to take her dad, when his Alzheimer’s had been on the verge of becoming unmanageable at home. She’d even come to the mainland to help her make the move.
“Then how about we meet up at The Shack every few days and you can tell me all the gossip?” Lizzie suggested.
“Or maybe you could hang around there by yourself…meet a man…preferably a nice blond surf bum. How long’s it been since…?”
“Too long,” Lizzie said. “For anything. No details necessary.”
“Then definitely find yourself a surf bum. A nice one with an older brother for me.”
Lizzie was thirty-four, and Janis had twenty years on her, but with her blonde hair, and her teeny-bikini-worthy body, Janis was the one the men looked at while Lizzie was hiding in the shadows, taking mental notes on how to be outgoing.
“I thought you liked them younger these days?” Lizzie teased.
“I like them any way I can have them.” She smiled at Lizzie. “Seriously, take care of yourself. And keep in touch.”
“OK and OK,” she said, then waved backward as she walked away, intending to head back to her office, tidy up, then leave.
But before she got there she took a detour and headed down the wrong hall. Or the right one, if her destination was Mateo’s room. Which, this evening, it was.
“Well, the good news is I get to start my holiday early,” she said to Matteo, who was sitting in a chair next to the window, simply looking out over the evening shadows of the garden, and not sound asleep in bed, as she’d expected. “So, this is me telling you goodbye and good luck.”
“What? No more dates at The Shack?”
“First one was a total bust. With me it’s one strike and you’re out.”
“But you haven’t seen the real me. When that Mateo Sanchez emerges, do I get another chance?”
Lizzie laughed. “I’m betting you were a real charmer with the ladies. One look into those dark eyes and…”
“Do you like my eyes?” he interrupted.
She did—more than she should—and she’d almost slipped up there.
“Eyes are eyes. They’re nice to use to get a clear picture of when you’re being played.”
“I’m not playing you, Lizzie.”
“It doesn’t matter if you are or you aren’t. I’m off on holiday now, and once I’m outside the hospital door everything here will be forgotten for two whole weeks.”
“Including me, Lizzie?”
“Especially you, Mateo. So, if you’re not here when I return…have a good life.”
He stood, then crossed the room to her before she could get out the door. He pulled her into his arms. He nudged her chin up with his thumb and simply stared into her eyes for a moment. But then sense and logic overtook him and he broke his hold on her and stepped away.
“We can’t do this,” he whispered. “I want to so badly, but I never should have started this, and I’m sorry.”
“So am I,” she said, backing all the way out through the door, and trying to walk to the hospital exit without showing off her wobbly knees.
Whatever had just happened couldn’t happen again. She wasn’t ready. Her life was in a mess. But it was one more thing to be sorted in her time off.
Was she really beginning to develop feelings for Mateo?
Or was Janis right?
Was he looking for a foothold? Someone to use?
Was he playing her?
She didn’t want to believe that, but the thought was there. And so was the idea that she had to shore up her reserves to resist him, because he wasn’t going to make it easy.
He wasn’t sure what to think. Didn’t even know if he cared. Still, what he’d done was stupid. Going against hospital policy. Drinking a little too much, dancing to prove…well, he wasn’t sure what he had been trying to prove.
Had he been the doctor of a patient like himself he’d have taken it much worse than Janis and Randy had. In fact, all things considered, they’d been very calm. Or was it the calm before the storm?
Lizzie wasn’t here to defend him now, and he missed her. Not just because she’d seemed to take his side, but because he genuinely liked her. Maybe even missed her already. Right now, he didn’t have any friends, and she’d turned out to be not only a friend but someone he trusted.
Except she wasn’t in the picture now. He was on his own and trying to figure out what would come next in his life.
“None of this is what I planned,” he said aloud to himself as he looked out the window.
Five years in the military, then find a good surgical practice somewhere in a mountainous area. Or maybe near canyons or desert. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d wanted, to be honest, but those were the areas that were tugging on his mind, so maybe that was what he’d wanted pre-amnesia. Not that it mattered now.
“You haven’t been to your cognitive therapy group,” Randy Jenkins said from the doorway.
He was a short man with thick glasses, who wore dress pants and a blue shirt, a tie and a white lab coat. He didn’t look like he’d seen the inside of a smile in a decade.
“Haven’t even left your room. You’re way past the point where your meals should be served to you on a tray in your room. But you’re refusing to come to the dining room.”
Because he didn’t want to. Because nothing here was helping him. Because he wanted his old life back, whatever that was, and he was pretty sure it didn’t involve sitting in a group with nine other memory loss patients talking about things they didn’t remember.
“And what, exactly, will those prescribed things do for me?” he asked, turning to face the man.
“Give you a sense of where you are now, since you can’t go back to where you were before.”
“Where I am now is looking out a window at a life that isn’t mine.”
“Do you want to get better, Doctor?”
Mateo shook his head angrily. “What I want is what I can’t have. And that’s something you can’t fix.”
“But there are other things you can do besides be a surgeon.”
“And how do you think I should address the obvious in my curriculum vitae? Unemployed surgeon with amnesia looking for work?”
It wasn’t Randy’s fault. He knew that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. But he was so empty right now. Empty, and afraid to face the future without all his memories of the past.
“Look, sit in on a therapy session this afternoon. Then come for your private session with me. I’ll have my assistant look for some training programs that might interest you and—”
“Training programs? Don’t you understand? I’m a surgeon.”
“No, you’re not. Not anymore. I’ve had to report you to the medical licensing board and—”
“You couldn’t have waited until we were a little farther along in this?”
“You’re not in this, Mateo. And that’s the problem. Your license as a surgeon will be provisionally suspended, pending review and recommendations if and when you recover. I had to do it or risk my own medical license.”
He’d worked so hard to get that. Spent years and