Wayside: A Serial Novel - Episode 5
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Episode 5: Invisible
A chilly wind blew past Josina, scattering dead leaves from the oak tree towering over her. Instead of returning home as she had told Ben, she’d taken a seat on the bench just outside of Bonfire Pavilion.
The temperature was dropping quickly. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket, where her phone had been all along. She felt it vibrate with an incoming call. Without looking at the screen, she knew it was Ben, calling to check on her.
Josina didn’t like lying to him. He was such an honest person, he deserved complete honesty in return. Even a white lie felt like an unforgivable offense.
But she couldn’t let him see how upset she’d been by the close-up image of his phone in the broadcast. The camera had lingered on it long enough for Josina to spot the ‘Not Gonna Settle’ dating app in the lower right corner of his screen. She’d fought back the tears that were clouding her vision as she fed him a story about leaving to go get her own phone.
After exiting the pavilion and settling on the bench, Josina broke into tears. The warm, romantic glow of the sunset seemed to be mocking her pain. Once the night sky had chased it away, she calmed herself and regained her composure. It was only then that she could think clearly again. It was only then she could try to make peace with the idea of Ben having a dating app on his phone, looking for someone to date, maybe even someone to love.
She wasn’t upset at Ben. They weren’t a couple, even thought they were often confused for one. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was entitled to his privacy, so if he wanted to check out dating apps, he had every right. She was surprised he hadn’t said anything to her. They were close. They talked about everything together.
But not this. He’d never mentioned it.
She wondered why.
Maybe Ben knew how she felt about him. Maybe the feelings were unrequited. Maybe he’d avoided telling her because he knew how much it would hurt her.
Josina broke into tears again.
It did hurt.
This was bound to happen sooner or later, she realized. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to develop feelings for him in the first place. She should have left when she did.
But it was complicated.
***
When the Covid-19 pandemic began, Josina had been working as a Med-Surg nurse at a large hospital system in Minneapolis. She was one of the first to raise her hand when the Chief Nursing Officer put out a call for volunteers to work in the Covid unit. The hazard pay would offset her forthcoming rent increase, as well as cover the new monthly car payment that was biting into her budget. She’d been content to ride the Light Rail for the first few years of working at the hospital, but the recent rise in hate crimes on public transit made her nervous. Knowing her appearance made her an easy target was reason enough to invest in her own vehicle for the commute.
By the summer of 2020, Josina realized the hatred she was avoiding on public transit had found its way into her workplace. She wasn’t the only nurse to be assaulted by angry family members of Covid patients, but she’d borne the brunt of more attacks than the combined assaults on all her fellow nurses in the Covid wards. She’d been yelled at, pressed to the wall, slapped in the face. She’d been called every racial slur imaginable, had her N95 ripped off, her hijab pulled from her head. The last incident was the worst. After explaining to a distraught man why the hospital could not allow him at his dying wife’s bedside, then offering him use of her own personal phone for a videocall to the tablet mounted on the patient’s guardrail, he knocked her to the floor.
Then he picked up a chair and brought it down hard on her chest, knocking the wind out of her. He brought the chair down on her again, hitting her in the head and knocking her unconscious.
Josina awoke the following day to find herself in a patient in the surgical trauma unit. She had survived the attack with a fractured collarbone, four broken ribs, a concussion, a broken jawbone, swollen gums from the six teeth that had been removed, and a line of sutures that ran from her left temple across her head to the top of her right ear.
Two days later she began struggling to breathe. After her care team ruled out a pulmonary embolism, they tested her for Covid. She was positive. She was moved to a Covid unit, where she began to decline. Before she was placed on ventilator, her fellow nurses gathered in her room. Tearfully, her manager asked who she’d like to call before going under anesthesia.
“I don’t have anyone,” she mouthed weakly.
Three weeks later, her care team determined she was making enough progress to come off the ventilator. She tested negative for Covid the following week and was discharged home.
Josina’s recovery was slow and painful. Follow-up appointments with the neurotrauma specialist, dental implant surgery, in-home physical therapy and wound care for the slow-healing line of split flesh across the top of her head. It was hard work and it took many helping hands to get her back on her feet.
When her short-term disability pay ran out, she resigned from her position. Josina wanted to return to nursing, but not at the same hospital where she’d suffered both a brutal assault and a Covid infection. She wasn’t yet sure where she should go next, but ruled out hospital settings. She’d face the same threats in any other facility.
The first snow fell in Minnesota in late October that year, bringing new aches and stiffness in her joints. Her primary care physician explained that inflammatory conditions often followed a Covid infection, with arthritis being one of the most common. When Josina asked what could be done to manage it, her doctor wrote a prescription. Then added as an afterthought, “Move south if you have the means. Somewhere that doesn’t get much snow and ice, and not just for the purpose of managing arthritis pain. We’re seeing a lot of falls and broken bones right now. Our patients who have had Covid seem to have especially fragile bones. Many have suffered debilitating fractures and have had to go in for surgery, only to end up with post-op infections they can’t easily kick. You’ve been through a lot and you’re still recovering, so do whatever you can to shield yourself from more injuries and illnesses. I’m sorry if it sounds extreme, but if I were in your shoes, I’d get as far away from here as I could and settle in some place that has milder winters.”
Josina wasn’t opposed to the idea of a move. She’d been on the move all her life, even before she was born. Her mother arrived in the U.K. nearly four decades prior, pregnant by her late husband - a casualty of the Somalian Civil War. She settled in London, where she gave birth to Josina and raised her among a community of fellow refugees.
