For the second time that morning, I froze in place. Then, without warning, I turned back around. Splashes of my mocha sprayed out in a wide arch, and I ignored the angry protests of my fellow pedestrians as I returned once more to the homeless man. My fingers fished around in my purse for a second before I came up a moment later with a handful of diamonds.
Without pausing to think, I dropped the bracelet into the man’s cup and walked away.
“Wh-what’s this?” he called hoarsely behind me.
“Merry Christmas.”
Impossible to escape? Well, that damn well didn’t mean I wouldn’t try.
I got to work a few minutes later and threw my purse down in my cubby. It was unusually quiet in the front lobby, so I sank into the chair behind the front desk for a moment and rubbed my eyes. When I’d gotten up this ordinary morning, this was not what I’d had in mind. All the stress, jet lag, and fatigue from the last few days had me hovering right at the edge of my limits, threatening at any moment to push me over. With a weary sigh, I put my elbows on the edge of the counter an
d caught my head in my hands, smoothing back my hair as I breathed through the anxiety with another deep sigh. It would be all right. This, too, would pass.
That’s when I realized something was wrong.
I couldn’t tell you how. It was that inexplicable feeling I get sometimes. The one that raised the hair on the back of my neck. Like the calm before a storm.
In a sudden rush, I pushed to my feet and started down the quiet hall. An abnormal hush had fallen over the entire facility, and I quickened my pace as I rounded a corner and saw a group of people crowded around a room.
Room 207.
I stopped where I stood. I knew that room. And I knew what Lisa was going to tell me even before she spotted me and headed over through the crowd.
“She passed away early this morning,” she murmured consolingly. “It came on suddenly, but it was very quick. Her daughter’s on her way down right now to try to arrange something for the funeral. I don’t think they can really afford—”
I didn’t hear the rest of what she said. Before I knew what was happening, I’d slid down the wall and was sitting with my back against a door, staring wordlessly at the mournful crowd.
Lisa knelt in front of me with concern. It wasn’t like me to lose my head over the death of a resident. It was a standard part of the job—one which I’d been able to work through and compartmentalize many years ago.
But…not this one. And not today.
“Honey, why don’t you take the afternoon off?” She placed an almost motherly hand on my knees and looked at me kindly. “I know how much Mrs. Diaz meant to you. You can come back tomorrow if you want to speak with the family.”
I nodded numbly, keeping my eyes on the door. “I can’t leave. My other patients need me.”
She returned to the crowd, but I stayed where I was against the wall, staring at the now empty room of a good friend of mine.
Mrs. Diaz had been one of the first patients I ever had after completing my certification. I was nervous implementing the things I studied on real people, and she had the time of her life faking seizures when I took her blood pressure, screaming at needle pricks—we had to get blood sugars—and doing basically anything else she could think of to scare me out of my mind. After I threatened to discreetly make her take showers five time a week if the behavior continued, she and I had struck up a fast friendship. She was initially here recovering from a botched knee surgery, so that gave us plenty of time to talk as I walked her through countless months of physical therapy. She told me about her life, and I told her about mine. She knew I was a struggling actress. She celebrated with me every time I got a minor part. She even advised me to let Amanda keep Deevus, saying that I needed a pet who loved me.
I was temporarily devastated when she left, but six months later, she returned with a different diagnoses. Dementia.
This stay was decidedly different from the first. Some days would be just like the old times; she’d ask after my mother and threaten to lock herself in the shower if I didn’t bring her Oreos and Chinese. Some days, I’d walk inside and she’d have no idea who I was. Her body was in fine shape, but her mind was deteriorating quickly, leaving her family with few options but to check her into our facility to protect her for the remainder of her time. And while it was the right move for Mrs. Diaz, it left her family on the verge of medical bankruptcy. They would not be able to afford the service she deserved. They would hardly be able to afford a service at all.
I quickly wiped my face and pushed to my feet, hurrying back down the hall before anyone else could stop me and ask if I was okay. I was most decidedly not okay.
The only bit of luck I had that day was that I was able to keep myself from crying until I made it back to the apartment. The second I was inside, I dropped my purse on the floor and flew down the hall, collapsing on my bed and pressing a pillow to my face to stifle the sobs.
I knew it was selfish, I knew it went against the very nature of my profession, but I wasn’t ready to let Mrs. Diaz go yet. There were more things I wanted to share with her, more good days she needed to have. Her daughter was supposed to visit last month, but had canceled at the last minute because her child was ill. She was going to come this month instead…
Another set of sobs shook my entire body, and I curled my knees up around the pillow. I barely heard the soft footsteps that headed down the hall, and when my door pushed open, I assumed it was Amanda. It wasn’t until I caught the telltale whiff of sandalwood that I knew I’d gotten it wrong.
“Rebecca,” he said.
“Hi, Marcus.”
“Some guy named Barry let me in. He said Amanda ran to the store.”
“That’s my roommate’s boyfriend. Come on in.”