Going Rogue

by Chantal Fernando

  “Who?” she asks, looking confused. She stares back down at her plate and goes quiet, making a few incoherent noises, and I know that I’m not going to get any answers from her today. She’s like a different person when these moods hit, and it’s painful for me to watch, so I can’t imagine how hard it must be for Rogue.

  After breakfast, I bathe and dress her and tuck her back into bed. She stays quiet the whole time, which I shouldn’t complain about, because some patients get violent, lashing out at me and refusing to cooperate. But usually Mrs. K does things on her own, and chats with me and cracks jokes, so when she’s quiet like this, I really feel it.

  I know that a lot of the residents in the dementia ward get hit hard with depression, and I’d hate for her to go through that as well.

  The morning passes quickly, and before I know it, it’s lunchtime and I’m walking to my car with my food in my hand, ready to enjoy my thirty minutes of peace and quiet. Before I make it to my car, however, a familiar sound echoes, loud as ever, and takes the parking spot next to me. Either his timing is a coincidence or he guessed I’d be having lunch at the same time I did yesterday. Not sure what to do, I awkwardly stand next to my car and watch him climb off his death trap, removing his helmet to reveal his thick head of blond hair, his eyes going straight to me.

  “Just in time for lunch, huh?” he quips, looking pretty pleased with himself. He reaches into his saddlebag and pulls out a brown bag. “I didn’t know what you liked, but there’s this place near where I live that sells the best burgers in town, so I brought you one, with some fries and other things.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and study him. “You brought me lunch? What if I wasn’t even at work today?”

  He shrugs and steps closer to me, food in hand. “Then I’d just try again tomorrow. I was kind of hoping you’d be here, though, and that maybe you’d invite me to join you in your car on your break.”

  How the heck can I say no to that?

  Suddenly wishing I cleaned my car this morning, I hesitantly nod and unlock the doors. “I can’t exactly say no when that burger smells like heaven and my mouth is watering.” All I brought was a ham and cheese sandwich, which is sounding extremely unappealing.

  “I thought you might say that,” he murmurs, chuckling to himself.

  “We don’t have to sit in the car, though, there’s a little patch of grass over there we can sit on,” I tell him, pointing to the side of the building. He’ll probably enjoy it more than my stuffy car. “I sit there sometimes when I’m feeling social.”

  “And how often is that?” he asks, smiling.

  My God, his smile. I will never get tired of seeing it.

  “I don’t know, maybe once this year so far,” I admit, leading him over there, his laughter following me. “I don’t know what you find so hilarious,” I grumble, sitting cross-legged on the soft grass and waiting for him to do the same. Once he’s seated, he rips open the bag and uses it as a plate to spread the food out.

  “I think I need to know where this place is,” I tell him, eyeing what might be the most delicious burger I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Especially if it tastes as good as it looks.”

  “It tastes better,” he tells me, gesturing for me to help myself.

  After one bite, I have to agree with him.

  “Thank you for bringing me this,” I tell him, remembering my manners. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I know, but I wanted to. I was grabbing something for myself, and I thought of you, sitting alone in your car, eating your lunch. I knew you’d love this. I’ve never met someone who hasn’t.”

  “I happen to enjoy sitting alone in my car. It’s my thirty minutes of peace and quiet.”

  He shakes his head. “Really? And here I am, interrupting your peace.”

  “Yeah, but you brought food, so I’ll forgive you. Is this place some well-kept secret?” I ask him, licking my lips. “I’m a foodie, so I should have known about it already. I once did that burger crawl all over the city, to all the best spots, and this place wasn’t on there.”

  “They have burger crawls?” he asks, sounding surprised.

  “They have all kinds of crawls,” I tell him, taking the chance to examine his face close up. He looks young, late twenties, I’m guessing, and I know his mom is sixty, so she must have had him in her thirties. “You’ve never been on one? Not even a pub crawl?”

  He shakes his head. “Can’t say I have. Maybe you’ll have to take me on one someday.”

  “Maybe I will,” I fire back, feeling a little more settled in his presence. “I’m sorry I kind of freaked out when you asked me out yesterday. To be honest, I did want to hang out with you, but I guess I don’t know what you want from me, exactly.” I look him in the eye. “I’ve been kind of boring recently, and haven’t been doing much other than working, and I don’t know, maybe I’m stuck in a rut and the thought of doing something spontaneous made me feel a little unsure.”

  “So the next time I ask you out, I’ll make sure I give you five business days’ notice?” he teases.

  He sounds so sure that there’s going to be a next time.

  “I’d appreciate that,” I reply on a soft laugh.

  “And is just wanting to hang out with you not enough?” he asks me in a gentle tone, thoughtfully chewing on a fry. “I don’t want anything from you, Zoe, just your company. If you’re looking for a promise of some kind, I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”

  Is that what I’m looking for?

  I just met this man, and I’m attracted to him, and he wants to spend time with me and I’m questioning it. But you know what? I have every right to. This is 2018, and times have changed. People come into your life, take what they want, and then leave. It’s not the first time this has happened to me, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. The thing is, I can’t control other people’s actions. I can control mine, though, and how much I let other people affect me. If I have no expectations and enjoy the moment, practicing nonattachment, I will never get hurt. Basically, I need to get what I want out of this, and yeah, I do want to spend more time with Rogue.

