I grimace at the thought of generating attention for volunteer work. Under normal circumstances, I’d never go for that. But these circumstances certainly aren’t normal. “Fine. I’ll ask her.” I respond to Terri’s text. Thanks for the help. Much appreciated. My associate down here is telling me it wouldn’t hurt to have some endorsements from the people I worked with there. Do you think they’d be willing to provide them?
I’m pained as I send a text that would’ve been inconceivable a few weeks ago. It still amazes me that a life and a career can be blown apart in a single day.
Terri responds right away, putting me out of my misery. Absolutely. I’ll get on that, too. Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered, Doc.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank you. Means a lot to me.
She sends back the smooching emoji.
“She’s on it,” I tell Carmen.
“That’s great. I know it sucks to have to ask, but anything we can do to paint a complete picture will help. Right now, all they see is scandal. We have to give them a different narrative.”
“You told me yesterday I need a seasoned crisis communication team. I’d say I have exactly what I need with you.”
“Thanks. I’m hardly seasoned, but it’s fun to use the stuff I learned in years of school.”
The traffic leaving South Beach is proof of what she told me I’d face if I lived there. I’m glad to have someone with local knowledge helping me figure out this new place. “You must’ve been in college when you lost your husband, right?”
“I was attending community college, working at the restaurant and trying to get pregnant. We planned to be young parents. I was going to stay home with them and go to school when they did. After Tony died, I got a big insurance payout that I put toward school. It gave me something to do once the initial shock of his death wore off.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you . . .” I shake my head. It’s none of my fucking business whether she’s dated anyone else since she lost her husband.
“Have I what?”
“I was about to ask you a deeply personal question.”
“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Everyone I meet wants to know if I’ve dated again since I lost him, and the answer is I’ve had a lot of first dates, a couple of second dates and very few third dates. My grandmothers love to fix me up with guys they know, their friends’ grandsons, customers at the restaurant. At first I wanted nothing to do with it, but after a while, it was easier to go on the dates than have to constantly tell them why I didn’t want to.”
“It was their way of trying to help you move on, I suppose.”
“Yes,” she says with a sigh, “and I love them for it. We all suffered over the loss of Tony. He’d been part of our family for ten years by the time we lost him.”
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to meet ‘the one’ when you’re as young as you guys were.” I’ve never met anyone I could picture spending the rest of my life with. I’d begun to wonder if Ginger might be my “one” when I found out what she really wanted with me—and it had nothing to do with forever except for the stain she put on my good name.
“It’s funny that I can’t remember meeting him. We used to talk about that a lot. He remembered every detail of that day, but I don’t. I was with friends at an arcade in the mall, and he said the Selena song ‘I Could Fall in Love’ was playing the first time he saw me. I used to say he was making that up, but he swore it was true.”
“That’s very sweet.”
“We lived near each other but went to different schools, which is why we hadn’t met before. He had friends who went to my school, and they approached me to ask if I’d consider meeting their friend, who’d decided he was going to marry me.”
“No way. They did not say that.”
“They did!”
“What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I’m fourteen, and I’m not marrying your friend.’ They begged and pleaded with me to at least talk to him, which I said I’d do, mostly because I sensed they weren’t going to let up until I did. I figured I’d talk to him once, tell him to get real and move on.”
“But that’s not what happened.”
“That’s not what happened.”
I’m completely captivated by her story and more than a little heartbroken to know how it ended. “Don’t stop now! I have to know the rest. But only if you want to tell me.”
“It’s one of my favorite stories to tell. He called me that night and every night for a month. My parents were all over me about who I was on the phone with every night. I can’t really recall the specifics of what we talked about, but I do remember laughing—a lot. He was really funny. I think that was the first thing I loved about him, that he could make me laugh even when I was annoyed with him.”
“An important quality, for sure.”
“It took two years of us being best friends before my parents would officially allow us to date.”
“Holy crap. That must’ve been a long two years.”
“It was, and believe me, I was so pissed about it. I thought my parents were impossibly old-fashioned. But when I look back at it now, I can see how important that friendship was for everything that came later.”
“It set the foundation.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“No one waits two years to date anymore.”
“Right? It’s all about instant gratification.”
“It’s a very sweet story. I’m so sorry you lost him the way you did. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.”
“Worst day of my life.”
Without thinking much about it, I reach over and cover her hand with mine, giving a gentle squeeze. The second my skin connects with hers, I realize I’ve made a critical error by touching her.
The subtle gasp that escapes from her lets me know she feels the same thing I do.
Even knowing all the reasons why it’s a bad idea to leave it there, I don’t remove my hand. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too painful.”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Still . . . Some things never get easier with time.”
“True.” After a long pause, she releases a long deep breath. “I was working at the restaurant when the cops came. At first, I thought it was him. He would pop by to say hello sometimes when he was on duty. He worked second shift, three to eleven, so our work hours were the same. There were two cops, and I remember looking around them to see if he was with them. They said something to my dad, and he . . . He just crumbled.” After another pause, she continues. “I think I knew Tony was gone the second I saw my dad’s reaction from across the big room.”
“God, Carmen. I can’t imagine.”
“It was pretty horrible, but we were very well supported. The department was amazing. They took care of everything. That first week was just a blur of people and food and so much heartbreak. The restaurant became the gathering place for everyone, and it went on for days. It seemed like half the city passed through before the actual wake and funeral were held. Thousands of police officers came from all over the country. It was so amazing and overwhelming.”