Page 22 of Learning at 40

“I’m glad your dad wants to do this with you.” Glancing back at Oliver, I reach for his thin wrist and give it a little squeeze while bolstering a smile on my face. “I’m sorry I yelled at him. I’m not mad at him. I’ve just had a tough day.” I’m still wearing my purple scrubs and matching rubber clogs. All I want to do is remove this uniform and forget my shift for a little while, which feels like a betrayal to my patient. She deserves so much more.

My eyes shift to Oliver’s father once more. Mason walks up to Zack, and the sight of both men with their low-slung shorts and sweaty abs screams August in a calendar of hot men over forty. Returning my gaze to Oliver, I tug at his delicate wrist, playfully swinging his arm.

“Ollie, do you think Miss River could have a hug?”

Without a thought, he opens his arms and wraps his skinny limbs around my neck, and I breathe in the scent of him—suntan lotion and sticky skin. My eyes close as I inhale for a second. Ain’t nothing a hug can’t cure, my grandfather would say. If only it were the antidote for cancer.

“Thank you,” I whisper-choke before pressing him back by his bony shoulders. I kiss his sawdust forehead before standing upright again.

“Rough day at the office?” Mason teases.

“Something like that,” I say, watching Oliver run back to his brother.

“What do you do again?” Mason asks, his eyes scanning my attire. If he envisions naughty nurse and playing patient, he can think again.

“I’m an oncology nurse. Pediatrics.”

“Shit,” Zack mutters and lowers his eyes. Mason drops the measuring tape he was holding.

“I’m sorry,” Mason mumbles. I hadn’t mentioned it yesterday because of Anna. When I learned Ben died of cancer.

Trevor walks around his dad next. His devilish face matches the hard edge of his father’s, and the resemblance is striking. He’s the tougher of the two boys, and he knows his position. He’s the top dog to Oliver’s puppy.

“We can take it down if you don’t like it,” the child offers of the start they’ve made on a new improved, definitely safer, tree platform. His suggestion sounds genuine and not like a ploy of opposites—saying one thing and hoping for another. At seven, he recognizes the error of what they’ve done.

Slowly, I exhale. “It’s okay,” I whisper, fighting the thickness suddenly clogging my throat at his heartfelt offer. Forcing another smile, I add, “I can’t wait to see it finished.”

I take another deep breath and point over my shoulder. “I’m just going to shower and nap.” Zack’s brows pinch as I make brief eye contact with him, and my vision blurs a bit. I tell myself exhaustion is the reason I’m on the verge of tears. Quickly, I turn around and take steps toward the sliding glass doors, but before I reach it, my wrist is circled.

“Hey,” Zack’s soft voice stops my retreat. Keeping my back to him, I close my eyes, letting one tear slip free. Brusquely, I brush at my cheek. I will not let him see me cry. Pediatric oncology is not for the faint of heart, and I’m typically stronger than this. I’m used to struggles and loss with the disease. Today’s just been a difficult day.

“Won’t you turn around?” he asks, his voice remaining low and encouraging, but I shake my head.

“I’m just tired.” My voice cracks, giving away the sob I’m struggling to contain. He drops his hold on my wrist, but his presence becomes more apparent. The heat of his warm chest seeps through the clothing on my back. His scent overwhelms me. He matches his child with the fragrance of sunshine and exercise.

“We overstepped. I’m sorry.”

I wave a hand at him over my shoulder. “It’s fine.”

His hands come to my shoulders and rub down my arms. “I don’t like that you aren’t looking at me, angel.”

The endearment turns the lump in my throat to a boulder. “Please, Zack,” I whisper. I can’t deal with him right now. Sometimes in life, there are just bigger things than kisses and wishes.

“I should have asked permission. We’ll stop for today and let you rest.”

“Thank you,” I choke, stepping free of his touch when what I really want is to collapse against him and absorb his strength. Visions of his naked chest and the hint of hair leading lower in those shorts will haunt my dreams. It’s just the distraction I need after I nap.

+ + +

Later that evening, I’m sitting in my yard once more. It’s my favorite thing about this place. Off in the distance, the sun is lowering to a golden yolk while streams of yellow and orange filter through the darkening sky. I sip a glass of wine in hopes of continuing the calm I mustered after a hot shower and a decent nap.

The late afternoon rest will screw up my sleep pattern, but I’m also used to a flip-flopping schedule. Two days on. One day off. Morning, morning, and then night, night . It’s a cycle I don’t mind. I typically pick up additional shifts as I’m a single woman without much more going on in my life. Still, I appreciate what I have—a steady job and a decent home that I own outright.

My thoughts drift to Quincy. After years of adult patients, I needed a change. Labor and delivery would have been a happier position. Life versus death should have been the option, but with decades of oncology practice, I stayed within the field and just moved from elderly patients to a younger set.

Slowly, I sip my wine and think of little Jessica. She’s a spitfire, so to see her defeated earlier today threw me off. She’d had some disturbing news after months of treatments. Her parents were understandably wrecked. Life is so unfair sometimes; death is even more unjust.

Briefly, I think of all the people I’ve lost. Quincy. Grandfather.