by Holly Rayner
I had gotten defensive, not just because I was embarrassed, but because he had judged me without knowing the truth. Until that moment with Yvonne, I had not realized that I could be a nurse again. He needed to know that before he had any right to tell me I had done wrong.
But that still leaves me with the question of what I should do now. If I could be a nurse…this place needed nurses more than it needed paper-pushers. Dr. Marino was right about that. He was only wrong about me and my principles, and my abilities.
Walking around the ward looking at the patients and the people tending to them, I didn’t feel that same tension I had before. When I had realized that I could no longer be a nurse, I had done it for the safety of patients, fearing what would happen if I had panicked. Someone could have died. So instead, I had helped people in the front office. But now?
My hands weren’t shaking. I thought about Karla, and the grief was there, but it didn’t rip through me like a bullet. I didn’t fear that my hands would fumble while caring for patients. I didn’t feel the smothering worry that I would do them more harm than good.
What would Karla do? I wondered—but I already knew. She would have urged me to get back on the horse, scrub up, and start saving lives directly again. And…she would be right.
Maybe I wasn’t cured, but I was well enough to work again. And that understanding made me want to clear the air with Dr. Marino.
When I found him, however, he was busy surprising me again, calming a young girl with a broken leg until her injection kicked in enough for him to set her leg. He was distracting her with some kind of drawing contest, and all the while speaking fluently in the local dialect.
It had taken me a few months to pick up the local dialect enough to work without a translator. It wasn’t much like what I had learned in my classes or online. But the doctor already sounded like he was better at it than I. Has he been here before? I wondered.
Suddenly, I had even more questions for him. Who are you really? Why do you hide your past? Why can’t I figure out what I feel about you?
Finally, the girl’s leg was set and she was sleeping. I waited for Dr. Marino to finish talking to the family, smiling, once again impressed by him despite his more irritating traits. I knew it was dangerous to admire him too much; he was very attractive. On the other hand…I doubted he would go too long before annoying me again. His own personality was pretty good crush insurance.
I hope. I didn’t like being this attracted to a man I knew almost nothing about. It didn’t feel safe. But then again, what about any of this situation is safe? Another rocket could come and kill us at any moment, and somehow I was worried about my heart being toyed with.
When he turned to leave, he saw me, and I tried to ignore the warmth that ran through me as I smiled at him. He looked pleasantly surprised as he approached. “I hadn’t expected an audience.”
“I was looking for you,” I said quickly. “I wanted to talk to you.”
His eyebrows went up. “Come upstairs with me, then. I want to check on the staff living quarters. I haven’t had a chance yet.”
“Me neither.” I tried to push down a thin trickle of fear that ran through my heart as I thought of my room upstairs. I hadn’t brought many belongings, but what I did have, I needed. My little memorial of Karla was up there too. “Sure, I’ll come with you.”
As we walked together, I kept my smile on despite my worries. “You did well with that little girl. I’m impressed.” But of course, I had to tease him a little. It was honest revenge for all the teasing he’d done to me. “I didn’t know you were capable of a good bedside manner.”
“You understand the local tongue as well?” He grinned. “That’s a bit of a surprise. Though perhaps it shouldn’t be. How long have you been here again?”
“Six months.” Six brutal, trying, revelatory months. I had some regrets, but not many. I’d gone in knowing it would be scary and dangerous—but I really had managed to do some good here, even when I wasn’t working as a nurse. And I had kept my promise to Karla to come try it. “Enough to pick up the basics. The local dialect isn’t covered in online courses.”
“Why not hire a tutor?” he asked blithely.
I rolled my eyes in response. There was pride in one’s accomplishments, and then there was the obvious, oblivious arrogance of the upper class.
“I’m not rich,” I said flatly. Don’t ruin the moment. “At any rate, it’s always best to talk to the locals in their language instead of struggling through with whatever English they have.” The whole reason why I had studied before coming, even numb with grief over Karla’s recent death. My pain wasn’t allowed to get in the way of my helping people.
Except when it had. But that had been involuntary. And apparently, I was better. Or better enough to finally push on.
“I agree.” He tilted his head as he walked slowly beside me, both of us too tired to be brisk anymore. “I’m a bit surprised that you’ve stayed this long if these kinds of attacks are regular occurrences.”
“They are, and yes, I have.” I tried not to get defensive, but it was tough with him. In spite of his being more sarcastic than he seemed to mean, in spite of his oblivious snobbery, I had a hard time not caring about his opinion. No matter how much I tried to ignore his effect on me, it was always there. “Why does that surprise you?”
He considered me, then nodded once. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, after seeing you remain so calm in a crisis. You have a certain strength.” His simple statement left me staring at him, and he blinked back at me. “What?”
“Was that an actual compliment, with no sarcasm attached to it?” I lifted an eyebrow, once again in new territory with him.
He chuckled easily as we left the patient area behind and crossed over to the administration building. “I’ve been known to give a compliment in my time, when it’s genuinely warranted. And for the record, if I had thought you incompetent or cowardly, I wouldn’t have questioned why you stuck to your desk job.”
