Chapter 9 Jon
JON
I need to see a massage therapist for all the tension I have in my neck and shoulders.
I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep for the last couple of nights.
After seeing Margeaux in the hospital, nothing has been easy.
Sure enough, Margeaux came back to pay Sammy a visit, and he was over the moon.
Sammy’s mom, Wendy, was with them, too, so I made myself scarce.
As if she had a sixth sense for these things, Nicolette hovered around Sammy’s room when I went to check on him.
I don’t think she knows anything happened between Margeaux and me, but that doesn’t help the prickly, nervous feeling in my stomach.
Margeaux didn’t seem to talk to Nicolette.
In fact, Margeaux barely acknowledged me when she was chatting with Sammy and his mom.
She acted like I wasn’t even in the room.
I guess I should feel relieved that Margeaux wants nothing to do with me. I find myself doing extra passes by Sammy’s room today, waiting to see if she stops by again. Nicolette keeps texting me reminders for our condo tours this weekend. I ignore her texts, not ready to deal with that right now.
Another notification pops up on my phone and it’s a page to come to Dr. Nash’s office. I hustle upstairs and find her sitting behind her desk, which is piled high with patient files, textbooks, and scholastic journals.
Dr. Nash is the best mentor. She truly cares about her patients and medicine.
Most doctors—especially here in Paramount Hospital—have their walls cluttered with diplomas, awards, accolades, and so on.
Dr. Nash has photos of her patients, artwork made by her patients, and diagrams of the human heart.
Sitting on the opposite side of Dr. Nash’s desk is Wendy, and she gives me a weak smile. I close the door behind me and take the other empty seat beside Wendy.
“Thank you for getting here so quickly, Dr. Jacob. Wendy has told me she has some news for us, and wanted to tell us together,” Dr. Nash says. She adjusts her glasses, which I’ve come to learn is a sign she is apprehensive about something, and that causes my own nerves to rattle.
“I wanted to thank you both for everything you’ve been doing to help Sammy.
He has seen so many doctors over the years, and he feels most comfortable with you,” she says, turning her gaze to me.
“You’ve been wonderful, Jon. But the last few days have helped me and Sammy realize that he doesn’t belong in the hospital any longer.
I’ll continue his at-home care, but he’s a kid.
He deserves to be a kid for whatever time he has left. ”
My chest tightens while her words sink in. She’s taking Sammy home. His status on the transplant list hasn’t changed. Staying in the hospital isn’t good for his morale. He’s getting sicker. There’s nothing more we can do.
“Are you sure that’s what you and Sammy would like to do?
” Dr. Nash asks, not pressuring Wendy to keep her son in the hospital.
If there were more we could do, she would say so.
At this point, all we can do is keep Sammy comfortable with pain meds.
Personally, I hate pumping little kids full of them.
“Yes,” Wendy chokes back her tears, and then reaches her hand out to me. “You have no idea how much you have helped him. You’re an amazing human being and doctor, Jon.”
I grab her hand, willing back my own tears, trying to maintain some professionalism in front of my mentor and superior. “He’s a great kid. I won’t stop fighting for him, Wendy,” I promise her.
She nods, standing up from her chair. “I’m taking him home tomorrow. He’d love it if you stopped by before we leave.”
“Of course,” I tell her.
She leaves, closing the door behind her softly.
“I’ll handle the discharge paperwork. You go home early for the day,” Dr. Nash tells me, magically finding Sammy’s file in the mountain of paperwork on her desk.
“I’d like to help,” I say, leaning forward in my seat.
She looks up at me, adjusts her thin, silver frames, and gives me a half-smile.
“You’ve already helped that family more than you know.
You’ve done great work on his case. Go home.
Relax. Get some sleep. It won’t be good to show up tomorrow looking exhausted and upset.
He needs to see you looking confident that you’ll see him again.
Send him home with a little hope,” she tells me.
I open my mouth to argue, but she stops me again.
“See you tomorrow, Dr. Jacob.” I know better than to argue with her when she’s like this.
She hates losing patients, and in pediatric cardiology, the wins are rare.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Nash.”
I step outside the hospital, looking at the time on my phone.
It’s just past noon. A new message from Nicolette comes through and I avoid opening the message.
If she sees that I’m reading her texts without responding, she’ll just keep texting until I get back to her.
I don’t have the mental energy to talk about apartments or moving in together.
Sammy is leaving tomorrow, and I just want to be alone.
“What’s up, Doc?”
I startle, looking around to see who’s talking to me.
I see her tattooed leg first, and I take my time observing all the details I hadn’t taken in before.
Dark green vines twine around her calf and thigh, adorned with leaves of slightly lighter shades of green, with red veins.
There are a few Venus Fly Traps in different positions—one smaller one that’s completely closed, then slightly larger ones that are opening up more and more.
I’ve noticed a lot of women like tattoos with flowers, butterflies, and hummingbirds.
Margeaux isn’t a delicate flower. Not a chance.
She is one hundred percent a carnivorous plant, that doesn’t apologize for its brutal nature. It’s so fucking sexy.
“You okay there, Doc?” she asks, snapping her fingers.
