One step forward, or two steps back?
Dr. Anaya Jones felt like she asked herself that same question every time she stepped in front of a mirror. It'd become so common, she almost wanted to skip shiny surfaces altogether. But she couldn't—a professional always had to keep up appearances.
As long as I look the part, right?
This particular mirror was unavoidable, affixed as it was to the wall inside the elevator of The Regency Hotel. She glanced at her reflection, just long enough to make sure there were no hairs out of place, or buttons undone. Her black hair was still pulled into a ponytail. The charcoal jumpsuit she'd picked from her wardrobe of exclusively black, grey and navy items hung on her reedy frame. Anaya's umber eyes appeared dark and flat, and her skin paler than her normal olive tone under the unflattering light of the fluorescents above.
That wasn't why she dreaded looking in the mirror though. It wasn't looking at the shell she feared. It was facing the woman within.
Her reflection didn't answer back.
That was probably for the best. Anaya never liked whatever her inner voice had to say and didn't need another laundry list of mistakes she'd made where she'd zigged instead of zagged.
It was like her decisions had a life of their own, as if they were determined to be Anaya's archnemeses. Every single one. Whether to stay or start again in a new town, choose to become a physician or do something else with her life, give someone a chance or cut her losses and run... She wasn't the only human on the planet faced with important options. She was thirty-five years old, yet still didn't understand how anyone else got through it. Every time she thought she was doing the right thing, all the progress she'd made just to get to that point was undone.
And what about now? Should she honor this invitation as promised, or do an about turn, go straight home and keep to herself?
Ping. The sound announced her arrival on the third floor—she was out of time.
Anaya took a deep, bracing breath and started towards the wine bar.
I can do this.
It was only a few drinks with two coworkers. She could survive that, couldn't she? They were nice enough, but geniality wasn't the problem here. She just didn't have a burning desire to engage in hours of grueling conversation with people who had everything figured out. People who were passionate about their jobs and happy with their lives.
Standing in the ivory and gold facade of the archway entrance, she scanned the scene. Chandeliers made from wine bottles glowed softly from the vaulted ceiling and the soothing melody of an accordion floated through the space. They'd fashioned the tables from old barrels and the bar stools were in the shape of corks. The entire bar was an homage to the world of wine. She'd only been to Truffle a few times, but the caliber of the forty or more patrons already well into their wine and assortment of cheeses gave it the air of a gathering spot for successful professionals.
It was not for her.
Anaya didn't take long to locate her colleagues. She noticed Novak first. Weighing in at over two hundred pounds, with huge shoulders and a mass of muscles concealed beneath a burgundy smoking jacket, he was impossible to miss. The medical director of St. Jude's Retirement Home, Dr. Novak Gray had been a championship boxer in his youth and still trained regularly to keep himself in shape.
He dwarfed the slender woman beside him, his wife. Jiri was his opposite in every conceivable way, a portrait of grace and poise wrapped in a swan-white dress. How someone built like one of those tiny dancers in a music box had become the toughest and most respected physical therapist in Emberswick, Anaya couldn't comprehend.
"There she is!" Novak's shaved head gleamed as he turned to greet her. The wide smile that cracked across his dark, weathered face was in perfect harmony with his booming baritone.
Anaya slid onto the empty stool across from him. "So sorry I'm late. I got caught up writing out prescriptions for tomorrow." An excuse for what was, unfortunately, becoming trademark tardiness featured in all her opening lines these days.
"Speaking of apologies, sorry we took so long to organize this. Happy one year work anniversary, Anaya," Jiri said, lifting a glass of water in a fluid motion. Her auburn curls swayed as she nodded in approval. "We're happy to have you with us."
Anaya's actual anniversary date had come and gone more than a month ago, but she still appreciated the sentiment behind the couple insisting they take her out to celebrate. Even if she preferred they not make it a thing. "Thank you. Both of you. But you didn't need to go this fancy."
"Pish posh," Novak replied in his usual manner. For a hefty man, he possessed a peculiarly... delicate vocabulary. "What can I get you to drink, my dear?" He passed her the menu and signaled the staff for service.
She regarded Novak carefully. His earthy brown eyes focused on the different fruit and cheese platters marked on the blackboards adorning the walls. He was truly a "gentle giant," but she couldn't shake off the unease snaking through her.
Is this some sort of test?
Novak knew of her past, or at least the parts in her official record. She was on medications that didn't mix with alcohol, providing she took them. Yet there they were.
"A bottle of sparkling water, thank you. It's a celebration, after all. But I'm really just here for the cheese." Unable to hold back the slight snark, Anaya flourished it with a wry smile.
"As the lady wishes." Novak turned from her to instruct the waiter.
