Remission by Ofelia Martinez

Chapter 9

The Drunk Doctor

“Sofia? What is it?” I asked with my heart lodged in my throat.

I was used to getting calls at three in the morning, but they were usually from the hospital. Seeing the name of someone close was jarring. Please don’t let it be Sara, I thought.

“He’s, um—here.”

“Who? Where?”

“Your boss. I closed the bar a few minutes ago, but he is barely coherent. I wasn’t sure if I should send him in a cab or not.”

She was asking me. I pressed a hand to my heart, calming myself down. It wasn’t Sara. I rubbed the sleep off my eyes. “No—uh, no. I’ll drive him home.”

“Mind letting yourself in?” Sofia asked. “Got someone upstairs waiting for me in bed,” she said playfully, and I smiled, shaking my head. I didn’t even bother asking who it was because it was usually a different person every time. It would take someone incredibly special to make it into her bed on a repeat night.

“Yeah, I got the key. And hey, Sofia? Thanks for calling me.”

“No problem.”

She hung up the phone, and I slipped into sweats and my white sneakers. I grabbed the first pullover I could find. At three in the morning, the air would be crisp.

Dr. Medina was twirling an empty shot glass on the bar with his index finger when I found him. All the lights were out except for one near him. He looked up when he heard the door open.

“Carolina!” he said with a huge grin that reminded me of his first week on the job. “Look! It’s Carolina Doctor, I mean—Doctor Carolina.”

I looked around, but there was no one else in the room but him. “Come on, hotshot. I’ll take you home.”

“But the drinks are here.” He looked at the glass bottles of liquor on the shelf.

“I’m sure you have drinks at home.”

He shook his head. “No alcohol in my home. Ever. It’s a rule,” he said, nodding like a child.

Oh my god. Was he an alcoholic? Is that why he was so angry when he believed I was partying on all my days off? That would explain a lot. It would certainly explain why he was murderous on the night he drove me home when he thought I’d be driving after drinking.

“I’ll get you some more on the way home,” I lied. He’d pass out as soon as he got there.

I stood next to him, letting him lean on me for balance.

“I have to pay,” he said.

“It’s okay—”

“No. The pretty bartender. Where’d she go?” He looked around the bar as if he just noticed Sofia had left.

“She knows you’re good for it. Besides, she knows where you work. You can close out your tab tomorrow.”

Leading him to my car proved difficult. He was more off-balance than I thought he’d be, and suddenly I regretted not asking Sofia to stay up and help me. Funny how the lives of doctors and lives of bartenders are so similar; we both get our sleep when we get our sleep. Or we don’t.

Before I opened the passenger door, I grabbed his wallet from inside his jacket. I was no skilled pickpocket, but he was so far gone, he didn’t notice. I pushed his head down with my free hand to protect him from banging his head on the roof of the car.

Once behind the wheel, I grabbed his driver’s license and copied the address onto my navigation device. His home was less than fifteen minutes away.

We entered the security code to his front door incorrectly twice before getting it right. He kept mixing numbers at first. Once inside, I was surprised there was a security system at all. There was nothing anyone would want to steal. The house was spacious and luxurious, with its crown molding and marble kitchen island, but there was no furniture on the main floor. Not a single item decorated the walls. Maybe he had just moved in.

After asking where his room was, he led us there. Getting up the stairs was more challenging than getting him in my car, but we finally made it. I was relieved to see he had a bed, even if it was the solitary item in the room apart from a dresser.

It was beyond awkward standing in a bedroom with my drunk boss. I thanked my lucky stars Sofia was the only one aware of this debacle, and I knew she’d never tell a single soul. Not even Sara.

The thought of his wife sent a shiver through my body. Where was she? From the pictures I had seen online, I would have bet five dollars that woman would have this house filled with cozy beige and white furniture. She should have picked him up from the bar—certainly not me. Hector had been in Kansas City several months—long enough for furniture, and long enough for his wife to join him.

