Chapter Ten
Eric
“Thought I might find you here.”
I look up as Vance walks to my table and takes a seat. Waving the waitress over, I order the both of us a round. I glance at my watch and then over at him, arching an eyebrow.
“It's only two in the afternoon,” I say.
He shrugs. “What's good for the goose.”
We're sitting in a bar called Biggs' that sits on the top floor of a hotel in San Diego's famous Gaslamp Quarter. From the bar, I've got a view of the ocean, downtown San Diego, and even Petco Park – the stadium that houses the Padres.
I've been coming to Biggs' for a while. Aside from a great view, it's quiet. It's not one of those loud, crowded meat markets where singles all go to find somebody to take home for the night – not that I don't indulge myself in those kinds of places too. I've gone to one of those kinds of bars for a drink and a girl more times than I can count.
But Biggs' is where I can come to get away. Clear my head and think. Nobody bothers me. And today is one of those days when I really don't want to be bothered.
The waitress brings our drinks to the table and sets them down. “Two scotch on the rocks, fellas,” she says. “It's happy hour somewhere, right?”
I give her a smile and nod. “Absolutely,” I say. “Thanks, Amanda.”
She gives me a flirty little smile and walks off, putting a little extra swish in her hips. She's young – maybe twenty-two, if that. Blonde, blue eyes, gorgeous figure, legs up to her neck and back – she's gorgeous. She's been working here for the last couple of months and had started flirting with me almost right off the bat. At first, I thought it was the typical cocktail waitress flirting for tips act. But lately, I've started to wonder.
And if I weren't half way to shitfaced already, I would definitely take a crack at her. Maybe I'll get her number before I leave and get together with her when my happy buzz isn't just covering up a really shitty mood.
Vance whistles and shakes his head, giving me a rueful grin. “Every once in a while, when I see a piece of ass like that, I miss being single,” he says.
“Better not let Victoria hear you talk like that,” I say. “She'll give you a cockectomy while you sleep.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I know,” he says with a dramatic sigh. “I remember being back in med school – you and I were always knee deep in co-ed panties.”
I raise my glass. “Yes, yes we were.”
“Seems like you still are,” he replies.
I tap my glass against his and smile. “And with any luck, I always will be.”
Vance talks like he's envious, but I know him better than that. He's crazy in love with his wife – and why wouldn't he be? She's tall, blonde, built, and drop-dead gorgeous – a former model. Vance most definitely married up and he knows it.
But even more than just her physical looks, she's one of the most intelligent people I've ever met. And I know that's like catnip to him. Vance likes strong, intelligent women. Always has.
And even though he talks like he misses running around chasing tail like we did back in med school, I know that he's happy being married. Happy with his two children, nice home, and quiet, suburban life – because that's Vance. He partied hard back in the day, but he's a man who craves stability and prefers being a one-woman kind of man.
But I let him reminisce and pretend he'd rather still be banging a different co-ed every night of the week than going home to Victoria and his kids every night.
“Thought you were helping Jean at the office?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Light patient load today,” he replies. “Nothing she can't handle.”
I nod, already knowing where this is going. “So, I take it, you're here to lecture me.”
Vance takes a swallow of his drink. “What? I can't just be here to enjoy a drink with my best friend?”
I chuckle. “Sure,” I say. “So, let's get the bullshit out of the way so we can enjoy that drink.”
Vance is one of my oldest friends. Truth be told, he's probably my best friend. I've known him since we went to med school up at Stanford. We were assigned to the same suite and had hit it off pretty quickly. But after we graduated, he went the normal route and I, feeling a little unsettled, had enlisted.
When I got back from the Shit, we got back in touch. He was working at a hospital in San Diego – though, he admitted to being tired of all the red tape and bureaucracy he had to deal with. I, on the other hand, had no idea what in the hell I was going to do.
But over a good number of drinks one night, we came up with an idea to start our own practice. I remember that night – we were actually sitting in Biggs' – and were excited by the idea. I was particularly excited since, given the fact that I had just gotten out of the military, finally had some direction.