I sighed a little. “Look, the reason behind that is a long story, and I’m very tired. I’ll just boil it down to the fact that I couldn’t use my skills for a while, and helping out Karla in a crisis was the first time I could.”
“Yvonne,” he corrected.
I stopped short for a moment, going cold.
Damn. Stop it.
The therapist I had seen for a few months after Karla’s death had told me I had signs of trauma. Sometimes, the past still intruded: a symptom, Doctor Marsh had said. I hated it when that happened.
Yvonne buried under rubble. Karla crushed inside her car. But Yvonne I was there in time to save. And it felt…like I had gotten a piece of myself back in that moment when I had seen her gasp and open her eyes.
But that doesn’t make her Karla. Karla’s gone. Keep it together. You are not allowed to go off the deep end about all of this.
“Yvonne. Sorry. She reminds me of someone.” Someone I wasn’t able to save. My therapist would have had a field day with that slip. “That was the first time that I didn’t freeze up since I left the hospital.”
“Oh.” He considered that for a moment, then nodded. “Well, no judgment on your past inability to work, but now that you can, I do hope you’ll consider coming to work on my side of the aid complex.”
He winked, and I felt warmth trickle across my cheeks. That had gone easier than I thought it would, but I still had so many questions about him.
“How long have you worked for aid organizations like this?” I asked.
“Years now. I tend to move from place to place.” He narrowed his eyes as we passed by the office and moved on to the stairs. “Six different regions in the last four years alone.”
“Why move around so much?” I looked at him curiously as we walked up the stairs, and saw him cut his eyes away briefly.
“Oh, I go where they have the greatest shortage of doctors. Since I’m multilingual and have my own transportation, I have no excuse not to go where I’m neede
d most.”
He coughed into his fist as our steps disturbed plaster dust on the stairs; I covered my nose and mouth with my handkerchief.
“Generally, a conflict or medical emergency only lasts a few months in the acute phase. Here, though, the issue is much more entrenched, so I’ll likely be staying as long as I possibly can.” His eyes twinkled charmingly.
As I lost myself in their green depths for a moment, a thought pulled me back. What does he mean “possibly can”? What would force him to leave?
What if there’s some other reason why he moves around so much?
I found myself dwelling on those questions as we reached the top floor. There was so little that I knew about him, and instead of leaving him to his privacy as he seemed to prefer, I was dead curious about him. I continued to wonder until we reached my section of hallway and I saw how much broken tile and crumbled plaster was piled up near my door.
“Oh, no,” I said sharply as I moved ahead of him, clambering over rubble to get to my door. Oh come on, world, I’m already exhausted, cut me a little break!
I should have known better than to even ask. Not after everything I had seen. But I still did, trembling with the need for this to not be happening. Not while I was already at my limit.
“What is it?” he asked, hurrying after me. I heard his faint grunt of effort as he cleared the pile in two lunging steps.
“My room!” The doorframe had cracked and sagged on one side, wedging the door. I fought with it, but I didn’t have the strength to push past the extra resistance. “Help me get this open?”
“Stand back,” he instructed.
When I did, he kicked out hard against the door and knocked it inward with one blow. I was left blinking at him a moment, my stomach doing a little flip. Then I braced myself to see what had happened inside.
My heart sank deeper as I looked past him and saw one of my windows shattered inward, ragged curtain flapping in the desert wind.
“Oh, no,” I breathed, pushing past him. “Excuse me, please.”
“Be careful!” he called after me as I rushed into the mess beyond my broken door.
I nodded absently but kept going, hugging myself when I wasn’t using a hand to brace myself against the intact part of the doorframe.
He said something else behind me, but I couldn’t hear it over my pounding heart. As I looked around, everything left my head but the pile of rubble covering half the room, and the missing wall spilling harsh sunlight in where my memorial to Karla had hung.
Chapter 7
Rose
Digging through the rubble for my few surviving belongings gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. When I had done it for Yvonne, she hadn’t been able to breathe, and I had torn up my fingers with hurrying. Now, there was nobody to save, and yet somehow, I couldn’t stop myself from digging like I was rescuing something living from beneath the mess.
I found my books, my purse, smashed bits of my lamp, my bed, with my mattress all right but my cot in pieces. I dug and dug, while Dr. Marino worked behind me clearing rubble out into one side of the hallway. My arms burned, my back throbbed, my knees ached, but I still kept working. And the whole time I was silent.
Finally I found my suitcase, still intact, which meant I still had clothes. “At least there’s that.” I sighed as I pulled it free and set it against an intact wall.
“Ah, good, I was worried I would have to lend you some of my shirts,” Dr. Marino joked—and then went quiet again as I kept working at hand-bruising speeds.
“What are you looking for in that mess?” he asked as he started gathering the rubble I set behind me again. “Not electronics, I hope.”
“Something precious,” I said simply, looking worriedly for the shine of a cheap silver picture frame.
A frantic minute later I found it—and closed my eyes in pain for a moment at the sight. Oh. Oh, no.