I needed to stop thinking of him in any capacity not related to work. His personal life was none of my business, even if I now found myself in the precarious situation of having to drag his drunk ass home. He groaned on the bed, looking up at the ceiling. I took his shoes off, which I reasoned with myself was not crossing a line. I wasn’t taking them off to touch him. Not at all. I was being a civil servant. Serving my fellow man.

“Good night, Hector. I think the person who picks you up drunk at a bar at three in the morning gets to be on a first-name basis.”

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes. I have to go to work in a few hours.”

“Don go,” he said, his words slurred, missing consonants.

“I have to.”

“I’m hungry. I can’t sleep if I haven’t food.”

I groaned. This fool was going to slice a finger off if he tried making something.

“All right, let’s see what we can find in your fridge. But then I have to go.”

He sprang up, and it was only a little funny when he clung to the rail for balance as he descended the staircase.

There wasn’t much in the fridge, but I managed to find enough to make a turkey and cheese sandwich. I started a pot of coffee to hopefully sober him up.

As I worked, Hector sat on the single stool at the kitchen island. He bent over, his arm on the counter, and his head rested on his shoulder.

“How is Ramiro?” he asked with the subtlety of a bulldozer.

I winced. I tried not to think about him but answered after handing Hector his plate. “I haven’t seen him since my birthday party.”

He looked up from the sandwich after the first bite.

“You haven’t?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Why?”

“He’s in Florida.” There was no way of knowing whether the move was permanent or not, so I refrained from voicing any assumptions.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry that you broke up.”

“Broke up? Ramiro and I have never been a couple.”

I tried not to get angry when he smiled.

“You haven’t?”

“No.”

“At the party, I could have sworn—”

“He’s like a brother to me,” I cut him off, wanting to be done with this conversation.

A soft ‘meow’ distracted me momentarily. That’s right. He’d mentioned a cat. “Come here, kitty, kitty.” I smacked my lips as I searched for the source of that soft sound.

“Canica,” said Hector.

“What?”

“Her name is Canica.”

“Marble? You named her Marble?”

He shook his head. “No. I didn’t name her.”

I had to assume he meant it had been his wife who named her, though why would the cat be with Hector and not her if it was her cat was beyond me. None of your business, Caro. “Canica, come here, girl.”

“She’s shy with strangers,” Hector said.

I would be lying if I said it didn’t melt my heart that he knew his cat’s personality. “Right.” I searched the kitchen floor until I came upon her food and water bowls tucked away in the corner. Hector didn’t have much in the pantry, but he did have several cans of cat food.

I filled Canica’s water bowl first and emptied a can of food into the second bowl. Lingering by the food, I hoped she’d come out to my offering, but she didn’t do so until I stood a couple of feet back.

When she did reveal herself, she walked carefully to her dinner. She had a beautiful silver coat and piercing, bright yellow eyes. Once she was done, she approached me tentatively and wrapped herself around my left leg before springing away toward Hector. He picked her up to land a kiss on the top of her head before putting her down again.

“I’m sorry I had it wrong about Ramiro,” Hector said, bringing back the subject to where we’d left off our conversation. He took another bite, and I handed him the coffee, which he took black. “But I guess that leaves hope for Dr. Keach.”

I dropped the package of cheese I was stowing in the fridge. What in the hell?

“Dr. Keach? What in the world are you talking about?”

“He likes you. I never thought he had a chance—you know, thinking you were with Ramiro, but now . . .” His left eyebrow lifted as he trailed off mid-sentence.

“Dr. Keach does not like me.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Does.”

“Hector.”

“Carolina.”

Oh, brother. We sounded like little kids.

“Remind me to never pick your drunk ass up again.”

“Why do you think he is always in your face?”

“He hates me.”

“Nope. He can’t stand to be away from you. Always finding excuses to be around you, to get a rise out of you—provoke you.”

It was that moment that I realized he’d been paying attention. He’d been watching me this entire time, not with the interest of an employer for his employee, but with interest in my personal life.

He scarfed down the sandwich and coffee in record time. Slowly, his words became more coherent, and he found his center of gravity again.

“Why do people say that?”

