Stepping to the side of the hallway, I call her back. She answers on the first ring, her voice low and urgent, “Bea?”
“It’s me,” I reply. Though really, who else would be calling her from my number, only minutes after she left me a message? “What’s going on?”
“I…” She stops. “Can you meet? Tonight?”
“Sure. I’m almost done. Do you want to meet at Calliope’s?”
Calliope’s is the go-to restaurant for a lot of people who work here. It has sandwiches the size of my head, enormous chocolate chip cookies that total my calorie allotment for the day, and the servers all know us there, so they never try to rush us out.
While I wait for Jenna to respond, I mentally reshuffle my evening. It won’t be the quiet night I had planned, eating stir-fry or sushi while camped in front of the TV watching the newest episode ofTop Chef, followed by a quick FaceTime chat with my college friends before bed. Instead, I’ll be camped at a booth at Calliope’s while Jenna unburdens herself.
Which I don’t mind, really. While Jenna isn’t one of my closest friends—that honor goes to Aidy and Fiona, who were my sophomore year roommates at the University of Pittsburgh—I still like her a lot. And out of the people I work with here at the VA hospital, she’s one of my favorites.
So if she’s having boyfriend trouble, there’s no question of me being there for her.
“No,” Jenna finally answers. “Not Calliope’s. It needs to be private.”
Oh.
My stomach sinks.
What could she want to talk about that can’t be done at Calliope’s?
Unless… Did he break up with her? Is that why? If she’s upset, crying, she might not want other people from work to see her there.
I start moving again, heading back down the hallway towards the office I share with two other PTs, Hailey and Jonas. I needto grab my purse from my desk, plus the coat I wore on my walk here, because even though the DC area is warmer than what I grew up with in Pittsburgh, the temperatures in January can still dip below freezing.
“Okay, no Calliope’s,” I say. “Where do you want to meet?”
Jenna lets out a shaky sigh. “The locker room. On the second floor. I’m there now, and it’s quiet.”
“Okay.” I put on my most reassuring tone, the one I use with my patients when they’re really struggling. “Give me ten, fifteen minutes. I need to update some files first. But then I’ll head right there.”
“Okay,” she replies, “I’ll be here.” And then, just before the call ends, “Thanks, Bea.”
Since I’m almost to my office, I pick up my pace as I close the final distance to it, then hurry inside and shut the door behind me. Hailey’s at her desk, her head down and attention glued to something on her laptop. As the door clicks shut, she lifts her head and turns towards me.
“Hey, Bea,” she says with a smile. “How’s it going?”
“I’m good,” I reply. “How are you?” Sinking into my chair, I pull my lanyard from around my neck and locate the tiny key that unlocks the bottom drawer of my desk. Then I open the drawer to retrieve my purse and drop my phone inside it.
I look at my laptop bag, torn by indecision. I have a few files to update, like I told Jenna. I’d prefer to finish my work here rather than do it from home later, although I could if I wanted to. It’s just that I like keeping my little apartment slash sanctuary separate from work as much as I can.
But if Jenna needs me…
She doesn’t have close friends like I do. Homeschooled until she graduated from high school, she had a harder time making friends in college and afterwards. Not that she isn’t nice, but making friends doesn’t come naturally to her. Which I get. If notfor lucking into a three-person suite sophomore year with Fiona and Aidy, I might have ended up the same way.
So if she doesn’t have someone else to talk to about Greg—assuming he’s the problem, which is my best guess—I hate making her wait.
“Something wrong?” Hailey asks. Concern clouds her features. “You look upset.”
“Oh, no.” I work my mouth into a smile. “Just thinking, really.”
“About what you’re making for dinner?” She grins. “Are you making some ridiculously fancy meal that would cost a fortune at an actual restaurant?”
“Hardly. And it’s not like I’m an expert chef or anything. I just enjoy cooking.”
I glance at my laptop again. It’s just sitting there, visible through the open zipper of the case, silently reminding me of the work I still need to complete.