When Josina was 8 years old, her mother was introduced to a friend’s charming older brother who was visiting from the United States. The two had a whirlwind romance and fell madly in love with each other. At the end of his 3-week stay in London, he proposed. Josina’s mother accepted and began the process of applying for resettlement in the United States. Nearly two years later, she and Josina relocated to Minneapolis to start their new lives as wife and stepdaughter to the man who’d been nothing but kind, passionate, and full of promises during his brief visits to see them in London.
Josina would quickly learn that in his natural habitat, he was a narcissistic, abusive asshole.
Her mother wouldn’t leave him.
She couldn’t. She’d been uprooted from her entire support system in London and wasn’t allowed to make any new friends in her new community. She wasn’t allowed to leave the house without him. She wasn’t even allowed to make a phone call without the asshole present. And she wasn’t allowed to discipline Josina. That was his job, and he took great delight in it in physically punishing her for anything from less-than-perfect grades at school to batting an eyelash in a manner he deemed inappropriate. He didn’t need much of an excuse to let loose on her.
Josina was 12 years old when she began running away from home. She’d stay with friends until her stepfather would ask around and eventually find her. After he’d shown up at their homes and caused a scene one too many times, she began sleeping in unlocked cars and abandoned buildings.
At 15 years old, she met a man on the streets who was staying at the corporate apartment of a business that had filed for bankruptcy. He offered to let her stay with him whenever she needed a break from home, on the condition she sleep in his bed.
Shortly after she turned 16, Josina learned she was pregnant. She returned to the apartment to break the news to the man that he’d fathered a baby, but found the doors and windows were padlocked shut. She heard he’d been arrested for squatting.
Josina broke into tears at school that week when her Health Occupations teacher showed the class a video on pregnancy and childbirth. Ms. Nasir – a fellow Somalian immigrant – took her aside to ask what was wrong. Exhausted, scared, and desperate, Josina broke down and told her everything. She begged Ms. Nasir not to call home, not to hand her over to her stepfather. She feared for her life if he found out.
“I know who your stepfather is. This may be a big town, but we Somalis talk to each other and word gets around,” Ms. Nasir told her in a hushed voice. “I have a spare bedroom. You can come stay with me, for as long as you need to.”
“I can’t,” Josina wept. “Teachers never help. They get social workers involved and—”
“I’m not talking to you as your teacher,” said Ms. Nasir. “I’m talking to you as someone who also ran away from home in my youth because of how badly I was treated. I know there are rules about this kind of thing, but I also know that rules often hurt the very people they’re supposed to protect. I believe you, Josina, and I will do whatever I can to keep you safe.”
Josina slept in the guess room at the Nasir home that night, and every night after.
Six months later, when Josina went into labor, Ms. Nasir stayed by her side in the hospital until the baby was born. She took a picture of the tearful new mother holding her newborn for the first time, and another as she said goodbye to the infant moments later. Josina hadn’t arrived easily at the decision to surrender her baby for adoption. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done, but felt it was the only real choice she had. She had no means to raise a baby and couldn’t expect Ms. Nasir to take on both of them as dependents. Before placing her newborn daughter in the arms of a social worker, Josina kissed her tiny forehead. “Don’t forget your first mum,” she whispered. “I’ll always love you, little one. I hope we will see each other again someday.”
Josina spent the next several months accompanying Ms. Nasir to the community college where she taught classes in the evenings. She got her G.E.D. first, then completed in the Certified Nursing Assistant program. By age 17, she had a full-time job at a skilled nursing facility. Ms. Nasir helped her navigate through the process of becoming an emancipated minor and gifted Josina the money she needed for a deposit on a small apartment.
After settling in her new home, Josina called her mother. They hadn’t spoken in more than a year.
“I have my own place now,” she said. “I want you to come stay with me. Ms. Nasir and I can help you leave. You don’t have to take it anymore, the way he hurts you.”
“I can’t,” her mother insisted. “I’m sorry. I know you’ll never understand, but I just can’t. And you can’t call me again. You can’t come back here. Don’t let him find out where you are. Go live your life, Josina. I love you. I’m happy you’re finally free.”
Josina wept on Ms. Nasir’s shoulder. “My father died before I was born. I gave up my newborn daughter. I’ve been abandoned by my mother. I’ve lost my entire family.”
“You didn’t lose your entire family,” Ms. Nasir assured her. “You still have me. Relatives are chosen for us. But family, we get to choose. I love you, my dear.”
“I love you, Hooyo.”
It took Josina five years to save enough money for nursing school, then another three and a half years to complete the program. She graduated top of her class and passed the state’s Board of Nursing licensing exam with flying colors. The accolades of her instructors and preceptors opened doors for her everywhere she looked for employment. After job offers came from three of the top hospitals in the state, she found herself the object of a salary bidding war. She accepted the top offer from a hospital in Bloomington.
“Come stay with me,” she pleaded with her teacher-turned-surrogate-mother. “I’ve leased a 2-bedroom apartment. There’s plenty of room for both of us. I even have a few Somali neighbors here. We’ll fit right in!”
“I can’t, my love. My life is here.”
“You’ve taken care of me since I was at teenager. You should let me care for you now,” Josina insisted. “You’ve lost weight. You sleep so much more than you used to. I see how tired you are, Hooyo. I worry about you.”
“I’ll join you after I retire. Soon. I promise.”
But retirement would never come. She succumbed to uterine cancer six months after Josina moved away.
Ola Nasir had never married, never had children, and had no other family in the United States. It didn’t come as a surprise when Josina learned she was named sole beneficiary in the will. Tasked with making funeral arrangements and settling the estate, she returned to the only house that had ever felt like home. It was hers now. Along with the car in the driveway, a savings account with a balance of just over $95K, and a life insurance policy in the amount of $125K.
