Page 175 of Deep End

“And stuff.”

“Come on. You know I would throw myself under a bus for you.”

“You absolutely would not.”

“Well . . . under a tricycle.”

“Better.”

“Iwouldthrow myself under a bus for Scarlett, though.”

He can certainly relate to that.

He’s listening to a talk on ependymomas when his phone vibrates.

SCARLETT:Premise: love being a doctor.

SCARLETT:Love corpse stuff.

SCARLETT:However.

SCARLETT:I cannot wait for next year when we’re slightly less busy and can, you know.

SCARLETT:See each other.

Scarlett, he thinks.You have no idea.

He slips into bed after 3:00 a.m. He usually waits until he’s warmed up to pull her closer. When she’s the one to roll into him, though, all bets are off.

“Oh my god,” she mumbles in his chest. “You actuallyexist. I thought I’d made up a whole Swedish fiancé.”

He smiles into her hair, heart too big and too full. “Go back to sleep.”

“Nooo. Don’t wanna.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because?”

“You’re not going to be here when I wake up.”

He smiles against her temple. “Baby.”

“Yeah?”

“Remember how I covered Art’s shift last week?”

“Oh, no. Are you covering another?”

“Nope. Art is covering mine. Tomorrow.”

“What?” She pulls back. Her tired, dark eyes blink open. “It can’t be.”

“It can.”

“Surelyyou must be on call.”

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