Not Quite Enough(16)

“What about your home? Did it fall?”
He shook his head. “New construction. Almost makes me feel guilty for having a home when so many don’t.”
She watched the passing trees while rain started to fall again. “A version of survivor’s guilt. That’s normal.”
“So, what? You’re a psychiatrist and a nurse?” The question could have been sarcastic, but it sounded a lot like admiration.
“Half my job is psychological, calming patients, families. Keeping a cool head when everything is going bat-shit crazy.” Some of the staff back home called her the Ice Queen, or Queenie. At first, it had to do with how she’d turned down the guys in the department when they asked her out. But now she liked to think it was because she kept an icy grip on her emotions when everything exploded.
Monica noticed Trent watching her from behind his glasses. “Do you ever lose it?”
“No.” Her answer was quick. After a deep breath, she said, “But this place is already testing me.”
“Oh?”
She considered what she was driving into. It would be worse than the day before. At least in the main hospital there were other doctors and nurses she could grab to help. Donald had asked her to go into a war zone virtually empty-handed. “I don’t know what I’m headed into and I’m doing it without coffee on board or even a shower. The lack of sleep doesn’t even need to be mentioned.”
“Isn’t there a doctor following you out here?”
“Not right away.”
“Damn.”
“I know, right? I have two hands and one brain. I can only do so much.” The more she thought about it the less she liked the idea of being at Port Lucia without a doctor.
Trent pulled off the main road and wound his way through an even narrower street. This one was better maintained but didn’t leave any room at all for passing cars.
Trent slowed the Jeep as they rounded a curve, and out the window Monica saw a sprawling single story home.
“Where are we?”
Trent pulled the car to a stop and shoved his sunglasses into the center compartment. “Twenty minutes will take care of your need for coffee and a shower.”
“But Port Lucia?”
“Can wait twenty minutes. They may not even have running water there. I do. I’ll fire up the generator and make us coffee.”
Monica sat staring at him with her mouth half-open. “This is your home?”
He nodded and opened his door. “C’mon, Monica. I have a feeling this will be your last shower for a few days. Might as well grab it while you can.”
She swung her gaze to his house again. An open beamed porch wrapped around the outside. Beyond the roof, she could see a glimpse of the ocean. The thought of a shower… coffee… heaven. “I don’t even know you.”
Trent chuckled. “I didn’t kill you in the air, and I don’t own a pair of handcuffs.”
Monica squeezed her eyes shut and tried to ignore the heat filling her cheeks. “Oh, what the hell.”
Trent stepped out of the car and from nowhere sprang a large red dog. “Ginger, down,” he yelled when the dog jumped up in greeting. “Say hello to our guest.”
Ginger barked with a happy wag of her tail.
“Her manners aren’t the best, but she won’t bite.”
Monica put her hand out for Ginger to sniff. “She’s beautiful.”
“Spoiled, too. C’mon in. The shower has a point-of-use water heater. It should take less than five minutes to heat up once I turn over the generator.”
Monica followed Trent inside. The front door wasn’t locked. Inside there were several household items scattered on the floor. She stepped over a pile of glass.
“I haven’t had time to clean up since the quake hit.” He clicked a light switch and nothing happened.
“I take it the power’s been off since, too.”
Ginger nudged her hand asking for a pet.
Monica obliged.
“I don’t know why I bother checking. Lines are down everywhere.”
She followed him into a great room that opened to his kitchen. Bay windows framed a breathtaking view of the ocean. Lucky for Trent, the water was well below his home. In fact, from where she stood, Monica didn’t see the damage of the tsunami, just endless vistas of turquoise blue and green. Well, gray at this point, but on a clear day she imagined the view would provide hours of serenity. “What an amazing view.”
“We like it. Don’t we, Ginger?”
Hearing her name, Ginger barked again.
“You can stay here. I’ll get the generator going.” Trent opened the French doors to the back patio.
“Trent?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
He shrugged. “No problem.”


The road to good intentions was apparently paved in rubble; at least it was this week in Jamaica.
With a cup of strong coffee in hand, Monica relaxed in the passenger seat of Trent’s Jeep feeling a slight bit of guilt for taking the twenty-minute refresher. Only slightly. Even Donald said to take her breaks when she could manage them.
“The main road around the island was severely damaged from the water. It’s only a twenty-minute drive down the hill,” Trent told her as they hit yet another pothole in the road.
“I can see why you own a four-wheel drive,” she said. “Are all the roads on the island this messed up?”
“Those around the tourist areas are nice. Well, most anyway. Up here, and in the backcountry, they’re awful.”
“I guess if you’re flying over them all the time it doesn’t matter.” One plus on the side of being the pilot.