I swear Reagan was waiting at the door like an eager pet for the sound of the unlocking mechanism, because the second I step through on Friday night, she barrels into me. “I missed you so much!”
“It’s only been two weeks, Reagan,” I say with a chuckle, tossing my purse on the desk. I decided to come back to Princeton after all. Not because I particularly feel like this is the place for me, but because I do know that I want an education, and until they either kick me out or I transfer to Miami—which I looked into while back at home—I may as well be here.
Tucking my hair back behind my ear, I ask casually, “So how has everything been?”
Her nose scrunches up. “Same. Don’t know. Ashton’s staying at my parents’ right now and I can’t get anything out of my dad. Grant’s been staying here a lot because the house isn’t much fun right now. Connor is hurt. But he’ll be fine, Livie. Seriously. He just needs to get laid.” She flops down onto her bed in typical Reagan fashion—dramatically. “Oh, and Ty sprained his ankle. Dumbass.”
I chuckle, but it doesn’t loosen the angst inside.
“What’s your plan for this weekend?” She hesitates. “Are you going to see him?”
I know who “him” is and it’s not Connor. I shake my head. No . . . We need more than two weeks to sort this mess out. It’s too new. Too fresh. Too painful to deal with. “Trying to catch up, if there’s any hope.” I missed a week’s worth of classes, including a test. I slowly climb up the rungs to my bed, pushing out all the memories. “And I’m going to visit the boys at the hospital.” I have to say goodbye properly, for my own closure.
I get a text from Dr. Stayner as I’m taking the train in to the hospital. It has an address, along with the words:
One more task, since you owe me for not completing the last one. Be there at two p.m.
I don’t even question him anymore. The man’s brilliant. I simply respond with:
Okay.
“Hi, Livie.” Gale’s beaming smile greets me at the front desk. When Kacey told Dr. Stayner that I was back in Miami, he contacted the hospital to let them know, in vague terms, what was happening. When I made the final decision that I would not be continuing on with the volunteer program, he sat with me while I called to let them know. They’ve been incredible with it all.
“The boys will be so happy to see you.”
“How are they?”
She winks. “Go see for yourself.”
Walking through the halls doesn’t make me as sick as it did before, I notice. I know it’s not because I have somehow gotten used to it. It’s because I’ve let go of the idea that this has to be my future.
The twins run to me with energy I haven’t seen in a while, clutching my legs and making me giggle.
“Come here!” Each of them grabs hold of a hand. They pull me over to the table. If they were upset that I left so abruptly two weeks ago, they aren’t showing it.
“Nurse Gale said you were gone, doing some . . . I don’t get what she said. Something about a . . . soul? You lost it? And you needed to go find it?” Eric ends that with a quizzical frown.
Soul searching. I chuckle. “Yes. I was.”
“Here.” Derek pushes forward a stack of papers with drawings on them. “She told us to help you think of all the things you could be when you grow up.”
“I told her you wanted to be a doctor,” Eric interjects with an eye roll. “But she thought it’d be good to give you backup ideas.”
Looking at each of them in turn, at their eager little faces, I begin flipping through each sheet, evaluating all of my options.
And I’m laughing harder than I’ve laughed in a long time.
I step out of the cab in front of a large white Victorian house in Newark at exactly two p.m. By the sign out front, it appears to be a nursing home of sorts. A fairly nice one at that, I note as I enter through the front door and into a modest but charming foyer with dark mahogany floors, pastel striped wallpaper, and a floral arrangement sitting on a side table. Across from me is an unattended front desk with a notice directing visitors to a registration book. I sigh as I glance around, looking for a clue as to what I’m supposed to do next. Dr. Stayner gave me no further instruction than to go to this address. Normally he’s quite explicit with his demands.
I pull my phone out of my pocket, about to text him for guidance, when a young blond woman in baby blue nurse scrubs strolls by.
With a smile in greeting, she says, “You must be Livie.”
I nod.
“He’s waiting for you in room 305. Stairs are around the corner, to your left. Third floor and follow the signs.”
“Thanks.” So Dr. Stayner is here. Why am I not surprised? I open my mouth to ask the nurse what she knows about room 305, but she’s gone before I can utter a word.