It was no surprise that Jessa would take her anger and frustration out on me this morning. I understood why she decided to sit me on my ass for not being there for her and Jackson. I wasn’t making excuses for her, but I knew the fear that was ruling her at the moment. I’d seen this with many of my patients’ families. They were frightened, in shock, and usually went through grief stages while deciding upon surgery for their children.
Regardless, I couldn’t go back in time and fix any of this, so what was the point in even thinking about it? I could only go forward, and that meant doing something a bit more intimate for her and Jackson, using this time to address their concerns and maybe even talk about the issues plaguing them with fear.
I glanced up, past my outdoor kitchen barbeque, and took another drink of my beer, enjoying the aroma of the carne asada on my grill.
I used the tongs to flip the skirt steak and watched the flames rise over the meat, the sounds of the ocean complementing the sizzle of this delicious-smelling steak that was making my mouth water.
I glanced down at my watch. Jessa wasn’t here yet, and I was beginning to wonder if it would be rude to sneak a taco before they arrived. I was starving.
“You know, every time you fire up that barbeque and send those fancy aromas into my house, I contemplate whether or not it’s your way of sending an invitation to have me over for dinner.”
I smiled. My neighbor, Linda, was always looking for an opportunity to get inside my house and, more specifically, my pants. Unfortunately for the lonely housewife, I liked my dick and balls right where they were. I didn’t need her workaholic husband ripping them off after finding out I’d been banging his neglected wife whenever I came to my beach house.
“I might just take that smile of yours as an invitation,” she pressed. She sounded buzzed, which was not a surprise.
“Sorry, Linda. I’m going to have to turn you down once again.” I took another sip of beer and laughed. She tossed her beautiful red hair over one of her porcelain shoulders, revealing that she’d stripped off her bikini top before we’d started this conversation. She’d probably been drunk before the sun had set tonight. “You might want to throw on a shirt. A patient of mine is coming over in a minute or two, and I’d like him to imagine that I have decent neighbors.”
“Him, huh?” she purred.
I would probably have to call the neighbor to my right to deal with Linda. Ruby Grantham was a sharp, no-bullshit elderly woman. She’d all but adopted me in the last few years, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’d used her to handle my horny-ass neighbor.
“Yeah, him,” I answered, agitated that Linda was drunk, half-naked, and oblivious to pick up on social cues. “He’s sixteen, and his mother will probably kick my ass, your ass, and some random stranger’s ass if she finds you out here, bouncing your tits around.”
“You’re no fun, Cammy,” she teased. “Why can’t you be a regular neurosurgeon, not a pediatric one? You should be inviting older, male patients to your scrumptious barbeques.”
“Tick-tock,” I ignored her ridiculous drunken remarks, not wanting to encourage anything else to come out of this woman’s mouth. “Seriously, please cover up.”
“Oh, Cammy,” she squealed, tap dancing on my last nerve. Her tits bounced all around while she giggled and put on a display for everyone walking on the beach on the other side of our terraces.
Glass surrounded her balcony, making any number of activities visible to anyone walking in front of her home.
With my bamboo privacy fence—which I was currently wishing was ten feet tall instead of four feet—I couldn’t see if this lady had exposed everything for the peaceful beach walking community or if it was just the bikini top that she’d stripped off.
“Oh, dear God.” I heard Jessa’s familiar voice from below and cringed. I wondered if I should duck and not reveal this was my place. I could call her and cancel or face the fact that my neighbor was a lunatic.
“Fucking hell,” I growled, then glared at Linda. “Clothes on, now!”
I turned off the barbecue burners and jogged down the back steps of my home. I met Jessa and the wide-eyed Jackson with a smile, hoping to distract from the eyeful they’d just received.
“Hey, Dr. Brandt,” Jackson politely acknowledged me, trying to shake the flush out of his cheeks caused by Linda’s tits.
“Hey, kid,” I said, covering my smile.
“Lovely neighbors,” Jessa said. But, unlike Jackson, she was not flushing, nor did she appear amused. “I hope we’re not too late?”
