Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Calvin

I 'm waiting for the elevator, considering the last few hours with Caroline. The evening turned out to be a fun time. I'm glad to be back in the U.S. even if I haven't actually stepped foot in my apartment yet. After landing, I dropped off my luggage, leaving it with my doorman and stopped by to check on Caroline. I'm exhausted from the long trip but I'm compelled to put in some face time at the hospital.

I can't fully explain why I needed to go see Caroline before doing anything else. I mean, she is my best patient. And by best, I mean favorite. As much as I try to suppress it, I've been attracted to Caroline from day one. But her chart indicated she was widowed so I never let on, never explored those feelings. I'm doing my best to keep things in the friend zone.

Not that she ever expressed an interest in anything more. I mean why would she? She lost her husband and is now facing one challenge after the next. For all I know, she's still grieving. What she needs—what we both need—is a friend.

I take the elevator down, pondering the evening, It started out touch-and-go but once we cleared the air there was not an awkward moment. Unless you count sitting in the lobby before going up to Caroline's apartment. For a few minutes, something felt off. Probably due to the nightmare she's going through being targeted by her step kids. Awful.

Caroline may come across to others as closed off or even aloof but she's actually quite sensitive. I know because I've seen her when she lets her hair down, laughing at my stupid jokes as a patient in the hospital, or tonight. She's also kind and generous. Like when she covered all the expenses for her friend's birthday trip to Yosemite even when she couldn't go along. Or by keeping tabs on all her friends. Including me.

When I saw her in the lobby after weeks away in Africa, she was a sight for sore eyes even if she was angry with me. If anything, it feels good to have someone care enough to be mad. Years alone makes one appreciate the sentiment.

While I was away, Caroline's face has thinned and she's clearly preoccupied. At least her leg is fully healed, following months of rehab.

After listening to her talk about the lawsuit, I almost made an offer to help. I'm glad I caught myself. She could have taken it the wrong way. I won't risk losing one of my few true friends in this otherwise unfriendly town.

My friendless status is my own doing. I don't have time for socializing. As an emergency room physician, I am on call at all hours. Doesn't make for a robust social life. But Caroline is different. When she gave me the cold shoulder I wasn't simply upset. I was scared.

Occasionally, I play the 'what-if' game, pondering how things would be different if I had decided to move back to Vermont after med school. I would have a good position, less stress, more downtime and likely, many more friends. But I knew I would miss the excitement of a big city ER. It's an adrenaline rush. At least it was during my thirties and forties. These days, pulling all-nighters is like being a zombie with a stethoscope.

The elevator doors open. Heading for the exit, I wave to Larry and nearly run into an older man.

"Excuse me, sir," I say, trying to get out of his way.

He is stout, gray-haired, sporting a well-fitting dark suit and a wide, crooked nose. Probably was a boxer in his early years.

He's also not budging. I'm feinting right like I'm Michael Jordan on the court when the man says, "Are you Dr. Calvin Sinclair?"

I take a closer look at the man. Larry is now giving us his full attention.

"That's right. And you are . . .?"

"I'm Mrs. Page's chauffeur."

"Ah, Paul. Nice to meet you. Caroline speaks about you all the time."

He keeps his face steady but I see a slight glint in his eye. "Why are you here?"

I didn't realize I needed to explain myself to the help but he is an older gentleman and something tells me he won't take well to a blow-off.

"I came by to catch up with Caroline."

He squints at me like I just told a lie and he's deciding if he should beat the truth out of me. He sucks on his teeth then reaches up as if brushing lint from my coat shoulder. "Don't mess with her."

I'm not sure I heard him correctly but he walks past and I make eye contact with Larry who's looking nervous. I hurry out into the frozen tundra, wondering if I was just threatened by Caroline's septuagenarian driver.