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I grabbed a pair of gloves and my white overalls and sprinted toward the room.
“Patient is Valerie Crawford, a sixty-five-year-old female who has been battling cardiovascular disease. She’s an outpatient and only came in for her check-up,” Anna, my assistant nurse, supplied.
On my way in, I bumped into a woman just at the entrance of room 501, but I was rushing, so I couldn’t wait to apologize. I stepped into the room, and the team surrounding her paved the way for me. I checked for breathing, and when I found no signs, I immediately began CPR. I checked the heart rate monitor, and it didn’t look good.
“Defibrillator,” I barked.
Ten minutes later, I exited the room with my overalls plastered to my body with sweat. We’d tried our best, and in my line of work, I’d come to learn the hard way that ‘sometimes the best is just not enough.’ Mrs. Crawford had been one of my favorite patients, and we’d just lost her. Next came the part that I hated the most about my job—breaking the news to her daughter, who always came to her check-ups with her.
“Where’s her guardian?” I was always professional.
“She’s right there, doc,” Anna supplied, pointing in the direction of the woman I bumped into earlier. She sat on one of the large metal chairs and had her head bowed. Her flame-colored hair fell around her face, so I couldn’t see her face.
“That’s not Georgia Crawford.”
“Yeah. Georgia couldn’t come, so Mrs. Crawford’s caregiver brought her.”
“Please have her meet me in my office.”
I pulled off the gloves and dumped them into the nearest trash as I strolled into my office. It was a large room, but the decor was simple, just as I wanted it. A cabinet housed my trophies close to the entrance of the room, and I had a large mahogany desk and a comfortable office chair. A golden name plague with my name written in black on it sat on the huge table. The sight from my window overlooked the gardens where patients hung out whenever they needed to get some air.
It was a beautiful day outside. The sun glowed beautifully, warming up the air, and the birds sang a beautiful melody. But inside me, a silent dirge was being sung.
A sharp rasp at the door infiltrated my bubble. “Come in.”
And when she did, my heart stopped. Something about her seemed to hit me like a fiery blast. I was drawn to her, and I couldn’t even place what it was about her that had that effect. Yes, she was beautiful, but whatever it was, it felt deeper and more profound. What happened next was as shocking as it was hilarious. Her eyes met mine, and something flashed in them.
“I’m sorry. I can’t do this,” she said and scurried out of the room.
Phew! That wasn’t weird at all.
- A FRESH TART
ZOEY CARTER
After a few days without Malcolm reaching out, it finally sank in that our relationship of three years had come to an end. And I concluded that I was better off without him. I gulped down my first cup of coffee while staring out the window at 4 am, heart and head pounding, feet numb from the chilly morning air wafting in through the slightly open kitchen window. It was a tiny room in a small house where I lived with my son, Jason. That ass, Malcolm had asked me to move in with him a couple of times, but I had my concerns as he wasn’t exactly warm to Jason—a decision I was now grateful for. The apartment was a compact three-rooms which I had successfully transformed into a habitable space for my son and me. The kitchen, although small, had a lot of equipment that made my life easier. The living room still needed a bit of work, but I’d managed to make it look alive with knick-knacks that I had collected over the years and antiques, and a huge, overstuffed couch that Jason liked to wiggle into.
I sipped my cup of coffee, hot, strong, and black—just the way I liked it. I padded quietly to the kitchen counter, careful to avoid waking Jason. I poured myself a second glass and tip-toed to the adjoining living room. By the time I was seated at my tiny coffee table, the cup was half empty.
That was my ritual. Wake up to a fresh steaming pot of coffee courtesy of my automatic coffee machine. It had cost a small fortune but was damn well worth it. Two cups later and my eyes were usually open, and head booted enough to form constructive thoughts. Then I take a coffee break, but just long enough to take a cold shower, and fortunately, whatever wasn’t running with the second cup of coffee always turned on with the cold shower.
Next, I proceed to wake Jason. That is usually the easiest part of my day—except for the few occasions that I let him stay up late. Otherwise, a couple of pecks all over his small body did the trick. With him, I always skip coffee and just take him straight to the bath. While he gets dressed, I make him a light breakfast, usually pancakes or toast. We’d have breakfast together, mine with my third cup of coffee, and with that, all my circuits were on for the day.
That morning, however, was different. My head was awake long before my first cup of coffee. It would be correct to say I didn’t sleep at all, and it was because of…
Him.
Never in my wildest dreams had I anticipated or expected to see him again. The brief moment I spent in his presence was as electrifying as it had been eight years ago, and he still looked as dashing as he did all those years ago. He didn’t seem to have remembered me, but our encounter was too brief, and I wasn’t sure. The thought of him finding out about Jason was scary, and I flinched. My hand hit the mug sending it and the contents to the ground. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, and even I was startled.
Shit! I took several calming breaths with my ears peeled for any sound of movement from Jason’s room.
“Mom,” Jason called out in a sleepy voice. He stood in the doorway in oversized pajamas. He rubbed his eyes with his hands as I approached him.
“Baby. Did I wake you?”
He gave a small nod.
“Mom’s sorry. I should have been more careful.”