  “Maybe we should just be friends,” I say, teasing him.

  His lip twitches. “Did you just friend-zone me? I don’t think this has ever happened to me.”

  He sounds both amused and incredulous, and with his looks, he should be. Looks aren’t everything, though, and if he thought I was going to go running to him because he has a pretty face and a nice body, he doesn’t know me at all. Looks matter, don’t get me wrong, and I noticed him straightaway—I’m a woman, after all. When it comes to love, though, I want my soul appeased, not just my eyes.

  “Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” I reply, flashing him a smug smile. “Can’t let that ego of yours get too big.”

  “No, I guess we wouldn’t want that,” he murmurs, and we share a look and a grin. “Well, this is me, putting in my notice. Coffee?”

  I laugh and shake my head. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Not unless you tell me you’re not interested,” he fires back.

  If I told him I wasn’t interested, that would be a lie, and I think he’s as aware of that fact as I am.

  Shit.

  I decide to change the subject. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  He chuckles.

  After we finish our food, chatting about everything and nothing, we start to clean up.

  “Is she having a good day?” he asks me as I’m brushing grass off my butt.

  I look up at him, and he must see the answer in my eyes because his face drops.

  “She’s been quiet and not talking much,” I admit, throwing the bag of garbage in the bin behind us. “I think there are some days where they just realize what’s happening to them, you know?”

  Imagine forgetting things that have always been a part of you but then having moments of recollection. Their brains are essentially deteriorating, and they have no control over anything anymor
e. More often than not, they fall into a bad place, and they feel hopeless.

  “Yeah, it’s hard being around her when she looks at me blankly, like she has no idea who I am or why I’m in her room.” He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. “It’s really been eating at me, if I’m being honest. How do you come here every day? Doesn’t it make you a little depressed?”

  I start walking toward the entrance and consider how to answer this. “I got into aged care because my grandfather had dementia and needed someone to look after him. I wanted to be a teacher, growing up, but I don’t know, I didn’t trust anyone else to look after him, to be honest. You hear and see all of these stories of the elderly being mistreated, and they can’t exactly stand up for themselves. After he passed away, I continued my studies. I’ve thought about quitting and heading back to college to become a teacher, but I started being requested by families who trust me and want me to be there for their loved ones. Then I found this place, and what can I say, I get attached.”

  “I think it takes a special kind of soul to do what you do,” he says to me, pride in his eyes. “Not everyone could do it.”

  “I know,” I admit, shrugging. “It’s not glamorous, but I like to help, make a small difference in the world.”

  “I think you do that here,” he tells me, opening the door for me. “You have a gentleness about you. It’s nice to be around. Maybe some of that will spread to me.”

  “You never mentioned what you do for work,” I say, realizing that all I know about him is his mother. Which I guess is something very personal to know about a man you’ve just met. I guess it bonds us, in a way.

  “I’m an entrepreneur,” he replies with a smirk. “I own a few businesses with a couple of friends.”

  “Any I would have heard about?” I ask, wanting to know more.

  “Most likely,” he replies, glancing down at me. “I better go in and see Mom. Will you be coming in to check on her, or someone else?”

  “I will,” I tell him.

  “See you soon, then,” he replies, and then he does something I don’t see coming.

  He places a soft, gentle kiss on my forehead, then walks away like nothing happened.

  Like he didn’t just give me the most contact I’ve had with a male in over a year.

  How depressing is that?

  I touch my forehead with my fingers, then go and wash and disinfect my hands before getting back to work, in such a food coma from the meal Rogue spoiled me with that I’d like nothing more than to take a nap.

  But I have work to do.

  5

  I hear music playing when I approach the room, and the most beautiful voice singing in a low, deep timbre. Intrigued, I stop by the slightly ajar door and just listen to the lyrics of “Safe Inside” by James Arthur. I know and love the song, and I smile to myself as I listen. When the song is over, feeling a little like a creeper, I open the door fully to see Rogue sitting there with a guitar in his hands, singing to his mother, who seems to be enjoying the music, to judge by the little smile on her face.

  “You can sing?” I ask him, in awe of his talent. “And not like karaoke sing, I mean you can really sing.”

  I’m surprised, and I have goose bumps all over my body. I can’t describe how beautiful and smooth his voice is: It’s a voice that should be shared with everyone, on the radio and played live for the world to see.

  “Mom loves it when I sing to her,” he explains, placing the guitar down and shrugging. I’ve seen that guitar in her closet but never really thought too much about it, assuming that she used to play and kept it for sentimental reasons. “So on the days she doesn’t want to talk or doesn’t really remember me, I sing, and even if she might not remember who I am, it still makes her happy.”

  I can feel the tears threatening to make an appearance, so I turn around and pretend to look down at her charts so he doesn’t see.

  “Are you okay?” he asks from behind me.

  I pull myself together, take a deep breath, turn around, and nod. “I’m fine. It’s just what you said . . . it’s beautiful. And your singing is even more so.”

