Ah. A note from Henry.
Hey,
I took Zach out for a quick walk. Needed to shake the noise loose. Back soon.
H
Needed to shake the noise loose.
I get it.
I walk back into the master bedroom and take a quick shower. Then I dress in jeans and a yellow T-shirt and return to the kitchen.
Still no Henry and Zach.
I could make some breakfast, I guess. Surprise him when he gets back. But I don’t know how long he’ll be gone. Eggs take about two minutes to cook, and they get cold quickly. Best to wait.
I boil some water for tea, make a quick mugful, and then sit down at the table with my tablet and notes.
Scalpel handle number three. Adsons with teeth. Kelly, Crile, Metz.
Henry.
The way he held me last night.
The ragged sound of his breathing when the dreams found him.
Focus.
I switch to knot practice with the suturing thread I brought. Loop, twist, pull flat, snug, tails even. On the third one, the loop slips. It shouldn’t. I redo it. The fourth is better, the fifth clean, the sixth too tight, the seventh a mess.
“Fuck!” I say out loud.
My phone is face down by my notes. It’s been quiet all morning, which is good.
Lance’s last text is still there.
Checking in again. Still up for coffee?
I don’t owe him anything. He doesn’t owe me anything.
A soft whine at the door. Zach. I open it, and he trots in, drinks from his bowl, and then heads to the rug by the hearth and collapses with a thud. Henry follows a beat later, hair windswept. He glances at my spread of notes, at the failed knot.
“Want breakfast?” he asks.
“Sure. There’s hot water for tea.” I clear my throat. “I was going to make something, but I didn’t know how long you’d be.” I gaze out the window. “I figure I should get on the road pretty soon.”
“It’s early yet,” he replies.
True, and he has a longer drive than I do. Then again, he doesn’t have to leave. This is his family’s place. He can probably do his job remotely. He doesn’t have surgical seminar tomorrow. We’re starting work with cadavers. You kind of have to be in the physical space to do that.
“You want me to cook?” I ask.
“No, don’t break your concentration. I’ll make us something.”
I nod.
He pulls out a cast-iron skillet and lays strips of bacon in it. Then he slices from a loaf of sourdough. A moment later, I inhale the delicious scent of smoky pork.
