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James looked up to see Rich Martin walk in. They’d been at medical school together and then become residents together at the Saint Vincent Memorial Hospital. While James specialized in spinal surgery, Rich was an attending physician in
the ER.
“It was good.” James grabbed his street clothes from the locker and dried himself with the towel, catching the rivulets of water cooling on his skin. “No problems with the surgery and she woke up nicely. I’ll check on her before I leave.” He nodded at his friend. “How was your shift?”
“Crap. We lost a patient.” Rich pulled open his own locker, the door clanging as he did. “Seventy-two-year old man. Heart attack. Crashed twice.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Should have been able to save him.”
James pulled his shirt over his short, dark hair. “Sorry, man.” He knew how that felt. The hope, the desperation and then the darkness. Every death felt like a personal injury, something you carried with you no matter how much you tried to rationalize it.
Not that it was anything compared to the pain waiting for him at home. The empty room, the empty beds, the plain dark hollowness that always greeted him. Maybe that was why he spent so much time at the hospital. It was preferable to anything else.
“I’m going to shower it off.” Rich inclined his head at the bathroom. “You heading to the party on Saturday night?”
“Party?” James frowned. “What party?”
Rich let out a deep laugh. “The party of the year. The big opening of the Silver Sands Resort. We all got an invite, remember?”
James had a vague recollection of seeing something, but no doubt it had ended up in the trashcan along with all the other invitations he received. He shrugged. “Probably not.”
The Silver Sands Resort was down the coast from James’ cliff top house, on the outskirts of the small town of Angel Sands. He’d lived there for years, ever since he’d proposed to Sara, and in spite of everybody’s entreaties, he’d refused to move after she’d passed.
Why would he want to? That place was all he had left.
It had also afforded him a close-up view of the renovation of the Silver Sands Resort. Originally built in the 1920s, in its heyday the sprawling beachside hotel had been the hideaway of many Hollywood actors and actresses. When James had first moved to town it had been derelict, but for the past two years Carter Leisure had been renovating it back to its former glory.
And now it was ready to open – and Angel Sands was about to have the party of the year.
“Why not come? You’re not on shift, are you? And there’s free drinks all night for everybody. I hear half of Hollywood’s coming down to celebrate.” Rich winked. “You might get lucky.”
James shook his head and laughed. He wasn’t looking to get lucky; hadn’t felt anywhere near lucky for years. Luck was something he used to have, along with a wife and child that had lit up his life. But it all disappeared in a heartbeat.
“Maybe I’ll just get lucky with a bottle of Jack instead.” James raised his eyebrows. “You can have all of Hollywood to yourself.”
“Nah ah. I’m not letting you off that lightly. Come on, get out and show your face for once. How long’s it been? Three years?”
“Something like that.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight,” Rich told him.
“I won’t be ready.”
“Yeah you will. We’ll hit the party for a couple of hours. Get our free cocktails and nose around the place. And if Jennifer Lawrence wants me to spin her around on the dance floor…” Rich grinned. “I’ll ask her if she has a best friend for you.”
“Don’t do me any favors.”
“Eight sharp. And it’s black tie.”
“Sounds wonderful.” James lifted an eyebrow. But maybe the thought of going out was preferable to the idea of staying at home all night. It didn’t matter how many glasses of whiskey he drank, the ghosts and the memories always remained. At least when he was out he didn’t have to think about them. “I’ll think about it.”
* * *
His home was a brick-and-glass, one-story building on the edge of the cliffs overlooking Angel Sands. He pulled his Mercedes onto the sandstone driveway leading to the low profile bungalow, pressing his foot on the brake and sliding the stick into park.
A car was already there. An old Toyota he never could persuade his parents to replace, no matter how many times he offered to pay for the upgrade. As soon as he climbed out of his own car, his father opened his own car door, smiling in greeting as he reached into the passenger side to grab something.
“Don’t shoot the messenger,” he said, his eyes warm as he surveyed his son. “But your mom’s worried about your diet, so she made you a casserole.”
James’s lips twitched at the size of the dish. It could easily feed four and still have food left over for the next day. “What does she want me to do, explode?” A smile broke out on his face as he took the dish from his dad and bumped him with his shoulder. “I’ll call later to thank her.”
