Little Fox Cottage Page 11

  She stood up, putting the photograph back in her purse. "It's all right, Mel."

  "You want me to punch him in the nose for you?"

  "I can do that myself if I need to."

  "I'll bet you can."

  "I've still got to finish scrubbing the stove grates. But I'm going to take the dinner break you owe me first."

  "I don't owe you no dinner break." He frowned at Nico. "But I do owe you a 15-minute break from earlier. So get out of here before I change my mind and make you go back to work."

  "Got it." She winked at him, trying to act braver than she felt.

  She walked out the door that Nico held open for her. They went onto the deck, then through the little gate and out onto the wharf. At night, the bay was dark and cold, but the whole curve of the bayfront was lit up with sparkling lights. From out here, the amusement park was a riot of neon illuminating the candy-colored buildings. And all along the cliff above, the lights of houses pricked out in the darkness, like a string of pearls along the cliff's edge.

  Way out in the middle of the bay, the beam from the lighthouse swept across every few seconds, creating a white-hot arc of light on the waves as it passed.

  It was all brilliant and beautiful and heartbreaking, because the guy standing next to her at the railing had lied to her about how he felt.

  CHAPTER TEN

  "I'M SORRY," Nico said.

  "You should be. That was rude."

  "I know. Please let me explain."

  She stood against the railing and waited. She felt chilled in her t-shirt and jeans with no jacket, and crossed her arms. It didn't help. She was cold inside.

  "I want to see you again," Nico said softly. He was standing facing her like a soldier making a report: standing tall, feet planted shoulder-width apart, hands clasped behind his back, eyes looking straight at her. She wondered if that was his subconscious way of facing up to something difficult.

  "Sure you want to see me," she said, not seeing the point of this, or of his facing her like she was his enemy. "You want to see me so badly that you run the other way when you see me coming."

  "Let me finish, please."

  "Okay. Finish."

  "I want to see you, but I can't."

  She sighed, in disgust at herself for not seeing it. "Wow. You're married."

  "No! I'm not married."

  "You're gay—no, that wouldn't explain that kiss."

  "No. I'm attracted to you, more than anyone I've ever met."

  "So you're not married and you're not gay."

  "And I'm not a jerk."

  "The jury's still out on that one."

  "I'm an addict."

  "What?" She looked into his eyes and saw he was serious. "You're a drug addict? Like, meth and heroin and all that?"

  "Like pain killers and all that. And alcohol. And anything else that would numb the pain."

  "You're serious."

  "I'm totally serious."

  "But, does that mean everything you said about yourself is a lie? All that stuff about becoming a doctor and being in the military and all that?"

  "No. All that's true."

  "But, how could you accomplish all that and be a drug addict?"

  "I wasn't an addict then."

  "Then how did it happen?"

  "It's a long story."

  "You're here to tell it, so tell it."

  He nodded. Again, it felt formal, like a salute. This was really hard for him, and it made her hate him a little less.

  "I told you I'm from Boyle Heights," he began.

  "Yeah. Where is that, exactly?"

  "It's exactly east of Los Angeles, and about a million miles away from Pajaro Bay."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Crime. Gangs. Poverty. Everything you imagine a rough city neighborhood to be. That's where I'm from. My mom died when I was a baby, and my dad did his best to support us. I told you he was a jardinero?"

  "A gardener, yeah."

  "An itinerant gardener. They're the guys who mow all those pretty green lawns planted all over Los Angeles. So he had a truck, and travelled around doing gardening in all the nice parts of the southland. Then he got hurt—the truck brakes failed when he was loading it, it hit him, and he broke a bone in his spine."

  "Oh, how awful. Is he paralyzed?"

  "No. But he couldn't do the heavy work anymore. So my brother and I started working in the business with him. Papa did the lighter work, and supervised us. But then I went to college, and left them to run the business while I went overseas."

  "Wait a minute. You told me you didn't have any brothers or sisters."

  "I don't."

  She turned to face the railing, resting her elbows on it and staring into the black water below. "So you had a brother. But you disowned him or something."

  "No." He turned and leaned on the railing as well. They stood next to each other, but both looking down at the water. "He was my younger brother, but he was always the stronger one. I was good in school, and used to get teased about it. I was the goodie-goodie kid with his nose in a book. My brother used to defend me. I was never a physically confrontational kind of person. Not until I went into the Army."

  "What was his name?" she asked, realizing he was talking about his brother in the past tense and seeing where this was leading.

  "Diego. He was so tough. He protected me. I didn't think he needed me around. So I went off to college. And then I served in the military to pay for my education. I sent money home, once I started to earn more. And I volunteered for extra duty to bring in more money. I thought at the time that was most important—making more money."

  "But it wasn't?"

  "When I got back, I got a job in an ED like I told you before. My dad was living alone in the house we'd grown up in. My brother had let the business fail. He was doing other things." His voice got very soft then. "I was working one night and we got a GSR. It was a mess. He was already bleeding out before he arrived. His friends from the gang had left him there in the street, so it was too late before he was found and brought in to the ED."

