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I knocked on the door. “It’s Dr. Monroe. Can I come in?”
A sweet voice called out, “Yes.”
I opened the door to find a familiar face from high school sitting on the paper-covered examination table that made a crinkly noise as she shifted her body. Smartly dressed in a black turtleneck and chinos, she dangled her feet clad in ballet slippers.
“Julia Carmichael,” I said, pleasantly surprised.
She blinked several times, making me wonder if I’d been mistaken. I probably should have pulled up her info in the system before I came in, but I liked to do that in front of the patient on the room’s laptop. And I always thought it was better to ask them their name. To me, it created a good rapport with the patient.
“I’m sorry. I must have mistaken you for someone else.”
“No,” she breathed out. “It’s just that no one ever remembers me.”
I found that odd, seeing as she always reminded me of Katie Holmes, with the silky dark hair cut in the cutest bob tucked behind her ears. Even back in high school, she had the whole Dawson’s Creek thing going for her. Though she was a year younger than I was, and we never really hung out, I clearly remember thinking she was probably a popular girl. In fact, I’m pretty sure her best friend in high school was the homecoming queen or something. All I knew was what’s-her-friend, whose name I couldn’t remember, didn’t like me. But Julia was always nice to me, even if I came from the wrong side of the lake.
I sat on the rolling stool and glided her way. “Well, Julia, I remember you.”
She smiled, so relieved, like it was a miracle or something that I remembered her. “Thank you,” her voice cracked with emotion. “And you can call me Jules.”
“Jules it is. And you can call me Calista.” It would be weird for her to call me Dr. Monroe, seeing as we went to high school together.
“Wow. You’re a doctor.”
I grinned. “Hard to believe, huh?”
She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
“That’s okay. I have the opposite problem as you. Everyone here remembers me. And … as you can imagine, it’s not all that flattering.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I thought you were the coolest girl in school.”
“That does make me feel better.” I laughed. “So, tell me, what can I do to help you feel better? I hear you are having some UTI symptoms.” I grabbed the rolling cart with the laptop and pulled it my way to look up her records and to see if her lab results had come back yet.
“Yes. I haven’t really been drinking enough. It’s been a rough few days.” She wept.
I stood and grabbed a few tissues near the sink and handed them to her. It wasn’t unheard of for people to have emotional breakdowns in the ER. I’d heard many sad stories. Since we were acquaintances, I asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
She gratefully took the tissues and dabbed her eyes as the tears kept flowing. “I’m sorry for being so emotional. It’s just that my dad had a major stroke last week, and the prognosis isn’t good. He’s been upstairs in the ICU the entire time. And I hate coming home. I feel so forgotten here, even among my parents and sisters. It’s one thing in LA, where no one knows me. But here, it just makes me feel like such a loser,” she lamented. “You don’t know how much it means to me, you remembering me. My last date took me to Starbucks so the barista would ask me my name to write on the cup because he forgot it,” she wailed. “I gave her the wrong one on purpose, and he called me Ingrid all night.”
I tried not to react, but I felt my pupils dilate and my brow raise. Technically, I shouldn’t be touching patients other than for examination purposes, but if anyone needed a hug, it was this poor woman. Though I was kind of jealous she had the gift of being forgotten. I could use a little of that. I threw protocol out the window, praying Jules wasn’t friends with the Grangers or wouldn’t report me to the hospital, and wrapped my arms around her.
She fell against me and clung to me, shaking and sobbing.
At that point, I didn’t care if I got fired. As a doctor, I promised to heal and help people. Sometimes the best medicine was a hug and a listening ear.
“This is probably more than you bargained for today,” she mumbled against me. “I don’t usually blab my life story to people I haven’t seen in forever. Or even to people I see all the time. I’m so sorry.”
I patted her back. “Don’t be. I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time. Sometimes coming home is the hardest thing we can do.”
“You have no idea.”
Oh, I think I did.
TRISTAN
TRISTAN LOOSENED THE KNOT OF his tie while staring aimlessly out one of the large picture windows at his parents’ lake house. The choppy, icy lake water before his eyes reflected his mood on this Thanksgiving Day. The classical music playing in the background and the smells of lasagna and lobster, part of the seven-course meal to be served, only soured his mood more. What he wouldn’t give for some turkey and mashed potatoes drenched in gravy, and a beer to wash it down with while he watched the game on TV. His parents would be aghast at the suggestion.
He knew someone who would love the idea. Someone who wasn’t invited, and whom he couldn’t stop thinking about. Thoughts of the fiery brunette with legs for days and a heart the size of the mountains in view consumed him. She may have hated him, but he’d loved listening to her talk to Quinn and Stella last night as they made Christmas tree ornaments. Calista spoke of an old classmate whose father was sick while she tried to figure out what she could do for her. She told Quinn and Stella how she’d checked on the woman during her own limited breaks. She was even planning on packing the woman some snacks for today. It was just like her to think of others before herself.