Josina would have traded it all to have had someone – anyone – by her side. A parent, a child, a partner, a family, whatever it might have looked like; biological or chosen, big or small, anything, anyone would have been welcomed.
The house was the closest thing she had. Like a vault filled with precious jewels, it held all the belongings and memories of her beloved hooyo.
Sometimes Josina wondered if it held something more. The smells of Ola’s perfumed lotion and favorite spiced tea seemed to materialize and dissipate without any obvious triggers. There were moments when Josina swore she could hear Ola sighing or laughing or praying in some distant corner of the house.
Sometimes she would round a corner and stop abruptly, thinking she’d just seen Ola out of the corner of her eye.
Josina tried to be logical about it. She knew the phantoms were a series of benign hallucinations, well-meaning figments of her imagination. She didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits. She had never been religious and wasn’t convinced there was any sort of afterlife. And she had learned in nursing school how the drive for self-preservation makes it difficult for humans to face their own mortality. That the psyche literally writes fiction for comfort when reality is too painful to bear. Josina simply wasn’t ready to accept that the only person who had ever truly loved her was gone.
She could feel the four walls of the house holding her down and holding her in. She had no desire to resist.
After resigning from her job in Bloomington, Josina had her belongings shipped back by a moving company. With the Nasir home full of both Ola’s belongings and her own, she made herself at home. Days turned into weeks; weeks turned into months. Before Josina knew it, she was approaching half a year in isolation away from the rest of the world. She was suffering from depression and knew it, but didn’t know how to ask for help.
One morning, she awoke to a knock at the door. She opened it to find two women on her doorstep, both in hijab. They looked familiar. Josina thought she might have seen them at Ola’s memorial service.
“Good morning. We’re from the Somali Community Center,” said the eldest of the two.
The younger woman handed her a flyer. “We’ve received word that there will be three hundred refugees arriving this month, so we’re asking neighbors to help with donations of personal and household items. Anything you could spare would be so appreciated by the incoming families.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Josina glanced down at the flyer, with a stock photo of a young family standing in front of a modest home and an appeal for donations to be dropped off at the Community Center. A list of most-needed items followed.
Women’s clothing (all sizes)
Women’s shoes (all sizes)
Hijab (head covering)
Josina stopped reading, her vision suddenly blurred by tears. “I have plenty of these things. They’re packed away in boxes so I’ll need some time to go through them, but I’ll start today.”
It was the push she needed to take a step forward into acceptance phase of the grieving process. She started by sorting through her own moving boxes, curating a collection of lightly used clothing and shoes to drop off at the Community Center.
When she was done and it was time to move on to Ola’s belongings, she opened the door to the master bedroom. With the exception of the one time she had rummaged through the nightstand to look for documents needed for settling the estate, she had left the room undisturbed.
The thick layers of dust had gathered on every surface in the room were set into motion when Josina opened the door. Her mind flashed back to the day in Health Occupations class when Ola had taught the students about the fate of human skin cells, how they would slough off the body and become dust.
“Well look at you, dancing in the light,” Josina whispered as the tiny airborne specks scattered across the sunbeam shining through the window. She wiped a tear from her eye. “No, Hooyo, I’m not going to cry. Not now. I’ve got work to do. People to help, just like you always did.”
Josina started with the clothing in the drawers, removing each item, folding it neatly, and placing it into one of the empty moving boxes. Without knowing why, it seemed like sacred work. She felt Ola was there with her, guiding her hands, filling her with the strength and bravery she needed to let go.
Before she knew it, the sun had set. The bedroom was dark and Ola’s neatly made bed seemed to be beckoning her to rest. Josina pulled the covers back and laid down. She tossed and turned for a few minutes, adjusting to the firmer mattress and the unfamiliar squish of feathers in the pillow. She wasn’t aware that she had fallen asleep, but when she rolled over to find Ola sitting on the edge of the bed, she knew she had to be dreaming.
She didn’t care.
“Hooyo!” Josina jolted upright and scooted toward her.
Smiling, Ola held out her arms. Josina fell into them.
“I miss you!” Josina pulled back, stared at her face. “I miss you so, so much. Where are you?”
“Right here,” Ola said, placing her hand atop Josina’s head.
“What?”
Ola reached up to Josina’s face, brushing tears from her cheeks. “You know where I am. Every time you think of me, I’m with you.”
“I want you back though,” she wept. “Can’t you be here with me? Is there something we can do to make this real?”
“I am real,” Ola whispered. “Why would you think I’m not real? All of your memories of me are real. And they’re yours. No one can take them away from you.”
“I need you with me,” Josina pleaded. “Why can’t it be like it used to be? Why can’t it be like this all the time? The two of us together?”
“You can’t expect everything to stay the same way forever, Josina. Everything changes. Everything and everyone we love in this world goes away eventually. But you can still love me this way. You can still talk to me whenever you want.”
Josina sat quietly for a moment, trying to process how real Ola seemed. “Why are you here now, Hooyo?”
She laughed. “You’re the one who wanted to see me. You tell me.”
“I don’t know.” Josina shook her head. “I don’t understand what’s happening. I just… I’m confused, Hooyo. Help me.”
“I think you brought me here because there’s something you need to tell me.”
“What is it? What do I need to tell you?”
“You need to say goodbye.”
“No!” Josina broke into tears again. “I don’t want to tell you goodbye, not ever!”
“Not like that,” Ola laughed again. “I don’t mean me. I promised I’ll always be with you. What I mean is you need to let go and move on. You have a life to live.”
