Page 12 of Summer with the Single Dad

A hot tear slid down her cheek, and her chin trembled. It was ten days ago, but with how fresh it all still remained in her mind, it just as easily could have been yesterday.

She couldn’t tell her parents that she gave up medicine. That she gave up her career.

They’d never understand, and she’d be an even bigger problem, an even bigger failure in their eyes than ever before. It’d also give her sisters something to gloat about. How many patients did Tasha kill as an orthopedic surgeon? Probably not many. She built bones and repaired severed limbs. And Daniela was an OB-GYN. She brought life into the world; she didn’t take it out.

No. Justine worked with hearts. The epicenter of the body. The nucleus. A fragile, yet resilient organ she could draw from memory down to the finest detail. Until it looked like a photograph.

And she’d messed up and caused Mr. O’Malley to bleed out and his heart, his fragile, yet resilient heart, to stop and never beat again.

It was better for everyone, for the world, if she stopped practicing medicine. She brought her emotions with her, and that was unsafe. That was unprofessional.

Swallowing past the painful lump in her throat, she got up from the hammock and made her way into the cabin.

It was still light out, but the sounds of frogs and crickets competed with the music coming from the pub. People were still barbecuing on the cabin porches and children’s joyful squeals tugged at the tattered and frayed strands of her heart.

She knew the heart wasn’t actually where we felt emotions. It was all in the amygdala. All in the brain. But that didn’t stop her chest from physically aching when she thought too long about Mr. O’Malley or the look of utter shock and agony on the faces of his family members when she told them that “We did everything we could.”

Like a robot, she undressed, showered and brushed her teeth. Then she braided her long, black hair down her back and climbed into bed. Light shone through the thin linen drapes and the noises outside were impossible to tune out.

But she curled up into a ball anyway, shut her eyes, and willed sleep to come.

It wouldn’t.

She hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours since the surgery. Just enough that she wasn’t a hazard on the road. But nothing restorative or therapeutic.

Her brain wouldn’t shut off. So, rather than grow frustrated with the noises around her, she went back to the surgery. Back to her screw up. And just like on the beach, she went through it start to finish, over, and over again, until Mr. O’Malley woke up after surgery and smiled at his wife and children.

But it would never come.

Mr. O’Malley was dead.

And it was because of Justine.

And that was something she was going to have to live with for the rest of her life.

CHAPTER THREE

Sundays were typically the day Bennett tried not to go into the office.

It was the day he reserved with his daughters. He skipped his run and caught up on laundry. Then they all went grocery shopping to get stuff for the week, mainly the girls’ school lunches, and the kids helped him clean the house too.

By Saturday, the kitchen and bathrooms were a disaster—who knew living with girls was so disgusting? And the laundry pile resembled Mt. Baker.

“Do you want to come grocery shopping with me?” he asked the girls as they had breakfast over at Clint and Talia’s house. Brooke—Clint’s new girlfriend, who basically moved in once she and Clint reconciled—was there too. It was another Sunday tradition for Bennett and his girls to go over to Clint and Talia’s for pancakes. Clint and Bennett took turns making the pancakes, but all the kids agreed that Bennett’s were better. Fluffier.

Aya and Emme wrinkled their noses. “We were going to go down to the beach and play in the sand with Talia and Brooke. Can you go do the shopping by yourself?” Emme asked.

“It’ll be a hell of a lot faster. Yeah.” Shopping with kids seemed to take forever. Yes, they had little legs and took three strides for every one of his, but they also begged for him to buy shit they didn’t need, and touched everything. Particularly, Aya. She couldn’t keep her jammy hands to herself to save her life. Which was why that kid had more colds than Bennett and his four brothers had during their entire childhood. “She’ll have a great immune system as an adult,” Jagger always said.

They finished their pancakes and cleanup, then Bennett kissed his daughters goodbye and jumped into his truck. Why he felt the need to glance down the row of cabins to see if Justine’s vehicle was parked there eluded him. But he did it anyway, then berated himself for doing it.

He knew better than to catch feelings for a cabin guest. They were nomads. Here and gone. It was also unprofessional, and he was focusing on raising his daughters. Romance had no place in his life right now. Maybe when the girls were grown up, he could seek companionship. But right now, he didn’t have the time or energy.

Every pretty face and intriguing personality was a piece of expensive antique porcelain, and he was a child wandering behind his mother in the thrift shop. He could look, but he could not touch.

Sundays were chaos on the island. The farmers’ market in the big vacant field across from the Town Center Grocery Store was bustling with locals, tourists, and day-trippers alike. Which meant parking was a nightmare.

But the McEvoy brothers knew of a few secret parking spots. Just like the rest of the locals. So, he headed down a narrow alleyway and smiled when there was one parking spot left. He recognized the other eight vehicles, all responsibly parked angularly for maximum occupancy. They were all locals parked here. All islanders who knew better than to be inconsiderate and park like an asshole so nobody else could get their vehicle in.

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