Chapter 5
Laine
“Sooooo, after a month of articles on government fraud, how are you feeling?” Trish asks.
I sit back with a bellini in my hand and watch the seaplanes land on the water out the restaurant window. “I have some money in my bank account, but I don’t have a job offer.”
“The Vancouver Sun doesn’t want to hire you?”
I shrug. “They’re overstaffed as it is. They’ll buy my articles, but unless I can find something else big like the government-fraud piece that breaks into multiple articles, freelance work needs to be heavily subsidized.”
“Steaming Mugs is not going to heavily subsidize your writing income.” She uses air quotes. I hate that.
I take a big sip of my frozen peachy concoction and enjoy my last lazy day. I need to be at Steaming Mugs at five o’clock tomorrow morning for training on their espresso machines and cash register. “I’ve been studying their secret menu, and I think I’ll be okay until I can find a decent technical-writing position. At least, it’ll be a steady income, no matter what else I’ve got going on.”
Trish shakes her head. “Why don’t you move into my house? If you won’t take money from me, you can live in the guest room, or I’ll finish up the guest house over the garage and you can live there. It could be your office and your place to live.”
“I told you that I won’t take advantage of our relationship.”
Trish rolls her eyes. “I promise you’re not taking advantage. I’m offering. I pay for the heat and property taxes regardless of whether you’re there. If it makes you feel better, you can pay two hundred dollars a month toward our food bill.”
She makes it hard to say no, but I must. I can at least placate her, though. “Let me see how things go with Steaming Mugs.” Another plane lands and taxis across the water to their dock. “Tell me about your date with Phillip.”
After the fundraiser, he called and officially asked her out. Trish was hesitant to go—he’s always in the tabloids with some model or actress on his arm—but finally she did.
She smiles. “He’s very attentive, but I need to watch myself. He’d be easy to fall for, but he’s not ready to settle down.”
Phillip Martin is Julia and Henry Sr.’s third child. He does some work for the family business, but he’s used his trust fund to open a nightclub, a gaming company, and a long list of businesses. He’s been uber successful. But he’s also known in the society papers as a major playboy.
Still, I’m not sure this should be a problem. “Are you ready to settle down?” I ask her.
“No. Maybe? I don’t know.” Trish sighs. “But I do know it would feel terrible if we had our fun and he moved on.”
I reach for Trish’s hand. “Look, I’m living proof that when a man you bank your life on walks away, you can still get up every morning and take another step forward. Don’t let the unknown and what-ifs keep you from a great relationship.” I give her a hand a squeeze. “When are you seeing Phillip again?”
“Well, we spent the weekend together. He’s in Toronto this week, and he says he’s going to call. But he has a lot of work to do, so I won’t be surprised if he doesn’t check in.”
I nod, but I know she’s hopeful. And I hope he calls too. Trish presents herself with a hard candy shell, but inside she’s all gooey softness. Any guy would be lucky to have her. She’s smart, beautiful, and generous to a fault. “I like Phillip, and I like his brothers,” I tell her. “They’re great guys. Phillip is lucky to be dating you, not the other way around.”
“See? Thank you. This is why you need to move in with me.” When I don’t respond, she changes her approach. “When are you going to see Jack?”
“I don’t know that I am. He’s obviously still upset with me.”
She waves that away. “You did nothing wrong. I still can’t believe what he did at the library gala. What an ass. You could sort this all out if he’d just listen to you.”
“Actually, I probably had a better time with Kent, anyway.” I drain the last of my glass. “Plus, Paisley says Jack’s been consumed with the little boy he brought back from Sudan.”
“He’s done no press about what he saw or why he brought the boy back.”
I guess that’s true. I’ve seen nothing other than brief reports when they first arrived. And it was a nothing-burger story. It was five hundred words of him being in Sudan with Worldwide Medical Care until things went sideways and the warring factions blew up the hospital. He had been operating on the boy and brought him here to finish. The larger story could be much more interesting and actually help make a difference. Hmmm… “I wonder...”
“Where is the boy?”
“Paisley said he’s still at Mercy in the PICU. They’re getting ready to wake him from his induced coma. He doesn’t even know he’s not in Sudan or that his mother was killed in a hospital bombing.”
Trish shakes her head. “None of that was in the hospital press releases. I bet if you called the Foreign Affairs Office in Ottawa, they could give you some insights on what’s going on.”
“I’m not a war correspondent.” The idea of going in and reporting on the war in Sudan terrifies me. I’m grateful to those who can go into war-torn areas, but I’m not that brave. If a bomb went off anywhere near me, I’d pee my pants and freeze in place. Nope, not happening.
