Page 99 of From Air

“I bet patients love you. You have a calmness about you. And a kind smile. I can see why my Calvin is so taken with you.”

“Aw, thank you, Edith.”

Again, her gaze lingers on me. “But it’s going to bug me. I know I’ve seen you before.”

I rarely forget a face, but I don’t like being the reason for her distress. So I’m taking a page from Fitz’s book and opting for a white lie.“You should talk to Calvin. Maybe you have been to Miami. Maybe there was a minor incident that required a trip to the ER. I feel like I would remember you, but I’ve seen a lot of patients, so I may be the one who is not making the connection.”

“I’ll do that,” she says, outwardly content to relax and try to figure it out later.

Chapter Thirty-One

I miss Fitz.

I miss Melissa.

Maren and Will.

Evette and Gary.

Living by myself seemed like a good idea. I thought I’d make friends at work. Instead, I have coworkers. Acquaintances. And Edith, who only makes me miss Fitz more. Maybe it’s the monotony of my life. Whatever it is, I feel lonely. And that loneliness makes me think nonstop about Fitz.

“Have you seen Samantha?” Dwight asks while I wait for him to take his medication.

He’s not eating today or interested in his meds. However, he’s more lucid than I have ever seen him. Focused eyes. Clear speech. If he weren’t assuming I’m his wife or daughter, I’d say he no longer belongs here.

I yawn. The couple down the hall from my apartment fought all night. “Who’s Samantha?”

“My sister. Your aunt.”

I guess I’m his daughter today. “I have not seen Samantha.”

“She has the prettiest brown eyes.” He points to the edge of one of his and draws a line down his face. “She has a scar from the corner of her eye to her jawbone.”

I trace the same line from my eye to my cheek.

He nods.

I clear my throat. “Interesting. My mom had a scar there too. How did your sister get hers?”

He squints, confusion creeping into his whole face. “I’m not sure. She’s older than me. I don’t remember it happening.” He rubs his temples.

“You’ve remembered a lot today. I wouldn’t worry about that little detail. Maybe you don’t remember because you were so young when it happened.”

“Did she tell you?”

I hand him his yogurt, hoping he’ll eat now. “No.”

“You should ask her when you see her.” He takes a bite of the yogurt as if on instinct. I’ve found he eats when he’s not forced to focus on his food.

He grins while swallowing. “She used to stutter, so our mom made her take singing lessons. She had an awful voice, but Mom was right. It fixed her stutter.”

What?

A wave of lightheadedness and nausea overtakes me. Did he really say that? “H-here. Take these.” I hand him his pills.

“You’re shaking.” He squints, accepting the pills.

I fist my hand and slide it into the pocket of my pants. “I haven’t eaten today. Can you just”—I nod toward his water—“take them for me, please?”

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