Page 64 of Dr. Lillian Harrington
“Now I think it’s what makes everything else possible.”
Lillian smiled. “Look at you, getting philosophical on holiday.”
Rebecca’s tone turned dry. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”
They both laughed — the sound easy and shared, echoing lightly through the room.
After a while, Lillian said, “Do you ever think about where we were a year ago?”
Rebecca’s thumb traced absent circles against her skin. “Often.”
“It feels… unbelievable. How much changed.”
Rebecca looked at her, eyes steady. “You changed me.”
Lillian’s breath caught. “I didn’t?—”
“You did,” Rebecca said, her voice gentle but firm. “You didn’t mean to. You just kept showing up. You didn’t ask me to be anyone else.”
Lillian leaned in until their foreheads touched. “You did the work, Rebecca. You let me in.”
Rebecca smiled — small, quiet, but real. “Let’s call it a joint venture.”
Outside, the moon rose — a thin silver arc above the dark water. The night was soft, warm, alive with sound. They stayed on the sofa until the candles burned low, talking about everything and nothing: surgeries that had challenged them, new residents they’d mentor when they got back, the future that stretched out ahead — busy, imperfect, shared.
There was no talk of moving, no grand promises of leaving their work behind. Medicine was part of both of them — the pulse in their blood, the rhythm of their lives. But here, on this small island, for these brief days, they had found balance: the space between saving lives and simply living their own.
Later, when the night grew deep and the breeze cooled, they walked down to the beach. The sand was warm beneath their feet, the water lapping gently at their ankles. Rebecca carried her shoes in one hand, Lillian’s fingers laced through the other.
They walked in silence, stars mirrored in the dark water, until Lillian said softly, “You’re different out here.”
Rebecca glanced at her. “Different how?”
“Looser. Softer.”
“I suppose that’s your influence.”
“Hmm. Maybe Hawaii’s.”
Rebecca smiled. “Hawaii doesn’t challenge me nearly as much as you do.”
“Good.” Lillian stopped, turning to face her. “I like keeping you on your toes.”
Rebecca’s hand slid around her waist, drawing her closer. “Consider that a full-time position.”
The kiss that followed was slow and sure — not the desperate kind they’d shared in darker moments, but the steady, unhurried sort that spoke of trust. The ocean broke around their feet, the air salt-sweet.
When they pulled apart, Lillian rested her forehead against Rebecca’s. “Promise me something?”
“Depends on the terms.”
“Promise me you’ll keep taking breaks. Real ones. No emails. No calls. Just… this. Every once in a while.”
Rebecca looked at her, the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth. “I can promise to try.”
Lillian laughed, tugging gently on her hand. “I’ll take it.”
They walked back toward the villa, their silhouettes long against the moonlit sand. Inside, the candles had guttered out, leaving only the silver glow of the night. Rebecca paused at the doorway, glancing back at the ocean — at the horizon that seemed endless.
