Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 15

Hot Man Reading

“You have a minute?” I asked as I peeked into Hector’s office.

“Sure, come in.”

I dropped the thick stack of papers organized in manila folders onto his desk, where they landed with a heavy thud.

Hector blinked at me. “What’s this?” he asked.

“The admission questionnaires for the trial. We have ten potential participants, and three are borderline. I’d like to discuss them with you.”

He let out a long breath and was likely considering how to get out of this, but he knew he couldn’t. This was the part of clinical trials no one liked: Deciding who got in.

“Fine,” he said. “Close the door.”

We went through the seven I was certain we would allow into the trial, and he agreed on each of them. Then, the hard part began.

“She is so young and has a baby—” I defended my position on one of the potential participants.

“Even if she weren’t young or didn’t have a baby,” Hector argued, “it doesn’t change the staging—”

“But it’s barely outside the trial criteria—”

“Say that word again?”

I blinked at him. “What word?”

“What you used right after ‘barely.’”

I rolled my eyes. “Outside. You want me to say it’s outside the trial criteria. I know that Hector, but—”

“Look, I appreciate you wanting to save everyone. I do too. But if we bend the trial criteria, we are skewing the results. And you know in order to change the protocol, we’d have to go through the internal review board again anyway—”

“Yeah. Yeah. I get your point.”

It was so frustrating to have someone I knew would benefit from the new treatment protocol but couldn’t get it because the trial wasn’t yet widely available.

“Hey, thanks for this,” I said after I had a moment to process my disappointment. “The trial needs your sternness.”

“You can be stern,” Hector reassured me.

I scoffed.

“You can,” he insisted. “I wasn’t always like this. When I first started out, I was just like you. I wanted to put everyone in my trial.”

“You did?”

Hector nodded. “I did. But I couldn’t, and neither can you.”

The second borderline participant we deemed eligible, and I stacked her file with the other seven. And the last one, like the new mom, was deemed ineligible. I shrank deeper and deeper into my doctor’s coat as we made those life-altering calls.

Finally, I straightened my spine. We had to do what we had to do. Moping about it wouldn’t change a damn thing.

“Can I ask you something?” Hector asked.

“Sure.”

“When I first started working here, you were worried that I was mad about you ripping off my trial. Why did you think that?”

I shrugged. I didn’t even want to think about Keach right now. “I guess it felt like a big coincidence you came here for this trial.”

“Okay, stand up,” he said as he stepped around his desk.

“What?”

“Stand up, Ramirez.”

This man was acting strangely. “Okay.”

We stood about three feet apart looking at each other.

“Research is a dance,” Hector said.

What the hell? “A dance?” I asked with trepidation.

He nodded and stepped toward me. He took my hand in his and dropped his free hand to my waist. My shoulder blades tightened. “Hector,” I said, “I wasn’t kidding before. I don’t know how to dance.”

“Just humor me.”

“Fine.”

The hand on my waist pulled me toward him, and he stepped back on the same beat. “One researcher takes a step forward, and the next one takes the lead,” he said, then pushed me back with the hand he had in mine. “That doctor spins the research into a twirl, pushing it further . . .” As he said this, Hector lifted our joined hands over our heads and pushed my waist forcefully until I spun around.

But I hadn’t been lying when I’d told him I couldn’t dance. I almost lost my balance when I landed the spin, and he expertly caught me. I peered at him through my hair—now a mess from the dancing. His eyes darkened as he took my face in, and we stood there, connected for two seconds too many. I wondered if he noticed that I shivered in his arms.

“Everyone can dance,” he said, finally letting go of my hand and waist. “With the right lead,” he added, then threw me the cockiest grin I had ever seen.

The next dayI called him at his office for a consult.

“What time are you off work?” he asked.

“In an hour. Why?”

“Why don’t we go for coffee somewhere and discuss there? Unless the situation is urgent—”

“No. Not urgent. Sure. I know this great place on Westport Road.”

I sent him the address, wrapped up everything I had left to do on my shift, and drove to my favorite family-owned café in town.

When I arrived, Hector was already waiting for me. He wore casual attire, and it worked for him. It worked for him really well. His t-shirt clung to his pectoral muscles in the most enticing way. His brow was furrowed as he turned a page on the book in his hands. Hot men reading was my kryptonite, but I shared that dirty little secret with no one. Not even Sara or Sofia knew that I frequently searched through #hotmenreading accounts on social media.

I needed to stop gawking at him, so I took a deep breath and settled on the seat across from his. “Hello,” I said cheerily.

Hector grabbed a bookmark from the back of the book and held his place.

“What you reading?” He tilted the book to show me the cover.

“East of Eden,” I said. “That’s a great one. First time?”

“Yeah. I’m halfway through. It’s fantastic.”

“Since you haven’t finished, I’ll resist the urge to geek out about it. Don’t want to spoil it.”

“I appreciate that,” Hector said. “Maybe when I’m done?”

“It’s a deal.”

The mood took a serious turn when I began to discuss a new patient I’d just seen for a second opinion. I knew deep down she was hospice-bound, but I also held out hope Hector would see something I was missing.

“I’m sorry, Carolina. You are right with your original prognosis.”

“I knew you were going to say that,” I said with less enthusiasm.

