Page 98 of From Air

“Of course not. Come in.”

“I brought flowers and food.” I set them both on her kitchen table.

“The men in my life could learn a few things from you. Thank you, Jamie. What’s the occasion?”

I remove the charcuterie-box lid. “No occasion. Well, I mean, it’s my day off. That’s always a reason to celebrate.”

“That boy of mine is thirty-five, and you’re the first girl he’s introduced to me.” She hands me a glass of lemonade and sits across from me. “That might not be true.” With a tiny laugh, she shakes her head. “You’re the first girl I remember. So if I met someone before my stroke, I either don’t remember, or it didn’t happen.”

“If I were a betting person, I’d say it never happened. Fitz is content being single.”

“Nobody’s content being single. Are you?” She pops an olive into her mouth.

“For now, yes. But it’s not part of my long-term goal like it is for Fitz.”

Her lips twist, and she hums. “Why do you suppose that is?”

I open the sleeve of crackers. “I’m not sure. I think it’s his job. He’s worried about something happening to him and leaving a family behind. Honestly, I think it’s more than that. Perhaps something that happened to him when he was younger.” My gaze lifts to gauge her reaction, to see if I’ve crossed a line.

She has none. “I can’t imagine what that would be. His parents died in a car accident. Sure, it was tragic, but that’s life.”

“What about his sister? Was she in the car too?”

Edith shoots me a funny look. “What do you mean? He doesn’t have a sister.”

“Oh.” I focus on the cheese, carefully placing a square onto the cracker. “Sorry. I must have misunderstood him.”

“He was thirteen when his parents were in a car accident. I raised him.”

“In San Bernardino?”

“Yes.” Her face tenses before she bites into a piece of sausage. “I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I get confused by what I think I know and what Calvin has told me.”

“What do you think you know?” I’m crossing a line, but in my defense, Fitz agreed I should visit Edith, and he didn’t specify which topics I should avoid.

“Well”—she squints at the box of food—“it’s hard to explain. This doesn’t feel like home.”

“I’m sure you probably lived in a house or apartment, not in assisted living.”

“No,” she says. “I mean San Bernardino. It doesn’t feel like home. And I can’t say why; it’s just a feeling. You know?”

I’m at a huge disadvantage. It’s like I’m talking to a patient giving me bits and pieces of their past, but I don’t know if what they’re telling me is true or an illusion.

And why is a car accident so off limits? Did he lie to me about his sister? That doesn’t make sense. Did he lie to Edith? Was Fitz’s sister in the car, and he didn’t want to upset Edith more than necessary if she didn’t remember his sister?

“Yes,” I say. “I think I know what you mean. Home is a feeling. And I don’t mean a house as much as a community. But I know that a stroke can leave you feeling lost and disconnected both physically and mentally. Perhaps it took away that feeling of home.”

“Perhaps.” She eyes me for a long moment. “When I met you at the restaurant, I thought you looked familiar. Maybe you’ve been my nurse.”

“That’s not possible. Sorry.”

“Have you worked in the ER or the intensive care unit?”

“I worked in the ER in Miami. Have you been to Miami?”

She chuckles. “Not that I remember. But I’m old, and I’ve suffered a stroke, so it’s possible. Do you like your job?”

“I do.”

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