“Let go of what?”
“Whatever is keeping you here.”
Josina looked around the room. “I don’t understand. You gave me this house. I thought you wanted me to be here.”
“It was a gift,” she tossed her head, rolled her eyes playfully. “Not an anvil to weigh you down. The house is yours now. You do whatever you want with it. I have no wish for you other than for you to be happy. I don’t think you’re happy here.”
“Why not?”
“You’re alone. This house is too big for just one person. It never felt like home to me until you moved in.”
“What should I do?”
Ola glanced at the cardboard box full of clothing. “A lot of those outfits didn’t fit me anymore. I’m glad you’re giving them away. I should have done it years ago, so they could have been used by someone else. You can do the same thing with the house, you know. If you think it doesn’t fit you so well.”
“You want me to give the house away?”
“I didn’t say that. I only want you to be happy. I want you to let go of anything that is holding you back. I can’t tell you what that is, or what you should do. It doesn’t matter. You already know, my love.”
Josina nodded. For a long time, she didn’t speak.
“So quiet now?” Ola reached for her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“I don’t want you to go,” she said, her voice tight with emotion.
“I’m not going anywhere. Remember where I am.” She rested her hand on Josina’s head once more. “I’m here. Keep me safe.”
Josina closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she was in bed, head resting on the pillow, covers tucked under her chin. The glow of the sunrise was peeking through her window. She stared at the edge of the bed where she’d just seen Ola appear. Josina could still hear her voice.
I’m here. Keep me safe.
She stepped out of bed and opened Ola’s closet. A colorful assortment of hijabs were hanging from hooks on the back of the door. Josina reached for the lavender one that had been Ola’s favorite. She shook the garment to straighten it, watching wrinkles and folds in the chiffon fabric disappear. Then she folded the hijab in half, draped it across the top of her head, pulled the ends down toward her chest, then wrapped the right point of the garment over her neck and left shoulder.
She turned to look in the mirror atop Ola’s dresser.
Josina gasped at her reflection, cupping her hand over her mouth in surprise.
For a split second, she saw her mother’s face staring back at her.
And then Ola’s face.
Then her own face.
Josina thought about her own daughter in that instant and imagined what she might look like with her little face framed in lavender someday. She pressed her hands over her eyes and wept.
When she pulled them away, she smiled at her reflection. “I’ll keep you safe,” she whispered. “I’ll keep all of you safe.”
She spent the next two days packing up Ola’s clothes and shoes to give away.
She kept the hijabs.
At the Community Center, she found one of the ladies who had knocked on her door. “I have a lot of things to donate for the arriving families,” said Josina.
“Lovely!” The woman told her. “If you’ll pull your car around to the side of the building we can collect them.”
“I didn’t bring them. I left them in my house. I’d like to donate that too.”
The woman’s jaw dropped. “You want to donate a house?”
“As well as a car,” added Josina. “I have more than I need. It doesn’t fit. So I’d like to pass it on to people who need it.”
The following month, after packing her belongings into a moving van once again and signing a small mountain of paperwork, ownership of the house was officially transferred to the Somali Community Center. Josina met the grateful family of six who would be moving in. Since their arrival, they’d been sleeping on cots in the basement of a church while awaiting placement in a home with enough room for all of them. They spoke little English, but she knew just enough words and phrases in Somali that they were able to understand each other. Josina was showered in hugs and prayers. The children gifted her with drawings and a handmade bracelet of woven blue thread and a white star charm. Their gratitude and joy made her feel lighter.
Next, she went back to her old high school. In a meeting with the principal and guidance counselor, she asked that a scholarship be established in honor of Ola Nasir. She stipulated that it be reserved for students who were facing either domestic violence, homelessness, teen pregnancy, or emancipation from abusive or negligent guardians. She offered the money Ola had left her to fund the scholarship, asking that the school use it for anything from housing to legal expenses to community college tuition, whatever was needed to put a struggling student on a quick path to independence. The guidance counselor told her they were aware of at least one student who was facing homelessness, having fled from abusive parents. Josina asked them not to delay in reaching out to the girl about the scholarship.
She left the school feeling even lighter.
In letting go of the gifts she’d been given, she was keeping Ola’s legacy of generosity and compassion alive.
And she was freeing herself to move on, move ahead.
Her next stop was the modest apartment she’d rented on the far side of Minneapolis, just a few miles away from her new job at a large hospital. The space was small, but cozy.
It fit.
It was her home for the next twelve years. She would have stayed there longer, had the pandemic not turned her life upside down. But when the brutal winter of 2020 came in the wake of her assault, her surgeries, and her Covid infection, her doctor’s suggestion to move made sense.
Josina considered the southwest for its mild climate, but her fellow foreign-born nurse friends had cautionary tales to share about their experiences with living and working in red states. Southern California seemed like a promising option at first; she quickly ruled it out after observing the wide gap between nursing salaries and costs of living. After the presidential election, she tuned in to the news coverage to see if any southern states had shifted from red to blue. They hadn’t.
But Virginia, North Carolina, and Florida were split vote states. Maybe a purple state would be acceptable in the absence of a true blue one.
She began combing through nursing job sites online, focusing her search on the southeast. One of the first job postings to catch her eye was a full-time, private-duty, in-home care ad for a registered nurse in North Carolina. She almost scrolled past it, convinced it was bait to lure people into some kind of scam. The salary was generous. Health insurance was included, along with a private room in the home. It struck her as unusual that someone would want to pay a registered nurse for full-time private duty care. Especially when they could hire a certified nursing assistant for significantly less money to provide around-the-clock care, and use a home health service to have a registered nurse visit a few times a week for duties which were above the CNA’s scope of practice.