“I meant you could get information and backstory from Foreign Affairs to write an article about the boy. Do you know anyone there?”
I shake my head. “But I know someone who does.”
“Who? John, your old editor?”
I shake my head. “I remember when Elise Banner was named Minister of Foreign Affairs. She’s from here and grew up with Jack.”
Trish’s eyes grow wide. “I think you may have your next piece.”
She’s making it seem way easier than it is. Jack is not about to let me interview him for a story. I’m not sure I even want to try. We watch the bicycles and runners on the path around the point of Stanley Park. “I’ll think about it.”
When I hug Trish goodbye, she’s heading back to Divine Delights, and I decide to do some research on the possibility of a story. My first stop is the Vancouver Public Library. It looks much different from the night of the gala.
I find and read months of newspaper clippings from around the world about how the war in Sudan started and when everyone was evacuated.
From what I read in both the UK and U.S. media, both countries have been talking to the warring generals daily, but no one has been able to get them to put their guns down. Thousands of people have been killed. It’s a heartbreaking story.
Then, I do a search on the boy Jack brought back with him. There isn’t much out there other than he’s an orphan and his mother’s last wish was for him to survive. There’s much more to that story. It could really get people thinking and talking about the conflict.
I think about what I can do… If I’m going to get somewhere with the hospital, I need to get over there before the head of publicity leaves for the day. I haven’t seen Linda Hsu in a while, so it will also be good to catch up. Once I’ve decided, I almost run the five blocks to the hospital and race up to the administrative office.
The receptionist looks up as I walk in. “Hi. I’m Laine Seymour. I’m writing an article for the Vancouver Sun about the boy who was brought back from Sudan by Dr. Jack Drake. May I speak with Linda Hsu?”
She smiles politely. “I’m not sure she’s here. Let me check.”
She walks to the back and into an office along the wall. I can see her talking to someone from the doorway, but my view is obstructed. She nods and looks over at me before she returns. “Linda says the hospital has no comment.”
I look down at the carpet for a moment. She doesn’t know what I’m working on. How can the hospital have no comment? “Can you tell her I’m just looking for background and nothing more?”
She picks up the phone and relays my message. There’s a lot of back and forth. But as she hangs up, Linda walks to her office door and waves me in.
I move quickly down the hall before she can change her mind. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“There’s been no malfeasance with the payment for the patient’s care. It’s being handled by a private benefactor.”
My brow furrows. “Did someone suggest otherwise?”
“No.” Linda’s head tilts to the side. “Why are you here?”
“I understand that you’re preparing to bring the boy out of a medically induced coma.”
“Then you know more than I do.”
I blow out a breath of air. “I would like to do a story about the boy. A human-interest piece that will bring awareness to what’s going on in Sudan.”
“Is that what you told the members of the Legislative Assembly when you called them out for malfeasance?”
Now, I realize what she’s talking about. She’s worried I’m going to do a hit piece on the hospital after my exposé about government funds. I’m not. I wouldn’t. Canadian healthcare isn’t perfect, but I’ve seen what they have elsewhere, and it could be a lot worse.
“My focus is the wonderful humanitarian action this hospital has taken and what proper medical care will allow for this boy’s life,” I assure her. “I haven’t spoken to Dr. Drake, but if you wanted to set that up, it would be a great place to start. Maybe we can put some pressure on the Ministry to get going on paying for the boy’s care and generate interest in the other things he’s going to need. Maybe we can show that doctors aren’t all self-centered pricks.”
Linda’s mouth curves up. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek. I need to convince her.
“This story would benefit the boy and the hospital.”
Linda looks down at a pad of paper. “You wrote a pretty tough piece about plastic surgery, and the hammer came down hard on Dr. Drake. I’m not sure I can get him to the table to talk to you.”
I stare down at my Converse sneakers. “I understand. And believe me, if there was another way to do this story, I’d take it. It was not my intention to cause problems for Dr. Drake or suggest he had done something unethical. I was only pointing out what some doctors will do for the almighty dollar and the dangers of too much elective surgery.”
She looks at me, and after a moment she nods. “I’ll talk to him, but I can’t make him talk to you.”
I nod. “Thank you. Maybe if he believes you support this, that will be enough.”
She snorts.
“How are things going with Christopher?” I ask as I stand to leave.
Linda has been dating Christopher Hurley for nearly a decade, and I know she’d like to move forward. I went to school with him, and he was a bit of a player. I worry he might still be an asshole.