It was bent and mangled by falling bricks, the photo inside shredded. Tears filled my eyes; I hugged it to my chest, fighting down a sob. I’m sorry, Karla. Seems like I can’t even keep a photo of you safe.
That thought broke me entirely; I wept openly, hugging the mangled picture to my chest. Maybe I would have been tougher about it if it hadn’t capped off a day like today. But I had nothing left. I cried, aware of Dr. Marino there and ashamed but still sobbing. It took a few minutes before I finally managed to pull myself together enough to catch my breath.
The doctor was quiet behind me until I had control of myself again. Then he said very softly, “Do you need to be alone?”
“No,” I mumbled. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“No need for apologies.” His voice was gentle. “Who was in that photograph?”
“My…my best friend.” I sniffled and rummaged for my handkerchief, embarrassed—then fumbled through my pockets and looked around me, unable to find it. That tiny setback almost sent me into tears again; I fought them down. “She was a fellow nurse back home.”
“Karla?” No judgment in his voice. No sarcasm.
My eyes filled up again.
“Yeah.” I wiped my eyes, but my cheeks just got wet again. The tears mixed with the dust on my face and left smudges of mud on my sleeve. “She was what I had instead of family. Closer than anyone else in my life.”
“She is why you left? I’m sorry if I’m prying.”
Why was he being so kind? After his arrogance and sarcasm, this caught me completely off guard.
“Yeah. And it’s fine.” I closed my eyes as I hugged the battered frame. “She was…she was the sister I didn’t have. When I ended up in the hospital, she was there. When I lost my apartment, she was there. When I graduated, she celebrated with me. When I had a bad date, she got me out of it. We were one heck of a team.”
I thought of the last time I had seen her. We had just come off a long shift at work, having faced everything from an emergency delivery of twins to saving a fourteen-year-old boy from the morgue. We had gotten mochas afterward, diet-breaking masses of chocolate, peppermint and whipped cream mixed with strong coffee. Her idea. I was glad now that I had agreed to go out with her after work, despite my exhaustion, for what had turned out to be our last night together.
What did we talk about that night? Man problems. Her boyfriend was being an idiot about her birthday, her sister’s boyfriend had just cheated, and as for me, I couldn’t even find any prospects. We teased each other about getting a bunch of cats instead and giving up on finding any decent guys in Miami.
It was an ordinary, warm, friendly night out with my best friend. Confiding. Sharing. Dreaming about a better future.
My chest tightened. I forced myself to go on, even though I was starting to shake. I didn’t know why I wanted Dr. Marino to know the truth so badly, but I did. I needed him to understand. I needed him to not think badly of me, and I barely even knew why.
“It was really sudden. I came in for my shift. She didn’t. Eventually they got someone in to announce it to us.” I swallowed hard. Talking about this wasn’t easy.
“What happened?” he asked softly, a faint note of pity in his voice that told me what he suspected.
“There was someone, probably a drunk. Driving erratically, going really fast. He drove the wrong way on the road she was on. He was in a really big vehicle and hers was a subcompact.” My voice rose to a squeak and I covered my mouth with my hand, eyes blurring again.
The doctor nodded, understanding without me needing to say it.
“Was he apprehended?” he asked.
I swallowed hard. “No. They never found him. There’s security footage of the crash, but they didn’t get his face or license plate.”
“Oh.” He was frowning.
I took several long, shaky breaths to get my composure back. “I felt so helpless after she died. I don’t know why exactly. Maybe it’s because I got the news when I was at work. But it was like something inside me started dying after that. Something I needed. At first, I didn’t notice, but it was…happening inside o
f me.
“Suddenly, about a week after Karla died, I was tending to a patient and just started shaking all over. I had to call in a substitute and go pull myself together.”
He drew a sharp breath. “That’s what you were talking about before.”
“Yes. I stopped being able to be a nurse. I had worked so hard to get there, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. It felt like something had broken inside of me.” I didn’t know why, but now too much honesty was spilling out of me in desperate bursts, and thank God, he was listening and still not judging.
“Trauma.” That touch of concern in his deep, beautiful voice almost undid me again. “Survivor’s guilt. Loss. Understandable that the emotions would impede you for at least a while.”
I wiped my eyes, and this time my vision stayed steady…for the moment anyway. “I guess so. It quickly got so bad that I couldn’t work at all. And it wasn’t just work. All of Miami had gotten so depressing that I just couldn’t be there anymore. I tried taking leave and talking to someone about it, but it didn’t do any good. In the end I…I just couldn’t stay.”
“Why did you decide to go to a place like…this…to heal?” He coughed slightly from the dust. “It seems like this kind of place is ideal for amassing even more trauma.”
“Maybe so. It was something that Karla and I had talked about. I’ve always felt like my contribution to the world wasn’t significant enough. Yes, I helped save lives in the emergency room, but after years of that, it started to feel like I just wasn’t doing enough.” Saying that out loud to a virtual stranger made me realize how odd it sounded. But it really had been how I felt.
“Not doing enough?” He chuckled gently—and to my absolute surprise, I felt the warmth of his hand on my shoulder. “It seems to me you wear yourself out, put yourself at risk, and still believe that you are not doing enough.”