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Four weeks later
Death had never been something I’d thought much about even though I was a surgeon. I’d certainly never feared it given my track record, the number of lives I’d saved from the brink of death. Now it was almost all I could think about.
A blackness where there was nothing but silence.
There was a hole inside of me where the ugly shadows were sucked away, allowing me to have steady hands with every surgery. I’d felt blessed that I’d been able to save so many lives. Now I felt as if the accident had evened the score.
Ugh. I hated to think this way, fearful my patients would ultimately suffer. The advice I’d been given by just about everybody was to live my life to the fullest. How the hell was I supposed to do that when I’d taken a man’s life? I knew I hadn’t been directly responsible, but it still felt the same, the ugliness remaining churning in my stomach.
I’d tried not to wallow in the depths of despair that I’d seen happen to survivors of other horrific tragedies, but now I fully understood what the saying meant of ‘the pot calling the kettle black.’ At least I’d been able to return to work three weeks after the accident. The only way I’d gotten through the first hours after I’d left the hospital, let alone the first week had been because of Goldie and Shadow, my two incredibly loving dogs who’d refused to leave my side.
At least with work, I was able to lose myself in my duties for long hours, exhausted every night. I’d been reminded by just about everybody that I’d been given a gift, a second chance at life. I’d listened to just how close I’d come to dying, the surgeon who’d not only saved my life but also the use of my legs sitting down with me the very day I’d accosted my poor sister.
I’d also learned I’d had an angel looking out for me that day, a Good Samaritan who’d broken the glass, dragging me to safety. If he hadn’t, I would have died in the fire that consumed my poor Cruze. I’d been in shock, although I could swear I remember hearing the person tell me everything would be okay.
He’d been able to save my life, a pedestrian who’d stepped up to the plate when a surgeon hadn’t been able to save two lives and a third one had been lost because of decisions made, karma stepping in. I remained sick inside, trying to process the constant emotions, but it was growing more difficult every day.
“Live your life,” I’d been told more than once.
“Be grateful you’re alive,” my mother had told me.
“Don’t let it get you down,” several coworkers had said.
Yes. Yes. And yes, but how did I go about living when I felt dead inside?
What continued to disturb me was the person who’d died in the crash was considered royalty, his family owning half of New York, including all the people in it.
Luciano Giordano had been considered brutal by any standard, his penchant for violence matching his dark moods and sadistic tastes. If the man set his sights on you, then you were as good as dead. I’d never met him, nor had I even paid any attention to pictures on the internet or whatever local television station was touting the fact he was also the city’s most eligible bachelor. Even now, I couldn’t bring myself to find out anything about him. That would derail everything I was trying to rebuild.
However, the man’s death had delighted my father, which continued to make me sick. He hated the Giordano family, had pledged to destroy them. He’d had the audacity to thank me before realizing what he’d done. I hadn’t talked to him since. My father had grown up on the rough side of town, learning the hard way that money and clout, as well as utter brutality, were the only ways to make it in New York. My grandparents had been dirt poor, barely making ends meet.
Meanwhile, the Giordano family reeked of opulence. I could understand his hatred of them, but to wish them dead was something I couldn’t tolerate. I’d taken an oath that life was sacred. It pissed me off even thinking about it.
Not fixating on the other victim had been at the suggestion of one of the grief counselors the director of the hospital had insisted I talk to. It had also been suggested I take a vacation since I was back to working sixteen-plus-hour days. I’d told them I was fine when I was anything but. However, work was the only time where the demons didn’t crawl inside, trying to drag me to hell. Even being with the fur babies had been difficult as of late.
When two days had been forced on me under threat of being suspended, I’d almost launched into the director, but I’d finally agreed. Maybe I did need to get my shit together.
“Hey, I’m going to take off for the day, maybe enjoy a short walk,” I told Maggie, trying to keep my mood light.
“You do know it’s like twelve degrees out there. Right?” she asked.
“I’m a big girl and the cold air will do me some good.”
She shrugged, muttering under her breath. “It’s your funeral if you catch cold.” She immediately snapped her head up from the papers she was looking at, the flush on her cheeks reddening to a deep crimson. “I’m so… Oh, my God. I mean I just…”
“Relax, Maggie. I know exactly what you meant, and I plan on wearing a coat. The one I came into work in?”
I thought for certain she was going to pass out. Almost everyone in the hospital had treated me with kid gloves at first, fearful I would surrender to my depression. However, I was a hell of a lot stronger than they knew. A nice walk to the best little coffee shop in the world would do me good. Plus, the caffeine would help after the long shift I’d had. At least I’d convinced Carrie to stay with the pups for a few hours today, so I knew they’d be walked and well fed. Maybe I’d even do a little shopping.
After grabbing my purse and coat from the locker room, I headed down the back elevator, tapping my foot to the elevator music. Carrie had even suggested I try to find a date every once in a while. Who, me? Dating? I didn’t see it happening. Not since Mr. Three-Timer had turned my world upside down.
Maybe I still had a secret admirer, although the flowers had died, the note tossed, and I’d heard nothing more from him. Oh, well. Who needed a big, strapping man when I had not one but two vibrators? I laughed as I stepped out of the elevator, heading toward the door.
The air hit me like a thunderbolt, the entire winter much colder than the last three years. I yanked the material around me, keeping my head down as I headed into the wind. I’d forgotten my gloves this morning, which wasn’t unusual. I’d remained far too rattled.
As I walked into the coffee shop, the scent of fresh pastries made my mouth water. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a full meal, taking on extra shifts just to keep myself busy. Poor Goldie and Shadow. They hardly knew their Mommy Dog any longer.
As I waited in line, I debated on whether or not to indulge in an ooey gooey Danish. I was trying to be good. I almost laughed at the thought. When it was my turn, I stared at the menu, my gaze constantly shifting to the Danish.
