Full Package

I’ve lost patients before. Every doctor has. Last year in Africa, we said good-bye to more people than I wanted to count. It’s part of the job. I get that, and I can live with it. It’s what I signed up for.

But I’m only human, and I’m not as steel as I pretend to be. This one hits me hard. Blake was young and healthy. I heard one of his coworkers say he’d gone running with him the other morning.

There’s no time to sit with these churning emotions, though. When the charge nurse informs me there are multiple gunshot wounds coming in, I have to pretend I’m Teflon.

That’s how the rest of the afternoon unfurls. Like a parade of pain and heartache. No sex wounds, no amusing tales, no naughty moments that make for funny stories with friends. It’s all too fucking real. One of the gunshot victims dies from blood loss. A patient who seemed to be improving after coming in yesterday with a stroke passes on.

By the time my shift finally ends, I sink down on the bench in the locker room, so ready to be done with the Grim Reaper today. But I just sit. I can’t move yet. A leaden weight has settled deep in my gut. I drop my forehead to my hand and let the gloom spread through me. Sometimes I am good at separating work from my emotions. But sometimes work is emotional. As much as I pride myself on the ability to wear blinders, the fact is my business is one of life and death.

And death sucks.

The door creaks open and David trudges in. “Want to get a beer?”

I raise my face. “Pretty sure you meant whiskey.”

A small smile cracks on his tired face. “Make it a double.”

“You’re on.”

And that’s how I find myself at Speakeasy in Midtown at five p.m. We trade war stories and talk sports, and it eases some of the day from my shoulders.

When we finish, David tips his chin and pushes his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. “And on that note, I should head home to the woman.”

I clasp his hand in a good-bye shake, and when I leave, that last word resonates with me. There’s one woman I want to see.

Josie closes late on Wednesdays so I catch the subway and exit at Seventy-Second. When I walk along the block where she works, the early evening crowds thickening around me, I swear I can feel the clouds lift and my heart start to lighten just from knowing I’ll see her. Josie is my sunshine in this rain-soaked day.

As the smooth, intelligent voice of the audiobook narrator in my ears delves into the physics of perpetual motion, I pass a flower shop, spotting a bouquet of daisies. For the briefest of seconds, an idea takes hold. But I smash it, scoffing at myself. I’m only going to say hi to her. Bringing her flowers would be something one of her cheeseball dates would do. I’m not dating her. I don’t have to worry if she’ll be in my life tomorrow, or the next day, or the next year. She is in my life because she’s my friend, and that’s why I’m the one who gets to see her, who gets to stop by her work, who gets to hang out with her. The rest of the assholes aren’t good enough to even get past a first date.

But she does like flowers.

I stop, turn around, and buy the daisies from her friend Lily’s shop. I haven’t met Lily before, but the brunette who helps me is sweet and outgoing, so I assume she must be Josie’s friend. And I hope she sorts out the situation with her dickhead boyfriend, because whoever he is, he needs to treat her better.

“The flowers are beautiful. Have a great evening,” I say, since the least I can do is be a considerate customer.

“You, too,” she says with a friendly wave.

I leave the store.

As I near Josie’s bakery, a whole squadron of nerves launches in my chest. My heart speeds up. This doesn’t just feel like nerves from the day. This feels like something else entirely. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. Something that’s good, but terribly dangerous at the same damn time.

Gripping the bouquet tighter, I push open the yellow door to the Sunshine Bakery. Josie works alone, bending to take a huge slice of chocolate cake from the glass counter. She stands, sets it in a white bakery box, and hands it to the customer, a thin redhead wearing jeans and heels. The customer rubs her hands together. “I can’t wait. This is my favorite cake in all of New York City.”

Josie tilts her head and flashes the woman a wide, genuine smile. “I’m so happy to hear that. You deserve a slice today,” she says, then tells her the amount.

Josie’s hair is swept back in a pink-checked bandana, her bangs showing. Her T-shirt is orange, with the cheery sun logo of her store. Bangles slip and slide on her wrist. When the customer leaves, Josie’s eyes find mine, and they light up.

“Hey you!” she calls out and slinks around the counter to give me a hug. We don’t usually hug when we see each other, but maybe her arms are around me because I don’t stop by her work that often. Or maybe she senses that I need it.