Eye Contact Page 3

  When the body arrived, I was looking at slides of cytological scrapings, being taught about the difference between benign cells versus cancerous cells. The loud bang of the thick metal doors opening broke me out of my trance and my eyes followed the black bag rolling in on a gurney, my father intercepting them just inside the doors.

  “Frank, we’ve got a stat case for you. Twenty-two-year-old African American male, victim of GSW to the head. Scene was either a suicide or staged to look like one. JSO suspects foul play.”

  “What’s the estimated time of death?”

  “Based on body temp taken at the scene, six to eight hours ago. It took over four hours to process the scene.”

  Remembering that I was still in the room, he turned to me and said, “Andie, I want you to go into my office and find something on TV to watch until your mother gets here.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, Andie.” His voice was stern and firm. I closed my spiral notebook and turned off my microscope, taking my sweet time while simultaneously trying to eavesdrop on the exchange of information taking place between my dad and the gentlemen transferring the body to him. I attempted to soak in every detail, sitting back and observing quietly. I thought maybe if I was quiet as a mouse, he wouldn’t notice that I hadn’t yet exited the room.

  Once the body was transferred over to the table and the men retreated with their empty stretcher, he walked over to me, having known I was still there the entire time.

  “I have to get started on this right away, sweet girl.”

  “I’ll be so quiet, Dad. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  “I…I can’t, Andie. You shouldn’t be seeing this.” He wished he could show me; I could see it in his face.

  “Please, Daddy? I’ve never seen a body in person before.”

  He sighed, his thoughts battling each other in his head, the conflict obvious in his features.

  “I will show you the body, as long as you’re sure you can handle it, but you cannot watch any part of the autopsy.”

  “Yes!” I rejoiced loudly. “I promise I can handle it. I promise.”

  “And this has to be our little secret. You can never tell your mother about this, you hear me?”

  “I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other?”

  “Well, we don’t, but if you can’t keep this secret, you’re going to have to go ahead and sit in my office right n—”

  “I’ll do it!” I interrupted. “I’ll never tell a soul.”

  He walked me over to the table and pressed a button on the side, lowering the entire thing to my level.

  “It’s going to be very bloody because nothing has been wiped away or cleaned yet. This man died of a bullet wound to the head. The police want me to examine the body and determine whether he shot himself or if he was shot by someone else.”

  “How will you know?”

  “I have to carefully open his skull and look at all the tissue, figure out which way the bullet came from and where it went once it was in the brain.”

  “I wish I could see.”

  “Maybe one day, baby. You can watch one day when you’re a little older. Are you sure you want to look at him?”

  “Please. I’m ready.”

  He carefully unzipped the body bag and I rounded the head, walking over to his side of the table. The victim’s face came into view—what was left of it, anyway. Over half of it had been blown off by the bullet’s entry, and part of his brain matter was resting on his intact cheek. I reached into the pocket of my father’s lab coat, grasping for a pen light. When I clicked the light on and bent down to shine light into the brain, he smiled, knowing I was just fine seeing the supposedly gruesome work he did every day.

  Chapter 4

  Andie

  My nostalgic revelry was interrupted by my doorbell chiming in rapid succession, which revealed to me without even having to look exactly who was at the door seeking entrance—Rowan. I descended the stairs and confirmed my suspicion with a quick glance through the peephole.

  “I know you’re in there, Andie! Come on already.”

  I opened the door to find her standing there with two rolling suitcases standing up next to her on my front porch and a huge duffle over her shoulder. Rowan Kline was my closest friend—my only friend, really. She was a physician’s assistant in the same ER I worked in and we had grown close over the past few years.

  “Took you long enough,” she complained. “Let me in—it’s freaking hotter than hell out here.” She grabbed the handle of her larger suitcase and proceeded to let herself inside, dragging the rolling bag behind her as I stepped to the side, allowing her to pass. I stood there, baffled, watching her return for the other suitcase and haul it into my house before closing the door behind her.

  “What’s with the luggage?” I finally inquired.

  She meandered over to my kitchen and opened the refrigerator to retrieve a cold bottle of water. After taking a few long pulls, she replied. “I’m going to need to stay here for a few days, maybe a week.” So matter-of-fact and confident.

  “Uhh…is everything okay?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Of course.” I watched her walk to the couch, throwing her feet up on the coffee table after she slipped her sandals off. “I’m just tired of Richard’s crap.”

  “What crap? Did something happen?” It seemed like the right thing to ask next, although she certainly would’ve started into all the drama and her reasoning for leaving without my prompting. Richard was her boyfriend, or at least he would call himself that. Rowan despised titles and preferred to keep things vague and casual. She had no interest in being monogamous and had always been quick to dismiss any notion otherwise—until he came along.

  “Well, for starters, he cooked breakfast this morning and stunk the entire apartment up with the smell of bacon when he knows good and well I only eat turkey bacon. He gave me a stack of like seventeen pancakes covered in blueberries and syrup.” I joined her in the living room, choosing to sit in the chaise lounge across from her while she continued airing her relationship grievances. “It’ll take three days before the place no longer smells like a Waffle House, and I can’t stand blueberries.”