On the off chance it was legitimate, Josina sent an email to the person who had published the ad. Seeing how she had nothing to lose, she asked the awkward questions: Why such a generous offer? Why a registered nurse instead of a nursing assistant? What was the catch? What was important to know about the patient’s conditions and care needs?
She received a reply within minutes.
Hello Josina,
Thank you for reaching out about the job. I am looking for a live-in caregiver for my mother, who was infected with Covid-19 back in the summer. She has never recovered and is now bedbound. Our living situation is a bit unique. We’re in a beach bungalow on a small island off the coast of North Carolina. Most of the properties here are vacation homes, so very few people live here through the winter. We’re isolated but we have everything we need here on the island – a grocery store, a gas station, a healthcare complex with doctors and dentists, and even a coffee shop. Unfortunately, it’s difficult for people who don’t live on the island to travel to and from our home. You can only enter and exit the island by one of two drawbridges. When they’re raised to let ships pass through, traffic backs up on the roads and it can take a long time to let up.
For that reason, I haven’t been able to find a home health agency that will send caregivers to our address, nor have I been able to find anyone locally who is willing to move in and endure even more isolation than what they’re already facing during this pandemic. I am offering a generous salary, health insurance, and a place to live as I need someone here full-time who can provide the level of care my mother requires, as well as manage any emergencies that might happen. I can continue assisting with her feeding, toileting, and bathing so it doesn’t fall entirely on the person I hire for this role, but I definitely need the knowledge and skills of a registered nurse here to keep her safe and comfortable. I posted the ad in the hopes that for someone, somewhere in the world, this might be the ideal situation.
I appreciate the thought you put into the questions you asked in your email. I value boldness and critical thinking, and see that you would bring both to this role. Let me know if you’d like to continue this discussion.
Kindest regards,
Ben Santos
She sent an immediate reply.
Dear Benjamin,
First, I am very sorry to hear that your mother got Covid this summer and has not yet recovered. I also got Covid this summer after being hospitalized for an assault by a patient’s family member. It took me several months for me to get back on my feet. I’m well aware the virus affects everyone differently and that some people don’t recover. I cared for many of those individuals on the Covid unit where I worked up until my assault. There, I gained the knowledge and skills needed to care for your mother, along with the empathy that can only come from having suffered through a debilitating Covid infection myself. Although I’ve loved my job as a Med-Surg nurse at a major hospital for the past 12 years, I no longer feel safe working in such a setting, nor living in my current community. The idea of moving to a quiet, isolated island where I can focus all of my attention on caring for one patient sounds ideal to me.
I am that person you’re looking for.
Josina Hussein
One week later, she packed all of her belongings into a moving truck and drove to North Carolina.
She arrived to find Ben Santos standing in the doorway of her next home.
The Ben Santos.
The Ben Santos with his own hashtag and devoted social media following. The benevolent billionaire, the newly risen anti-capitalist hero of social justice-minded millennials everywhere – that Ben Santos. The name had struck her as familiar during their email exchanges, as had his voice when they’d spoken over the phone. It wasn’t until she saw his face that she put all the pieces together.
“Welcome, Jo,” he greeted her warmly. As anxious as it made her to stand in the presence of such a publicly known and much-loved figure, Josina would quickly discover he was the most humble person she’d ever met.
The beach house seemed an odd fit for his personality. He had described it as a bungalow, which conjured up images in Josina’s mind of a small, modest cottage off the beaten path. She was surprised to find it was more like a one-story mansion. Each of the six bedrooms had full private bathrooms and were spacious enough to be standalone studio apartments. Half of the rooms had an oceanfront view, sliding glass windows, and private decks. The biggest bedroom was occupied by Ben’s mother, Marisol. His bedroom was adjacent to hers. On the other side of it was the room he had prepared for Josina.
She couldn’t help but notice that in spite of the grandiosity of the property, the furnishing and décor were tastefully minimalist in every room.
Except for hers.
The queen bed had a new comforter and four thick, fluffy pillows resting against the headboard. It faced the sliding glass window to the outside deck, so Josina could fall asleep to the sounds of the surf each night and awaken to the sun rising over the shore each morning. In the corner opposite the door was a loveseat and coffee table which faced a wall-mounted television. The matching dresser and chest of drawers offered more than enough space for her clothes and belongings. She kept a few of the drawers empty just so she could open them from time to time and breathe in the comforting smell of cedar.
There were dozens more thoughtful touches in the space that Ben had prepared for her. In the short hallway that led from her bedroom to her bathroom, a mini fridge was filled with bottled water. The bathroom counter held a basket full of hand towels and toiletries in little bottles shaped like starfishes and seahorses. An abstract oil painting on the wall over the bed featured soothing colors that chased each other around the corners of the canvas before flowing together in the center. Ben welcomed her in with the invitation to make the space her own, granting her license to change anything about it that would make her feel more comfortable.
Josina didn’t change a thing.
She was surprised at how little time it took to feel at home in the beach house.
Marisol was an easy patient. Like her son, she was gentle, kind, and soft-spoken. Josina knew she was suffering, but never once heard her complain. She kept her on a precise schedule for meals and medication administration, repositioned her routinely to prevent pressure ulcers, and tended to her toileting and bathing with the greatest of care.
While Marisol was resting, Josina would spend hours at the bedside with her. She’d often hold her hand or gently brush her hair. Sometimes Josina would read to her from the Bible on her nightstand; other times she’d hum or sing the songs that Ben had told her his mother loved. Other times, she would just sit quietly in the room with Marisol, just sharing space with her. Just being present. Ben would often join her. It was special. She hadn’t been able to do this for her patients in the hospitals where she’d worked. Most of her time had been spent on documentation and administrative duties, with time at the bedside limited to essential hands-on care.
