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“She’s behind me,” I whisper, praying I’m wrong.
He pulls his lips in between his teeth and gives me one quick nod.
Well, crap.
I spin around, pasting on my best fake smile. “Hi, Evie,” I say, praying she didn’t hear me, or maybe she misheard me, or maybe I can play it off like she heard me wrong. Maybe Graham can get me out of this one, too? I look over my shoulder and see that he’s gone. The rat.
She scowls at me. I’m not sure how to take it. This is her normal look. It doesn’t look extra scowl-y, does it?
“What can I do for you?” I say, keeping on with the smile. I have a feeling it’s turned from fake to cartoonish, like something you’d see on a scary doll or a clown. My cheeks hurt.
She huffs a breath out of her nose. “We have a pediatric patient in room two,” she says, her voice low and her tone unimpressed. Again, this is very typical Evie. “She’s presenting with anaphylaxis after accidentally ingesting cashews, and we’ve already given her a second dose of epinephrine. Dad is anxious to get home. Check in with them.”
“Sure,” I say. “Of course.”
She points to herself. “This crabby butt is taking lunch.” Then she walks off.
I reach up and rub my temples. Not my best day here at Aspen General.
Graham
Two Hours Before the Incident
STAYING HOME LAST NIGHT AND doing nothing for New Year’s Eve was not on my life bingo card. If two-years-ago Graham could see me now. Hell, if last-year Graham could see me now.
I hardly recognize myself. It was just me and a glass of water (I’m trying to drink less) toasting in the New Year. I’m not going to sugarcoat this. It was boring. And lonely.
Should I get a dog?
This is me attempting to be a better man. A different man. A ... boring man. I don’t want to be boring—it’s just an unfortunate side effect of this new life I’m creating, and because of that, I wanted to avoid all my old haunts. So the only option seemed to be for me to stay home.
Maybe I should get a dog. Especially if I’m going to be doing more of this in the future.
Also not on my bingo card? Seeing a therapist. But I am, and it’s been good for me. Again, old me would lose his mind. Gloria is her name, and staying home for New Year’s Eve wasn’t her idea. That was all me. She does give me assignments, though.
For example, last week she assigned me to make friends with someone from the opposite sex. Just a friend. Nothing else. No other ulterior motives or anything other than friendship. Just plain old friends doing friendly sorts of things.
It’s to practice building healthy boundaries and shifting my focus from superficial to something with depth. I guess. After so many years with crappy boundaries and too much of the superficial, I’m not exactly sure how to do that.
I don’t know how to just be me around a woman. I don’t even know if I know who me really is. My gosh. That’s an unfortunate realization.
I’m also not sure there’s a person in this mountain town that doesn’t know about my reputation or wouldn’t be one or two degrees away from finding out.
But ... earlier this afternoon, I had a conversation with Lucy Price. A real one. Sure, it was short, but I had like three opportunities where I could have—would have—flirted. I wanted to. I felt the words on the tip of my tongue. Old habits die hard and all that, and it’s been a long time since I’ve allowed myself to just chat with a woman. It wasn’t easy. Especially since Lucy has grown into a beauty, with her blond hair and her pretty, pink lips. She’s no longer that lanky girl who used to hang around when I was playing video games with her brother.
For the past six or possibly eight months, my way of dealing with this reinvention of myself has been to set very clear boundaries in my interactions with members of the opposite sex. I obviously can’t ignore them completely, but I say what needs to be said and then I move along.
It may not be healthy behavior, according to Gloria (hence, the challenge), but so far, it’s been working for me.
I’d planned to do that with Lucy; after I, on a whim, stepped in and helped her out with Evie, I told myself to walk away. But then she talked to me. And I talked back, and it felt really good to actually talk to someone and not just about work. Because the truth is, I haven’t really been having conversations with much of anyone. No one other than Gloria, that is. And my mom. But neither of them counts. One I pay to talk to me, and the other I’m related to.
It’s not like my chats with my mom run deep, anyway. More like updates on what she’s been up to, and the not-so-subtle questions about whether I’m ever going to talk to my dad. I have zero plans to do that right now. I highly doubt that will change anytime soon. Hopefully that won’t be my next assignment from Gloria.
I sit back in the tall, black desk chair and look at the office I use while on shift at the hospital. It’s impersonal, with plain white walls and a boring, natural-wood desk. But like the spa I work at a couple of times a week, I don’t have my own office. I do have one at the internal health clinic I help run, at least.
Why would a doctor be working three jobs, you ask? Student loans, that’s why. They are the financial equivalent of a dementor that just won’t quit. Sucking the life right out of me. I’m determined to pay them off as soon as I can because it’s an exorbitant amount. Did I have to attend a prestigious medical school across the country? No. Did I have to go to a top hospital in an expensive big city to do my residency? Also no. What can I say? I’ve made a lot of poor choices in my life. It’s kind of my theme. Graham Shackwell: he makes poor choices.
I’m trying to fix that.