I narrowed my eyes at her unamused ones, “Not at all. In fact, I wish you were later and had also chosen not to look for the place from the beach. It seems that might’ve avoided a spectacle.”
“Well, it was a lovely night, perfect for a stroll on the beach. We figured we could find the place easily from here. Turns out, we did, thanks to your lovely neighbor alerting us to this place with her high beams.”
“High beams, huh?” I smiled at her and watched her cheeks flush red in response. “Well, she does seem pretty fucking high tonight.”
“And I’d tell you to watch your language, but your lovely neighbor has already stripped away the last shred of innocence my son once possessed.”
“If it helps, those high beams are just the result of botched plastic surgery.” That wasn’t exactly true. If I had to be honest, Linda’s rack must’ve cost her and the husband a fortune, not that he ever seemed to be around long enough to enjoy them. Linda was probably just trying to get her money’s worth by flashing them to anyone within eyeshot.
“How is that supposed to help?” she questioned while Jackson seemed amused.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re fake as hell, like looking at a naked barbie doll or something.”
“Fake as hell?” Jessa eyed me. I’d forgotten this look, her feisty, charming, yet challenging expression. She was so damn beautiful.
“Fake as hell,” I stated as if it were a well-known fact.
“They looked pretty real to me,” Jackson said, dodging his mom’s attempt to swat him playfully for his remark.
I burst into laughter. Damn, I loved this woman with all of her silly bullshit. The best part was that I could see in her ocean-blue eyes that she knew there was no point to this conversation.
“It’s not funny,” she said, arching her brow at me.
“It’s not. I apologize, and I’m going to be pissed if she ruined your appetites because the carne asada is done, and I’m ready to eat.”
“I’m good,” Jackson said, rubbing his hands together.
“I’ll bet you are,” Jessa said with a knowing grin. “Let’s eat before your neighbor decides to introduce herself to my son. I had no idea people who lived in homes like these would act like that.”
I motioned toward the direction of the steps that led up to my balcony, “Don’t ever assume how people might act after drinking vodka tonics from their ocean-view terrace all day.”
“Nice surfboards. Are these all yours?” Jackson asked as he pointed under the deck where eight boards were neatly stacked.
“Three of them are,” I answered, walking over to my favorite one. It was a Rip Curl shortboard that I hadn’t gotten out in too long. “The rest of them are my buddies’ boards.”
“How long have you surfed?” Jackson asked.
“Since I was a bit younger than you. I practically grew up out here with a surfboard in my hands,” I answered.
“So surfing is sort of like your sport, then?”
I grinned. “It’s not really my sport, more like a favorite hobby. In fact, I was a lot like you when I was younger. I was blessed with pretty damn good genetics and played football, basketball, and baseball. Surfing was more of an outlet from feeling too much pressure from the other sports. I was always expected to perform at the highest level of competition, and surfing was always a nice break from all that.”
“Which sport was your favorite?” he asked.
“Easy,” I smiled and slipped my hands into my pockets, “football. There was just something about throwing a spiral down the line and nailing my receiver in the numbers.”
I watched Jackson’s eyes light up, and I realized everything had faded around me as we talked. I saw my father in him but even more of myself. I’d been referring to him mentally, possibly outwardly, as the boy. I’d been trying to compartmentalize things to keep him as a patient in my mind. I needed that so I could function with precision while performing his surgery. I couldn’t attach emotionally to him, or the surgery could become extremely risky, knowing I held my son’s brain in my hands.
Even so, I wouldn’t allow anything, not even the surgeon’s mindset in me, to take this moment away from me. I was intrigued, proud, and honored beyond words to stand here and, at this moment, begin forming a bond with my son.
“So, you were quarterback too?” he questioned with some giddiness, prompting me to laugh.
“All-star, just like you are.”
“Were,” Jessa said.
She’d killed this moment the instant she referred to Jackson’s athletic accomplishments in the past tense.
I glanced at her, confused and half annoyed that she would interject such a negative point into the conversation. Then it hit me, and I was brought back to my surgeon’s mindset, reminded of why I pressed the two to come to my place for dinner tonight. These were the questions they wanted answers to. Their fears stemmed from the uncertainty of Jackson’s future and ability to accomplish his goals. They needed reassurance.