She’d never loved her work as much as she did as a private duty nurse in the Santos home.
In the evenings, Josina would diffuse lavender oil in the room and gently rub Marisol’s back or hands until she was fast asleep. Then she’d join Ben in the kitchen, where they’d prepare dinner together. She would report on his mother’s health and fill him in on all of the care she’d provided that day; he’d tell her about the work he’d done that day in his remote job as a software engineer for a company on the west coast. On the days when he seemed frustrated and stressed out, Josina would remind him he was a newly minted billionaire and didn’t have to work if he didn’t want to. Ben always countered that he felt he needed to be doing something meaningful with his life. She would assure him he was, software engineer or not.
They’d settle on the sofa and watch late night shows until Ben’s head would nod and he’d start snoring. Josina would nudge him awake at least two or three times before he’d finally relent and go to bed. She’d carry their dishes to the sink and turn off the TV and the lights before retreating to her own bedroom.
Even after a full year, there was nothing about their daily routine she didn’t love. It was comfortable. Cozy, even.
It felt like home. It fit.
Marisol felt more like family than a patient.
And somewhere along the way, she had fallen in love with Ben.
She couldn’t be sure of the exact moment it happened, but suspected it was the evening when they had finished a dinner of homemade of stir-fried vegetables, cheesecake for dessert, and a bottle of red wine they had polished off way too quickly. When they took to the sofa to watch the late-night shows, they were sitting closer together than usual. They were turned to face each other, their heads resting on the back of the sofa, both of them relaxed, a bit sleepy, but committed to continuing the lighthearted conversation they’d kept going for hours. They found themselves sharing random memories from the lives they had lived until their paths had crossed. Their stories ranged from childhood traumas to the deeply embarrassing, yet hilarious mishaps which had shaped them into the people they had become. They held eye contact with each other. They laughed a lot. Something felt different about that evening.
When the closing credits rolled on the last late-night show they had completely tuned out, Josina could see Ben’s eyelids were closing, his head tilted forward slightly.
“You’re so wonderful, Jo,” he whispered. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
Josina’s heart fluttered in her chest. She grinned so hard her face was aching. A second later, he let out a loud snore. She tapped his shoulder. “Oy, wake up, Bejamin.”
He jolted upright, blinking his eyes a few times. “I guess I should go to bed soon.”
“Not yet,” Josina pleaded. She wasn’t ready for the night to end. “There’s something I’ve been dying to ask you.”
“What’s that?”
“Why do you call me Jo?”
Ben shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve always thought of nicknames as terms of endearment? Like you only give someone a nickname if they’re really special to you.”
“But you’ve been calling me Jo ever since we met,” she challenged him.
“I know.” He smiled. “You’ve always been special to me, even from the very beginning.”
“My mother hated nicknames. When I was little, if anyone ever tried to call me Jo or Josi or anything else, she’d put up a fuss about it and say it was undignified to shorten such a beautiful name.” She wagged her finger at Ben as she affected her mother’s accent. “Your name is your honor! Don’t let anyone diminish you!”
“Oh my God. Did you ever say anything to me?” Ben asked as the color drained from his face. “I’m so sorry if you said something and I wasn’t paying attention. I can stop calling you Jo. I’m really sorry Josina, I—"
She laughed heartily. “I never corrected you. You’re my boss. I didn’t want to seem disrespectful.”
Ben covered his face with his hands. “I shouldn’t have assumed it was okay to call you that. I am so, so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Now it just sounds weird for you to call me Josina. The truth is, I kind of like the way it sounds when you say it. You’re the one person in the world who gets a pass, Benjamin.”
He lowered his hands to reveal a broad smile and a bright blush across his cheeks. “Since we’re on the subject, why do you call me Benjamin? Nobody else has ever called me that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not my name.”
“WHAT?”
“Ben is short for Benito,” he said. “I’m named after my mom’s father.”
Both of them lost themselves in uncontrollable laughter.
Josina wrapped her arms across her abdomen. “I’ve laughed so much my belly hurts. And I apologize, Benito, for calling you the wrong name for more than a year now.”
“It sounds weird when you say Benito,” he told her. “I think you’re going to have to keep calling me Benjamin.”
“If you insist.”
Josina was madly, dizzingly in love with him.
That made it all the more heartbreaking when Marisol passed away the following day. Neither of them had been ready to say goodbye to her, but Josina was far from ready to say goodbye to Ben.
The evening following Marisol’s funeral, Ben stepped through Josina’s doorway to find her packing her belongings.
“Where are you going?” He asked with genuine confusion.
She looked up from the overstuffed suitcase she was struggling to zip shut. “Not sure yet,” she replied. “I’ll probably go inland and get a hotel while I job hunt. Could you help me with this suitcase?”
“No,” Ben shook his head defiantly. “Why are you leaving? Do you want to leave?”
“No,” Josina said softly. “I love it here. But the reality is, my job here is done, Benjamin. This past year has been so lovely with you and your mum, but I can’t expect you to continue putting me up until I find another nursing position. I’m like you. I need something meaningful to do, so I’ve got to move on and find a job elsewhere.”
“Like another hospital? What if you get Covid again?”
“It’s a risk I’ll have to take.”
“You don’t have to look for a job elsewhere,” Ben insisted. “You have a job here.”
“I don’t understand.”
He stepped toward her. “You’re my best friend, Jo. I need you. Please stay.”
