"He's a good man. He works hard. I'm very lucky. You should be very proud."
"I am." Dad's smile wrinkled the skin around his eyes. "Did Josh ever tell you about the time he grabbed the neighbor's horse fence and pissed himself?"
"We gotta get back to Mom's," I said, rubbing my hand roughly over my hair.
Avery struggled to keep a straight face.
"You'll be back before you leave?" His question was more of a warning. I nodded, letting him pull me in for another hug.
Avery spoke up as he released me and embraced her. "I will make sure of it."
"All right, old man. That's enough. Let my girl go."
Dad stepped back as he looked us over, nodding approvingly.
"You did good, son. You did real good."
"Thanks, Dad, but I already knew that," I said with a grin. I hooked my arm around Avery's shoulders and walked with her back to the car.
After stuffing ourselves with sashimi, teriyaki chicken, and chicken fried rice around Mother's kitchen table, Avery went into my old bedroom to take a quick shower.
Mom was stumbling around the kitchen while Avery dressed for bed. Avery groaned from the bathroom, and I knocked on the door.
"Everything okay?"
"Fine!" she said with the chipper voice she only seemed to have around my mom.
I joined Mom in the kitchen, watching her pour herself another drink.
"Hey. Why don't you ease up since Avery's here," I chided.
"Mind your business," she grumbled.
Avery appeared, forcing a smile. She waved me away when she saw the concern on my face.
"You look a little green, young lady," Mother said, talking with her glass of bourbon.
"Fine," Avery said, sitting at the table. "I feel fine."
"Well, you don't look it," Mom snapped.
"Jesus Christ, Mom. C'mon."
Avery shook her head, silently asking me to stand down.
"How was the drive down?" Mom asked. "Besides the constant bathroom breaks, of course," she said, eyeing me.
"Fine," Avery said, pressing her lips together. A thin sheen of sweat formed on her skin. She swallowed.
"Baby," I said, reaching across the table.
"I'm f--" Before she could finish, Avery covered her mouth and ran down the hall to my room. Sounds of her heaving traveled to the kitchen, and Mom shot me a smug look.
I chased after my girlfriend, stopping in the bathroom doorway. The mirror was still fogged from her shower.
"Go away, please," she whimpered, spitting into the toilet. "Oh, God ..." She heaved again.
"You were feeling fine earlier. Maybe it was the candy?"
"Food poisoning. Has to be the Japanese," she said before hurling again. "I'm dying. I'm going to die."
"I'll get you a cool rag."
"Thank you. Then please leave. I don't want you to see this. It's going to get ugly really fast."
I rubbed her back, knowing exactly what she meant. I wouldn't want her to see me like that, either.
I fetched her a cold rag and then shut the door behind me. "I'm going to check on you in ten minutes," I said through the door.
"Please don't."
I pulled back my old gray and black comforter, and then placed a garbage can on the floor. Mother was still in the kitchen, watching me search through the cabinets for a clean glass.
"For fuck's sake, Mom. Glasses."
"Watch your language," she said. "Water bottles in the fridge."
"You have something to say?" I asked, grabbing two bottles of Aquafina.
"I didn't say anything."
I spun around to see her struggling to light her cigarette from a match, her eyes nearly closed.
I sat the bottles on the counter and took the matches from her. She watched me with a frown and heavy eyes as I effortlessly tore one away from the matchbook and lit it for her.
Leaning toward the flame, she puffed and then exhaled, enveloping her face in a cloud of smoke before inhaling and choking out a cough.
"I know something is on your mind. Spit it out."
"She's sick, huh?" Mother blew out a cloud of smoke and I waved it away.
"She'll be fine by morning. It's been a long trip. The cigarette smoke isn't going to help, if you're wondering."
"I wasn't," she said, blowing out another puff. "So, this is why you're really here? You got another girl knocked up and now you want my help." Still the mother I remembered. After Kayla had drowned, she didn't enjoy life sober.
I laughed once. "You can't be serious. How could you help anyone in this shape?"
"I'm not pregnant." Avery's voice was quiet.