The next day though, as I nursed a nasty hangover, I found our notes scrawled on some cocktail napkins and shook my head. The idiot blathering of a couple of drunks. I hadn't counted on Vance even remembering our conversation.
But he showed up at my place later that day like somebody had set his ass on fire. I remember that he talked about a mile a minute, showing me potential locations for our offices, and laying out the framework for our business plan. Vance seemed energize by the idea of operating a private practice and wanted to take point on getting it off the ground. So, I'd let him.
And it didn't take long for our drunken dream to become a reality. And the rest, as they say, is history.
“Jean offered me her resignation,” Vance says.
“A little dramatic, don't you think?”
He shrugs. “You really got under her skin today.”
“And she got under mine, so we're even.”
We both take a swallow from our drinks, letting the silence settle over us for a moment. And the longer we sit there though, the more I feel like an asshole. My shitty mood isn't Jean's fault. I know that she's just the handy scapegoat. She just happened to be in the vicinity and pissed me off at the wrong time.
“Look, I know I was out of line,” I finally say. “I'll apologize to her.”
“I'm sure she'd appreciate that.”
I sigh and drain the last of my drink, giving the waitress the sign that we need a couple more.
“What's going on with you, Eric?”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You've just seemed especially tense lately,” he says. “More on edge than usual. You haven't been acting like yourself and frankly, you've got me a little worried.”
I laugh ruefully. “Worried that I'm going to snap and shoot up the office?”
“Not my first thought,” he replies with a grin. “But, now that you mention it...”
I chuckle and give him the finger. Vance's belief that I'm more tense and on edge lately is true. I've been having more flashbacks to the war than usual that have been leaving me feeling more shaken than usual. A shrink would probably say I've got PTSD. But I know what's triggering the memories. I know what the underlying cause of my tension is. And I know why I've been a bigger asshole than usual lately.
I sigh. “I got a call a few days ago,” I say, feeling my mood already growing darker – at least the booze had been able to keep the worst of it at bay, if only temporarily. “A good friend of mine from the service is dying.”
“Shit,” Vance says. “I- I'm sorry, man.”
I nod. “Pancreatic cancer. Stage four.”
“Jesus,” Vance says, running a hand through his hair.
“The bitch of it is – and the thing that's really screwing with me – is that I think I should be able to do something,” I say. “I'm a doctor, I should be able to do something about this.”
“You know that's not the way it works, Eric,” Vance says. “You're a doctor, not God.”
My bark of laughter is sharp and brittle. “Yeah, I'm not so sure there is a God, man.”
Amanda sets our drinks down and looks at me, inviting me to take a good, long look at her. Probably inviting me to imagine her naked. I give her a smile. Maybe another time. My mood is deteriorating quickly.
“You might as well bring a few more,” I say. “I'm self-medicating today.”
“Sure thing,” she says as she laughs and walks away.
I pick up the fresh drink and swallow half of it down. Vance is looking at me, his expression one of compassion and pity – and I hated it. I never wanted to be pitied. Ever.
“I know that's not how it works,” I say quietly. “I just feel like I should be able to.”
“How long?”
I shrug. “Couple of weeks? Couple of months?”
He nods. “Then why are you still here?” he asks. “Why aren't you out there saying your goodbyes?”
“I don't know,” I say. “Denial and classic avoidance behavior maybe?”
Vance looks at me. “I'm serious, man,” he says. “You know as well as I do that hiding out from it isn't going to make it go away.”
“Yeah, don't I know it.”
Vance drains the last of his drink and picks up the fresh one Amanda had dropped off. He holds it in his hand, looking at it thoughtfully for a long moment.
“Jean and I can handle our patients,” he says. “You need to go. Take a few days. Say your goodbyes to your friend, man. You may feel like an asshole right now, but if you don't get out there before he's gone, I guarantee you're going to feel like an even bigger asshole.”
