A nurse walks up and nods to me. “She’s been stable, Dr. Carlton. She and her mom both fell asleep shortly after you left.”
I study Melissa carefully. She used to struggle with insomnia, and something about her breathing makes me doubt that she’s asleep. But if she really is asleep, it would be cruel to wake her up, so I thank the nurse and leave.
Dr. Markland promised to call me if Claire had any problems, so there’s no reason I shouldn’t try to sleep myself. I climb the stairs to the call rooms and claim an empty one, but as soon as I stretch out on the bed, I realize I’m way too wired to sleep.
So I head down the hall to the doctors’ lounge. The lounge is empty—not surprising, since it’s after ten P.M.—and smells of stale sweat and burnt popcorn, which isn’t surprising either. I rotated through a lot of hospitals in residency, and every doctors’ lounge smelled the same.
I consider going back to the parking lot to sit in Melissa’s car, which smells faintly of citrus and ofher. I still have her keys, so there’s no reason I couldn’t, except . . .
I operated on Melissa’s daughter yesterday. She said we’re ancient history. When she broke up with me ten years ago, she did itover the phone.
I give my head a shake, hoping to shake Melissa out of it.
I turn on the TV, but there’s nothing I want to watch. Although the hospital sprang for a flatscreen TV, they’re too cheap to pay for Netflix.
There are a couple of books tucked on the shelf under the coffee table, and I pull them out. A Grisham book, which I’ve already read and enjoyed, and a Harlequin historical romance that looks like it’s from the nineties. Maybe the eighties. The cover boasts a shirtless man kissing a blonde with an impossibly tiny waist and improbably large skirts. I’d love to know which of my colleagues abandoned this little gem, but I’m sure no one would admit to it.
And then my brain floats back to Melissa. After everything that’s happened tonight, there’s no way she’s asleep. I pull out my phone and shoot off a text, asking if she’s awake.
Her reply zings back five seconds later.
Melissa: Yeah.
Me: All good with Liam. Sound asleep in the guest bedroom.
Melissa: Thanks. Troy’s driving back tomorrow morning, so one of us can pick Liam up.
Me: Great.
The good thing about texting is that she won’t know I’m being sarcastic. I could do without seeing Troy Thompson again, but I guess Melissa had to call him.
Me: Claire okay?
Melissa: Seems to be. Sleeping now.
Me: How’s Claire’s mom?
Melissa: Okay.
Me: Not sleeping, though.
Melissa: No
Me: Put your earbuds in.
Melissa: ??
Me: I’m gonna call you. I’ll do all the talking, so you don’t wake Claire up.
Melissa: Okay
Me: Earbuds in?
Melissa: Yeah.
I hit the button to call her, and she answers immediately, her voice a whisper. “Is something wrong, Luke?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I called to talk you to sleep. Set your sleep timer to turn off your phone in half an hour. If you’re still awake, you can turn it back on and text me, and we’ll keep going.”