I spun around to see her leaning against the kitchen wall in one of my T-shirts and basketball shorts, her chin beginning to quiver.
"Avery," I breathed. I grabbed the bottles of water and walked toward her. When I reached out for her, she held up her hand to keep me back.
She took a water from my hand. "I feel better. I'm going to bed."
"I'll come with you," I said.
I glared over my shoulder at my mother, hoping it would be the last time I'd have to look at her.
Following Avery to my room, I twisted the lock on the knob while I watched her climb under the covers.
"Avery, I'm not sure what you heard, but ..." I shook my head, unsure of what I was going to say.
"Don't." There was no anger in her voice, just exhaustion. She stilled, her back to me.
I peeled off my shirt and then kicked off my shoes and jeans. When I slipped into bed, I was careful not to bounce her around. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, but I didn't want to make things worse.
"This was obviously before we met." She glanced over her shoulder and I closed my eyes. She'd heard it all.
I nodded in confirmation.
"Then hold me." I slowly wrapped my arms around her, pulling her back against my chest. Her body stiffened, but she didn't pull away.
She was silent for several moments. Seconds had never passed by so slowly. She breathed in, and then said the best thing I'd ever heard.
"I love you."
I pressed my forehead against her back. "I love you, too."
"We should probably talk about it ... when you're ready."
I nodded. "I'm ready." I took a deep breath. "Her name was Brooke. A buddy from high school named Daniel introduced me to her one night at a party the summer after we graduated. Daniel went to an alternative school. He'd been held back twice, barely graduated, already had a kid somewhere--bad news all around. Brooke was Daniel's tutor through most of that. She'd just finished her freshman year of college, so of course I thought I was hot shit when she started flirting with me.
"Daniel broke it to me that she was pregnant a month later." I breathed out a laugh, still in disbelief. "We'd only spoken once since that night. Neither of us was interested in a relationship, but suddenly, we were attached for life. I never pressured her to get rid of it. I never even brought it up."
Avery tightened my arms around her.
"I was a scared kid, sure, but never once did I try to sway her one way or the other. Daniel was dying to swoop in and be her savior, constantly offering his shoulder to cry on. I went to her first appointment, and then ... I freaked. I needed space. She wanted me to be her rock, but I didn't know how. We got into a huge fight. We both said things we didn't mean. I left town for one night and turned off my phone.
"When I turned it on the next morning, she'd left me a message. She was going to a clinic. I tried to call her. I called her a dozen times, but she wouldn't ... she wouldn't fucking answer," I said, feeling suffocated by the memory. "I got stuck in traffic, and by the time I got there, she'd ... she ... it was over. It was done. She never spoke to me again."
The room was so quiet it hurt.
"Avery?"
"I love you."
My breathing faltered and my eyes burned. "There's more."
"I'll still love you."
I gritted my teeth, tr
ying not to break down, and then told her everything about the day Kayla died, and everything after.
I spoke about my childhood and college and everything in between. Avery listened and loved me through it all. I talked until my voice felt like sandpaper, until I fell asleep with her in my arms.
When I woke, my hand roamed over cold, bare sheets. My heart sank at the sudden realization that I was alone.
Tossing off the comforter, I pulled on my jeans, tugging my shirt over my head. I nearly tripped while slipping on my sneakers. My legs wouldn't move fast enough as I tried to hurry from my room. Once I reached the living room, I froze at the sound of Avery's voice.
She hadn't left me. I spun around to see Avery and my mother sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and chatting.
"Morning," Avery called out to me. She pulled one of her knees to her chest before taking a sip from her mug. "I made coffee."
I rubbed my hand hard against the back of my neck, struggling to process what was happening. Not only had Avery stayed, but she seemed to be having a pleasant conversation with my mother.
Walking across the room, I bent down and pressed my lips against her forehead, letting them linger for an extra second.
"How are you feeling?" I asked.
"Better." Her sweet smile put me more at ease.
I stood, glancing over at Mom. She looked everywhere but at me, trying to avoid eye contact. It was nice to know she hadn't lost her conscience.
Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, I filled it with steaming coffee and sat next to Avery. She explained to my mother what she did for a living. As Avery described nursing school and her shifts in the ER, Mom listened intently and seemed to actually enjoy it.
It was hard to pay attention to their words as I watched Avery in awe, wondering what I had done to deserve someone so understanding.
We would be different on the way home ... our home. The next step was to ask her to marry me. I just had to restrain myself from proposing the second we walked in the door.
An hour had passed since Quinn had radioed ahead that they were bringing a teenage boy in critical condition to St. Ann's. When the ambulance arrived, Quinn and Deb pushed the stretcher through the ambulance bay doors. Josh was straddling the patient on the stretcher, chanting numbers as he counted chest compressions. I helped Deb with vitals as Dr. Rosenberg rushed in.
Forty minutes after the patient arrived, I reached up and grazed a cloth across Josh's sweaty brow, noticing the green and red decorations on the ceiling.
"You need another break?" I asked, tending to the head wound.
Josh shook his head.
"You've only had one," I said with labored breathing. Sweat had glued my bangs to my face, and the room was buzzing with organized chaos.
Josh refused to give up, still on the stretcher, using his entire upper body to help his arms ward off muscle fatigue.
"He's gone," Dr. Rosenberg said. "I'm calling it."
"No, he's not!" Josh said, continuing.
The ECG picked up a single sinus rhythm, and then another peak blinked on the monitor. Everyone froze.
Deb held her fingers to the teen's neck. "No pulse."
"Resuming compressions," Josh said, placing the heels of his hands in the proper position and working even harder. "He's coming back. He's gonna come back."
"What are you doing, Josh?" Dr. Rosenberg asked. "It's a GSW to the head."
"It's Christmas!" Josh snapped, panting. "He's a fucking kid, and his mom's waiting on us to come tell her he's going to be okay!"
"Fine, one more," the doctor said, pointing to me. "Epinephrine."
I flicked the preloaded syringe twice and then stabbed the IV port with the needle, administering one milligram of epinephrine.
Josh continued compressions for three more minutes, and then Deb checked for pulse and rhythm.
Deb's brows pulled together. "Asystole, Doctor."
Josh leaned over the boy again, positioning his hands. "Resuming compressions."
"Enough, Josh," Dr. Rosenberg ordered.
The staff's eyes bounced between Josh and the doctor.
Dr. Rosenberg yanked off his gloves. "Time of death, one twenty-two a.m."
Josh's jaws twitched under his skin. He'd heard the doctor, but ignored him and continued compressions.
I glanced at Dr. Rosenberg, worrying that if he felt like he'd lost control of his ER, Josh would lose his job.
I reached out and touched Josh's arm, leaving a bloody handprint on his skin. "Josh, he's gone. Enough."
Josh leaned back on his knees, winded. Sweat poured from his hairline. He used his forearm to wipe his brow, smearing dark blood across his skin.
We all looked at the monitor, hoping for a miracle. Nothing but a flat line streamed across the monitor.
"Goddamn it! Stupid fucking kid!" Josh yelled.
"Josh," I said, standing with my arms out to my side, my scrubs covered in blood.
Josh kicked the tray table, knocking it over, his eyes wild.
Everyone but me backed away. "Avery! Out!" I yelled.
Josh shouldered his way out of the room as the rest of the staff stood around the boy, just fourteen.
The X-ray tech backed out of the room with her portable machine, and the respiratory therapist followed. Deb printed out a final rhythm strip showing the flat line, and one by one, staff members removed tubes and began cleaning up the mess.
"I'll go speak with the family," Dr. Rosenberg said.
"Doctor," I said, stopping him. "Might want to change first."
He looked down, noted the mess on his coat, and then nodded.
"I'll finish up," Deb said.
I pulled off my shoe covers and gloves and nodded to her, wiping my face with the back of my wrist. I walked out of the room, down the hall, and turned the corner, looking for Josh. He was sitting on the break room floor, his back against the wall.
I knelt in front of him. "You can't do that."
"I know," he growled.