  “Wait, you left so you didn’t have to smell bacon?” I wasn’t the most socially competent person ever, but I could normally hold my own with Rowan. We always seemed to be on the same page, even if she was writing three-fourths of it. This time, however, I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what her deal was. “I’m really confused.”

  “It wasn’t just the bacon. Yesterday he asked me if I wanted to go see a movie and when I said sure, he actually replied, ‘Well, what, pray tell, would you like to see?’ I mean…pray tell? What in the world am I supposed to do with that? I can’t be with a guy who says shit like that.” She was visibly flustered and looked to me for some sort of reaction.

  “I don’t know…it doesn’t seem that bad to me. He’s a nice guy.” I really didn’t know what to say; I had only met the guy twice.

  “Oh, how do you know? You’ve only met him two or three times.”

  It was definitely twice. The first time was at their home when she all but threatened me with bodily harm if I didn’t come to a dinner party they were hosting. I was seated next to one of Richard’s single co-workers, no doubt in an attempt to set us up, but he smelled like onions and had a nervous giggle when he spoke. It was annoying and I wasn’t attracted to him at all.

  The second time was at the hospital. He surprised her with flowers and ordered a bunch of food for the staff because he had to bail on a date they had scheduled the night before. It was a kind gesture as far as anyone else was concerned but went unappreciated by Rowan. She was hard to please and extremely good at holding grudges. I thought I recalled her saying he was some sort of attorney—no, a lobbyist, maybe? I didn’t remember, mainly because I had no interest in learning anything about him knowing she would grow tired of him within weeks. But, despite my assumptions, she was basically living
with him after a few dates and they had been together for months now, long past when I’d expected her to end it.

  “I don’t know, Andie. It’s like every little thing that has gotten on my nerves for months all came to a head today and popped like a festering abscess. He wears bowling shoes.”

  “Is he in some sort of league or something?”

  “No, and that’s exactly it: he wears them like regular shoes—like, to run errands around town. Just rocks the goofy-ass bowling shoes like it’s socially acceptable to wear them as part of a normal outfit.”

  “Hmm. Yeah, I guess that’s a little weird,” I conceded, hating to play into her neurotic anti-Richard venting but genuinely in agreement that it was odd to wear bowling shoes when you were not intending to bowl.

  “He uses a tongue scraper, but I’ve never seen him floss once. He listens to Weird Al Yankovic albums all the time for fun and actually sings along to all the words. He’s a one-upper, always has a bigger and better story to top whatever you just said, dominating the conversation like a wet fart in an elevator.”

  “Wow. That’s intense.”

  “Last week he tried to leave the house wearing a t-shirt that said ‘Take me drunk, I’m home.’”

  I watched her exhale a harsh breath, relieved to get it all off her mind. “What did you say to him? When you left?”

  “Oh, he doesn’t know I left yet. He went into the office after cleaning up from his meat lovers rooty tooty fresh n’ fruity, and I promptly packed my things.”

  “You didn’t leave a note or anything?”

  “He’ll figure it out. I just need to breathe. I feel like I can’t breathe over there. He’s always just…there.” I watched her glance around the house as if she had never seen the inside of it even though she’d been there a thousand times. “So, what are you doing today?”

  “Nothing. I just woke up actually.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot you worked yesterday. How was it? Anything crazy or worth mentioning?”

  “It was pretty slammed, so I’m exhausted. My back kills and my feet are throbbing,” I confessed, feeling as if I’d been hit by a truck. “Also, Bowers is still a dick and I got a really weird feeling during my last case.”

  “Perfect!” she exclaimed, obviously not having really listened to my response. “I have a solution for us both.”

  “Not a chance. I’m not going anywhere that requires putting on a bra or shoes.”

  “So throw on a sundress and flip-flops. Let’s go get a pedicure. The massage chair is just what you need, and I’ll let you have my normal guy. He gives the best foot rubs ever.”

  “That does sound enticing.” I hadn’t gotten a pedicure in months, rarely treating myself to such pampering.

  “They’ll even give you wine at this place. Go brush your hair and let’s go. My treat,” she offered.

  I hesitated and she gave me a pleading look.

  “All right! But you’re going to have to feed me too—I’m starving.”

  “If you want food, you’re going to have to put on a bra,” she joked as I slowly climbed the stairs to my bedroom.

  “We’ll see.”

  ***

  After managing to put on a tank top, maxi skirt, and flip-flops, I climbed into the passenger seat of her open-top Jeep, quickly finding my aviator sunglasses in my purse. It was hot, humid, and so very bright, a typical June day in Florida but especially harsh on my senses after being inside my bedroom behind blackout curtains for the majority of the day in a post-call coma. I unsuccessfully fished around for a hair tie and settled for a quick braid to the side while she started the vehicle.

  As we drove to the nail salon, 80s music blasted loudly through the speakers and I appreciated not being expected to shout over the wind in conversation. I’d never been one to feel the need to fill a room (or car) with the sound of my own voice. To me, it was perfectly acceptable to sit in the silence, but most people find that awkward and insist on talking, even if they have nothing important to talk about. I could always count on Rowan to fill the void with constant chatter, and for whatever reason, it seldom annoyed me.

