The Photographer

Boston

Accounting for the five minute delay all the trains ran on, Bette made it to the station right on time. The Blue Line out of the city and to Wonderland at 2:05am ended the MBTA’s day and thankfully, after the rush at the hospital and a quite stroll around a sleeping city, Bette could relax in the solitude and gentle thump of the rails.

The PICU had been busier than usual and she looked forward to sleeping for at least half of the next day. She had considered working in a different specialty but adults irritated her and kids, no matter what their ailment, were always smiled when they saw her. Of course, she usually snuck chocolate or their favorite candy into them.

Joel insisted on walking her to Bowdoin. He always gave her space. Just enough breathing room to keep her satisfied and enough of a distance that he felt he could intervene if tragedy or trauma would pop up. Though, in her esteem, she had more training in self defense than he had. Being a country girl in the big city, everyone assumed that she would not know how to handle herself.

She made her own way to Boston and didn’t need someone to save her. She thought Joel enjoyed that challenge and eventually he’d grow tired of fighting her independence. He earned his keep, publishing articles as the next best surgeon. He fixed problems and people and hadn’t lost a patient in five years. He didn’t lose.

From the day he met her, Joel worked in savior mode. He’d insulate her from anything harsh at work. When doctors complained about the noise the kids made next to their break room on the first floor, he relocated the break room to the other side of the hospital. When she broke her arm roller-skating, he insisted on the best plastic surgeons and orthos to work on her.

The attention and care that he took, leaving her little notes in her locker or stopping by with a quick snack, she felt like a princess and he worshipped her. There hadn’t been a guy to do that ever. Most of the guys in high school were scared to talk to her because of her father or her then boyfriend and his friends.

His bedside manner, with all the patients, made him a hospital favorite. The fact that he could tie balloon animals made most of the kids she worked with ask for him.

She loved having him open the door for her and his insistence on all things gentlemanly, serving her, putting her needs first, made her feel like the only woman in the world.

But something had made her keep him at arm’s length. A psychologist might say the ghosts that followed her around or the bad taste of bitter love that scarred her cynical outlook kept her from committing to a relationship.

He hadn’t expressed violent tendencies but he also had never been up to her house by the beach. For all he knew, she lived in Quincy. As perfect as he tried to be, she kept her personal space and it infuriated him. He hated not knowing where she went when she left him. He expressed his frustration and she placated him by feeding him lines about how she needed her own things, her own way.

It worked until it didn’t anymore and she ended it.

Morning commutes always felt safer than finishing near midnight and grabbing the last trip out of Bowdoin. Though, when she got off work at midnight, he stood at the exit closest to the station she would walk to and either offered his apartment out by Riverside or would pay for a hotel room nearby. Rarely had she taken the T at night.

She closed eyes and leaned back, mimicking the gray sweatshirt shrouded figure a few seats down. Even if the person passed out drunk, it helped to have another body in the car. She doubted he would be much help but at least if she screamed, he would be a witness.

The cool air outside seeped in the windows; the orange glow of the city lights pushed back the night. The yellowed fluorescent lights made her feel alien, green. She hadn’t ever really belonged to the city or the mass transit. A part of her still craved the cleaner country air void of exhaust and various fuel fumes.

The smell of the airport permeated the Blue line. It felt like she crossed the country just riding through the flight paths. Even the trees grew smaller and rarely above the housetops.

“Long night?” Joel had finally worked up the nerve to make himself known; she had seen him two blocks from the hospital but thought he’d give up at the station.

“Not long enough to forget that you belong on the Green line.” She kept her eyes closed but knew from the sound of his breath that he sat in the seat across the aisle. The glass behind her chilled her back. Winter had been creeping into the air for a few weeks.

“I wanted to make sure you got home safely.”

“Like I do every time.”

“Can we talk?”

“Joel.” She sighed. Sitting straight up, she glared across the aisle at him. “I do not want to see you. I do not want you to follow me. I do not want to be in any relationship with you.”

“I know.” He shifted in his seat. “I know but I really think you’re just afraid of what you are feeling and to trust someone other than yourself.”

“It’s over. Please, go home and let me be.”

“I can’t, Beth.” She hated when he called her that but she had left Bette back in North Carolina and everyone in Boston called her Bethany, except Joel. He thought the name, Beth, sounded cute and he liked that only he called her that. “You know we’re meant for each other if you’ll just give us a chance.”

She opened her eyes and stared at him. He had just coming off of a double. He hadn’t even changed out of his scrubs. He probably had ingested a half dozen caffeine-laced drinks and had his meals served from vending machines.