  “Thank you,” he murmurs, ducking his head. “Do you need me to help you do anything?”

  I think he’s the first person to ever offer. No one wants to help, even if it’s for a close family member. They usually just watch me with a horrid type of fascination as I go about my routine.

  “No,” I tell him. “I just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Can I get you anything? A coffee or something?”

  Rogue has been here every day the last week, bringing me lunch each day and slowly worming his way into my life. We chat, laugh, and have gotten to know each other. My guard is still up, but damn, it’s getting harder and harder every day to say no to him. Am I making the right decision by trying to protect myself? It feels like the right thing to do, to avoid him at all costs. But there is something about him that I gravitate toward.

  He shakes his head. “No, but thank you.”

  “How about you, Mrs. K? Is there anything I can get for you?” I ask the woman, moving closer and checking her over.

  She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything and doesn’t take her eyes off her son. I’m having trouble taking my eyes off him myself.

  “Let me know if either of you need anything,” I tell Rogue, then back out of the room as he picks up his guitar again and starts to play. I close the door and rest my back up against it, listening for a few moments. Other than hiding in my car, I think I’ve found something else to bring me a little peace.

  His voice.

  I know that I’ve disconnected myself from the world, put myself in some self-imposed isolation, and I think it all goes back to when I lost my grandfather. He was everything to me, and I don’t think I handled his loss well. I kind of retreated into my space, and I’ve been here ever since.

  I force myself to get back to work, but I can’t help but walk past Mrs. K’s room every chance I get.

  “He’s amazing, isn’t he?” Marissa says as she walks by, fanning herself with her hands. I wouldn’t call her a friend, but we do chat every now and again. She has a boyfriend she’s obsessed with, and he drops her off and picks her up every day so he can use her car.

  “Yeah, he is,” I agree, trying to keep my tone even. Last thing I need is anyone to figure out that I have a crush on one of our resident’s family members. The staff here tend to gossip a lot, and trust me when I say that it will be the talk of the home.

  “And he’s so handsome,” she breathes. “Have you seen him? He’s legit the hottest man I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ummm,” I mumble, trying to play it off. “Yeah, he’s good looking, I guess. Anyway, I have to get back to work.”

  I force a smile and beeline out of there, not wanting to get into that conversation, and also not liking the idea that she’s attracted to Rogue, which is absolutely ridiculous because probably every woman is, and if I’m going to hang around him I should probably get used to it.

  And pretend that it doesn’t bother me, because he’s not mine.

  And I’m okay with that.

  When Rogue comes in the next day with a baby in his hands, I have to do a double take. He has a kid? I don’t know why, but I’m really surprised by this, and when he approaches me, I don’t even know what to do or say, so I just stand there looking gobsmacked. Did I even ask him if he was in a relationship? Oh my God, what if he has a wife and child and is one of those two-timing men? I think the fact that this is the first idea that pops into my head is very telling. I obviously don’t trust men that much, and I’m always expecting them to fuck up.

  “Hello, beautiful, I brought you lunch. Or did you already have lunch? I thought I’d catch you in your car again,” he says, the baby squirming in his hands.

  “Ummm, yeah, I’m going on lunch a little later today because a staff member called in sick,” I tell him, frowning. “And are you not going to mention anything about the baby? Just going to p
retend he isn’t there?”

  “Oh,” he murmurs, smiling down at the baby. “This is David. He’s my friend’s son, one of my best friends, actually, and my friend is in prison, so I help look after him sometimes.”

  It saddens me that his best friend is behind bars. That must be hard for him, especially when this friend has such a young child. I wonder what he did to be in prison, and how long he’s in for, but I don’t want to seem nosy, so I don’t ask any more personal questions.

  “That’s a lot to process,” I mumble, lifting my hand to David’s and letting him grip my finger. “He’s really cute.”

  “Isn’t he?” Rogue beams, kissing the top of his bald head. “He’s just over six months old now.”

  “I thought he was yours when I saw him,” I admit, making baby noises for David.

  “I thought so from the look on your face. That’s why I didn’t say anything. Thought I’d let you squirm for a while.” He grins, chuckling under his breath. “I hope you don’t play poker.”

  “I don’t,” I reply, pursing my lips.

  “You looked a little disappointed too,” he adds, amusement dancing in those blue eyes. “Don’t worry, I don’t have any kids. That I know about, anyway.”

  “Reassuring,” I reply in a dry tone, taking a step back. With the way he looks and his charm, I can only imagine how many women would love to have his child. He definitely wouldn’t be hurting for options, that’s for sure.

  “I’ll grab my bag. We sitting on the grass?” I ask him.

  He nods. “Yeah, sounds good. It’s a nice day.”

  I grab my handbag and walk outside with him and David, curious as to what he brought today besides an adorable child.

  “This is totally our thing now,” I remark as he lays out boxes of sushi on the grass.

  “What? Me bringing you lunch every day so I get to spend a little time with you? Yeah, I guess it is.”

  He doesn’t need to bring me anything to spend time with me, but he doesn’t have to know that.

  “Don’t you have to work?” I ask him as he pulls out some soy sauce, wasabi, and chopsticks from the plastic bag.