But they’d died when she was so young, and he wasn’t the kind of kid who hung around parents at that time. Which changed. When Aubrey’s parents died, something shifted inside him, and he became a grown-up. Ten, and as mature as a twenty-year-old. He needed to be strong for her. Even then, he had an affinity for the curly-headed girl. There was something so incredibly different about her.
Different, and beautiful, and—as she was exposed to new, not-so-nice things—a quiet strength. Though she flouted the rules when they weren’t to her liking, she was a good girl. Deep down inside, she was pure.
Unlike him. He was just a man. Just a man with a dream, and a wife he’d put up on a very high pedestal.
He sipped his coffee and pondered his life. He’d committed to paying for school himself, through a series of student loans coupled with savings—he’d started saving for college the day Aubrey’s parents died, knowing somehow, inside of him, that he’d need to do this himself. He scraped and scrimped and saved every dime of his allowance, not indulging in records or candy or video games like his friends, approaching his growing stash with a miser’s eye. But that money had run out at the end of his undergraduate career, and the loans were piling up. More training meant even more time before he’d even start making enough to begin paying off the loans.
He could ask his father for help. Tom had some money stashed away—he’d told Josh that before he left for school. Pulled him aside, told him he loved him, that he was proud to be his father, and that he’d been saving for him just like Josh saved for himself. It was an emergency fund of sorts, all slated for him. If he didn’t need it now, he’d inherit it when Tom died. Daisy didn’t know about it. It wasn’t for her—God knew if she found out about spare change lying around, it would be spent immediately. But it was Josh’s whenever he felt he wanted or needed it.
Becoming a surgeon, fulfilling a dream, this would certainly qualify for raiding Tom’s funds.
What was he thinking? He needed to save that money for an emergency. A real emergency. No, he would find a way to pay off the loans himself. He needed to find a source of income on the side, most likely from a part-time job. He barely slept as it was; medical school wasn’t exactly a restful experience, and the uppers meant he’d go for days, then crash, hard.
He could probably go to work somewhere like the medical examiner’s office, as a tech. He’d done his pathology rotation, hadn’t minded it much. And he knew a guy who worked over there; he had an in. The money wasn’t insanely good, but the hours weren’t bad. He didn’t see himself slinging hash or drinks, though bartending could help things add up very quickly.
Then again, he was the one who held lives in his hands every day. Perhaps it would be better for Aubrey to take on the extra work. Maybe she could do some tutoring on the side, just a little extra to pay for groceries and the like. Or work in that coffee shop near their house that she loved so much. He’d seen the owner around, a pretty elfin thing, dark hair in a pixie cut, drinking at Sam’s after the store closed. He could always approach her, see if she’d be willing to take on his wife for some part-time work. Then they’d be comfortable enough while he dedicated himself to a surgical residency.
She would do it if he asked. Aubrey would do anything for him.
His coffee was empty. He needed a refill. He went to the counter and scored some more, then returned to his seat and cracked his shiny new surgical text.
Normally he was great at blocking out the conversations around him. But when two men sat next to him, he couldn’t help but overhear them. They were whispering, which drew his ear in the first place. People talking at normal levels weren’t trying to hide their conversations—in fact he sometimes suspected such people wanted to be overheard. These two were being furtive, and it piqued Josh’s curiosity.
He shifted his body so he could be a few inches closer. They didn’t seem to notice. One was black, gently accented, and the other was an older white gentleman, impeccably dressed, who seemed much more relaxed and merely listened, encouraging information as it was needed.
From what Josh could ascertain, the black man needed a doctor. A specialist. So he must be sick. The white guy just smiled and nodded and said, “We’ll find someone for you. Someone good who you can trust. Don’t worry. I promise it will be okay.”
The black man obviously didn’t feel he was being taken -seriously. He grew more and more frustrated until he finally stood and set his coffee on the table, said, “Mark my words.” And left.
Josh stifled an internal giggle—the “Mark my words” had sounded a bit like Arnold Schwarzenegger saying, “I’ll be back.”
He glanced at his watch: 7:30 p.m. He needed to get home to Aubrey, to Winston, to dinner, to sleep. To get up and do it all again.
He began to gather his things. The white guy sitting next to him had crossed his legs and was staring into space. Josh debated with himself, then shrugged. Why not? What did he have to lose?
“Sir? Excuse me.”
The man tore his gaze from the deep space universe he was studying and glanced at Josh with an annoyed sigh.