“What?”

“That when a guy is mean to a woman, it means he likes her. I used to hear it so much as a kid. If a boy teases you, it means he likes you. Mom used to say it. Dad said it. It’s so wrong. It’s so ingrained in us from the time we are little kids.” I shook my head. “No wonder so many women grow up to confuse abuse with love.” My mouth dried up at the thought of Sara.

“I’m sorry, Carolina.” I found nothing but sincere repentance in his eyes. “I’m sobering up with the food and am starting to realize I’ve placed my foot in my mouth quite a bit tonight.”

His words were indeed less slurred. I nodded in acceptance of his apology, and his muscles relaxed.

“Besides,” I said dismissively, “if it happens to be true that Keach likes me—which I very much doubt—I would never accept affection from a man who chooses to show a woman he likes her by torturing her and messing with her. That wouldn’t be my type at all. Too childish.” I crinkled my nose.

Hector raised an eyebrow. “What is your type, Dr. Ramirez?”

I thought about it for a second, and he patiently waited. I had never been in a significant relationship, not that I’d tell Hector that. I’d dated, of course, but nothing had ever gotten serious. I finally settled on saying, “I’m trying to think of a throughline in the men I’ve dated, but they were all so different, I don’t think they fit a particular type.”

“Okay, but you must know what you like—traits you value.”

“Yeah. Sure. Let’s see. Smart. Smart is a must. Mature. I like a man who is self-assured, but still humble—not that you would know anything about humility. Balance, I guess. I’m so boring, aren’t I?” I chuckled.

“No, Carolina. You are not boring. And I don’t know what you are talking about. I’m the best at being humble.”

“You realize that very statement proves otherwise?”

Hector threw his head back with laughter.

“I really have to get going. I won’t even have a chance to sleep now, but I do have to get ready to go to the hospital.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

I let him stand first to make sure his balance was sufficient for him to climb the stairs by himself. He was steady enough, at least for me to avoid being in his room again. That would be a mistake.

“Carolina.” He stopped me before I could open the door. “Thank you for tonight. And I’m sorry for what I said. There is no excuse.”

“It happens. I believe intent is important, and I know you weren’t trying to be malicious.”

He stepped closer to me, nearly pinning my back to the door. “No. It was not my intent to be malicious.”

My breath caught in the back of my throat. He leaned in closer—the distance between us now nearly nonexistent. He bowed his head until our noses almost met. My heartbeat loudened until it was all I could hear. I looked at his eyes, but his gaze was frozen on my lips. My eyes dropped to his mouth—I couldn’t help it—and his lips parted.

There was no confusing this moment. It was want. I wanted him, and his body made it clear he wanted me too. It was a beautiful fantasy, but it could never be more than that—a fantasy.

Hector’s lips hovered over mine, and his gaze drifted back to my eyes, a question written in his. He was asking for my permission to seal the kiss that lingered like a ghost on our lips. I felt his movements as his arms went past me, and his hands landed on the door behind me. The muscles in his biceps tightened, and deep blue veins bulged to the surface. Restraint. He wouldn’t deliver on the promise of contact—not until I accepted it.

I couldn’t. My body almost gave in, but I was too practical. I knew if I let go, I would regret it. Not to mention he wasn’t completely sober yet. My good head on my shoulders would be the ruin of me. I couldn’t succumb to an affair that would undoubtedly hurt everyone involved.

Everyone.

“Andrea,” I whispered her name, though the syllables tasted bitter on my tongue. His arms dropped from their iron grip on the door behind me, and he stepped back.

My hearing returned as my heart slowed. We both sobered and killed the lust we’d let escape to the surface for a moment. How could we have been so careless? I guess we were only human, after all—not the gods we played at on a daily basis at work.

“You are married,” I said, more loudly now.

He nodded and looked down at the gold band around his ring finger. He twisted the band around a few times before laughing. “Right. My wife,” he said, but there was something off about the laugh. “Good night, Carolina. Thanks again for everything.”

“I think you mean good morning, Dr. Medina.”