Before I could respond, I saw Jackson’s eyes roll back in his head, and I lunged to catch him before he fell back against the surfboards he’d been looking at moments ago.
I squatted down, holding Jackson and guiding his convulsing body into a safe position while he fell under the control of the seizure.
Though scary to those unfamiliar with seizures, the most essential part was watching to ensure he didn’t asphyxiate while convulsing. I turned Jackson’s tightened body onto his side while he jerked and convulsed to allow him to breathe easier, and Jessa spoke calmly as she told him he was going to be okay.
It took just under a minute before Jackson’s brain quieted, and the electrical storm had passed, which allowed him to pull through the last of the seizure.
“He’s probably going to want to sleep for a while,” Jessa said, informing me as if I were a stranger helping her boy. “Would you mind giving us a ride back to our place?”
I saw the remorse in Jackson’s eyes. “No, I wouldn’t mind at all, but it looks like Jackson’s pissed about having to leave already,” I said in a teasing tone, trying to feel him out and assess how he was functioning after the seizure.
“Jacks, we should probably get you home and to bed. Are you thirsty?”
Jessa was an amazing mother, and that went without saying. However, unless Jackson needed to be spoken to as if he were a two-year-old, I would have to help break her from this. She might’ve been uncomfortable having this happen in a strange place, especially after she made a point to refer to Jackson’s sports accomplishments in the past tense.
“You cool with resting on my couch, kid?” I asked, trying to feel the boy out. I wanted him comfortable, and comfort for a patient with epilepsy was also being aware that their seizure didn’t inconvenience anyone or serve to embarrass themselves in one way or another.
“I’m cool with that,” Jackson said, his speech a bit slow but steady enough not to raise alarms with me.
“What about you, Mom?” I said, looking back at Jessa, her eyes glossy. I could tell she was holding back tears.
“We may need a ride home later,” she said with a smile at Jackson, “he’s usually pretty weak after one of these things.”
“That’s why we’re going to put an end to them,” I said. “You can’t be some devastatingly handsome kid and be weak in the knees by these annoying seizures, can you? We need you strong and healthy so everyone can fight over having you be their Prince Charming one day.”
“True,” he said, rolling his eyes at his current situation and probably my goofy prince charming statement.
“Can I get him some water?” Jessa asked.
“Yeah,” I said, helping Jackson to his feet after seeing him struggling to get up. “Let’s get Prince Charming up to the couch.” I looked at Jackson, seeing a bit of discomfort or embarrassment leave his expression, “You hungry, kid?”
“Nah,” he said with a shy smile. “I am sorry that happened.”
“You do realize that my entire livelihood revolves around that happening. It is quite literally my life’s work. Now, stop apologizing for shit you have no control over, and let’s get you settled.”
I was always driven to help make lives better and give children their lives back, freeing them from medical conditions that intruded on their normalcy. I still felt that way, but the desire to help Jackson was stronger, him being my son or not. He was a good kid; I could sense that a mile away. I could also see that these seizures were beating him down, and knowing his condition, they would only get worse.
I knew Jessa was concerned with the boy’s ability to play sports and do many other things that might be at risk after a hemispherectomy. Palmer and I had discussed what she’d talked about with Jessa, so I already had a heads-up prior to meeting Jessa and Jackson tonight.
It was also why I decided to go about it all this way, with dinner and all, because I needed to get Jessa to open up and let me understand her fears and concerns. Then, through the powers of my carne asada marinade, I would work to convince her that this surgery, and the new lifestyle that Jackson would have, would be worth so much more than his sports career.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy—hell, I’d gotten a scholarship from playing ball, so I understood the mentality—but Jessa and Jackson needed to see that sometimes our lives have these unexpected turns for a reason. We never know what the reasons are, but I’d seen enough through recovering patients to know that the reasons would manifest later. You just had to let shit play out.
Jackson was a good kid, and I knew there was a reason he likely wouldn’t play sports again after I disconnected the left hemisphere of his brain. I just needed him to see that life didn’t stop after this surgery. Life would go on, most likely in a direction he would’ve never taken.