Josina removed her hands from the suitcase. She sighed in defeat as it sprung open, scattering some of her carefully packed clothes onto the floor. “You’re my best friend too. But friendship isn’t a career option. You can’t continue paying me a salary and providing benefits just for me to be here as a friend.”
“Why not? I have the money. You keep telling me I could quit my job and do something big with it. So what if I do that… if we do that?”
Josina abandoned the suitcase, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “What exactly would that be?”
“I don’t know. We can figure it out together. We could start a business. Or a nonprofit. I can promote you to a director or CEO or whatever title you’d like to have.” He sat next to her on the bed. “Come on. I’m a billionaire and I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve been throwing money at social justice campaigns and startups for stakeholder-driven businesses, but it’s not doing much to turn the tides against all that’s wrong with the world. I need you, Jo. I’m asking you to help me come up with a plan for this grotesque fortune I inherited.”
She smiled. “You’re making it hard to say no.”
“So don’t. Unpack your things. I’ll make dinner. We can start kicking around ideas and after that, you can help me write my resignation letter.”
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?”
Ben smiled back at her. “Stay,” he said. “Let’s do something big. Change the world or something like that.”
“Maybe we can start by building a new social media platform. Cluckr is absolute shit, you know. There’s so much misinformation on that platform, it’s going to draw the pandemic out. People are making horrible decisions, putting themselves and others in danger based on crap memes and troll farm propaganda.” She reached for her phone, opening the app. “Case in point, the first post in my feed – ‘we’re now in a post-Covid world and it’s time to get back to normal!’ Posted by the state Department of Health and Human Services. Oh my God, Benjamin. I can’t keep going.” She tossed the phone over her shoulder. It landed on the bed with a soft thunk.
“So stay here. Help me do something about it.”
“Okay,” Josina relented. A sense of relief flowed through her. Then sadness. Then relief again. She hadn’t wanted to go.
But part of her hadn’t wanted to stay. Not as Ben’s employee, anyway. She didn’t want to work for him. She wanted to work with him, as his equal. His partner.
In business, in romance, in every aspect of life.
If it were to ever happen, it would have to wait.
When they moved to Wayside three and a half years later, they settled into one of the renovated villas. Their unit had two bedrooms and large communal space furnished as a combined dining room/living room. It was much smaller than the beach house, but spacious enough to meet their needs. They would have been content to stay there, but their new neighbors had other ideas.
The first pilgrimage of people who moved to Wayside included Amanda Leigh, an architect with a passion for sustainable housing. During her new resident orientation, she strayed from the campus tour to check out a lot full of empty shipping containers. She presented a detailed proposal to the Founders’ Council for converting the containers into homes. Their approval shortly followed.
Josina remembered the day when Amanda and a small entourage of people from her project team invited her and Ben for a first peek at the container homes. They had built a dozen two-story container houses around the cul-de-sac of one of the paved access roads off the beaten path from the former YOLO park. Each house had the same basic floor plan, but the team of interior designers had gone to great lengths to give each home a unique look and feel. Amanda walked Ben and Josina through one of the homes, proudly pointing out both the sustainability and luxury features. Recycled hard wood floors, designer furniture made from upcycled materials, antimicrobial polished chrome fixtures in the kitchen and bathrooms, an abundance of natural light from the floor-to-ceiling tempered glass windows, a finished wooden deck and pergola behind the house, and a heated saltwater plunge pool.
When Amanda handed the house key to Ben, his brow wrinkled with confusion.
“Our gift to you,” she told him.
“Oh… no, you’re too kind. I can’t accept this.” Ben shook his head.
“Please,” begged Amanda. “We insist! We wouldn’t be here at Wayside if not for you. We know the villas are nice, but they’re small. We thought this would give you more room, more comforts and luxuries to enjoy.”
“We should save it for a family who needs the space,” Ben pushed back. “There’s probably one on the wait list right now who—”
“Excuse me,” Josina said to Amanda and her team as she took Ben by the arm. “We need a minute to talk. Be right back.” She led him upstairs where they could speak privately.
“What are you doing?” Josina asked in a whisper. “Why won’t you take the house?”
“I don’t feel right about it,” he whispered back. “I like being in the villa with you. I like our workspace. It’s bigger than the one in this house. Someone else should take it.”
“Benjamin,” she said firmly, “These people are grateful for what you’ve done for them. They want to feel like they’ve done something to make your life better as well. They’re trying to give you a gift. This is their way of saying thank you.”
“You should take it, Jo. You deserve it far more than I do.”
“They aren’t offering it to me.” She faced him, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Listen to me. You’re a part of this community now. These people love you. You need to be gracious enough to accept it. When we go back downstairs, take the key. Thank them for this incredible gift. Trust me, it’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m not moving in unless you come too.”
“Fine,” Josina said. “You get the house, and I can remain the official occupant of the villa, so we have both spaces. We can go work in the villa during the day, then come here in the evening to sleep. And… maybe use that plunge pool sometimes.”
“Okay,” he relented. “Let’s go get the key to our new place.”
“Thank you,” she said as they started down the stairs. “But I get the bedroom with the whirlpool tub.”
***
“Benjamin, we need to talk.” Josina felt her heart sink as she said the words out loud.
“I’ll be there in just a couple of minutes,” he said. “Sorry it’s taking a little while. Everyone’s headed toward the exit all at once. I think it’s the biggest crowd I’ve seen at Bonfire Pavillion since we moved here. Who would have thought my 15 minutes of fame on ‘Chat with Chatleigh’ would have brought in an even bigger crowd than Siado’s 4th of July concert?”
