Hearing his voice say those words…it makes me falter. “No—” I start. My tone is normal, and I’m going to play it off—God knows, I’m a good faker by now—but my foot falters on the brake as we approach a red light, and the car slides. Not by much, but just enough to make your stomach flip.
I can feel the burn of Landon’s gaze as I laugh self-consciously and move my hands to ten and two.
“No,” I carry on, “I want to save them in that I want them to be saved. But they’re so difficult as patients. Like, not only do they fail to tell you the important things, they tell you things that weren’t even true. Case in point: I had a kid come in with a nasty sinus infection, and some really weird-looking stuff on the scans. Asked him what it was, he told me tiny ants had crawled into his nose when he was sleeping. Then he said his brother put cupcake sprinkles in his nose. Like, what is that? So random. Finally I found out he had snorted glitter. Like, a ton of glitter. I could see the little particles on the scan and anyway…yeah. It’s just harder. They’re really cute. I like to babysit them, for colds and daily things like that, maybe they can see a different doctor.”
Landon tilts his head. “And neuro kids?”
“Oh,” I wave, “I’ll take them. Tethered cords and Chiari Malformation, tumors…that stuff is my jam.”
“So it’s not the sad shit you dislike,” he says. “It’s the tedium of diagnosing pediatrics. I’m going to guess you’re not a fan of geriatrics either.”
“No, I like the old folks fine. So long as they’re coherent, which they almost always are. More so than most people, in fact. I wouldn’t specialize in Alzheimer’s, though. I don’t think I have the stamina for it.”
He’s quiet at that, and I’m surprised to find that I feel something coming from him. I can’t help but hyper-focus on my comment. Memory and stamina: does he think I’m bad at both? Why wouldn’t he? I forgot him. That’s what he thinks, of course.
My heart aches so fiercely, my chest hurts as I glance over at him.
“Hey, Ev…”
I swallow, frightened by the softness of his tone, and what he called me.
“Yeah?” I murmur.
He points behind him. “I’m back that way.”
“Oh my God!” It’s been forever since we turned onto this road. I’ve gone way past two blocks. “I’m sorry. I…wasn’t thinking.”
His smile is small but gentle. “Understandable. How was your first day?”
I pause to regroup as I make another U-turn. “So tiring. And wonderful. And tiring.”
“I hear that.”
“How was yours?”
“Good. And tiring.”
And he sounds tired. His subdued tone brings a deluge of memories. I can’t help but wonder how he sleeps now. What his bedroom looks like. What he’ll do when he gets home.
He may have a girlfriend waiting at his place.
I swallow. “Denver is a nice place. I hope you like it.”
“Won’t be forgetting the Front Range quite yet.” He smiles. I laugh. “It’s that street,” he says, nodding at the next light. “Take a right.”
The light turns green, and I don’t even have to slow.
“It’s this second complex.” He points. “Grandview.”
I turn slowly by the big sign, behind which are three towers.
He says, “Thanks for doing this,” as I start through the parking lot. “I would have been fine, but this was nice.”
My head spins slowly as he adds, “I’m in the rearmost building.”
I pin my gaze to the slick asphalt, taking a deep, strained breath so I don’t freak out—or pass out.
“Just right in front?” I ask as we glide up in front of the last tower.
“Perfect.”
Landon starts for the door handle, then hesitates and turns, surprising me by delving into my backseat. Half a second later, he turns back around, and I feel something on my arm. I blink down at my blanket.
“Cover up,” he says quietly.
He raises one hand in a low-key wave, and disappears into the dark.
I drive two blocks home, where my roommate, Alyssa, is waiting with a piping cup of my favorite chamomile tea and a new, fluffy, gray robe.
“You made it home,” she squeals as she gives me a crushing hug.
I nod—and start to sob.
Two
Evie
After that night—that awful night when Alyssa tucks me into bed and I watch rain slide down my windows till the sun rises—I see him everywhere.
In patients’ rooms as we move down our rounds list at 5 a.m., always with two other residents—and almost always with each other. In the donut room at odd moments, when Landon’s at the table tackling a BLT, which seems to be his go-to. In the ER as we frenziedly evaluate two best friends with a matching set of spinal injuries after a hiking fall. As I scrub into surgery and he scrubs out, he lifts an eyebrow and deadpans, “I hear it’s dicey in there.”
I get paged to room 310 on Thursday, and Landon’s there already, rocking on his heels beside a little girl, who’s laughing her face off in the railed bed. “No, hear this one,” she cries, waving her arm.
He grins. “Okay. Hit me.”
“What do you call cheese that isn’t yours?” she asks him, beaming.
He raises his brows. “Nacho cheese?”
“Noooo! How did you know,” she groans.
He laughs. “Bad jokes are my thing.”
“That wasn’t bad,” she insists. “It was awesome!”
I look on like a voyeur as he says, “How do oceans say hello?”
The girl, six or seven, tilts her bandage-wrapped head. Then her jaw falls open. “They wave!”
Landon’s fingers snap. Boom. “Why did the math book look so sad?” he fires off.
She mulls it over, then lifts her gaze to me. “Do you know?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Because it has so many problems, of course.” He must have a silly expression on his face, because the girl gives him one of her own.
Damn. When did he become so outgoing?
“I don’t want to have more problems,” the girl says suddenly. She looks on the verge of tears. “I want to go home now!”
I watch his shoulders tighten as he pauses for a brief moment, before he says, “Already? But you’ve only been here five days.”
Tears fill her brown eyes. “I want to see my puppy. Her name’s Gertrude.”
“Why would a puppy be named Gertrude?” Landon asks her in a funny voice.
“Because she is! Gertrude was my mommy’s puppy’s name, and her mom’s puppy’s name. It’s a family name, that’s why.”
Landon chuckles. “I like that. Do you have a picture of her?”
“It’s a him.”
Now he’s really laughing. “A him? Gertrude? What kind of dog is this? Now I really need to see this picture.”
I can’t help but smile at his broad, coat-clad back.
“My mommy has it,” she says, looking torn between pouty and pleased at the attention Landon’s giving her.
He looks over his shoulder. “You can go if you’d like, Dr. Rutherford. Meghan’s mom went to run an errand, so I’m staying till she’s back.”
I nod slowly, feign a polite smile. “Okay,” I say as I leave the room. “But I’m going to have to hear some more about this Gertrude.”