  We arrived at the salon and selected our polish colors, mine a “boring neutral” according to her and hers a bright pink hue called Strawberry Margarita. Since it was a Monday morning and most people with normal jobs were at work, the place was empty. The nail technician ushered us to the back and began filling our foot spas with warm water. I was given a glass of white wine and encouraged to relax. The kneading and thumping of the automated massage chair was incredible and felt better than I’d expected, but I was soon ripped out of my state of euphoria by what felt like a fist suddenly rising up from my seat into the center of my butt.

  Rowan heard me gasp and saw my face, instantly realizing what I was reacting to, and she started laughing hysterically.

  “Oh, man—you should’ve seen your face!” she bellowed amidst her laughter. “I forgot to warn you. Hand me your controller.” All I could do was lean to the left in an awkward attempt to keep myself from being impaled, all the while the chair continuing to thump my back so hard my upper body was gyrating in a scene reminiscent of a seizure. She pressed the button labeled ‘buttocks’, disabling that entire section of massage, and I no longer felt like I was being skewered on a pole.

  “Thanks. That was brutal.” I wondered who in their right mind would think that was comfortable or relaxing in any way.

  As we calmed down from my near-death experience with the chair, I enjoyed the sweet white wine. The break in the gratification of winding down provided an opening for Rowan to start a conversation, so she did, asking me more about my shift.

  “So you said your last case was weird—what did you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I got a really strange feeling when the patient first came in and again in the OR. It was almost like I knew him from somewhere.”

  “Maybe you do. Jacksonville’s not that big of a city.”

  “Actually, there are over a million people here,” I pointed out. “And geographically, we are in the top five largest cities in the country.”

  “Okay, Encyclopedia Brit-Andie-uh. Calm down,” she joked, laughing at herself. “I’m just saying, it’s a small world. Maybe you do know him somehow.”

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t recognize him,” I replied, knowing my memory was always solid.

  “He was all banged up from the accident, though. Maybe when you see him during rounds and he’s cleaned up a little, you’ll be able to get a better look.”

  “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

  “What was his deal?”

  “Ruptured grade three subcapsular hematoma on the underside of the spleen. I removed it and Bowers repaired a liver lac.”

  “Ugh. I can’t stand that guy.”

  “I can’t either. He was in rare form that night, too.”

  “He’s got to have the smallest dick in the world to act like he does.”

  I nearly spat out my sip of wine.

  “Seriously—like, micropenis level. There’s no other reason to be that much of a douche.”

  “Well, I’m not interested in finding out,” I mumbled.

  “I saw him leaving one day—you know he even drives a Corvette?”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope. I promise. A souped-up, offensively yellow Corvette.”

  “Yep, micropenis for sure—AND a midlife crisis,” I quipped.

  Our conversation segued to other topics and good-mood Rowan started to turn somber and distant. I tried to engage but she seemed off. I asked what was really on her mind and she sighed before answering me while staring straight ahead.

  “I found a ring,” she blurted out, my expression immediately startled. “An engagement ring.” The clarification wasn’t necessary.

  “Are you sure it’s for you?” I said aloud, intending to only ponder the thought.

  She choked out a laugh that was more offended than amused and retorted, “I sure hope so.”
>
  I paused, wondering what the problem was. If she hoped it was hers, it wasn’t clear to me why she was upset about finding it.

  “I mean, I’d be beyond pissed if he was seeing someone else at this point, much less serious enough with her to purchase a ring.” I sat patiently, waiting for her to unload. “I don’t know why I’m so upset. It’s crazy. I should be excited—elated—but I’m terrified. I’m not ready for this. How can he possibly think we’re ready for this?”

  “He loves you, obviously,” I asserted. “Do you love him?”

  Facing forward and lowering her head just enough for me to notice, she replied softly. “I think I might… I do. I definitely do.”

  “Wow.” I sat in shock, wondering who this girl was and what she had done with my friend.

  “I know,” she lamented. “I’m as stunned as you are.”

  “Listen, you’re the only one who’s giving yourself a hard time about this,” I said gently. “It seems pretty absurd to place these ridiculous rules on yourself. Just be in a relationship. Be in love. Be happy.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re right. I don’t.” My curt response sounded harsher than I’d intended.

  “Andie, you didn’t grow up in a house like mine. You didn’t see your mother’s life and career all but ruined by loving someone. Love is everything until it destroys everything.”

  She had briefly talked about her family drama before, but she wasn’t one to open up easily and I wasn’t one to pry, so I knew very little, only that her mom had been some sort of local politician and at one point fell in love with someone on her campaign team. The affair got serious, her marriage failed and failed miserably on a public forum for all to see and judge. At a vulnerable age, Rowan had a front-row seat for the media circus.

  “It doesn’t have to be like that though, so destructive. There are plenty of happy couples who navigate their way through life unscathed, without any permanent damage, and live happily ever after.”

  “Really, with the fairy-tale crap right now?” she teased. She was right. It even felt stupid coming out of my mouth.