hadn’t remembered who she was. It had been cathartic anyway. Had let her breathe all the way down to her soul.
“The way Mateo is happens when you don’t know who you are.” The way her dad had gotten. The less he’d remembered, the more uncooperative he’d become—and, while Alzheimer’s was nothing like amnesia, she was reminded of the look she’d seen so often on her dad’s face when she looked at Mateo. The look that said lost. And for Mateo, such an esteemed surgeon, to have this happen to him…
“You’re not getting him mixed up with your dad, are you?” Janis asked.
Lizzie laughed outright at the suggestion. “No transference going on here! My dad was who he was, Mateo is who he is. And I do know the difference. My dad was lost in his mind. Mateo is lost in his world.” She looked out at Mateo, who was now sitting on the stone wall, waiting for her.
“You do realize he’s supposed to be in a wheelchair, don’t you?” said Janis.
“But do you realize how much he doesn’t like being treated like an invalid? Why force him across that line with something so trivial as a wheelchair?”
“Well, just so you know, your friend isn’t on steady footing and he might be best served in another facility.”
“This is his fourth facility, Janis. He’s running out of options.”
“So am I,” she said, pushing herself off the wall, her eyes still fixed on Mateo, whose eyes were fixed right back on Janis. “And with you about to take leave for a while…”
That was a problem. She’d signed herself off duty for a couple of weeks. There were things in her own life she needed to figure out.
Was this where she wanted to stay, with so many sad memories still fighting their way through? And hospital work—it wasn’t what she’d planned to do. She liked the idea of a small local clinic somewhere. Treating patients who might not have the best medical services available to them. Could she actually have something like that? Or was she already where she was meant to be?
Sure, it was an identity crisis mixed in with a professional crisis, but working herself as hard as she did there was no time left to weigh both sides—stay or go? In these two weeks of vacation there would be plenty of time for that—time to clear her mind, time to relax, time to be objective about her own life. It was a lot to sort out, but she was looking forward to it.
Everybody had choices to make, and so far, all her choices had been about other people. What did her husband want? What did her dad need? But the question was: What did Elizabeth Peterson want and need? And what would have happened if she’d chosen differently a year ago?
Well, for starters, her dad might still be alive. That was the obstacle she could never get past. But maybe now, after the tide had washed it all out to sea, that was something she could work on, too. Guilt—the big flashing light that always shone on the fact that her life wasn’t in balance. And she had no idea how to restore that balance.
“I thought we were going to walk?” Mateo said, approaching her after Janis had gone inside.
“Did you have to break the rule about the wheelchair in front of Janis?” Lizzie asked, taking the hand Mateo offered her when she started to stand up.
“Does it matter? I’m already branded, so does it matter what I do when decisions are being made without my input?”
The soft skin of his hand against hers… It was enough to cause a slight shiver up her spine—and, worse, the realization that maybe she was ready for that aspect of her life to resume. The attraction. The shivers. Everything that came after.
She’d never had that with Brad. Their marriage had turned cold within the first month. Making love in the five spare minutes he had every other Thursday night and no PDA—even though she would have loved holding hands with him in public. Separate bedrooms half the time, because he’d said her sleeping distracted him from working in bed.
But here was Mateo, drop-dead gorgeous, kind, and friendly, even though he tried to hide it. All in all, he was very distracting. How would he be in a relationship? Not like Brad, she supposed. Brad was always in his own space, doing everything on his own terms, and she had become his afterthought. There was certainly no happily-ever-after in being overlooked by the man who was supposed to love you.
Not that it had made much of a difference, as by the time she’d discovered her place in their marriage she’d already been part-way out the door, vowing never to make that mistake again.
But was that what she really wanted? To spend her life alone? Devote herself to her work? Why was it that one mistake should dictate the rest of her life?
This was another thing to think about during her time off. The unexpected question. Could she do it again if the right man came along? And how could she tell who was right?
Perhaps by trusting her heart? With Brad, it had been more of a practical matter. But now maybe it was time to rethink what she really wanted and how to open herself up to it if it happened along.
Shutting her eyes and rubbing her forehead against the dull headache setting in, it wasn’t blackness Lizzie saw. It was Mateo. Which made her head throb a little harder. But also caused her heart to beat a little faster.
“I’D CLAIM AMNESIA, but I really don’t know the names of most flowers. The purple and white ones…
“Orchids,” Lizzie filled in.
“I know what orchids are.” Mateo reached over the stone wall and picked one, then handed it to Lizzie. “There’s probably a rule against picking the flowers, but you need an…orchid in your hair.”
She took it and tucked it behind her right ear. “Right ear means you’re available. Left means you’re taken.”
“How could someone like you not be taken?” he asked, sitting down next to her on the stone wall surrounding the garden.
Behind them were beautiful flowers in every color imaginable, with a long reflecting pond in the background. One that stretched toward the ocean.
“Because I don’t want to be taken. It’s one of those been-there-done-that situations, and I can still feel the sting from it, so I don’t want to make the wound any worse.
“That bad?”
“Let’s just say that on a rating of one through ten, I’d need a few more numbers to describe it. So, you haven’t been…?”
“I was engaged briefly—apparently. Don’t really have any memory of it other than a few flashes, and those aren’t very flattering. Definitely not my type, from the little I recall.”
“Maybe with your head injury your type changed. That can happen with brain damage. People are known to come out the other side very different from what they were when they went in. Could be the Fates giving you a second chance.”
“You can’t just have a normal conversation, can you? You turn everything into work.”
“Because that’s what I do.”
“That’s all you do, Lizzie. You come in early, leave late, and probably sandwich some sleep in there somewhere. I lived that schedule in Afghanistan too often, and it catches up to you.”
“But this isn’t about me, Mateo.”
“First-year Med School. ‘Treating a patient is as much about you as it is the patient.’ Even though some of my patients came in and out so fast they never even saw me, I worked hard to make every one of them feel that they were in good hands, even if those hands were exhausted. But you… There’s a deep-down tiredness behind the facade you put on, and it shows in your eyes. And I don’t think it’s