Her face brightens. “We went ring shopping, and we’ve been looking at wedding venues.”
I smile. “I’m so happy for you. I’ve heard the MacLean Museum is incredible.”
She sighs. “I wanted to do it there, but then Allison Pate and Henry Martin were the first to get on their calendar, and now, it’s the place to marry. They don’t have an open weekend for the next year and a half.”
My eyes grow wide. “I had no idea.”
She tells me she’s heading out too, so we talk as she gathers her things, and then I walk her out of the hospital. She promises to track down Jack tomorrow and let me know. Then she heads toward downtown, and I head east to my tiny apartment.
I spend the evening organizing my notes and drafting some ideas for my article. The more time I spend on it, the more I feel good about it. There’s a lot of good this story could do, not to mention keeping me busy with an income coming in.
My alarm goes off at four-fifteen, and I roll over and hit the snooze button. When it goes off a second time, I debate not going. This is so early . Why did working at Steaming Mugs seem like a good idea? But I don’t want to burn that bridge before I’ve even gotten started, so I force myself to get moving.
I arrive with less than a minute to spare, and for the morning rush, they have me taking orders. The line never seems to end, but at least, after the first hour, I’m getting the hang of it. I’m a regular here, so I know how their system works. The customer gives me their order, and I check boxes on the side of the paper cup. I then repeat it back to make sure it’s right and ring it up. I ask them their name, and since we don’t take cash, they scan their app or credit card while I pretend to know how to spell what they mumble. I move the cup into the line, greet the next person, and repeat.
“You’re a natural at this,” my teenaged manager, Farrah, says when there’s finally a lull.
Well, we have child labor laws here, so she’s probably not a teenager, but she sure looks young.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
“You can have as many drinks as you’d like, but only on your breaks,” she explains.
I nod. “That sounds great.”
Now that things have slowed down, she starts me on the espresso machine. This is a little more challenging, but Trish has a similar one, so I get the hang of it quickly. However, I’m still slow, so when the pace picks back up, she returns me to the register.
“Welcome to Steaming Mugs. What can I get you?” I ask the suited gentleman staring at his phone.
“I’d like my usual.”
“I’m sorry? What is your usual?” I wait for him to give me some sort of eye contact.
He still doesn’t look up from his screen. “The same thing I get every morning.”
“Today is my first day. I’ll do my best to remember tomorrow if you’ll tell me what you’d like to drink.”
“I already told you. I want my usual.”
“Great. Coming right up.”
I pour a cup of black coffee, place it on the counter for him, and he walks away with it. I’ve taken two more orders when suddenly, I’m doused in hot coffee and trying not to scream.
My manager runs over. “What’s the problem?”
I pull the hot-coffee-soaked shirt away from me as the guy makes a scene.
“What’s so hard about a cappuccino, you stupid cow?”
“You ordered your usual, and I asked you three times what it was. You wouldn’t tell me, so what did you expect?”
“I want a cappuccino heated to one hundred and eighty degrees, with half nonfat and half cream. Like always.”
“Today is her first day, Fred,” Farrah tells him.
His face goes beet red, and I’m sure I can actually see steam coming out of his ears. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
I work to keep my voice calm. “I did tell you, more than once, and you kept telling me you wanted your usual.”
“You stupid bitch. I want you fired!”
People have gotten out their cell phones to record his meltdown. Farrah just stands there and doesn’t seem to know what to do. At least, she’s not agreeing with him. He continues to call me all sorts of awful names as an older gentleman steps forward. The man clears his throat. “She asked you three times for your order, and you were so busy looking at your phone that you weren’t listening and insisted she knew it. You owe her an apology.”
“That’s a lie!” the other man shrieks. This launches him into a fresh wave of name calling. I’m going to be in a viral video. I’m sure of it. Why couldn’t it be for something good?
Then crazy guy tries to bolt, but the crowd won’t let him.
“You can’t keep me here!” he screams.
“The police are on their way!” a man with dreadlocks and a bike messenger bag says.
The police do indeed arrive, and they interview me and the older gentleman, as well as Farrah. Then, they talk to the crazy man, but it seems they don’t arrest him. After a minute, they send him on his way.
“What the hell?” I fume.
“He has a witness who agrees with his story,” an officer tells me.
“It’s still assault,” I argue. “What about all the videos of what happened? He threw coffee at me.” I pull down my T-shirt and show them the angry blisters on my chest.
The officer’s eyes widen. “Would you like to press charges?”
“I think so…” I say, not completely sure what that means or how my employer is going to feel about this.
