this crazy man has offered me just to quit my job.
But I am not a woman of leisure. Or whatever the modern term is. Trophy wife? Maybe that’s not politically correct.
I need to work. I need to be useful and know I’m making an impact in another person’s life. It’s why I chose nursing to begin with. And I think, in time, he’ll understand that. I’ve even invited him down to the hospital to see me in action. I think it would help immensely for him to see his wife—gosh, that’s weird—doing what she does best.
And if we happened to take a stroll by the nursery and caught a glimpse of the newborns?
Well, that would just purely be accidental.
“Why are there so many trucks in this town?” I barked rather loudly as I shoved the back door to the clinic open, my eyes still angry over being open so early in the morning.
It had been another late night for me.
Another sleepless night where I’d lain awake, filled with worry, guilt, and panic.
Had I made the right choice, moving here?
Could I do it all? Pay the bills, be a mom and a dad to Lizzie, and keep it all together after everything that had happened?
And then the guilt over my family had washed over me like a cherry on top of this whole messed up, emotional sundae I’d made.
Jake gave me a once-over before treading lightly. “Well, they’re practical. Like SUVs and Jeeps. No point in living on a sandy beach and trying to navigate dusty, unpaved roads in a sedan.”
I gave him a hard stare. “And I’ll just shut up now.”
He backed down, choosing to focus on the chart in his hand.
The rational side of me knew he was doing his best, deciding to answer me with a valid point.
But the irrational side that was running on fumes an
d a handful of Cheerios? That side wanted him to agree with me and say it was stupid just so I could vent about the jackass who had nearly run me off the road on my way here.
“If you want to take a break from shooting dangers at my head, I have coffee,” he said softly, taking a sheepish step toward a large thermos. “And pastries. Still warm.”
My eyes warmed slightly as he handed me a Danish. “Molly sends her love. She told me to say that.” He smiled. “Probably so I wouldn’t get all the credit.”
His joke made me laugh, and I took the Danish, feeling calmer already.
“Thank you,” I said before adding, “or I should say, Thank you, Molly.”
We sat in silence, eating the amazing pastries Jake’s wonderful fiancée had sent over, before his concerned expression turned back to me.
“You doing okay?” he asked.
I straightened, realizing whom I’d snapped at. Not just anyone, but my boss.
The man who held my future in his hands.
One nurse on this island.
Only one.
If I got fired, I would have to start all over again.
New town. New home. New school.
“Whoa.” He held up his hands in mock surrender. “Calm down. I just wanted to check in on you as a friend. I’m allowed to do that, right? I’m used to wearing two hats in this town. I’m both doctor and friend. I figured we could do the same. Sometimes, I’m your boss, and other times, I’m just a friend you work with.”
Nodding, I reluctantly agreed, “Okay.”
He smiled, leaning back against the counter, as I watched him shove an entire Danish into his mouth. It was the fourth or fifth maybe. How that man remained trim and athletic, I had no idea. Anyone else, and Molly would have had him looking like Saint Nick by now.
“So, you want to tell me why you hate truck drivers?” he asked.
“I was on the main road, driving here this morning, and when I got to the fork, some jerk did a total one-eighty right in the middle of the road and nearly took me out. The cloud dust he’d created made it all but impossible for me to see, but I did manage to make out the fact that he was driving a huge gray truck.”