I glanced back to where his driver had finally exited the car and was staring at the man with anxious expectation. Cufflinks—again! Even the help made me want to rip my hair out.
The ocean-eyes spell wore off and I slipped on my own glasses. “You’re late for a very important meeting. You said so yourself.” My eyes flickered back to his driver and I smiled. “Besides, you can obviously afford it.”
He smiled back at me as I turned to go inside the shop. As a champion for the common man, the crowd parted in solidarity appreciation and it was only a few moments before I made it up to the counter. My favorite barista, Kelly, was already flying around—setting a timer here, sprinkling cinnamon there, but she looked up and smiled when she saw me.
“Morning, Becca—the usual?”
I sank my elbows down onto the counter, gazing bleakly at the latest pop star’s new Thanksgiving album. “Yep. Oh—and let me get that guy Barry’s too.” I pointed to the maintenance worker and he smiled.
“You got it.”
I pulled out a ten and waited as she bustled around. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the rich man walk into the café and take his place at the back of the line. A faint blush rose up in my cheeks and I kept my eyes front. These cinematic takedowns were always best when you could make a clean getaway afterward. And the elevator music wasn’t helping.
“You and Amanda miss another casting?” Kelly asked when she returned, carrying two steaming drinks. “You look tired.”
I handed her my cash. “I just haven’t been sleeping that well.”
She frowned as she handed me back my change. “The dragon dream again?”
“Yes!” I leaned over the counter excitedly, eager to commiserate. “I don’t know what’s going on, but every time it gets close to me, it suddenly—”
“Hey! You in the scrubs!” An impatient voice called out from the line. “Some of us have to get to work.”
I threw back a glare in their general direction. Just like that, my adoring crowd had turned on a dime. Fame was a fickle friend.
“I’ll tell you later,” I said with exaggerated importance to Kelly, “I have to get to work.”
I scooped up my mocha-chino with all the dignity I could muster and walked out of the café with my head held high. I could feel the rich guy staring at me as I swept past him out the door, but I kept my eyes on the sidewalk. With my luck, I’d probably trip or something right as I tried to deliver a last one-liner to seal the deal.
Chapter 3
From the coffee shop, it was only a short walk through the grove to the hospice center where I worked. Half a dozen obese pigeons swarmed around me, and as was my morning custom, I tipped my change into the hands of the elderly homeless man who had taken up residence beneath one of the palms.
By the time I breezed through the doors, I was feeling pretty damn good about myself.
“Morning, Becca.” My overworked supervisor Lisa gave me a tired smile as I swept up to the front counter to sign in. “You look...peppy?”
I flashed her an overly animated smile. “Just performed a virtual citizen’s arrest at our local coffee shop. You know—keeping the city safe.”
“Uh huh,” she answered vaguely, hearing but not listening as she browsed through some papers. “Well, here we go. Mr. Cartivan in 308 needs a blood sugar reading.” Yeah, I was trained to do some stuff nurses do. “Mrs. Wakley is refusing to take a shower, oh—and here’s one you’ll like—Mrs. Diaz in 207 insists that her family is driving across the country right now to see her. She’s been making a Welcome banner all morning.”
Lisa gave me a stack of job assignments that had to be done before I left as she clocked out with a huge smile.
“Um...thanks.”
She winked. “Good luck.” Then she was gone.
Needless to say, my adrenaline buzz was basically gone by 10:05. I paced from room to room, making the familiar circles and seeing the familiar faces. I liked my job—don’t get me wrong. It’s just... I had been at the same facility for about three years now and I hoped that I would have gotten an acting gig by now. Hospice was in no way a permanent position. Patients were divided into two main categories: the people who had been shunted by the health care system and were temporarily using us as a recovery center due to budget cuts, and the people who came here not to recover, but to die.
Either way, no matter how many people you got to know, you wouldn’t end up knowing them very long.
Amanda would ask me about it all the time. She didn’t understand how I could spend my entire life around death and the dying. I was the person in the patient’s life who would see them through to the end, providing palliative end-of-life care. And I wanted to make their last days comfortable. I wanted to be that trusted and nurturing guide, helping patients and families find comfort and dignity. But no matter how many ways I found to describe it, she’d always end up saying that it sounded like a Stephen King movie and demand we talk about something else.
I pushed opened open a door and Mrs. Diaz, a woman I’d talked to every day for the last eight months, asked me my name. I closed it behind me with a sigh.
It was going to be a very long day.
When I finally got home and pushed shut the door of the apartment, Amanda sprang up to greet me like she hadn’t been imitating The Walking Dead all morning.