Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Everything tilts again. Emotion coils through me, and my heart nearly stops.
He was coming after me?
No.
No, he wasn’t.
“No one told me that,” I finally say.
“I would have told you if I’d known. Now what happened?”
I can’t. I can’t bring myself to spill everything when she’s paying God knows how much for this international call. Then again, she’s loaded.
I can’t spill it because I’m not sure I can get through it without bawling.
When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. “You think staying away makes it easier?” she snaps.
Something in me wants to snap back he told me there was no future, but the words won’t come out without sounding angry and petty.
I picture her across an ocean, eyes soft and stubborn all at once. I picture Jason at her side, that patient way he looks at her like she’s the only person who ever existed.
“Tell me something honest,” she says. “Why did he call for you, Tabs? Not why you? I know why you. Why there? Why, in a bed with monitors screaming and his head stapled, did he say your name?”
I stare at my laptop, my texts, the flashcards of surgical instruments that Eli and I have already worn the corners on.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “We had some fun together. But he told me he was broken.”
Somewhere on her end, a train announcement blares. She must be getting ready to board. The world keeps moving.
“Dr. Landers is a genius,” I say, trying to get back to real life. “Blake, the TA, says my hands are good. He says I think like a surgeon.”
“You do,” she says. “You always did.”
“I’m afraid if I leave, I’ll never get back on this track,” I admit. “One swerve and it’s ten more. One exception and suddenly I’m a person who makes exceptions. I’ve worked too hard to become a surgeon. I can’t be the girl who runs across the state because a man says her name when he’s on God knows how many meds.”
“He didn’t say it like a summons,” she replies. “He said it like a prayer. Mom told me.”
He said it like a prayer.
The words slide through my head, moving around as if they’re alive.
“Jason’s flagging me,” she says. “We’ve got a train. I have to go. Tabs?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s okay to choose yourself,” she says. “Just don’t pretend you chose anything else.”
The line clicks. I set the phone down and stare again at the stuff on my desk.
It’s okay to choose yourself.
Not what I would have expected to hear from Angie. From Eli, sure. In fact, he’s said as much several times. But Angie? Thoughtful and compassionate Angie, when it concerns her big brother?
Nope. Those words must have cost her.
I go to the kitchen, fill a mug with coffee that’s gone stale, and pour it down the sink instead. I rinse the mug and then walk back to the desk and grab a pad of sticky notes. Time for a list.
Shower
Instrument tray #2 review
20 clean surgeon’s knots
20 square knots
Eat at least a half sandwich, not just coffee
I add one more line and hate myself for how much relief it gives me to see the rule in ink.
Do not contact Henry
I already deleted his name from my contacts and deleted the text from Marjorie that had his number, but I could easily get the information again.
But I won’t.
I can’t.
I shower too hot, scrub until my skin says enough. I fix a tuna sandwich and force myself to eat the whole thing. Twice as much as my to-do list dictated.
Then back to studying. Tomorrow is a big day in the lab.
My phone alarm goes off, and I wrangle my hair into a bun. Scrubs, badge, penlight. I check my pocket for a pair of gloves and leave the apartment.
Outside, the sky is a gorgeous August blue. Halfway to the medical building, I stop under a cottonwood because the world goes a little soft around the edges with a memory.
His room. Morning. The day after we slowed down.
I woke up.
He was gone.
I walk again because if I stand here any longer I might go running the other way to get in my car and drive like a maniac to the Slope.
The building looms ahead like an oasis to save me from my thoughts. I walk in.
Inside the lab, steel shines under bright light. Blake claps once.
“I hope you all took some time for yourselves on your day off yesterday,” he says. “Let’s start with the same drill. Passes, names, uses. Then knots. If you fumble, you do it again.”
Eli slides into the spot at my side like he always does now. “Hey, Tabitha,” he says softly. “You look like you didn’t sleep.”
“I did.” I’m not lying. At least I don’t think I am.
He doesn’t press. He picks up a scalpel handle, holds it correctly, offers it to me palm-up like a scrub tech would. “Scalpel.”