While he and Jiri rattled off their own selections, Anaya let out a quiet sigh, trying to exhale some of her tension away. The effect was short-lived. As soon as the waiter departed, leaving silence in his wake, Anaya cringed. This was the moment she'd feared, the one that would set the tone of their evening. She never knew how to break the ice. As with most things, she had only two extremes. She could either obliterate the awkward pause and become the life of the party, or keep her trap shut and let the cold shoulder freeze them to the marrow.
Jiri cleared her throat. "So. How has the new rotation been suiting you?" Her mint-green eyes fixed on Anaya.
Ugh, do we really have to do this?
The only thing Anaya dreaded more than uncomfortable lapses was filling the quiet with talk about her job. Did they have nothing else in common to talk about? Glancing at her two companions though, she supposed they didn't.
"Change is good," she replied, brightening her tone. "It exposes me to different cases and more experience."
Novak gave an unceremonious snort. "Well, I wish your previous patients would adapt so quickly. Vera and Alexis abhor change. And Gregory too, though he's not quite as persnickety. He cooperates for all his checkups, but never speaks a word more than necessary to anyone else except you."
That made her pause. Gregory, at least, she understood. Over the months of his treatment, they'd become, if not friends, at least trusted acquaintances. But Vera and Alexis had never shown any real connection to her as their doctor. And she was far from being as skilled as Jiri and Novak, nor even as comfortable in her profession as they seemed in theirs. Anaya never had great reasons for becoming a doctor in the first place, possibly even had the wrong ones. She'd long since accepted that she would never truly be one of them.
Always on the periphery, never an essential part.
A server in a maroon waistcoat and matching beret arrived with their glasses and platters. Anaya flicked her eyes to the ceiling in gratitude.
Thank you, dear gods of wine and cheese, whoever you are!
Food and drink were excellent shields against unnecessary questions and unsolicited advice, and she could wield these with the same precision that a surgeon would a scalpel.
"The Board is deciding on the expansion on Monday. I think a music room would do nicely," Novak said, shrugging his massive shoulders as he sliced into his cold cuts. "But Jiri doesn't agree."
"I'd rather have a purpose-built gym," Jiri replied, right to the point as always. She never rambled. Every sentence was succinct, every action imbued with a purpose.
Sensing it was her turn to join in, Anaya knitted her brows together pretending to take a moment to consider, then reached for a sip of her water.
As discreetly as she could, she pulled out her phone from her bag and peeked at it. The battery was in red, but it showed her what she was looking for.
Seven thirty. One hour down, one more to go and I'll find a way to make a swift exit.
Jiri elegantly slipped into the vacancy in the conversation. "Did you get a chance to look at the staffing again, Novak? With Anaya in a permanent post, we could get another visiting physician on board."
Novak nodded enthusiastically. "I certainly did. The job will appear online and recruited for next week."
"That's great," Anaya agreed before nibbling another random piece of cheese to keep her mouth occupied.
One should never talk with one's mouth full. Etiquette 101.
Despite the delightful company of her own snark, Anaya's longing to take off grew stronger. But her ability to conjure a viable excuse to leave early had deserted her. Saying she had some work to finish was out of the question. Novak knew exactly what was on her plate. Feigning a super early start would be futile too. They'd seen her roster. The conversation blurred by as she spent all her attention on staying firmly rooted to her seat. She didn't even trust herself to make a trip to the bathroom, in fear that the temptation to bolt when out of their direct line of sight would overcome her. So, an hour later, her bladder was near to bursting at the seams.
By the time Novak paid the check, Anaya couldn't contain her relief. "Thank you for tonight," she said to him. Turning to Jiri, she added, "I really do appreciate it."
Jiri laid her hand on Anaya's arm in response, her touch as light as a summer drizzle. She had chosen the physical contact in place of a mundane reply, efficient as always.
"May we drop you off at home, dear?" Novak asked as he refastened the buttons of his jacket. "We could get the cab to swing by your apartment first."
"You go on ahead. I've got to pee first, anyway." Too late, Anaya realized she'd said too much.
Novak's face scrunched up with distaste.
Nervous mouth flapping. Story of my life.
"Goodnight, Anaya. We'll see you tomorrow," Novak said as he regained some composure, extended his arm to Jiri and they made their way out.
Anaya walked towards the sign indicating the "la salle des dames," joyfully basking in the wave of accomplishment that washed over her. She'd done it! She made it through happy hour. A true grin finally surfaced.
Maybe I'm getting better at the art of living, after all.
Still smiling ten minutes later, she exited the building and raised her hand for a cab. When the first one she hailed changed lanes and pulled over toward the curb, Anaya couldn't help thinking her life was making a small trajectory upwards. Those shifts never lasted, but she was grateful for the turns whenever they graced her with their presence. The car rolled to a halt in front of her.