“I’m not surprised at all. Everyone at Wayside is very proud of you.” Then added, “Me too, of course.”
After they disconnected, Josina pocketed her phone again. She slid to one end of the bench to make room.
Then she closed her eyes, imagining Ola sitting beside her.
“Help me, Hooyo,” she spoke silently in her mind. “My heart is shattered into a million pieces. I’m in love with him. For years now, I’ve been waking up each day and pretending like I’m not, because he’s my boss. And because I didn’t know if he felt the same way about me. And now I know he must not, because he’s on a dating app looking for love. I’ve lived with him for six years and I’m invisible to him in that way.”
“Tell him.” The Ola she had conjured up in her mind didn’t even let her finish her sentence. “TELL HIM how you feel.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can. It’s the only choice you have.”
“But it would change everything, Hooyo. I don’t know how we could continue working together, much less living together, if I tell him I love him.”
“Tell him.”
“No!”
“Alright then. Don’t tell him. Just go on living a lie, letting your heart break more and more every day.”
“I can’t do that either.”
“Of course not. You have to be brave. You have to let go.”
“Let go of what?”
“You already know the answer.”
Josina opened her eyes, wiping away any remaining traces of tears. As she lowered her hands to her lap, she saw Ben approaching. Her heart sank into her stomach as he settled next to her on the bench.
“Is everything okay?” He asked with genuine concern.
“Oh… yes. Everything’s fine.”
“What is it you need to talk about?”
“Well…” Josina swallowed hard, fighting the knot in her throat. “I’ve been thinking, now that we’re settled in here at Wayside, we’re part of this amazing community and we’re not as isolated anymore. We don’t have to worry so much about Covid. We’re safe now, and that’s wonderful. So maybe…”
An uncomfortably long pause followed.
“Maybe what?” He rested his hand on her shoulder.
Josina took a deep breath. “Maybe it’s time for us to move on.”
“How so?”
“I want to move back into the villa, Benjamin.”
“Sure. When should we pack up and go back?”
“I don’t mean both of us.” Josina turned to face him. “Just me.”
The look on his face broke her heart all over again.
“Why?”
“It’s just time for us to move on,” she said. “We’ve been living together for the past six years. It made sense when I was caring for your mother, and while we were building the Waysidr app, and buying YOLO to turn it into Wayside. But now that we’re here, I don’t think it makes sense anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I think we’ve become very co-dependent on each other,” she said, forcing a smile. “We do everything together. Sometimes it’s like we share a brain. We finish each other’s sentences, for crying out loud.”
“Is that such a bad thing?”
“Maybe.” She swallowed hard again. The knot in her throat seemed to have doubled in size. “I just think we’d be better off if we both had space to ourselves, so we can be ourselves, not just two delightful besties who are joined at the hip all the time.”
“Where is this coming from?” Ben asked with frustration. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing happened,” she insisted. “It’s just that our lives are growing in different directions. You’ve been getting more calls from the media. Now that your interview has been broadcast everywhere, you’re going to get even more calls to be in the spotlight. They don’t want to talk to me. You’re the star.”
“I’ve told them again and again that I’m not the right person to sit for interviews. They don’t care, Jo. They want me because I’m the money man. It’s like it’s all that matters to them. I can start refusing—”
“Don’t you dare. Yes, they want to talk to you and only you because you’re the billionaire. You have a voice the rest of us don’t have, which means you speak for all of us. You can’t take that for granted.”
“You don’t have to move out just because I’m sitting for interviews.”
“It’s not just that. Kevin came here to visit you and completed a 10-day quarantine. It seems like an insult for him to sleep on our sofa.”
“Are you kidding me? He used to pass out on the bean bag chair in our dorm room and sleep like a baby through the night. He’s the one who invited himself to come crash on our sofa, actually. But if it bothers you, I’ll offer to let him sleep in my bed and I can take the sofa. Or we can give him the keys to the villa and he can stay there.”
“Kevin won’t be your only guest,” she countered. “There will be other people who will want to come see you. You should be able to host them and entertain them in your own home.”
“It’s your home, too.”
“No, Benjamin.” Josina shook her head, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Not anymore. Please, I need for you to understand this is what I want. This is what’s best for both of us.” She swallowed hard once more. The knot in her throat, she realized, was all the unspoken words she could not say.
I know what’s going to happen and it will crush me. I can’t watch you look down and smile at your phone throughout the day, knowing you’re exchanging messages and pictures on a dating app. I can’t be at home while you shower and shave and put on cologne before going out on dates. I can’t be there when you bring someone you like to our table for dinner, to our sofa for late night shows, to your bed while I sleep alone in my own.
I can’t be there to witness you eventually falling in love with someone else.
Everyone I love leaves me. I can’t just sit back and wait for you to leave me someday too.
I won’t be a bystander to my own heartbreak.
“If this is what you want, I understand,” said Ben. He looked crushed. Bewildered. “I’m sorry, Jo. I didn’t know you were feeling this way.”
“It’s okay.” She wiped her eyes. “I’ll pack some things tonight and spend the night at the villa. I’ll try to get everything else moved out tomorrow.”
“There’s no rush,” he insisted. “You’ll always be welcome.” Ben pulled her into an embrace.
She hugged him tightly, then pulled back to see he had tears in his eyes as well. The anguish on his face was more than she could bear.
“Enough of this crying,” she said with feigned laughter. “You should stay here and keep shaking hands and giving hugs and talking to people as they’re walking out of the pavilion.”
“Right,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me of that.”
“Of what?”
“That I’m loved, and I need to be gracious enough to accept it.”
Josina nodded. “You are loved, Benjamin. More than you’ll ever know.”
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