"Look at me," I said. His head snapped up. "You can't pull that in my ER, understand?"
His shoulders fell and he looked away, nodding. His jaw shifted to the side. "I'm sorry. It's just that it's ... it's fucking Christmas. He blew his brains all over the Christmas tree with his mom's new pistol."
"I know," I said, wishing I could say something more comforting, but there was nothing rational about what had happened to that child.
He wiped his wet cheek and sucked in a breath, his face crumbling. "I feel like a fucking pussy."
"It's okay. Everyone deals differently."
"Baby," he said, reaching out to wipe my face.
I leaned away from him. "I've got it. I'm going to get cleaned up. Make sure you debrief at the station."
I stood, looking down at the large crimson splotches on my scrubs.
"Yeah?" I confirmed.
He nodded again, indignant. "Yeah, yeah, all right."
"See you at home."
Josh's bottom lip trembled for a moment, and then he sniffed, stood, and shook it off.
We all had our reasons for doing this kind of work. Josh's compassion ran deeper than even he knew. He didn't do it for the money or the glory. We had shitty hours and even shittier pay, but at the end of the day, Josh could go to bed knowing he had helped someone, and for him, there were few things more important than that.
The women's locker room was decorated in cheap red and green decorations. Most of the lockers bore pictures of the nurses' children or nieces and nephews. Mine was empty but for one black and white photo of Josh and me at Quinn's mom's house on Thanksgiving. I walked past the lockers and into the bathroom, pulling my scrub top over my head and tossing it into the red biohazard box.
In the mirror, I noticed dark spatters and smears on my face, and the blood that had bled through to my sports bra.
My eyes stared back at me, dull green with dark circles underneath. Pieces of blonde hair had fallen from my ponytail. The rest of the staff was a
mess, too. We had all worked hard the last hour to save that boy, but sometimes, no matter what we did, we couldn't fix everyone. Not even Josh.
I pulled off my scrub bottoms and then turned on the faucet, watching the sink turn red while I washed my face and arms. I dried off, feeling the weight of disappointment and heartbreak, knowing not even a fraction of what I was feeling could be compared to the loss felt by the boy's mother.
I gripped the sink, choking out a cry. After that first sob, my entire body shook, and I gave myself five minutes to grieve for the boy I never knew. My watch counted down the minutes, and then I washed my face again and dressed in fresh scrubs, ready to do my best to help the next person in need.
Michaels pushed through the door, her eyes puffy and red. "Good work, Jacobs."
"Thanks," I said, unable to make eye contact. I walked past the room, the doors closed and family present. Just as the mother began to wail, I grabbed another chart and pushed through the double doors to the waiting room. "Charles?" I called and smiled as a woman pushed her elderly husband's wheelchair toward me.
Josh was waiting for me after my shift. He stood, still in his navy-blue T-shirt with the white logo and navy-blue cargo pants, bundled in a matching puffy coat. He pulled his ball cap low over his eyes, huffing out a cloud of crisp air when I approached.
"Hey," I said, crossing my arms over my middle. "How long have you been out here?"
He shoved his hands into his pockets. "I had Quinn drop me after we clocked out. Risking sounding like a huge vag again, I didn't want to be at the apartment alone."
I slipped my arms under his, pressing my cheek against his chest. The strong scent of whiskey assaulted my nose. I leaned back. "How many?"
"Just one, after work. It wasn't even my stash, it was Quinn's." He smiled and then shrugged when I didn't respond. "It's fucking cold out here."
I pulled out my keys. "Let's go home."
Josh opened the driver side door for me and swept his arm toward the seat. I smiled, sat, and then leaned across the seat to open his door.
He sat, rubbing his gloves together while I attempted to start the car. It whirred three times but didn't start.
"Shit," I groaned, slapping my palms against the steering wheel.
"Try it again. She's just cold. Don't pump the gas. Let her turn over a few times and then stomp it to the floor."
I did as Josh instructed, and the Dodge started right up, blasting icy air from the vents. I breathed out a sigh of relief and then turned to him, smiling. "Brilliant. You're brilliant."