When the driver looked up at Anaya, her blood turned to ice.
Sapphire-blue eyes. Ragged blond hair. Five o'clock shadow.
Oh God, he's found me!
Anaya forgot how to breathe, let alone move.
Cold sweat formed on her forehead. Her body quivered with the fear coursing through her every vein. Tears stung her eyes when she shut them, as heavy with finality as theater curtains after the closing act. This reunion had played out in a hundred different ways in her nightmares. But the ending was always the same. Paralyzed, she waited for the command to drop.
"Getting in?"
A question, not a demand. The tone of voice was all wrong. By the end, he had never asked for her opinion on anything. The thought fell on her like a sharp slap.
Anaya snapped back to reality. Her vision cleared. She sucked in a huge lungful of air, then doubled over coughing fitfully from the sudden intake. She heard a door open, close and footsteps rushing towards her.
"Are you okay, miss?" The gravelly, nasal voice was nothing like the rich silk that had made her toes curl all those years ago. Bile coated her tongue at the thought. How could a man she loathed so much have had such a stranglehold on her pleasurable emotions, too? But when the cab driver held her by the elbow, Anaya exploded. All the pain, fear and shame locked tightly away burst into a million pieces and embedded themselves within.
"Get away from me!" Anaya rasped, her throat constricted as if his hand was on her neck instead.
"Jesus, miss, I just wanted to make sure you're—"
"Don't you dare fucking touch me again!" she growled. A wounded animal about to attack.
Still bent over, she saw his white sneakers take a series of rapid steps back. The driver yanked his car door open and spat his disgust at her. "Crazy bitch!" He slammed the door closed and the cab's tires squealed as he sped away.
Anaya waited for the roar of blood pounding in her ears to subside. The intermittent swish of cars on the asphalt resumed. Then, she heard someone ask, "What is wrong with that girl?"
At that, she shot up like she'd been struck by lightning. Self-preservation kicked in hard, so she did what she did best.
Anaya ran.
She dashed over the pavement. Her Converse high tops made no sound as her legs pistoned through the air, jumpsuit hugging her every move.
It wasn't him.
He hadn't found her.
It was as if she were perpetually in waiting for this moment, always prepared to flee. She'd stopped wearing skirts a long time ago or anything other than flat, practical shoes that would make escape easier. Even the colors she wore were so dark they would help her blend into the shadows.
It wasn't him.
He hadn't found her.
She repeated those thoughts, that reassurance, over and over with every stride. Her brain and lungs screamed warnings at her, competing for attention. For once, their messages were the same. STOP!
When the words finally registered, she complied, forcing herself to slow down and come to a halt. When she looked around and recognized where her mad dash had taken her, she wasn't surprised that her feet had sought Emberswick Bridge. This was her thinking spot. On one of her many visits here, she'd even given it a different name. The Weak Link.
Anaya's muscles trembled as she crossed to the side of the bridge, desperately grasping onto its metal railing. The cold, solid feel steadied her. Only then did the gravity of what had just transpired hit her with full force. Her fear had been debilitating, and shame overwhelmed her now. What if people she knew had seen her like that? Or if one of her patients witnessed her disintegration into an incoherent maniac? How had her life become... this?
Where did it all go so wrong?
It was the Fall Equinox that night. The one day that Earth hung in balance before the North Pole began its tilt away from the sun. Daylight shortened and night descended all too soon. Anaya leaned forward, staring into the dark, seemingly depthless water below and pondered the same question she had when the night began.
One step forward, or two steps back?
Every time she thought she'd accomplished a small feat, something else would send her reeling. Was there no reprieve, no way to get out of the vicious cycle that had become her life?
She remembered standing here after the last time she'd seen him. Back then, rationality hadn't so easily fought back her panic and despair. That time, a black, sinister thought had entered her mind and given her question a different meaning altogether. End it once and for all, or live to fight another day?
Anaya hadn't wanted to die even back then, but she sure as hell was tired of living like this. A victim of circumstance, a casualty of the past, unable to enjoy anything, not even limited human interaction.
This is not living.
But what other option did she have? She'd played the cards of her life as they were dealt. She couldn't just change the game in the middle.
For just a moment, Anaya hung there as if held aloft by space and time. Then, ever so slowly, carefully, she pulled back.
She shook her head, hard, trying to expel the remnants of the muck that contained her deepest, most dangerous thoughts. Tomorrow, she would refill her own meds when at the offsite pharmacy. She would start taking them regularly again and reclaim some control over these attacks.
Anaya had courted death before, had even called out for it from this very spot. But death hadn't deigned to answer then, and even in her despair, she wasn't ready to be obliged now.