I never got particularly close to anybody in my time here, so I don’t feel compelled to say goodbye to anybody on my way out. And nobody makes a move to wish me a fond farewell either, confirming the lack of any sort of social bond with my co-workers – I’m just another body moving on out of here.
When the doors slide open, I step aboard and turn around. I catch sight of a few people peeking over their cubicles at me – the closest thing to a goodbye that I’m going to get from these people.
It’s only when the doors slide closed, sealing me into the elevator alone, that I let the tears fall.
* * *
Having gotten the call to come into the doctor’s office while I was on my way home, I sit in the crowded waiting room impatiently. The woman sitting next to me lets out a series of wet rattling coughs, only belatedly covering her mouth – and barely covering it at that. It’s disgusting. I just want to get out of here before I catch what she has. That would be the last thing I need right now.
I haven’t told Nadia about losing my job yet. I’m going to have to do that when I get back from the doctor’s office. I somehow doubt that she’s going to be too upset about having some time off, though. I know that caring for my father must feel like an anchor around her neck that’s pulling her down. But she’s been better than great about helping.
After that, I’ll need to start the process of finding a job. I want to find the right fit for me, but I also know I can’t take too long – or be too picky. I know that desperate times like these aren’t exactly conducive to finding one’s dream job. But I am going to do the best that I can.
My time in the PD’s office was invaluable. It gave me trial experience, helped me to hone my style and skills, and honestly, I think working with good people like Carl made me a better lawyer. Now maybe I can take all the tools I’ve gathered and get myself into a good defense firm or even a non-profit organization that has a solid reputation for doing social justice work.
It may not be the sort of work that leads me to becoming a millionaire, but so long as I can keep the lights on, food in our bellies, a roof over our heads, and fill my father’s prescriptions, I’ll be happy. Plus, doing good work like that will be ten times more satisfying for me personally. I’d rather see true justice done and protect the innocent than have a Ferrari.
“Berlin Roth,” the same bored sounding receptionist who’d left the message last night calls out.
I quickly get to my feet and hustle away from the coughing woman. I’m ushered into the rear offices and parked in an exam room – where I have to wait another twenty minutes sitting. The waiting irritates me almost as much as people who don’t cover their mouths when they cough or sneeze. But that’s the name of the game, unfortunately. I know the doctors in these sorts of clinics are overworked and can’t always be as prompt as I wish they could be.
Eventually, Dr. Harbor saunters in, reading from my file folder as he shuts the door behind him. He’s a tall, handsome man with perfect features, a pleasant smile, dark, soulful eyes, and a full head of dark hair that’s shot through with gray. He looks like somebody straight out of central casting who was put into the role of ‘kindly doctor’ on some television hospital drama. But I’ve been seeing him for years, and even though he can be a bit corny at times, I like him a lot.
“Well good morning, Berlin,” he greets me.
“Morning Doc Harbor,” I respond. “How are the wife and kids doing since I last saw you yesterday?”
He flashes me a made-for-TV grin. “Do I detect a hint of sarcasm in your voice?”
“Well, I’m glad to tell you there’s nothing wrong with your hearing, Doc,” I finally give him a grin in return.
He nods as he closes the file and sets it on the small counter against the wall. He pulls a stool over and sits down on it in front of me. He purses his lips, saying nothing, and looks at me like he’s trying to figure out how to impart some particularly bad news. It only ratchets up my anxiety. I’m not the greatest when it comes to dealing with doctors in the first place, so the fact that he’s not saying there’s nothing wrong with me – coupled with the strange expression on his face – has me on edge. To say the least.
“You’re kind of freaking me out here, Doc,” I tell him. “What’s going on?”
He hesitates a moment longer and looks at me with an inscrutable expression. I have to literally force myself to stay in my seat and not shake the answer out of him.
“I have the results of your bloodwork, and I’m surprised, Berlin.”
“Surprised?”
He nods. “Yeah. Surprised.”
As I listen to him explain the results of my bloodwork, I get the sort of weightless feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you crest the rise of a roller coaster that’s so high, you think you can reach out and touch the clouds – and then plunge straight over the edge into a nearly vertical drop.
And it’s all I can do to keep myself from screaming in absolute horror.
Chapter Twenty-Two Sawyer
I set my cup of coffee on the table as I sit
