a sense of where you are now, since you can’t go back to where you were before.”
“Where I am now is looking out a window at a life that isn’t mine.”
“Do you want to get better, Doctor?”
Mateo shook his head angrily. “What I want is what I can’t have. And that’s something you can’t fix.”
“But there are other things you can do besides be a surgeon.”
“And how do you think I should address the obvious in my curriculum vitae? Unemployed surgeon with amnesia looking for work?”
It wasn’t Randy’s fault. He knew that. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. But he was so empty right now. Empty, and afraid to face the future without all his memories of the past.
“Look, sit in on a therapy session this afternoon. Then come for your private session with me. I’ll have my assistant look for some training programs that might interest you and—”
“Training programs? Don’t you understand? I’m a surgeon.”
“No, you’re not. Not anymore. I’ve had to report you to the medical licensing board and—”
“You couldn’t have waited until we were a little farther along in this?”
“You’re not in this, Mateo. And that’s the problem. Your license as a surgeon will be provisionally suspended, pending review and recommendations if and when you recover. I had to do it or risk my own medical license.”
He’d worked so hard to get that. Spent years and more money than he’d had. Even if he couldn’t operate, at least he had the license that proved he’d achieved his lifelong goal. He’d been somebody. But now he didn’t even have that.
“I guess we all do what we have to do, don’t we?” he said.
“It’s nothing personal. And, for what it’s worth, you’ll probably still have your general license to practice, because at the end of all this there’s every likelihood you’ll be able to find a place in medicine, somewhere. But you’ve got to cooperate now.”
But if he cooperated that meant all this was real. And he wasn’t ready for that yet. Which was why he fought so hard against everything. Once he admitted it was real, he was done. Over. Nothing to hope for. Nothing left to hold on to. Not even that thin scrap of resistance.
Two days had gone by and she was already feeling better. She’d boxed up a few of her dad’s belongings, which she’d been putting off for too long. Read a book on the history of Kamehameha, which had been sitting dusty on her shelf for two years. Done a bit of surfing and swimming.
Even just two days had done her a world of good, and as she headed off to the little stretch of beach at the front of her house, a guava and passionfruit drink in her hand, she was looking forward to more relaxation, more time to figure out if she should stay here or go somewhere else and start over.
Her plan had always been to go back home to upstate New York, but little by little this tiny patch of land she owned on Oahu had drawn her in. Her house was all glass on the side with the ocean view. It was large, but not too large…comfortable. Her dad had planted flowers that still bloomed in the garden and would for years to come, and the thought of leaving those brought a lump to her throat because he’d loved them so much in the last good days of his memory.
Her job… Well, that was one of those things she needed to rethink. It was good, but she wasn’t sure it was where she belonged. She liked working there, loved working with Janis, but the whole fit seemed…off. Maybe because her dad was gone now. Maybe because she was alone. Or maybe those thoughts were simply her fatigue taking over. And, since she wasn’t one to make rash decisions, she was going to let the job situation ride. Work through to the end of her contract, then see how she was feeling.
Stretching out on a lounger, Lizzie sat her drink on a little table topped with a mosaic of beach shells that her dad had collected and let her gaze drift to the waves lapping her small beach. She owned a beach. An honest-to-goodness beach. Even the sound of it impressed her a little, when very little else did these days.
“It’s a nice view,” came a familiar voice from behind her.
“How did you know where to find me?” she asked, turning to see Mateo standing just a few feet away with a duffle bag slung casually over his shoulder.
“Went to The Shack. Asked. They knew you and pointed me in the right direction.”
“So, I’m assuming that since you’ve got your duffel you’re no longer a patient?”
“Randy Jenkins made the recommendation this morning that I be transferred and your friend Janis dropped the axe.” He shrugged. “So here I am.”
“Then you’re on your way to another facility?”
Mateo shook his head. “My transfer is back to California, where I was before I came here. It didn’t do me any good then, and nothing’s changed so it’s not going to do me any good now.”
This wasn’t good. Too many soldiers returned home with PTSD and other problems and ended up on the street. Suddenly, she feared that for Mateo.
“What are your plans?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear them.
“Don’t have any. When they said they’d arrange a transfer in a couple of days I arranged my own.”
“Meaning you’re homeless? Or do you have a home somewhere?”
She didn’t want to get involved. Shouldn’t get involved. But he didn’t deserve this, and it wasn’t his fault that he’d lost the life he’d known.
“No home. Sold it when I went into the Army and used the proceeds to buy a house for my mother. It’s in Mexico, and I’m not a citizen there. To get my veterans’ medical benefits I have to live in the States. Meaning until I leave Hawaii I’m a beach bum. But before I take off to…let’s call it to ‘discover myself,’ I wanted to thank you for being so kind to me and trying to help. I appreciate your efforts, Dr. Elizabeth Peterson, even if they were wasted.”
“And what now? You walk off into the sunset? Because that’s not where you’re going to find yourself, Mateo.”
He shrugged. “Do you really think I’ll find myself if I’m admitted to an eight-bed ward and assigned to therapy to which I won’t go, until I’m deemed so uncooperative they put me away in a home, give me drugs, and let me spend the rest of my life shuffling through the halls wearing bedroom slippers and existing in some kind of a stupor?”
“It’s not that bad,” she argued, even though she knew that in some cases it could be.
But for Mateo…she didn’t know. He wanted something he wouldn’t get back and he was stuck in the whole denial process. For how long, she had no clue. She was a personal care physician, not a psychiatrist.
“Could you go stay with your mother for a while?”
“I could,