  He put his head down in his hands for a moment before continuing. "I called it at 1:23 a.m. I remember the clock ticking over just when I looked up at it to call the time of death. And then, after it was done, I finally looked at his face."

  Bree put her hand on his arm. He was very still. "The V.A. psychiatrist called it delayed-onset PTSD. I had seen so many young people shot, wounded, killed. I had worked on them all. I had been fine. I thought. But then I saw his face."

  He turned to face her. "When I dream, every soldier I've ever seen wounded has my brother's face. Every one. It's like they've all become him. I started drinking to block it out, but it wasn't enough. So I started taking pills."

  "What stopped you?"

  He shook his head. "I don't know. I'd like to say I had some brilliant epiphany where I learned my lesson. But it was just… I don't know. I didn't like who I was becoming. What I was becoming. So…."

  He let it trail off. Then straightened up, as if putting it past him. "I knew it couldn't go on. I was throwing everything away. So I went to the V.A. I was luckier than a lot of guys. I got hooked up with a counseling group right away, and it took. I got clean and sober. I've been on the wagon for almost three months now. My dad was the one who realized the ED was too hard for me. He's the one who told me to go away for a while. But I needed to keep earning money, to pay my own way, and his. So my counselor knew someone, and they got me in touch with Dr. Lil. And here I am."

  "So you are in purgatory."

  "Huh?"

  "That's what I thought of you when I first met you. You seemed to think this wonderful little town was some kind of purgatory. A punishment you had to endure."

  "You're very good at seeing things like that. Yeah. That's how I pictured it. I have a one-year contract. I'm only two months into it. I assumed I'd go back home after this. Back to my old life."

  "Why do you want to go back?" She stopped. "I mean, I decided
I loved this place after one day here. I know Henry had gotten me hooked on the idea before I arrived, but still. It only took me one day. And where you're from, it sounds like it's so hard."

  "They need doctors there."

  "Of course they do. But don't they need you here, too?"

  He looked startled at that. "I… I guess they do. I just would always feel I'd failed. I mean, if I can't get myself together enough to go back to my old job, then I haven't really recovered, have I?

  "Is that how you see it?"

  "Of course."

  "A lot of people would think being a doctor in a little town like this was a pretty amazing job."

  "But I had to come here because I couldn't take the stress. So I think being successful in sobriety means that I don't need to hide out here, away from all the stress."

  She nodded. "I guess so." Then she smiled at him. "Hey! I just realized I'm not angry with you anymore."

  "Yeah?" He started to lean toward her, then abruptly pulled back. "Sorry. I can't do that."

  "I didn't say no."

  "I know. But that's why I ran away from you. I can't be with you."

  "You still haven't explained why."

  "I'm trying to stay sober. I'm still learning how to do that. The way my mentor explained it to me, is that starting a relationship right now is just substituting one crutch for another."

  "So I'm like a drink."

  "It's not personal. It's just that, being with you, being with anyone, would distract me from focusing on getting well."

  "So how long? I assume you don't have to avoid women for the rest of your life."

  "A year."

  "Wow. A year. A year from now?"

  "About nine months from now."

  "As long as it takes to make a baby."

  "Yeah. But apparently the baby is me."

  "The baby is the new and improved you." She held out her hand to him to shake, and he took it. "So, this is goodbye. For now."

  He started to pull his hand away, but she held on. "Wait a minute."

  "I have to, Bree. I have to do this."

  "I get that. I do. But there's more than us at stake here."

  She relaxed her grip and he took his hand back, ran it through his hair. "What do you mean?"

  "Have you looked into the deaths?"

  "The deaths? You mean Henry?"

  "And Bill Madrigal, and now there's another. A guy named Nathan Falcon. He also died of a heart attack." She paused. "And also Sophie Robles's father. He died, but I don't know of what cause. So that's four men."

  "Bree, really, you can't just start being suspicious of every single death that ever happened in this village."

  "You said before you'd humor me and look into it."

  He sighed. "Fine. There's a spring health fair at the clinic tomorrow. I'll talk to Dr. Lil about it then."

  "And you'll let me know, one way or another?"

  "It would be a lot easier if I didn't have to see you again." He turned away and looked out at the water. "Do you know how much I want to kiss you right now? How am I supposed to resist?"

  "You're making a pretty big assumption there. You can't kiss me if I don't give you permission."

  He looked back at her. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean, you've told me how important this is. That your health depends on you staying out of any romantic… entanglements. What kind of person would I be if I let you kiss me, knowing it could hurt you?"

  He smiled. "So you'll protect me from myself?"

  "Not exactly. I expect you to be a grownup about it. But I'll help you. You do not have permission to kiss me. That's my word on it. You wouldn't go against my will on this, right?"

  "Of course not."

  "So you'd better not try to get personal with me, until I do give you my permission. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "And while we're at it, no more hand-shaking."

  "You felt that, too?"

  "Yeah, I've felt it since the moment I met you. So no more of that."

  "Okay. Can we wave at each other from fifty paces away?"

  She laughed. "That sounds safe enough."

  "You're being really nice about this, Bree. I behaved badly and you're being very sweet."

  "Yeah, I'm an angel, perfect in every way. It's not all maturity on my part either, you know."

