Page 92 of The Heart We Guard
“Do you read?” Quinn asks.
“Don’t answer,” Raven says. “She’ll have you sucked into her book club before you know it.”
“I tend to read more academic papers. But I recently readEndell Street, about two pioneering women doctors who were also suffragettes. They started a military hospital during World War One that was staffed from head to toe with women. Female surgeons, doctors, nurses. All of it. They had such a high success rate and created such an atmosphere of care that soldiers weredesperate to be sent there instead of other male-run military hospitals.”
Quinn and Raven both look at each other with a grin.
“Yeah, you might not like our book club if that’s your idea of a fun read,” Quinn says. “We like straight-up smut. Romance books.”
I know she means it playfully, and when I dissect every word she just said at three o’clock in the morning, I’m sure I’ll realize she’s making more fun of herself than me, but my likes never quite line up with anyone else’s.
“Yeah, I’m not sure those are quite my jam. But I can highly recommendEndell Street. Those women were trailblazers. Did you know women doctors in the early nineteen hundreds weren’t even trained on male anatomy because it was assumed they’d only ever treat women?”
Smoke nudges Butcher. “Good job that isn’t true anymore. You’d have died in that parking lot if Greer hadn’t been there.”
I smile at that. “It wasn’t that severe. I mean, if you’d done nothing, he might have bled out in the next five or six hours.”
Butcher shakes his head. “Yeah, but I would have likely ended up in prison if I’d gone into a hospital, which is as good as being dead anyway.”
Wraith and Smoke chuckle, and they tap the necks of their beer bottles together, as if in agreement, but I don’t find the joke funny.
Outside of being in the same place at the same time as this group of people, I don’t think I have much in common with any of them. But I find myself wanting to meet them in the middle.
I’ve never loved romance books because I can’t relate to their lightning-bolt attraction. They reinforced what I used to think about myself…that there was something wrong with me. I never lusted after anyone, never felt that soul-deep yearning to strip a man. And yet, everyone I read about, did.
I struggle with romantic comedies for a similar reason. Because I’ve struggled my whole life with feeling awkward, I don’t find getting laughs at a woman trying her best, and failing, even remotely entertaining.
I’m considerably more educated than everyone here, which, I know, doesn’t make me a better person, but when I try to raise academic subjects, they seem to fall flat. No one was interested in the story ofEndell Street, while I find overlooked women in history fascinating.
“I finally got my tattoo,” Quinn says, lifting her T-shirt to expose a large amount of skin on her side. There’s a lot of ink to take in. But she points to one that is swirls of smoke that shape into the letterS.
“Oh,” Raven says. “It’s so pretty. I want one.”
Wraith laughs. “No, you don’t, Blue.”
“I mean, she could get one if she wanted,” I say.
Butcher squeezes my shoulder, but Wraith winks. “Cool your heels. She can get whatever she wants. But I’ve seen her close to passing out because of a splinter. Not sure she really has the fortitude to get something that involves lots of little needles.”
Raven crosses her arms, but grins. “But for you, I’d try. I could do it. I’m sure I could. Maybe a small W somewhere on my body.”
He leans over and whispers something in her ear that makes her blush.
In return, she slaps his chest playfully. “I’m absolutely not getting my first tattoo there.”
I find it hard to contain my perspective on the possibility of infections and making permanent decisions about body ink that you might regret later.
It’s a weird balance. I like them and find them friendly, but I have so little in common with them. Maybe it’s the fact I’m a decade older, and as a surgeon, I’ve seen the side effects ofso many of the things they enjoy. It’s rare, but I’ve seen tattoos cause burning pain during MRI exams, which then interferes with the quality of the image.
And while it hasn’t happened to me, one of the co-workers I sometimes chatted to in the cafeteria, who works in oncology, told me she treated a person with advanced skin cancer because the signs were hidden by a full back panel.
Or maybe I’m just being a judgmental bitch who finds it hard to relax, and this is why I don’t have many friends.
Just as I conclude I’m the problem, my phone rings, and I see Dad’s name pop up on my screen. A video call. If I don’t answer it, I know he’ll keep trying and trying.
“Sorry, I need to take this,” I say, and I can see the concern in Butcher’s eyes.
“Dad,” I say as I walk around to the front of the house, where a single light warms the porch. I sit on the step and pull my jacket around me to protect myself from the bite of the cold away from the fire.
