Carla dropped into the cool leather booth in the darkened hotel bar. The day had been long; too damned long. It was the annual conference. As a social worker working with families of terminally ill children, she lived with a string of one long day after another. But this annual conference seemed to only remind her of the tragedy of her work. How did one ever justify the pain, suffering and death of a child?
As the waiter approached, Carla lifted the menu. She needed food. Sometimes it seemed she always needed food. Her size sixteen dress attested to the comfort that she found in it. It was a coping mechanism she learned in childhood. With her masters in social work, she thoroughly recognized the root cause of her obesity.
It did not mean she had any more power to deal with it than the next person. Just when she made a new resolution or goal to eat healthier and exercise more, there was a new stress: another child died, another stupid bureaucratic rule that made her job harder or another well meaning assault on her career choice by her friends and family. As hard as it was, Carla did her job out of love.
Unfortunately, it was about the only love in Carla's life these days. Since her one long-term relationship had ended eight months before, she had found it virtually impossible to get back into the swing of dating. She had gone on more than a dozen blind dates arranged by friends and family. She had even what she considered a small fortune on a 'relationship' site that claimed to match you on a 'deeper' level.
Carla was not sure if it was her weight issues or the inevitable silence she encountered on each date in response to the standard inquiry; so what do you do? Either way, in over six months of dating, there had never been a second date.
She sighed and smiled weakly as she finished giving that waiter her order for the cheeseburger with fries and a Long Island Iced Tea. She toyed in her over-sized bag for the conference program. She always felt a bit uncomfortable eating alone in public. She knew it was actually a rather common feeling and perhaps she should have attached herself to one of the groups of acquaintances. But she really did not know anyone that well at this year's conference.
Last year, her colleague had attended the conference with her, which had meant she not only had a room mate for her double hotel room, but she also had a built-in dinner companion. No such luck this year. Due to budget cuts, Carla was forced to attend the three day conference alone.
It was just Friday, the end of day one; and that only a half day. Whether it was the jet lag from her four plus hour flight from San Diego to Baltimore or the four plus hours of boring if informative lectures on the grief process, Carla was tired and ready to go to sleep in her decidedly beige single hotel room.
In fact, she was just about to hail her waiter and request her food to go when she looked up into a rather familiar face. She could not quite place him, but she knew that she should know those intelligent and somewhat sad brown eyes. She supposed though that sad eyes where something to expect at this conference. Still, despite the shaggy greyish beard and dishelmed salt-and-pepper hair, Carla knew this man was someone she knew rather well. She just could not place him at the moment.
When he opened his mouth and that deep distinctive Eastern European accent washed over her, Carla recognized him instantly. Yosef Darvoski and his wife Katrina had been one of her clients during her work study. Their unborn daughter had been diagnosed with Trisomy 18, a genetic birth defect incompatible with life. Their defect meant that their third child and only daughter would either be still born, die shortly after birth or at best not survive childhood. It was not something any parent should have to face, but something her families faced daily.
'I know you probably don't remember me, but you helped our family when my daughter Amelia died,' he said in decidedly improved English.
Carla remembered the family well as she nodded at his words. They had barely arrived from the Ukraine when his wife, who was eight months pregnant, was given the diagnosis. Both of them though professionals and well-educated in their own country still struggled with English. It had been a challenge to meet their complex needs because of the language and cultural barrier. She nodded, 'Yes, I remember you. How are you doing?' She inquired politely.
His broad shoulders shrugged in a typically American gesture. 'I am here as founder of an organization that helps immigrants understand their options and rights when facing a terminal illness with their children.' He smiled weakly, 'Professionally, I have finished a course that allows me to practice as a psychologist in the USA as well.'
Carla felt the deep sadness that washed over him as he looked down at the tiled floor. It was a look she had seen too many times. She did not need to hear his next words to know what was coming. 'Katrina took the boys back home two years ago.' His chest expanded visibly as he drew a deep breathe of resolve to continue this tale. 'I suppose I knew all along. She never got over Amelia's death. She said it was my fault for bringing us to this country.'
Looking up once more, he shrugged and forced himself to smile. 'But I could not pass without telling you how very much you helped me then,' the smile on his handsome face was genuine now as he bowed in an old-World manner. 'Carla Forde, I am forever in your debt for the hope you brought me when there was no hope at all. If I can ever be of any assistance, please call.'
Carla recognized his polite exit, but especially now she did not want to return to her small, dark and impersonal hotel room alone. So instead she asked, 'Would you care to join me, Yosef?'
Over dinner, drinks and coffee, they exchanged polite conversation; personal and professional. Carla was intrigued by the stories of immigrant families helped by the charity founded by this intelligent and compassionate man, who had so briefly passed through her world.
Despite his claims, Carla doubted very much that her inadequate words and inexperienced efforts had made any real difference. The man before her was a survivor. She was always fascinated by why some people found strength and purpose in tragedy while others got lost in it...sometimes forever.
They spent so long caught up in the conversation that both were shocked when the waiter politely brought them the check saying that the bar would be closing shortly. Carla blushed that she had monopolized her companion's time so completely. She blushed more when he insisted on paying the bill; saying it was the very least he could do. They had parted ways at the elevator; his room was several floors above her own.
The next day Carla was delighted when Yosef joined her for the continental breakfast; insisting that they should meet up for lunch as well. The day had somehow seemed less long and a bit brighter knowing that she had someone to talk with.
Over dinner at a trendy restaurant in Baltimore's Harborplace, they had discussed the lectures and workshops they had attended. They shared views on sometimes conflicting and cutting-edge therapies. Carla admitted that she was fascinated and more than a tad in awe of this man, who she remembered as quiet and unassuming. She very much hoped it would be a professional partnership that would continue after the conference, but she dare not think beyond that.
Yosef became somber once more as they walked back to their hotel in the heart of the Inner Harbor. As the moon light danced on the choppy waters, he spoke of the pain of Katrina's desertion and the void of missing his sons. Even though they spoke on the phone, emailed and even used Webcams, it was not the same; he said. Carla reached out slowly and laced her fingers through his. She squeezed gently at his much larger hand; an empathetic response that had become common to her.
So she was surprised when Yosef tugged gently at her hand; until her body was leaning against his. Even through the jacket she wore in response to the cool night winds, she could feel her nipples pebble within the confines of her white cotton bra.
He whispered her name poetically a moment before his shadowed face descended on hers. The kiss was tentative. His beard and moustache tickled a bit at her skin. But there was a warmth and firmness to his lips that ignited an answering need in Carla. She found herself stepping into his embrace. Her free arm wrapped about his neck and drew him closer.
Yosef smiled a moment later when he broke the contact. 'I apologize for taking such liberties with a friend and colleague,' he said. Squeezing her hand in his own, they resumed their walk in silence. Each caught up in musings of their own.