  "It isn't?"

  "Nah. I'm also in the middle of a bunch of changes. And a relationship isn't the best thing for me right now. I might leave town any time, and I don't want my career derailed because I got the hots for you."

  "Is that so?"

  "Well, that's what I plan on telling myself for the next few months, anyway. Now I have to go back to work. I've got a stove to scrub. It's all part of the glamorous life of a gourmet chef."

  He nodded, then walked off down the wharf without another word, just turning when he got about fifty feet away, and waving at her.

  She waved back, feeling a tug at her heart, but working hard on that maturity she was supposed to be feeling.

  "Get your behind in here!" Mel shouted at her.

  "I'm coming." She went back in through the gate to the fish shack's deck.

  Mel held the door open for her, and she went past him inside.

  He closed the door, then cleared his throat. "You okay? Not that I care, of course."

  She smiled weakly at him. "Of course you don't."

  "I don't," he insisted. "Just need you to get back in that kitchen and clean the stove properly."

  "I've already started. Won't take me long to finish."

  "I bet it will," he said gruffly. "I'll bet it's not anywhere near clean enough."

  "Yeah?" she said. "You gonna run a white glove over the grates to check my work?"

  "I will, I will. Let's get in there and get this kitchen in shape so we can go home. And I'll take a look at how bad a job you're doing to my stove…."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "ARE you ready for your first Spring Health Fair?" Dr. Lil asked Nico.

  "Yup. It should be easy." He helped her set out the last of the equipment in the clinic's exam rooms, then they headed out toward the reception area. The clinic was empty at this hour. But soon patients would begin gathering so the two doctors could start giving shots, checking vitals, and taking care of scraped knees.

  Dr. Lil sat down in one of the padded chairs in reception and put her feet up on the coffee table. Lilian Murphy was a tiny woman, about 75 years old, with short gray hair, wise eyes, and a wiry figure. "Have a seat, Kid. The nurse will be here soon, and she'll put you to work, so rest while you have the chance. Never forget who's really running the show around here—it's not us big shots."

  He sat down opposite her.

  "Are you finding a small town practice a bit too easy?" she asked. "Maybe you're hoping someone will come rushing in with a lead pipe sticking out of their skull or something exciting like that?"

  "No. Of course not."

  "But you miss the excitement."

  "I guess."

  "You know I've been there."

  He nodded. She had been a nurse in Vietnam, and understood what it was like in a way no civilian could.

  "Be honest with me," she said. "Your work is impeccable, of course. But there's more to this job than that, and something's missing."

  "I know. I get that we have to do more handholding than I did before, but it's just, I don't know." He couldn't think of how to put it into words.

  "You miss the adrenaline rush?"

  He shook his head. "I don't think it's that. Not really. I did at first. But think I miss the feeling that I'm doing something that matters."

  "That matters? Ah." She sat back in the chair. "You don't think this matters?"

  "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that. Of course it matters. It's just—"

  "—not dramatic, like rappelling down a cliff face with a suture kit between your teeth while fighting off bad guys with a bowie knife." She smiled wryly at him. "You absolutely sure it's not th
e excitement you're missing?"

  He sighed. "Maybe I am. Maybe that's it. I just… I want to save lives. To do something important."

  "You don't think you'll do anything important today?"

  "Treating sunburn isn't exactly the same as helping a guy with a pipe through his head."

  "It's important to the person with the sunburn." She took her feet off the coffee table and sat forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees. "A small-town doctor's life isn't thrilling. I get it. You want to be that guy, the one who jumps into action when someone bursts through the door of the emergency department with a life-threatening injury that only you can fix. When you get old like me," she said with a smile, "you figure out that what makes life worthwhile isn't the moments of excitement. It's the sense of doing something that makes a difference. And when someone comes in this clinic door, you are the most important person in their world, whether they have a broken leg or a jellyfish sting."

  "I suppose. It's not really about that. I know people need a doctor here."

  "And you know that I don't intend to keep working forever and will eventually need to hand over the practice to someone else."

  "Yes. And that's an amazing opportunity. To have a practice in a wonderful town like this is something other doctors would kill for." He paused. "But if I did that, I would always know that I'd failed."

  "Failed?"

  "Failed to learn how to stay sober and deal with the stress. That I had to hide from it, because I couldn't take it."

  "Ah. You're not strong enough. Got it." She grinned at him. "I've been looking at you all wrong. Now I understand you, Nico Silva."

  "You do? I don't even understand myself."

  "You've heard the old saying, put on your own oxygen mask first in an emergency."

  "Of course."

  "You think taking care of yourself first is weak? A failure? How do you think you can take care of others if you don't take care of yourself?"

  Nico tried not to roll his eyes. "I've had this lecture from Father Anselm."

  "Well, apparently it didn't sink in, so let's do it again. A long time ago, when I was young and foolish like you, I was married to the biggest, strongest, bravest staff sergeant who ever lived. One time he grabbed an enemy grenade that was about to go off and threw it, just in time to save a dozen men from certain death. There was no one tougher than my Danny." She smiled wistfully at the memory.