3. Three
Three
M organ
I hung around the hospital for another hour before a gray-haired psychiatrist from the fourth floor finally showed up. I am not sure what irritated him the most—my age or gender. Either way, he did not share my concerns for Dixie.
He told me that even if he thought she was suicidal, which he did not, there wasn’t a bed available to admit her. His dismissive attitude pissed me off, but I was new, and there was little I could do about it. The worst part was he was right. Dixie was not suicidal. But given her lifestyle, there was a real possibility she would end up dead if she did not get help.
I called the Largo County Sheriff’s Office and asked to speak with Deputy Garcia. Dispatch put me through and I let him know he could pick up his prisoner. Instead of gloating like I expected him to, he actually sounded sympathetic.
“She’s going to be charged with battery of a law enforcement officer. I talked to the DA and requested she serve enough time to get the help she needs.”
“That was very nice of you. I am not sure Dixie will see it the same way, though. At least not yet.”
“I’m not doing it for her. I did it for you.”
Maybe I had misjudged him, and he was one of the good guys. Or maybe he was just trying to get into my pants. I wasn’t sure which, so I told him I appreciated it and then hung up before he could say anything to ruin the gesture.
Finally, tired enough to sleep, I said goodbye to Elenora and told her I would see her the next day. She only works mornings, but as the newest member of the staff, I would be back at work that evening.
There are many beautiful hotels and resorts in Turtle Key, unfortunately my current address was not one of them. The Paradise Fishing Lodge, a single story structure, is a relic from the 1950s. There is no lobby, just the small office where I checked in. The neon sign out front, half of which still lights up, advertises color TVs and air-conditioned efficiency units.
My parking space was directly in front of my room, so I could look out the window and keep an eye on my car. The old man who handed me the key said he was surprised to see a single woman checking in. Most of their clientele are ‘rednecks who come to fish and get drunk.’
The room had a small kitchen with a two-burner stove, a mini fridge, and toaster; but no microwave or coffee maker. Along with mismatched plates and silverware, there was also free basic cable but no internet. Thank God for mobile Wi-Fi.
It was stifling hot, so I turned on the ancient window unit. After groaning for a long moment, the AC kicked on. I shut it off when I am at work because the temperature control is broken. After my first shift, I came back to find the entire room covered in frost.
I ate a grilled cheese sandwich, which I cooked on the stovetop’s one working burner. Then stripped out of my work clothes and crawled into the least uncomfortable of the two beds. The room appeared to have been cleaned prior to my arrival, but I saw no sense in taking chances and had picked up new sheets, pillows, and blankets at Bell’s Discount Outlets. I fell asleep almost right away.
When my eyes popped open, without looking at my phone, I knew it was four o’clock and time to get up. Whatever faults my fellow guests might have, at least they were as reliable as a Swiss watch. Every morning before dawn, they would leave to board one of the many charter boats docked near the motel.
After fishing for eight hours, they would return to harbor and stop for a few drinks at the Southern Cross to celebrate that day’s catch. Then, without fail, they returned to the motel at four o’clock, to drink more and grill dinner. I knew all of this because only a single pane of glass separated me from the courtyard and their boisterous voices.
I got out of bed and dressed in a WVU t-shirt, blue nylon shorts, and a pair of ASICS running shoes. Then pulled my long hair into a ponytail. As soon as I opened the front door, the aroma of charcoal and fish on the grill reminded my stomach that all I'd eaten in the last eighteen hours was a grilled cheese sandwich.
As I stretched in the courtyard, a sunburned man at the grill checked out my legs and offered me a grouper sandwich and a beer, which I politely declined. From the motel to Black's lighthouse, and back was exactly five kilometers. When I returned from my run, thirty minutes later, I was sweaty, but felt good about sticking to my routine. I was also starving.
