“I remember when my mother became a citizen in the US. She’d studied for weeks, worked hard to learn the history, the language, and I think the day she was sworn in was one of the proudest days of her life. Making a new life isn’t easy, and she did it for me.”
“And you?”
“I was too young to realize all the sacrifices she was making to give me a better life. I don’t think I appreciated it the way I should. And my mother… I don’t want her worrying about me. It’s the least I can do. And she’s happy back in Mexico, living near her sister, proud of her son the…the doctor.” He nearly choked on the words.
She thought about the life her dad had made for her. That had never been easy either, but it had always been good. And he’d put aside many opportunities because he’d chosen to be a father first.
“Anyway, what’s next, Mateo? What do you want to happen or expect to happen?”
He chuckled, but bitterly. “Look, Lizzie. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I’m sure that’s obvious. But I’m not going to impose, and I’m not going to expect you to be my doctor while I’m here.”
“Like I could be your doctor,” she said. “That would require ethical considerations I don’t want to think about. Doctor brings patient home for special treatment? Nope, not me. I can be your friend, even a medical colleague, but not your doctor. So, my friend, I want to take a walk down to The Shack and ask them why they thought it was appropriate to tell someone where I live.”
“Then what?” he asked.
“Then guilt them into free shrimp burgers. They’re so good. But no beer. And no dancing on the table.”
“In my defense, it was only a couple feet off the ground.”
“You have no defense, Mateo. Absolutely none. And if I catch you up on a table, and I don’t care how high it is…” She pointed to the chaise on the lanai. “That’s as far as you’ll go. I might toss you a pillow and a plate of food every now and then, but if you dance on a table I’m done.”
Mateo laughed. “You know, from the first moment I saw you walk by my hospital room I knew you were a real softie. Your threats don’t scare me, Lizzie. You haven’t got it in you to make me sleep out there.”
Unfortunately, that was true. Something about Mateo caused her usual resolve to simply melt away.
It wasn’t like him to think only in the moment. At least, he didn’t think it was like him. He’d looked at his calendar and seen that he’d made notes about plans well into the future. Some things still months away. That was certainly a personality trait he didn’t remember—especially now, when he was basically on the edge of living rough and not particularly worried about it.
Was that because he knew he could count on Lizzie as his backup?
Mateo looked at his half-eaten shrimp burger and wondered if he even liked shrimp. Had he been allergic his throat would have swollen shut by now. He might even be dead. But he wasn’t, and his throat was fine.
Subconsciously, he raised his hand to his throat and rubbed it.
“You OK?” Lizzie asked him.
She was sitting across from him at a high-top for two, looking like an Irish lassie who simply fitted in here. Red hair wild. Brown eyes sparkling with gold flecks that were highlighted by the glow of the citronella candle on their table. The brightest, widest smile he’d ever seen.
“Just wondering if I have allergies.”
“According to your military records, you don’t.”
“You really know more about me than I know about myself, don’t you?” he asked. Realizing she had access to his life while he didn’t felt strange.
“You do understand why I don’t just tell you everything I know, don’t you?”
“So you won’t fill my impressionable mind with fake notions of who I am. I know it would be easy…false memories and all that. But sitting here with a stranger who knows me inside and out, while only a couple of hours ago I was homeless without a plan is…disconcerting.”
Lizzie reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’ll bet it is. But if you ever settle down you’ll work through some of it. Maybe even more than you expect.”
He studied her hand for a moment—porcelain-smooth skin, a little on the pale side compared to most of the people at The Shack. Nice hand. Gentle.
“Now that you’re not restricted by any kind of medical ethics with me, tell me how much I can expect to return. Or how much will never return. Can you do that much for me?”
She pulled her hand back. “There’s no formula for that, Mateo. No way to predict. I’d like to be able to give you a definitive answer, but the brain can’t be predicted. You may be where you’re always going to be now, or you may improve. Losing pieces of yourself—or, as I call it, living in a fog—has got to be difficult. I see it, and I understand it, but I can’t relate to it.”
He smiled. “Wish I couldn’t relate to it either. Look, I appreciate you taking me in for a couple of days. I really do need some time to figure out what comes next. But you’re not responsible for me, Lizzie. Just be patient for a little while, and on my end of it I promise no more dancing on the table or anything else. I’ll be cooperative. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
He meant it, too. It was time to figure out his life, and it was nice having a friend on his side to help him. A friend who was patient and caring the way Lizzie was.
“Why didn’t you do that at the hospital?”
“Four walls, a bed, and a window to the world. That’s all it was, and it scared me, Lizzie. Still does when I think that’s all my life might be about.”
“So you refuse traditional help, do everything you can to distance yourself from it, in order to—what? I want to know, Mateo. If I hadn’t lived within walking distance of the hospital, or if a couple of the people who work here hadn’t known where I live, what would you have done? Because so far all you’ve done is walk away. From Germany, from the veterans’ facility in Boston, then in California, and from the hospital here. From—”
She shut up and took a bite of her burger.
“From everything, Mateo,” she said, once she’d swallowed. “And it all adds up to you walking away from yourself.”
“You were going to say fiancée, weren’t you?”
“You remember her?”
“Vaguely. Must have been a short relationship, because she didn’t leave much behind in my head. Except, maybe… She didn’t want to live with someone in my condition, did she?”
“Actually, I don’t know the whole story. It was in your chart, but since you weren’t my patient I didn’t read it. The only things I know about you are what I heard at the weekly patient review meetings.”
“That’s right. By the book, Lizzie.”
“You think that’s a problem?”
“I think in today’s medical world it’s an asset. There are too many people getting involved in aspects of a patient’s care who shouldn’t.”
Suddenly he could feel the tiredness coming on. And the headache. Dull to blinding in sixty seconds. So, rather than pursuing this conversation, he stood abruptly, tossed a few dollars on the table—enough to cover both meals and a tip—then walked away. He wanted to get out of there before the full force of the headache made him queasy, caused him to stagger.
Once