I blink a few times and finally stare into her dark eyes. She’s wearing a long sleeve gray top, but my eyes flick back down to her legs that are clad in short denim shorts. I want to lick her legs. Whoa. Where are these thoughts coming from? I cannot think like this.
“Jon? You in there?”
“Uh, yea. Sorry. Just lost in my thoughts, I guess. Busy morning,” I explain, moving my eyes away from her face, and instead, pulling out my phone, only to be met with another message from Nicolette. Fuck. She’s become extra needy these last couple of weeks.
“Thought maybe aliens were abducting you and taking over your brain or something,” she quips. I laugh, putting my phone on silent in my pocket.
“Ha. I wish. Could use an alien lobotomy right about now,” I say morbidly.
“Whoa. Rough day? I was just stopping by to visit Sammy again,” she says, jutting her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the main entrance.
“You could say that. You know you don’t have to keep visiting him. I’m sure you have better things to do than talk about superheroes and comic books with a sick kid.”
She huffs a laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, Doc. Not a lot of friends are reaching out to me right now. And, I’m on strict orders from my manager not to cause trouble while I wait for that Doucheland guy to send his settlement agreement.”
Oh. Right. Guess Paramount isn’t really opening doors for her. Even as we stand here and talk, people walking by stare at her like she’s a circus clown. I’m staring at her too. But for completely opposite reasons.
“Well, I’m off for the rest of the day. See ya around, maybe.” I turn and make it about three steps before I hear her trotting alongside me. I catch a whiff of her conditioner—something sweet, like cherries or something.
“Where’re we headed?” she asks, and I force my eyes to stay pointed forward.
“We?”
“Yea. I can always stop by Sammy’s room later. He’s probably gonna be taking a nap soon, anyway, right?”
The fact that after only a couple of days of knowing him, she already understands his schedule, does something to me. My heart that’s breaking for Sammy is suddenly warming for Margeaux.
“You’re a lot nicer than you seem,” I tell her.
“What about me doesn’t seem nice?” she asks defensively. I don’t look, but I can tell in my periphery that she’s looking right at me, giving me an annoyed eye roll.
“Oh, I dunno. Crushing your opponents with chairs. Punching overly entitled assholes in bar fights,” I shrug.
She doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and I worry I really offended her. I thought I was being funny—albeit sarcastic—but she’s not laughing.
“Firstly, I didn’t hit her that hard with the chair.
We have a way of hitting using props that makes it look worse than it feels,” she states, holding up her index finger as we continue walking.
“Secondly, I didn’t punch Richy Rich. You were there.
I put him in a headlock. He’s a fucking liar and a total sleezebag. ”
“You’re right about that.” I’ve only met Brice Strickland a handful of times over the years.
He’s an entitled asshole. His dad is a high-priced defense attorney, and Brice reaps all the benefits of being a multi-millionaire’s son.
He’s always popping up in the local news about hosting parties for the young elite.
Which, I have no doubt, are flooded with booze and drugs.
We walk in a comfortable silence for another half a block. “So, where are you taking me, Doc?”
“Taking you? You’re following me,” I say, not hating that she’s next to me. Something about her calms me, even though I’m a nervous wreck and probably should avoid all contact with this woman. Even though my brain knows better, my body is aching to be closer to this one-of-a-kind woman.
“Well, you’re leading us somewhere. I haven’t explored this city much. Outside of the gym, or visiting Sammy, I tend to stay in my hotel room and just order room service. The less I’m seen out and about, the less trouble for me.
“You planning on causing more trouble?” I tease her.
“Uh, fuck you. And no. I don’t cause trouble. It just has a tendency to find me,” she says, giving me a wink.
Is she suggesting we get into trouble together? I am not looking for that.“
Look, what happened between us the other day was wrong and a mistake,” I admit.
“You mean, you shoving your tongue in my mouth, or, you making me hide in a shower, while you ditched me? Which part?”
“The whole part!” I look around and lower my voice so nobody overhears us. “Look, I don’t know what came over me. I was operating out of character. I was in the wrong. Not you. You were…”
“Hmmm? Go on, Doc. I was…”
Sexy. Amazing. The best kiss of my life. “You were there,” I say instead.
“Wow. Okay. So, you just wanted to dip your toe in another pool before Little Miss Uptight shackles you to her for the rest of your boring life. Got it.” She turns around and starts walking in the other direction.
Shit. I should just let her go and walk away from me. I should let her walk out of my life. That would be the smart thing. But Margeaux makes me stupid. So incredibly stupid.
“Margeaux! Stop.” She does. She faces me and the sun reflects off the small piercing above her upper lip.
She isn’t pouting. She’s not working up fake tears to make me feel guilty.
Nicolette has done that on many occasions when I’ve said something that upsets her.
No. Margeaux just looks bored. Like she doesn’t need to spend her time with me, and she’s tired of wasting her energy on a dorky loser like me. I don’t blame her.
“Do you like French fries?” I ask.
“French fries?”
“Yea. There’s the best food truck in the world just a few blocks up, by the park. The owner and head chef makes the best fries. Let me buy you an order of fries, as an apology,” I offer.
“You think a side of fries is a worthy apology?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Trust me. These fries, if used properly, would solve world peace.”
She tucks her lips into her mouth, trying not to smile.
“Lead the way, Doc.”