Page 97 of Ten Day Affair
“Not always. I’ve been so focused on the vote itself, I didn’t think about what comes after.”
“You mean what this means for us?”
“Do you know? What happens to our spots?”
Kip hesitates. “My understanding is that the residency program gets cut. We'll have to transfer.”
The air leaves my lungs. “Transfer.”
“Yeah. They’re saying the hospital won’t technically close. But it won’t be what it is now, a traditional hospital.”
The words make my stomach twist. I push back from the counter, needing space. I pace to the window, stare out at nothing.
I always wondered what it'd be like to be at another hospital, who I’d be if I weren’t Samuel and Evelyn Taylor’s daughter. I wondered what it'd feel like if every attending didn’t know my last name.
And now, the one thing I thought might give me room to breathe is sucking all of the oxygen out of my future.
“I thought I wanted that. A chance to start fresh, somewhere I could be my own doctor. Not just the girl who came back home.”
Kip’s quiet.
“But now it’s real. And it’s not what I want. The idea that the memorial for my mom will no longer exist guts me.”
I blink hard, but it’s too late. My eyes burn, and my throat closes up.
Kip crosses the kitchen and wraps his arms around me, but doesn’t say a thing. He just holds on.
And I let him.
For a minute, I don’t have to pretend I’m fine.
TWENTY-TWO
Cole
I’ve walked the length of the kitchen so many times that the wood grain is starting to wear down.
Still nothing.
No knock, no message, no sign of her.
I glance at the clock again. It’s been over an hour since she said she was walking over. Make that seventy-eight minutes, exactly, since I got the text. But who’s counting?
Kip pulled into her driveway about forty-five minutes ago, and I figured that would hold her up. I told myself to be patient and not act like a crazy person.
It's been fifteen minutes since he left, and still nothing. No sign of her, no text to tell me she got held up.
The house is silent. There's no music or television. I haven't opened my computer or answered any calls. My life is essentially on hold until I get to talk to her.
I didn't think I'd see or talk to her again before leaving, but when I got the text, I thought maybe we could have some closure, whatever the hell that means.
Now I don’t know what to think. Was the text just to fuck with me, a form of punishment for how I hurt her?
I press my hand to the back of my neck and step out onto the deck. Watching the surf roll in is a nice change of pace from my stuffy kitchen and silent house.
That's when I realize a walk will do me good. Maybe a little adrenaline will help me clear my head. If she comes while I'm gone, then, so be it. I put my phone in my pocket just in case she calls.
I grab a hat from the rack outside of my sliding glass door, leave my shoes on the deck, and head down the stairs. My feet move on instinct, and the soft, white sand feels good on my skin.
