Page 56 of Speak of the Devil

Comparatively, my job is easy. I do the checkups and write progress and regressions if they need to follow up with their doctor or if all is well. The full-time nurses working in the homes deserve medals for handling their moods and personalities.

“Lucy plans to sit with him over lunch to discuss his moods.”

“Let me know if she needs support or if he does.”

“Will do.”

I return to the desk in the corner they assigned me, sitting down to make more notes. I never quite settled in here at Dally Point. Maybe it was the timing of when it was added to my schedule or because every time I leave from my visits, I don’t feel any difference has been made.

As a private facility, they need to hire a full-time patient advocate so I can do my job more effectively. I’m not a doctor, as they all assume, but I do think one needs to come more than once a month. I love the residents, but there’s more than I can take on, and no small raise changes the facts.

My phone vibrates in the bag, the buzzing enough to catch my attention. I have a few minutes before my next patient, so I reach down to grab it and do a quick check to see who’s texting.

I hate that my heart reacts so easily to something I should have seen coming since last August. Ten months is a long time, but not long enough by how my chest squeezes from thereminder. Everything still feels raw, exposed emotions left to wilt in the bad weather of winter months.

But the text isn’t from Shane. It’s from my attorney.

Attorney Whittier:

We received divorce papers today.

I’d almost forgotten about the papers that were coming, but time plays tricks on the mind and the heart, if I’m being honest. I’d fooled myself into thinking it could wait, so I never bothered filing. There wasn’t a rush on my side. Is there on his? Did he meet someone? Fall in lust with another notch on his post?

Neither my head nor my heart is tricked by the facts. He moved on while I rebuilt my life after his storm.

Another message appears:

I didn’t know you got married. I would have advised a meeting prior to the ceremony.

I laugh, but I shouldn’t. It keeps me from crying, so I’ll take the ridiculous reaction over the other, and type:

It was a mistake.

No need to go into details about who made the first error and the whirlwind that led to this outcome.

Me:

What happens now?

Attorney Whittier:

Mr. Faris’s attorney requested a meeting to work through the details.

Me:

There’s nothing to work through. I’ll sign. When do I come in?

Attorney Whittier:

May 17th at four p.m.

Next week. I look up my schedule. I’ll be at River Elms that day. It’s not too far from his office, so that works out.

Me:

I’ll be there.

Attorney Whittier:

---