“Let us know.” The officer hands me his card.
When the commotion finally settles down, Farrah pulls me aside and gives me the rest of the day off. “Please go to the hospital,” she says. “Should we call an ambulance?”
That’s it? No apology? “No. I can walk.”
“Human Resources will be in touch with you,” she says.
“Are you firing me?”
“No. Not at all. It’s just our procedure.”
I guess I’ll ask HR what my options are for pressing charges when they call. I walk over to the hospital, and after checking in at the emergency room desk, I sit in the waiting room. All I have are the keys to my apartment, my wallet, and my phone. After I’ve waited an hour, I get a call from Linda, the hospital’s head of media relations.
“I spoke with Dr. Drake this morning, and he’s not interested in doing a story on his patient,” she tells me. “He says the boy is a minor and deserves his privacy. But thank you for your interest.”
Before I can ask any questions, the line is dead.
I wait nearly two more hours in the emergency room, sitting between people who are obviously sick. I hope it wasn’t a mistake to come here. I almost do a jig when I’m finally called back and taken to a curtained cubicle. They ask me all the regular questions and clean the wounds. “I’m worried this is going to scar,” the doctor says. “I’ll be right back.”
It’s soon clear that her definition of right back and mine are not the same.
I text Trish.
Me: I think they’re going to fire me already.
Trish: What? Why?
I tell her about the crazy customer and what he did to me.
Trish: I’m on my way.
Me: I’m about to get out of here, and I’m going home and going to bed. I just thought I should tell someone that I’m in the hospital emergency room.
Trish: Only you.
Me: I know. Right?
The curtain slides back, and there, in his sexy green scrubs, is Jack. “What are you doing here?”
I sigh. Of course . I mean, he’s a plastic surgeon, so it makes sense. But is he the only plastic surgeon here? Jeez. At least there’s no bar for him to escape to this time. He has to be professional. “I had a nasty customer at Steaming Mug this morning,” I explain. “Now, I get why people don’t want to work customer-service jobs. People are rude, and the pay is shit.”
Jack smirks. “I see you’re still pissing people off.”
“I didn’t do any such thing.” I take a breath, wondering if this is my chance to try to talk things through with him, since he brought up the article.
But then he smirks. “The ER doc thought you might scar. Let me see your chest.”
I wrap my arms around myself. “It’s fine.”
His head tilts to the side. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen up close and personal before.”
Nope. I’m not going anywhere personal right now. But maybe this is a professional opportunity? “Yes, well, Linda Hsu called and said you won’t talk to me.” But I relax my arms. There’s no reason to be ridiculous about this.
“I’m not going to exploit my patient.” Jack steps forward and looks at the blisters on my chest.
“Who’s going to exploit anyone? You know I’d never do that.”
He snorts, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something further. But then, he just places a cool cream on my chest, followed by a bandage. “Your burn most likely won’t scar, but it will leave marks for a while. But they should fade by summer.” He pulls a sheet of paper out of nowhere. “Here are some care instructions. If the pain becomes too much, you can come to my office for further evaluation. If your wound begins to ooze or there is any puss, please come back to the emergency room. You’re free to go. Have a great day.”
My jaw drops. “That’s it?” The longest conversation we’ve had in seven months, and it still gets us exactly nowhere?
He shrugs. “I have other patients to see. Have a good day, Ms. Seymour.” He disappears.
I should be angry—I am angry—but my tears begin to fall. That’s it. We’re really done. There’s no reason we couldn’t find time to talk now. He’s not being investigated, and he’s not leaving for Sudan. He just doesn’t want to. I thought he was the one. We got along great, and he made me feel safe and loved. But there’s nothing left to salvage of the relationship we once had. I can’t believe it, and it leaves me feeling empty and powerless. What a waste. What a jerk.
After a moment, I pull myself together, wipe my eyes with the heel of my hand, put my coffee-stained shirt back on, and shove aside the curtain to leave. Standing in the hallway is Kent Johns.
His eyes pop wide. “What are you doing here?”
“Just an accident at work.”
“I’ve been meaning to call you—” he starts with a smile.
He was nice enough at the fundraiser, but I can’t possibly deal with another thing right now. “Oh yeah? Everything is so busy, right?”
Pushing past him before he can say another word, I leave the hospital. I could walk home, but after the day I’ve had, I call a rideshare. When I open my front door, I walk back to my room, fall on my bed, and cry. When I can’t cry anymore, I pull out my jewelry box and find the engagement ring Jack gave me. I slip it on and cry all over again.