We see too much trauma and death doing what we do, and it warps our sense of humor. Our perspective of the world.
This job isn’t one you can pack up at the end of the day and leave at work. No, you pack it up into your proverbial briefcase and take it home, where it sits and taunts you. But if you keep it closed, the ghosts within won’t haunt you.
Not much, anyway.
I learned at a very young age, even before medical school, to separate myself from the things that hurt.
Otherwise, I wouldn’t be the doctor or man I am today.
I rock in my chair, focusing on my breathing, clearing my head. After a moment, I stand and collect my things to head out. On my way to my truck, I untuck my shirt from my jeans and shake the tension out of my back, shedding Dr. Pearson for the night.
The drive home is quick. In a blink, I’m inside my house, dropping my keys on the counter with a clink, which echoes like I’m in a stadium and not my three-bedroom house.
It’s quiet here. If the windows were open, I’d hear crickets and my next-door neighbor’s cats meowing on her porch.
The walls around the living room are gray with barely any frames on them. I have a picture of Jacob and me on my end table. The rest are of Willow and me on her wedding day. Clara and me at high school graduation. Staci and me at each other’s white coat ceremony.
Including Brooks, they’re my life outside my job, yet something’s missing.
I round the counter and grab a glass of water while the silence eats at me.
My refrigerator is empty, except for two dairy-free casseroles Helene brought. She’s been doing that—feeding me—for years. Ever since the accident.
It’s comforting, but my empty house only continues to remind me I have no one here waiting for me. No one running up to hug me.
No candles on the dinner table.
No labeled Tupperware.
Dani used to have dinner waiting for me. She’d have the table set and complete with a steaming, home-cooked meal. If I was late, she’d wrap it up and label it for me to eat when I got home. During those nights, I ate alone, in the dark, while the TV in the bedroom hummed and muffled her soft snores.
I was close with Dani. In another life, I could’ve even loved her. Because of that, I almost gave her what she wanted, but in the end, I couldn’t go through with it.
Yet, I don’t miss Dani. The longer we’ve been apart, the more I realize that I did her a major disservice by not ending things sooner.
I thought I could be happy with her.
With her, I could forget my broken heart. The void. But Dani only made it worse because with everything she did, no matter how thoughtful and considerate, I was reminded of who she wasn’t.
And no matter how much I tried to forget—to do right by Dani—I couldn’t, and it wasn’t fair to her, because she didn’t do anything wrong. She’s an amazing woman.
Just not the one my heart wanted.
I always had one foot out the door of that relationship, even though Clara was married. Even though I knew I would never have her.
I’d made my peace with that, or so I thought. Until the unthinkable happened, and Clara called me. In tears, her voice shaky, she called me, sputtering that her husband was sick and only had a few months to live.
She told me because I’m her friend—I’ve always been the best friend.
Uncle Dax.
And I often hate myself for wanting more with her, for having hope, especially now. I’d be a douchebag to make my move on her in her grief. Clenching my fists, I mutter a curse. How could I even consider telling her everything the night of the Harvest Festival? Why didn’t I answer with the same bullshit I give her and everyone else when they ask about my love life?
I would’ve lost her for good had I been more direct. Had Jacob not walked in. It was a good thing we were interrupted because she’s not ready for a romantic relationship.
And I won’t risk losing her, no matter how badly it hurts the organ pumping in my chest.
Eight
Clara
I hold a container of brownies in my hands and start to go next door, then stop, and start again. If anyone’s watching me, they’ll think I’m crazy.
Inwardly groaning, I square my shoulders and walk to Sienna’s. I knock on the door, unsure of why I’m doing this other than I was raised to be kind and neighborly. My mom would want me to welcome Sienna to the neighborhood, and that’s all I’m doing. Dropping off baked goods and walking back to my home—my comfortable, judgment-free zone.
Sienna opens the door and greets me with a warm smile, one I don’t imagine she often gives. From our first encounter, she doesn’t scream warmth and love and family.
“I brought some brownies to welcome you to the neighborhood and to Sunnyville.” I extend the plastic container of the best baked goods I could manage in between caring for Jacob, house chores, and trying to land my dream job at Modern Family.
“Aren’t you the most adorable thing ever?” Her eyes light up as she accepts the treats and leads me to sit on the porch. It’s when we take a seat where the sun shines that I notice her red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you so much,” she says, sniffling.
“Not a problem.” It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if she’s okay, but before I can, she opens the lid to the container and groans.
“Oh my God, they smell fantastic.” She takes a big bite of one, then stops, her eyes wide. “Umm… these aren’t low fat and gluten-free, are they?”
“No.” I furrow my eyebrows.
She slowly chews and swallows
