Part of me longed to be her again, regardless of how overworked, stressed out, and exhausted I was. Everybody was so impressed with that version of me.
A tap on my shoulder saves me from coming up with something clever. Zuri points a finger at the clock on the back wall, long nails clicking lightly together. I have no idea how she functions with those on, only that she constantly changes up the design and wields them with power. This week they’re blinged out with sequined hearts that wink as she brandishes a peace sign. “Two minutes.”
Okay, so not a peace sign, but forewarning.
Carlos’s lackadaisical smile claims we have all day, but he places a hand on the small of my back and nudges me along after her. “This is what I appreciate about Zuri, and why I couldn’t do my job without her. Not only does she keep me on time, she holds the rest of the world to her same standard.”
I crack a smile of my own. “Are you saying she can outstubborn the inhabitants of Lakeview Retirement Village?”
Carlos extends a flat palm and wavers it. “Depends on the mob out in gen pop, but when it comes to the clinic, Zuri reigns supreme, not me.”
He gets points for that, too, even if it takes all my self-control not to crack up over he and Zuri referring to everyone outside the clinic but within the property gates as gen pop.
Then he tacks on the reason I keep circling back to him. “She’s able to sense which patients need quiet kindness, which require a firm hand, and who needs to be…” His dimple pops, his style and delivery impeccable. “I was going to saywomanhandled, but she typically gets the job done with an arch of her eyebrow or a point of one of those wicked fingernails.”
It’s a little intoxicating, Carlos’s charisma and gravitational pull. Not only does he radiate confidence, he backs it up with a successful career in geriatric medicine, with the ambitious goal of becoming chief of medicine.
He’s driven and successful, and anytime he aims his attention at me, he does it wholly.
A voice in my head whispers he could be so good for me, even if we were destined to be as temporary as my residency.
So why am I hesitating?
It’s 100 percentnotabout Noah Drayton, that’s all I know. But seriously, what was the guy playing at, hurling out that bold statement about us going on a date to then not contact me for six days?
I haven’t seen him around the property this week, either.
Not that I do a quick scan of the grounds every forty-seven minutes.
Same way I didn’t spend my lunch hour googling articles about his company, clicking through the pictures on his landscaping website, and scouring the internet for information on him in general.
At six o’clock on the dot, I roll out my shoulders, lean into the microphone, and introduce our topic and guests.
Things go suspiciously smoothly as Carlos and Zuri cover the signs of dehydration and then heart attacks, and the audience mostly listens.
Of course that’s what I want them to do, it just seems kind of rude they don’t interrupt or hecklethembut have no such qualms whileI’mat the microphone.
Except that’s not exactly true, because good behavior is part of our bargain.
“Mia?”
Carlos has his neck craned in my direction, so he must’ve called my name more than once. He waves me over, requesting my help demonstrating the Heimlich Maneuver.
After passing around mannequins for attendees to practice on, he reviews the acronym detailing signs of a stroke, and I work to commit the BE FAST acronym to memory—it’s more pertinent than ever, considering I’m surrounded by the demographic with the highest stroke risk.
By the end of the seminar, around two hundred fifty residents are better equipped to handle their health and assist those around them. I also noticed the late arrival of Claudia Caldwell from theHerald Sun, who I invited last minute on a whim.
No matter what she writes, I feel good about what we did here tonight. I thank Zuri on her way past me, and am bent gathering up my belongings, guard completely down, when the Cronies approach and offer to clean up so Carlos and I can go to dinner.
I open my mouth to refuse, partially because I’m a control freak and don’t want to leave without ensuring the job’s done, with a shoutout to the flush of embarrassment heating my cheeks—a gal can receive only so many offers coerced by her grandmothers before she develops a complex.
“You’ve done so much to help us.” Wanda’s smile is suspiciously wide, the bulge in her eyes cartoonish. “Let us treat you to a fancy dinner.”
“We’ve already booked you a reservation at the Golden Orchid,” Rita says, ushering us toward the steps of the stage. “Management’s been instructed to put it on our tab.”
Vonetta and Gertie are nodding, and the bubbies’ wide grins could light up an entire shuffleboard court.
“It’s the least we can do,” Grandma Helen adds, and I withhold my retort about us all knowing they’re doing the most I’ll allow.