He's right. I know he's right. I just can't face the fact that Steve's dying. It's unfair as hell that he survived all the shootings and bombings over in the Shit only to die of fucking cancer of all things now that he's home. It's not fair. Steve is one of the good ones. He doesn't deserve to go out like this.
“Seriously, Eric,” Vance says. “Take a few days. Hell, take a few weeks if you want. We've got this, man. We've got your back.”
I look at him and feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. “Thanks, Vance,” I say. “I really appreciate that.”
“Anytime, man,” he replies. “I know you'd do the same.”
We sit quietly for several long moments, sipping our drinks, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. And out of nowhere, Lara's comments to me while I was up in San Francisco pop into my head. I thought about her saying there was a darkness inside of me. Missing puzzle pieces. For reasons, I can't even begin to fathom, everything she'd said come flooding into my brain.
It just seems so oddly out of place given what's been weighing heavy on my mind for the last few days.
“Let me ask you something,” I say. “We've known each other a long time – do you think that there's some darkness inside of me? Some missing pieces or something that prevent me from having a meaningful relationship with a woman?”
Vance looks at me like I've lost my mind for a moment. “Where did that come from?”
“Sorry, I'm all over the place lately,” I say. “It's just something Lara said to me when I was up at that event in Frisco.”
“Huh, interesting,” Vance says as he leans back in his seat.
“Why is that so interesting?”
He chuckles. “Because she's kind of right, I think.”
I take a sip of my drink, eyeing him over the glass. “How so?”
He shrugs. “Have you looked at your string of relationships?” he says. “Most of them last a night or two. Maybe a week at the most.”
I give him a grin. “What can I say? I'm a man who likes variety.”
“You're a man terrified of commitment,” he says. “A man who seems like he's waiting for something.”
I look at him curiously. “And what is it I'm waiting for?”
“That I can't tell you,” he says. “That's something only you can answer, my friend.”
“I don't think I'm waiting for something,” I say. “I don't feel like I'm waiting for something.”
He shrugs again. “Maybe you're waiting for somebody who needs you as much as you need them?”
I laugh out loud. “What in the hell are you talking about?”
“This is just a theory,” he said, a grin creasing his face. “But ever since I've known you, you've always been kind of this protector. You watch over people. Take care of them. I kind of think that's why you became a doctor, honestly.”
“Glad you've spent so much time dissecting my reasons for becoming a doctor,” I say and laugh.
“I have a lot of free time on my hands,” he replies. “Anyway, I think deep down, you want a woman who needs you. Somebody you can watch over and take care of.”
“And you don't think the women I see now fit that bill?”
He shakes his head. “Not really, no,” he says. “The kind of need I'm talking about is a deeper need – it's not based in the physical. It's more – spiritual. It has more to do with her soul than what's between her thighs.”
I look at him a long moment and then burst into laughter. “Oh shit, Victoria is going to kill me,” I say. “I'm sending you home in the middle of the afternoon, drunk.”
“I'm serious about what I said.”
“And I'm serious about fearing the wrath of your wife.”
“I'm not drunk,” he says and then grins. “Okay. Maybe I'm a little buzzed, but I'm definitely not drunk.”
“You've always been a lightweight,” I laugh.
“Maybe,” he replies. “But I think when you find that person who needs you like you need them, everything will just fall into place. You'll just know.”
“Okay, good talk, man,” I say. “Let's call you an Uber and get you home.”
Vance laughs. “Seriously, I'm good, man.”
“Yeah, I've already got one friend dying,” I say. “I'm not going to risk losing another. It's not like I have a lot of friends to begin with.”
Despite his continued protests, I call an Uber for Vance and send him home. I sit back and think about everything he said. Everything Lara said. And I think about Steve. Vance is right, I'm going to feel like an enormous asshole if I don't at least say goodbye to the man – or at least, one of the men – who saved my life.
Grabbing my phone, I start looking up flights to Colorado.