* * *
To: Erin Walsh
From: Nick Acevedo
Date: November 23
Subject: Do not get arrested
No sneaking onto airplanes, wife. I want you back here, but not because an Air Marshall found you in a cargo hold and you're being repatriated. You're tough, but not the kind of tough required for federal prison.
* * *
"Goddamn cuntsucking bullshit blizzard,"she yelled. I had to hold my phone away from my ear.
"Slow down, Skip," I said. I was jogging downstairs, on my way to meet my first-year residents in the emergency room to weigh in on a new case. "What's going on?"
"My motherfucking flight's been cancelled," she said. There was a sniffle, too, one that sounded like she'd been crying.
"It's fine," I said, attempting some calm in this conversation. "You can get another flight."
"The airport's been closed," she said. "There are no other flights."
"Okay, okay, what about…" I came to a stop at the ground floor and leaned against the stairwell wall as I searched my mind for alternatives. I had nothing, just a mental montage of theMission: ImpossibleandTakenmovies. None of that was going to work in this situation, and I was no Liam Neeson.
"Nick," she said, her voice soft and sad. "I'm not coming."
My head dropped back and bumped the cinderblock wall as I sighed. This wasn't just a weekend with Erin. This was the weekend when everything was going to change for us, and now…fuck. It was fucked. "The storm will pass," I said, desperate now as I felt it slipping away like sand through my fingers. "The airport will reopen. What about later in the week?"
"They're saying everything will be shut down until Friday morning. Even if I was able to get the first flight outandit was going directly to Boston, I'd be turning right back around. I was going to give you an early birthday blowjob, too."
My pager vibrated on my hip. "I'm so sorry, Skip. I have to get to the ER," I said, choking down my frustration. We couldn't lose this weekend. Not when she had a jam-packed calendar this winter, and I was leaving for Kenya in February, and even the most liberal reading of our schedules had us on different continents straight through the summer. "Go back to your apartment. I don't care how many mountains and glaciers you've climbed, I don't want you out in the middle of a blizzard. I'll call you tonight."
"This one isn't even my fault," she murmured, and there would never be a time when the vulnerability in her voice wouldn't cut right through me. "The one time I was ready to go home, and I get an extratropical cyclone thrown at me."
"This changes nothing. You're still ready." My pager buzzed again. "I'm sorry, darlin'. My residents need me," I said, groaning. "If I leave them alone long, they interpret it as permission to perform procedures without me, and that's not good for anyone."
"Okay," she said. "But this storm? If I believed in anything, I'd tell you it's a sign that this was a terrible idea. That I shouldn't go home, that we shouldn't tell them that we're together, that everything I touch turns terrible."
"Stop. That's bullshit. Go home, lovely. Stay warm, and we'll talk later," I said. "And don't tell me you don't believe in anything. You believe ineverything, and that's only one of the reasons I love you."
I hung up before Erin could argue with me, and sprinted toward the emergency room. I wasn't going to listen to her telling me that I was wrong, that I didn't understand how she couldn't be loved, but I couldn't bear to hear her say it back either.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Erin
To: Erin Walsh
From: Samuel Walsh
Date: December 3
Subject: Looking ahead
Hey, Erin,
I want to talk to you about two things, both of which are top secret.
