Page 19 of Beautiful Life

“Please, Tony. Rest.”

Not because I want to but because I can’t fight it, my eyes go heavy and I can’t keep them open another second, losing her beautiful face. I start to drift off, but I swear I feel her lips brush the corner of my mouth and she whispers, “I’m sorry, Tony.”

As much as I want to see her, touch her, know she’s real after what I just fucking went through and being shot, I can’t find the strength to stay awake.

Then there was nothing.

*****

Gabby

Three days later

I hear her come in the house and look up from my Kindle. Looking across the great room and through the kitchen, Mia races that way as she greets my dog before I see her. She comes around the corner in her scrubs and sees me, freezes for a millisecond before quickly recovering, looks away and goes straight to the refrigerator. She’s been avoiding me and everyone else since Tony was shot. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but I do know she’s avoiding everyone to avoid Tony, and that pisses me off.

I break into the silence. “How was your day?”

She sighs as she stares into the refrigerator. “Busy.”

I let her have her silence for a few minutes as she pulls out some leftovers to nuke. Finally speaking, she asks, “Where’s Jude?”

“Working late.”

She nods before studying her dinner.

“It’s been three days, Leigh.”

Her eyes immediately shoot to mine and she bites her lip.

“He asked for you again today.”

She takes a bite, chews slowly, and the silence hangs between us.

“Leigh?”

“How is he?” She tries to pull off conversational but it comes out strangled.

“He’s grumpy,” I stress. “Not to mention pissed. He said he’s called you. And texted. He said you won’t respond.”

“I’ve been busy, working my shifts and picking up extras so other nurses can be off for the holidays. I’ve told you this.”

“You work in the same building where he’s hospitalized, Leigh. Go see him.”

“You know how busy I am at work and—”

“He asked how you were sleeping,” I add sharply, interrupting her.

She shuts her mouth.

“He’s worried about you.”

“Gabby, please—”

“I told him you look tired,” I press.

She drops her fork and glares at me. Yanking open the cabinet to the trash, she dumps her barely touched dinner and roughly puts her dishes into the dishwasher before stomping through great room, toward the basement.

Just before disappearing around the corner to the stairs, she turns but doesn’t look back. “He’ll be discharged soon. He needs to rest so his body can heal. Make sure he has a quiet space to do that. I know you all are going to want to be near him—help him, cook for him, and everything else you all are so good at. Do it in a way he can rest without the chaos.”

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