“I only did it because I thought—well, I thought things were different with me and Russell. And they’re not. So, I’m going to need a job to make sure we don’t get evicted.”
“Don’t you dare go begging to them,” Ettie growls, “We will figure it out. And don’t tell me you don’t need my help, either. We’re afamily, Jules, whether you like it or not. And I wouldneverlet my sister go back to a shit job like that. So, I’m not letting you, either.”
“You don’t have a sister.”
“Not a biological one,” Ettie says, quirking an eyebrow at me, giving me a tentative smile. “I can loan you money until you’re on your feet again. I know you would do it for me.”
She’s right. I would.
I bite my tongue, a strange surge of hope breaking through the pretty solid sorrow. Behind Ettie, Gus and Dawson breakinto peals of laughter on the bed, and I can’t stop the smile that breaks over my face.
I’m missing Russell, and I know it will be a long time before that feeling goes away. But I’m not alone.
Ettie is right—I have my family here with me. And for now, it’s enough.
Chapter 33
Russell
I’ve got two kids with the flu, one sniffling teenager who more than likely has mono, and an older woman with aches in her knees. Two rapid labs are ready, and the line to the clinic is still stretching out the door.
I move from bay to bay, wishing we could give every person in here more. That we could have more time, more supplies, more money. That we could give them more than flimsy curtains between them and everyone else while they hear their diagnosis.
But in two weeks, we’re not going to have a clinic at all.
Part of the reason it’s so busy is because news has gotten around that it’s closing, and many of the people here are trying to take advantage of their last shot at medical care. Last week, we had to place an emergency order for vaccines and flu shots, and I personally paid for emergency kits we’re sending people home with, to try and bridge the tiniest amount of the gap this place will leave behind.
Other doctors might be annoyed at a Friday afternoon and early evening spent at the clinic, working for free and toiling under the weight of this many patients, but I’m glad for the distraction.
Every second I’m not occupied is one that I might give in and text her. That I might sayfuck itand order the DNA test I know is going to come back with a result that I don’t want to see.
I’m screwed either way. If I don’t do the test, Jules is pissed at me. If I do the test, I have to live through what happened with Margot all over again.
So, it’s better not to think about it. To throw myself into my work and let it consume me.
The cases are fairly simple, and I move through them, doing my best to plaster over my sour mood with a smile on my face. These people are already going through enough without a shit-head doctor dampening their moods.
For hours, I work until the people dwindle and eventually it’s time to close. There are a few technicians and custodial staff on hand to help with the cleanup, but I stay, too, helping them to pack up supplies and clean down beds.
“Really, Dr. Burch,” one of them says, after an hour of me avoiding their prompts for me to go home. “You’ve done enough.”
“It’s all good, Vera. I have nothing better to do tonight anyway.”
“Oh, is thatso?” a familiar deep voice asks from the doorway. “Cause I’ve got two tickets to a game tonight and only one ass to fill the seats.”
“Dr. Hendrix!” Vera says, her face brightening, and I grimace before turning around. I’ve been dodging Orie’s texts all week. I should have known he would catch up with me sooner or later, and considering the fact that he volunteers at the clinic too, it’s not surprising that he figured out where I’d be tonight.
“Good to see you Vera,” Orie says, and I realize he’s wearing a Blue Crabs jersey, leaning against the wall, and giving me areally?look. “Sorry, but I need to steal Dr. Burch.”
“Please,” Vera says, waving her hands in ashoogesture. “Get him out of here. The man is going to work himself to death!”
“Tell me about it,” Orie mutters, which makes Vera laugh, and within a tidy ten minutes I’m forced out of my own clinic and buckled into Orie’s car, heading away from downtown and toward the United Center to see the Chicago Blackhawks play the Baltimore Blue Crabs.
“Admit that you’re enjoying this,” Orie says, tipping his head back and throwing a piece of popcorn in. It annoys me that he never misses when he does that.
“Fine,” I grumble, because I’d be lying if I said otherwise. Over the course of the past two months, I’d forgotten how much I enjoy going to hockey games. It was one of the few things my father and I actually had in common—aside from medicine, which was obviously its own bag of worms—so I’ve avoided it since he passed.
Since it happened, I’ve tried to tell myself that when he finally passed, it felt like a relief. After all that waiting—going through the chemo and years of hanging on—he could be at peace. I try to convince myself that I did all the grieving before he died, or that the man was such a pain in my ass that I don’t need to grieve at all.
