Mentally, I’m already speed-dialing Becca. But it’s the middle of June now. Schools are letting out. The Fourth of July and a horde of tourists are coming fast. The “NO” signs are popping up in front of the “VACANCY” lights on hotels up and down the island.
Ceepak and I head out the back door.
We walk across a weather-beaten deck filled with graying teak furniture plus a rusty Weber kettle grill with antique cobwebs glued to its legs. We’re on a bit of a bluff overlooking the ocean maybe fifty feet in front of us. This is an impressive piece of property. Somebody’s about to inherit an awesome beach house.
“Perhaps you should give Christine a call,” Ceepak suggests after we both scan the shoreline, looking for her.
I pull out my cell phone. “So where do we take her this time? The Mussel Beach Motel is probably booked up for the rest of the summer.”
“Roger that,” mumbles Ceepak. I can tell he’s perplexed, too.
“And now she doesn’t have any kind of job. No way can she pay rent, unless she goes back to the emergency room.”
“She may not be ready for a return to the ER at this juncture,” says Ceepak, who, like I said, understands Christine’s PTSD better than anybody. Working in a trauma center, faced with life-and-death decisions every time the double doors swing open? That’s probably not what her doctors and psychiatrists are ordering for Christine right now.
“Well,” I say, “maybe she has some savings. But this is the start of the peak tourist season. Rents will be jacked up till Labor Day. If she had any family in the area, she never would’ve had to spend the night in Dr. Rosen’s driveway …”
“Could she stay at your apartment, Danny?”
Wow. First Ceepak’s mom wants me to date Christine. Now her son wants her to move in with me?
“You, of course, could stay with Rita and me,” he continues. “T.J.’s sofa bed is still available.”
Okay, this is tough.
I mean I like Ceepak and his wife, Rita. Living with them would be okay. I guess. Unless Ceepak makes me get up every morning and run three miles before we all do military-style jumping jacks.
On the other hand, it’s baseball season. I love my own plasma screen TV-even though it’s only half as big as the one Michael bought for his father. I also like how close my refrigerator is to my couch. You don’t even need to stand up to grab a beer.
But then I see Christine’s mop of dark, curly hair bouncing up over the dunes. Soon I see her. She’s not in a bathing suit or anything but she looks good.
And sad.
No, crushed is more like it.
She’s probably been wandering up and down the beach wondering the same stuff Ceepak and I have been wondering about. Now that Dr. Rosen is gone, what’s going to happen to her?
“Yeah,” I say. “Your place sounds like a plan.”
“Just for the time being,” says Ceepak. “We’ll figure something out.”
“It’s all good,” I say. Then I smile at Christine as she makes her way over the dunes.