“Hamata,” Livingston began.
Deb walked over to the door, opened it, and smiled politely. The doctors traded glances and then stood, nodding to me. The nurse picked up the chairs and did the same.
“Feel better, Jacobs,” he said.
“Thank you.”
Deb began to shut the door behind the doctors, but a nurse pushed through, rushing around the room, checking monitors, pulling the EKG strip, and writing in my chart.
“Look, Jacobs. It’s the new girl,” Deb said.
“Hi,” the nurse said back, barely looking up. Her voice instantly made me angry, but I had no idea why.
“New?” I asked.
“I started in the ER just before your accident,” the nurse said. “Do you remember me?”
The tawny beauty reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite place her. I didn’t remember knowing her at all from the hospital. Something told me she was bad news.
“No,” I said simply. I wanted her to leave. Her presence made me want to throw things.
“You look tired, Parsons,” Deb said.
“Yes, I’m swamped. Michaels called in. Pretty sure there’s a Bruno Mars concert tonight.”
Deb chuckled, but I narrowed my eyes.
Parsons smiled at me. “Sorry for not introducing myself first. I assumed because we’ve met before … but I shouldn’t have. I’m Hope Parsons. I actually just moved into your building a few weeks ago.” She leaned over and offered her hand to me.
I didn’t take it.
Parsons stood, slow and awkward. “Um … okay, it was nice to meet you again. I have to get back to Josh’s room.”
“I bet you do,” I murmured.
She glanced at me and then spoke to Deb. “I’m assisting Dr. Weaver with a procedure.”
“On Josh?” I asked.
Parson’s eyes grew large. “I shouldn’t have said that. I can’t discuss his care with—”
“You can discuss it with me,” Deb said. “I’ll be his nurse tomorrow.”
Parsons shook her head. “I can’t, Hamata. Not in front of Avery. I need this job.”
I sat up. “Why? Because you’re a single mom?”
Parsons hesitated. “Yes. Why?”
“When did you move into my building?”
Parsons was confused, but I could see she was counting in her head. “A few weeks after your accident.”
“Have I met your son?” I asked.
“No.”
I bit my lip. I was either going to be crazy for being right, or being wrong. “Is his name Toby?”
Parsons offered a cautious smile. “Yes? I must have been talking about him when I came in to check on you. We’ve had a few one-sided conversations,” she said, her cheeks pink. She scribbled a few more things on my chart and then hooked it to the end of the bed. “I really have to go. Glad you’re okay, Jacobs.”
She hurried out, and Deb frowned at me. “What was that about?”
“You don’t think it’s weird that I know her son’s name? That I even know she has a son?”
Deb shrugged. “She admitted to talking about him. You know loved ones are encouraged to speak to patients in comas. You heard her. That’s all.”
“Call Quinn,” I said.
Deb winced. “I’m not calling Quinn. He’s had a rough time, and …”
“Deb, are you my friend?”
“Yes, but …”
“Then call him. Tell him I want to see him. I have questions.”
She stood, gathering her things. “Fine.” She pointed at me. “But if you don’t stop, one of those doctors is going to commit you just so they can do whatever tests they want. Be careful.”
I smiled at her, watching her leave. “Thank you.”
“To be honest,” she said, pausing at the door. “I hope you’re right. Quinn is hot, and I wouldn’t mind getting pummeled by him every night.”
“In a better life, he’s in love with you.”
Her grin was half sad, half hopeful. “Maybe they’ll let me live there with you.”