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She’s holding them to her chest like precious treasure. “You got the peanut butter M&Ms too?”
“Yeah, because you pour those in the trail mix, mix them up, and then there are two kinds of candy in every handful. And no raisins either because they’re gross—squishy and chewy like gum, but you’re supposed to swallow them.” I’m quoting the rant about the ‘perfect trail mix’ Janey made one afternoon when I came back from a stakeout to find her pouring a share-size bag of M&Ms into her trail mix and shaking it up. I’d been distracted by the bouncing of her breasts, but I’d heard what she was saying too.
She looks at the can of Red Bull and mumbles, “It’s the strawberry apricot one too.”
“Yeah.”
Of course it is. That’s the only one she drinks.
Staring at the can, she says, “A couple of summers ago, we had a patient who refused to eat anything but French fries and slushies. It didn’t meet her nutritional needs at all, but she told us that she was old and could eat what she wanted. So, her daughter brought her a strawberry apricot slushie with her fries one day, not realizing it had an energy drink in it.” Janey smiles at the memory, then laughs, “She was like the Energizer Bunny, talking and laughing and sitting up in the den. Then she started demanding one every day, so we made her a deal. For every swallow of protein drink she took, she’d get a drink of the slushie. Maybe it was wrong, and it shouldn’t have worked, but it did.”
She goes quiet, lost in the past, and Jackie adds, “Oh, I loved Mrs. James, and that daughter of hers was as caring as could be.”
Hearing the past tense, I ask, “What happened?”
Janey meets my eyes, and I can read the answer there before she says it. “She passed away. But her last days were better for it. Her daughter came every day to bring her that slushie, and she had enough energy to make those visits matter. And now, I’m addicted to these silly things, which are so bad for me, but they remind me that days are what you make of them.”
I can honestly say that I’ve never given more than two shits about what I’m drinking. Is it cold or hot when it should be? Alcoholic or not? Taste good? But not Janey. A simple drink is an experience to be appreciated, and she can find a way to smile about a beloved patient’s life while mourning their death.
“I’m sorry. It sounds like you did everything you could for her.” I don’t know what to say. Death isn’t part of my daily life the way it is for Janey, but I want her to know that I’m sorry she has to carry that grief.
She nods with a sad smile, then sighs, and the happy mask reappears as she pushes those feelings down.
“Lunch?” I prompt hopefully.
“No,” she answers firmly.
My heart sinks. I really fucked up this time. I fucked up so badly that the kindest woman in the world, the one who makes excuses for the worst of the worst, won’t forgive me. It hurts, but it’s warranted.
“Bring pizza at six thirty. Don’t be late.” She smiles, her eyes dancing with laughter, and I realize that she just got me. She read me, and she knew exactly what she was doing. She lifts to her toes, presses a quick peck of a kiss to my cheek, and spins to swish away down the hall.
I can feel the grin stretching my lips. She’s giving me a chance, and I’m going to make damn sure I’m worth it.
I’m halfway to the door when I hear a whoop of excitement from where Janey disappeared. Okay, she’s happy too. She’s mad, she’s justifiably unsure of what I did, but I’ll explain that. And then hopefully, we can start fresh.
CHAPTER 17
JANEY
Today has been interesting. I spent all weekend huddled up in my house, alternating between thinking about Cole—and I admit, peering through the blinds to stare at the house across the street—and reading my book. As expected, Tiffany fell for Dragul, but it’s not an easy situation. I mean, she doesn’t know vampires exist and Dragul needs to literally suck her blood to bind them as soul mates. Definitely some challenges to overcome there.
A lot like Cole and me.
Have I forgiven him for stalking me? No. I’m too nice, not stupid. And what he did is beyond any boundary I can imagine having. But when he showed up at work today, there was something in his eyes that called to me. He’s sorry. He said it, but that’s easily faked. His eyes, though . . . there was truth in them, so I’m willing to hear him out.
And he did bring my favorite snacks. A small but significant gesture. Could he have learned about those from spying on me? Yes. But he also quoted nearly word-for-word what I’d said about my trail mix concoction. It was a silly, throwaway ramble that most people would’ve ignored, but Cole listened and remembered. That makes me feel seen in an entirely different way than I did on Friday when I freaked out about his being across the street.