“Go home. Get some sleep.” She looked out the window. “We’re coming up on Suffolk Downs. Get off and go home.” On cue, the conductor mumbled over the intercom and the gray sweatshirt down the car stirred a little. There wouldn’t be another ride back; he’d have to grab a cab.

“Answer my calls.” He pleaded.

“Joel, I want my space.”

“I’ve given you space.”

“No. You haven’t. You stop by the desk between patients; you call every day you’re off rotation. I see you follow me to the T station.”

“You won’t talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on with you.” He began to loose his Ivy League accent and affect what her roommate called Masshole.

She took a deep breath. “There is nothing going on with me. I wouldn’t have to tell if you there were. I don’t want to talk to you. I want you to go home and leave me alone.”

Her phone began vibrating in her pocket. The gray sweatshirt guy stayed in the car even after the doors opened and closed at Suffolk Downs. Unfortunately, so did Joel. She would get off the T and grab her own cab back into town the stop before hers if it meant keeping Joel from knowing where she lived. She glanced at her phone. Her father’s number blinked at her.

“Who is that?” Joel leaned closer to her. She pulled the phone closer to her and hid it in her pocket.

“Joel, go home.”

“Who’s calling you? Do you have some other guy waiting for you at one of these stops?” He began looking around.

“No. Please, leave me alone.” Her heart began to speed up.

Her phone vibrated again. Her father again.

“Who is R.C?” Joel leaned into her space again. She pushed him back. “You’ve never talked about him.”

Of course she’d never talked about him. Her family had never been part of their conversations other than to say she had none. That would not be a conversation she would have with him ever.

“My phone. My business. My personal space. You’re dangerously close to giving me a reason to call the cops.” She held her phone up, the emergency number tapped in.

A shadow fell over Joel’s face. “Who would they believe? I’m a doctor, established in this city. You’re just some night nurse with barely an advanced degree and a juvie record.”

“I never told you about that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t tell me. That’s why I have to find out for myself. Why’d you get it sealed? What were the charges?”

“You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

“Don’t push me.” He glared at her. “I’ve held the hands of the children of the cops of this city. I might as well be part of the brotherhood. That’s what you get when you lay down roots and build a community. You’ve been too busy keeping to yourself and hiding out in Reveah.” No matter how educated he tried to be, he couldn’t hide his roots when his temper flared.

The T hit Maverick Station and she kept seated, letting the jerk of the car bump her to the side. Soon commuters would be leaving the cars and the transit authority would be doing their rounds. She had no problem waiting this out.

“Fine, Joel. You won’t get any trouble from me.” She resigned, hoping to cool him off, to bring him back to normal. “Just leave me alone. I don’t want trouble. I don’t want you.”

He shook his head and ran his hands over his shaved head. He kept it cleanly bald and polished. “You don’t get it.” He laughed. “I’m not the one with trouble. You’ve been running for so long, for so far. Your record has you in Virginia on charges. You’ve come all the way up here to run away from something. Whatever that something is keeps you from having healthy adult relationships. That’s your trouble. I love you enough to fight for you and you want to call the cops on me.” He laughed loud enough to draw the attention of the commuters from the last stop.

“No. I want to call the cops because you are following me and I don’t feel safe around you.”

“Who hurt you that you had to run away and you can’t trust me?”

“Right now, you’re the only one hurting me.”

“I’m only here to protect you.”

The conversation had taken a pointless turn. She surveyed the car. Five commuters, the gray sweatshirt guy and the two of them. She wouldn’t be going back to her apartment on this trip anyway. The conductor announced the next stop as the T creaked to a stop and the doors opened.

She walked out into a sea of people walking in and tried her best to disappear into the throng of people leaving and entering Logan Airport, the busiest and most policed part of the city. When she sat down on the shuttle, she made sure to count heads and saw Joel standing outside as they drove towards the airport. Between Life is Good and Hugo Boss, she could piece together a less smelly outfit. The scrubs she wore were old anyway. She thanked the patients she served that she hadn’t had any emergency projectile fluids flying at her overnight.

It had been a quiet enough night as much as PICU shifts can be.

Ice in the air slowed everyone’s shuffle. Heavy clouds of graying air lingered and blended together; coffee, cigarettes and jet fuel swirled through the late night air.

Boston had grown too small anyway. Maybe the time had come to leave. She charged a ticket on Jet Blue to New York and decided to disappear into the city. If he tracked her cards, he’d see her go that far. He seemed crazy but not that crazy.

She wandered around C concourse, piecing together something that would look less like she just walked out of the hospital and more like she a traveller. Thankfully, no one batted an eye when she sponge bathed in the bathroom.