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“Hey, Will. Sorry I’m late.”
I snap my head up, ready to crack a joke to make Hope smile, but feel whatever hope I was holding on to extinguish.
“You don’t look that happy to see me,” Tessa says, coming into the office and taking the seat across from me. She has Hope’s eyes and Hope’s smile. Without Hope’s bright energy to light it up, it’s just a beautiful face.
“I’m just surprised. I thought Hope was the point person on this—to keep the surprise.”
Tessa shrugs. “No one’s talking about much besides Maeve right now, so I felt pretty safe to just go about my business. It’s a shame it takes a witch hunt to get some privacy in this place. When Maeve leaves, it’ll be ten times worse, I bet.”
“Maeve is leaving?”
Tessa nods. “Hope says she’s leaving tonight.”
“Hope says?” Something desperate has crept into my voice, but I don’t care.
“I just spoke to her. She’s with Maeve. You know Hope, loyal to the end.”
“Yeah. To the end.” Pain I have no right to strikes the back of my throat.
Tessa’s cool gaze runs over me, and in that moment, I’m sure she’s the inspiration for the phrase “if looks could kill.” “You’re an idiot, you know that.”
“I know. I didn’t mean to hurt her. She—”
Tessa makes a noise from the back of her throat and holds up a finger. “I don’t care what you meant to do. I only care about what you did and how you’re going to make it better.”
“She’s not going to forgive me.” Thinking about the extent of my screwup makes bile churn in my stomach again.
Tessa leans forward, her forearms on my desk, and looks at me without pretense. Directness must be genetic. “She’s hurt, but she’ll forgive you. She’s ...” Tessa scrunches up her nose. “She doesn’t quit on people she cares about.”
Her gaze slips behind me to the two suitcases I have stacked behind the desk. The ones waiting to go to LA, where I accepted the job for the new show. “The only thing she won’t forgive you for is leaving without saying goodbye.”
37
HOPE
A bouquet of lavender roses, my favorite color of rose, sits on my workstation when I return from dealing with a patient. My heart beats a little faster, which feels like a betrayal—until I read the card. Then I wish all my heart felt was betrayal.
Congratulations on your move. You’re going to do amazing things.
On the back—PS: We’ll miss you.
P.P.S.: We heard Lydia’s friend loved your essay. You better come back to celebrate with us when you get your acceptance letter.
I tuck the card into my pocket. Now that I officially have a plan to leave Kingsette, the struggles of living in a small town feel less important than the joys. A boss who will push you to be your best self. A coffee place that knows exactly how many sugars you take—even if you have to take them with a side of gossip. A safety net, because you’ll always have a place to land.
The final patient’s room I enter is a familiar one, and even without checking the chart, I know it’s Mrs.Matthews. The wife and mother with a brain tumor.
Unlike the first time I entered this patient’s room, which swirled with silence and sickness, I’m met with bright overhead lights and a man and woman sitting up in bed. IVs trail out of her arm. Her skinis pale and lacking luster. But her eyes are bright, and she’s alert and happy to see me.
“Mrs.Matthews,” I say. “You look great.”
A hand self-consciously reaches up to touch the bandage on her shaved head. “All things considered, I feel great too. We’re going home.”
“As soon as the doctors give you one more examination,” I say, confirming the order in the chart. “I just need to take your vitals one more time too.”
Mr.Matthews makes space for me, and I work, checking her blood pressure and temperature and reassuring her that everything is normal.
“The doctor should be in shortly. Can I get you anything before I go?”
