If she didn't, I'd have to see it for her. "I'll be there."
I didn't know what to do with myself without Sara.
I ate breakfast, read two newspapers, and swam in the ocean, all before noon. At that point, I was bored as fuck and half convinced I needed to get myself to this conference. It wasn't like I could sit on the beach the rest of the day. What was the point? I didn't want to sit there alone. I didn't want to be here alone. Not after knowing what it was like to be here with her. I didn't even enjoy breakfast without her running commentary on the offenses of blueberries.
After lunch, I read a few more chapters of Narnia. Those fucking kids. When reading didn't distract me anymore, I went for a walk. I called it a walk. In my head, it was a walk. Some might say I paced in front of the resort entrance for two hours because I wanted to see Sara the minute she arrived and confirm for myself that she was all right, but it was a walk.
When she emerged from the taxi, she looked me over with a laugh. "What is this about?"
"I'm taking a walk," I said, folding her into my arms. "You just happened to pull up." I pressed a kiss to her neck. "How'd it go?"
"Ugh. Fine. Whatever." She dropped her head to my chest, let her shoulders sag. "I need to change. I can't wear this to the restaurant."
Sara was quiet as we returned to the bungalow. She stripped down to her bra and panties, and pinned her hair away from her face to freshen her makeup. Since I was physically incapable of leaving her side, I leaned against the vanity and watched.
"Here's what's going to happen tonight," she said, makeup brush in hand. "This is what will go down. He'll be the most warm, charming person in the world if he's in the mood for it. If not, he'll just make sure everyone knows he's very, very busy and very, very important. The cell phone never leaves his hand."
"You don't have to prep me," I said. "I'll manage just fine."
"He knows everyone, everywhere," she continued, "and the inconvenient fact of the matter is that many of those people will throw themselves in front of traffic if it gets them a few minutes with him. He really does know everyone, so he can shoot a text and get someone an interview. He can connect you with someone who wants to develop a new tool or procedure or he can hook you up with someone who already has the newest tool so you can learn how to use it. He has a ton of money and he knows people with tons of their own money, and he adores the attention that comes with that power."
I nodded. "I know the type."
"And everything will be great and fantastic until he makes a comment about how the restaurant scene in Boston must be outstanding because I'm looking so well-fed," she said. "Or that the hospital must be working me too hard because I seem tired. Or I must be struggling to find exciting cases since he hasn't heard anything through all his channels and networks. It's always something backhanded like that, something that shows up as concern, but it's actually bullshit at the center."
I folded my arms over my chest. Nodded. I wasn't letting that happen.
"So, I'll sit there while he pleasantly informs me that my work is a waste of time and my hospital is garbage and my choices are dumb, and I won't even be able to look at him. I'll stare at my plate for two hours because even at thirty-nine fucking years old, I know I'll crack in half if I have to watch him tell me that I'm all wrong. I'll nod along like I'm agreeing with him because arguing is so much worse, though it's not like I'm ever able to argue in the moment. Even when I prepare myself for these situations, I don't have the right responses at the ready. They disappear. It's like I'm helpless. Like a child who can't stop and say, 'Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?'"
"Then I'll respond. I'll handle it."
She popped a tablet in her mouth, washed it down with water. "You don't have to do that."
"I'm a great buffer," I said. "I don't get to be the buffer too often these days, but I'm very good at it. I can tell you're not in any condition to hear a story about my mother and sister or about my chief resident and every other resident in the building, but suffice it to say, I can soak up all the toxicity around me and spit it out with only a dash of passive-aggression."
"You breathe passive-aggression." She pushed another tablet out of a blister pack. "But you can be my buffer."
I gestured to the pills. "Are you all right?"
"I'm trying to be but my gut doesn't deal well with this kind of stress." She uncapped a bottle, shook another tablet into her palm. "We'll see how well it works."
"Just for my reference, who am I to you?" I asked. "Tonight."
And always?
"He's not going to ask," she replied. "He only cares about proximity to power."
"Right." I slipped my hands into my pockets. "It's good we cleared that up."
We took a taxi to the restaurant on the other side of the island. It was close to the hotel where the conference was taking place, and as the minutes ticked by, I could see the tension building inside her. She kept her gaze fixed on her lap while she ran the pad of her thumb over her nails. I didn't think I could remember ever seeing her nails polished before. I would've remembered.
When we stepped out of the taxi, I brought my hands to her shoulders and steered her away from the entrance.
"Where are we going?" she yelped.
"Over here," I said. "Just for a minute."
"We're going to be late."
"It's just a minute." Once we were tucked away behind a tree, I turned her to face me and lifted my hands to her jaw. "I need you to listen to me now. Listen. Be strong for me like I know you can, and when you can't be strong anymore, you'll let me do it for you."
She gave a quick, unconvincing nod. Then, "Don't mess up my face."
"I will mess up your face," I replied. "What do you think we're doing when we're done here?" I took her hand, squeezed it to remind her that she didn't have to let anyone make her small. "I've been thinking about bending you over that bed all day. I found a foot stool so you can reach, little bit. I plan on testing it out later. Just keep that in mind."
She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. That's exactly what I need to think about right now."
"It's better than anything else you're thinking." I rested my hand on her lower back. "Come on. Let's do this."
We made our way through the restaurant and found Dr. Shapiro seated, his attention fixed on his phone.
"Dad," she said, standing beside the table like she wasn't convinced she should sit.
I hated that hesitance. Hated the way she twisted her fingers together, hated how she shrank in the face of his indifference. Where was the woman who ripped a fucking curtain from the ceiling because I dared to dismiss her criticism? Where was she? And who the fuck was this guy to chase her away with nothing more than the chill of his presence?
I didn't fucking know, but I was ready to scoop her up and get the hell out of here if it continued. I could be the asshole in this situation. I had no problem with that.