Hector’s mouth curved into a half-smile. “Then, why’d you ask for the consult if you already knew?”

“I’m a masochist?”

He chuckled.

“Thanks for your input anyway,” I said.

“Anytime.”

Before leaving, I had to ask him about the fellowship. Since Dr. Keach had brought it up, I hadn’t mentioned it to Hector. “Can I ask you something I’m fairly certain I shouldn’t be asking?”

“I have a feeling you will no matter what I say.”

“You are reviewing the fellowship applications next year, right?”

“That was supposed to be confidential. How did you . . .” Hector’s eyes narrowed. “Let me guess. Keach?”

I nodded, a little surprised he guessed who had spilled the beans. Had he told Keach? My stomach churned at the idea of him selecting Dr. Keach over me for the fellowship. If he had, it would make sense for them to have already talked about it. “Um—” I cleared my throat. “How did you know it was Dr. Keach who told me?”

“The chief won’t shut up about him. I can only assume he told Dr. Keach, who was so kind as to inform you,” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

I let out the breath I'd been holding. “Oh,” I said. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Am I in the running?”

“You know I can’t tell you that,” said Hector, but he smiled from ear to ear and peeked at me over his glasses. That was all the reassurance I needed.

“Thanks again. I’ll get out of your hair. Let you get back to your Steinbeck.”

“You in a hurry?”

“Not really, no.” I bit my lip. “But I don’t want to impose.”

“I enjoy the company, Carolina. It’s nice to have someone to talk with outside of work.”

“All right, then let me grab another coffee.”

Instead, he offered to place the order himself and was back at our table with a smile I was glad to see again.

“Are you doing better—I mean since getting the divorce papers?” I asked him.

“It’s sinking in. I’m feeling calmer, at least,” he said and sipped his coffee.

“Good.” I smiled in a way I hoped came across as encouraging.

“I appreciate you listening.”

“Anytime. I’m glad you’re giving it one last shot.”

Hector’s eyes narrowed. “You are?”

“Of course!” I said in a much-too-high pitch. I laughed, but it came out nervous. Could he see right through me? “I’d like to think, though we haven’t known each other that long, we are friends—”

“We are friends, Carolina. You’ve taken my shoes off when I was too drunk—”

I laughed in earnest, remembering his drunken experience. “Well, I want my friends to be happy. And I hope you find your happiness too.”

“Oh, I will,” he said with a firmness that made my thighs clench under the table.

“So how are you gonna do it?” I asked.

“Do what?”

“Get her back?”

“Don’t know. I’ll think of something. Why? You have any suggestions?”

I swallowed hard. No. He couldn’t ask me this. While it was true that I wanted him to be happy, I wanted no part in the creation of said happiness.

“Actually,” he said, “this is perfect. I could use a woman’s advice—”

“Hector,” I whined, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“I think it’s a brilliant idea. Tell me, Carolina, if your husband was trying to get you back after a long time apart, how would you like him to do it?”

No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening. The thought of him with another woman, even his wife, went down like cheap tequila; it burned to the core and left a bitter taste on the tongue. I’d rather have a catheter put in than talk about this. Didn’t he have buddies he could talk with about this kind of thing?

“Come on.” Hector nudged me. “I’m sure what you come up with will be a million times better than any of my ideas. Please.”

“You’re being pathetic again,” I said. “It makes it hard to say no to you.”

He grinned again. “I know. You said.”

I couldn’t find a way to say no without also giving away that my feelings for him were growing. I’d have to play this cool. You can do this, Caro. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

“Expensive roses?”

I shook my head. “Really? That’s the best you can do?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m consulting an expert.”

“Ha-ha,” I said in a mocking tone. “You have to think of something big. It’s hard to advise because I didn’t know you two as a couple. If it’s personal, that’s better.”

“What do you mean?”

I took a deep breath and did my best to steady my voice. “One year when I was little, Mom and Dad had been fighting. I can’t remember anymore what the fight was about. Let’s just say Dad was in the doghouse for a week. Dad knew who mom’s favorite author was, so he got our local bookstore to track down a signed copy.

“When Mom opened the gift, she started crying. I thought she would get mad all over again, but she just kept saying over and over how that author had touched the book she was holding, and now she was touching it.”

Hector listened intently as I shared the little memory of my parents together. “That’s sweet,” he said. “But I don’t think Andrea is much of a reader.”

“You are missing the point. It’s not about the gift itself. It was so effective because he knew something so personal about her. Something only he could have managed.”

Hector scratched his head, thinking.

“Look, it doesn’t even have to be a thing. It can be a place or an experience. Is there a place special to the both of you? Maybe take her there? Whisk her away. Women love being whisked away.”

The minute I said it, I regretted every last syllable that had left my mouth. I placed the final nail on the coffin that was my jealousy. Way to go, Carolina. You managed to make yourself jealous.

“Maybe I’ll do that,” Hector said.

I cleared my throat. “Good.” I smiled, but it was stiff.

No. Please don’t go anywhere with any woman. I could picture them and their perfect bodies clad in swimwear in the Maldives. A romantic getaway for two, all because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

“Are you okay?” Hector asked. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”

I smiled tightly at him again. “I’m fine.”