Page 2 of The Strawberry Field
Michael spots me and waves from the corner table, his smile soft and sure. As if just seeing me is all he needs.
He stands, kisses my cheek.
“Hey,” I say.
“You’re here.”
“I am.”
We sit. He asks about my day, and I answer carefully.“Busy.”
I don’t tell him about the young man we intubated. The grandfather who coded. The nurse who cried quietly in the break room. We both need for me to leave those things at the hospital.
“What’s the occasion?” I ask.
He smiles.“I just wanted to take you somewhere nice.”
But something is different in his voice. Something uncertain. Worried.
I start to ask but the waiter arrives with my Bellini. We sip, and the taste is delicious, like fresh peaches and Italy in the summertime. And then Michael raises his glass.
“Sawyer.”
I meet his eyes, alarm zipping through me.
“I got offered a promotion,” he says, enthusiasm in his voice.“Chicago office. It’s huge. But the moment they told me, all I could think was—it doesn’t mean anything if you’re not there with me.”
He sets down his glass, and I notice his hands are trembling—just barely.
“I want a life with you, Sawyer Berkley. All of it. The messy, unpredictable, ER doctor kind. I want the late dinners, the exhausted mornings, the missed calls. I want… you. Sawyer, I want to spend my life with you.”
He reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out a small velvet box. Doesn’t open it.
“There’s no ring yet,” he says.“I want us to choose it together. But I couldn’t wait another day to ask you.”
He places the box between us.
“Will you marry me, Sawyer? Will you come with me to Chicago?”
I reach for the box before I speak, my fingers brushing it, brushing his. His hand twitches beneath mine.
And something flickers in me. Not fear. Not reluctance. Just something I can’t name. A seam pulling tight. A breath held too long, the weight of too many nights spent watching life and death trade places, leaving no room for promises.
“Michael. This is amazing. I’m so proud of you for getting the promotion. But leaving here. I just need some time. To think.”
He nods, and his shoulders relax slightly.“Of course. I want you to be sure.” He smiles again. Gentle. Hopeful.
“I’d love to build a life with you,” he says.“I’d love to be the man you come home to.”
I said yes, eventually. Not that night. Not with the kind of clarity or immediacy he deserved. But it doesn’t matter now.
Because a few weeks after that dinner, Michael woke up with a cough. Three days later, he was on a ventilator. Four days after that, he was gone.
“Sometimes running away is the bravest thing you’ll ever do.”—Beau Taplin
Chapter One
May 2020
