Page 117 of Saving Forever with the Hockey Captain

"You never told me."

"I didn't need to."

***

Lunch stretches longer than either of us intends. Neither of us seems particularly interested in leaving. The cafeteria grows busier around us. Someone drops a tray near the beverage station, earning sympathetic hoots and applause when nothing breaks.

Two nurses hurry through carrying sandwiches they clearly don't have time to eat.

***

Outside, snow continues falling in slow, lazy flakes. I stir the last spoonful of soup around my bowl before finally setting my spoon down. Across the table, Jamie watches the snow for a moment, then looks back at me.

"Can I ask you something?"

I smile over the rim of my mug. "You've become dangerous with that question."

"I'll take that as permission."

"You usually do."

He grins. "Fair."

For a moment he seems to search for the right words. "When you picture yourself... ten years from now... what do you see, and why?"

The question catches me completely off guard.

"I've never been asked that."

"Really?"

I shake my head. "Usually, people ask where I want to work. What specialty I want. What hospital I'll end up in." I smile to myself. "They don't usually ask why."

"I am."

His answer is so simple, so sincere, it makes something inside me soften.

"When I was little," I begin, laughing quietly at the memory, "I used to line my dolls up across my bedroom floor."

Jamie's smile widens. "You were already treating patients?"

"Oh yes. My poor stuffed bear had surgery at least once a week."

"What was wrong with him?"

"Usually whatever I happened to be reading about."

"I hope he recovered."

"He was remarkably resilient."

We both laugh, and I wrap my hands around the warmth of my mug before continuing.

"My dad used to tell me something. He'd say, 'Helping someone survive is wonderful.'" I can still hear his voice saying the words. "'Helping them believe they can live again... that's extraordinary.'"

Jamie nods slowly.

"Smart man."