My shift didn’t start until eleven, so after showering, I drove down to Gabby's Clam Shack. I’d only been in town a week, but the food truck, parked near Smoot’s Beach, was already a favorite of mine. It’s hard to say which I enjoyed more; the perfectly cooked shrimp tacos or the spectacular sunset views. I couldn’t imagine ever growing tired of either.
After finding an empty picnic table, I sat the cardboard box of food down, just as my phone buzzed. I checked the caller ID. It was Carl, a guy I dated back in Pittsburgh. Eventually, I would have to talk to him, but not today.
Carl, attractive, with a pleasant personality, is an adjunct professor of engineering at Carnegie Mellon. But he was interested in more than I could give. I don’t do romantic relationships any more.
When Dr. Paulson called to offer me the position at TKMC, I saw it as an opportunity to put some distance between us. Doris Paulson had been my faculty advisor during the final year of med school. The year I went into emergency medicine instead of orthopedics. The year Tammy died.
Doris was supportive of my decision and helped me get through the dark days. We stayed in touch during my residency. Even after she moved back to Florida to head the first and only level one trauma center in all the Keys. The chance to work for her was an opportunity I could not turn down.
My phone buzzed again, this time with a text message. Also from Carl. I pushed the phone away. Reading his message would only ruin my appetite, and Gabby's tacos were too delicious to waste.
Crunchy butterflied shrimp, breaded and fried to perfection, wrapped in a warm, pillow soft tortilla. Red cabbage and green apple slaw marinated in lime juice, salt, and sesame oil provided a tangy coolness. But it was the house made sauce, which brought it all together. Smokey, creamy and the right amount of spice.
Just as I took a very unladylike bite, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. Crap, it was Zak. Instead of turning around, I tried to swallow without choking. The idea of the sexy paramedic’s arms wrapped around me had crossed my mind once or twice, but it had never involved the Heimlich maneuver.
After a gulp of iced tea to clear my throat, I dabbed a napkin to my lips and turned to face him. He gave me a smile that sparkled all the way to his dreamy gray eyes. “I thought that was you.”
Out of uniform, his body was even more impressive than I imagined. His faded red tank top showed off a muscular pair of biceps.
The way he looked at me caused my shorts to dampen. I shifted on the bench, cursing my hormones for their betrayal, and pulled my eyes away. Indicating the lengthy line of customers queued at the service window, I asked, “Have you ordered yet?”
He nodded, and I invited him to sit down. “Thanks, I knew this close to sunset it would be crowded. But my shift ran late today, and it is my turn to pick up dinner.” I offered him a French fry and asked what had happened.
“A tourist on an E-bike collided with a couple of pedestrians on Big Pine Key. You would never catch me on one of those things. We get two or three calls a week, just like that one. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured this time.” It surprised me to learn he covered such a large amount of territory. Big Pine was twenty miles to the south.
He finished the fry and licked salt from his lips. My nipples stiffened, and I struggled to pay attention to his words. “LCEMS services all of Largo County, but Clive and I primarily cover the forty miles between Big Pine and Layton.”
“Wow, you must know the area really well, then.” I was thinking he might have some ideas about where I could find a place to live.
“I don't like to brag, but I am considered quite the tour guide.” He grinned and winked, so I knew he was joking. “I'd be happy to help you get the lay of the land. I know all the best spots, including a few only locals know about. When's your next day off?”
He asked so casually; I responded without thinking. “Saturday.”
“Mine too.” He smiled. “It’s a date then.”
Before I could object, the woman at the window called his name. “I hate to run, but my roommate gets cranky when dinner's late.” He scribbled his phone number on a napkin and told me to text him so we could work out the details.
Zak left, and I looked at the napkin. He had excellent penmanship. That and the fact his butt looked amazing in those shorts may have played a factor in what happened next. I picked up my phone, entered his number in my contacts, and sent a text.
I took another bite of taco, then re-read the message I had just sent to a virtual stranger. It made me cringe. What was it about this guy that had me behaving like some sex starved slut? Maybe it was because it had been a while since I last got laid. Either way, it was too late to take it back.