“Yeah,” Will said, nodding, not bothering to mimic the formality. He didn’t have the energy for it, not today.
Not for almost a week.
It wasn’t, of course, a first to be walking these hospital corridors with Abraham, nor was it unusual for Will to be a mostly silent participant in Abraham’s airing of grievances. But it was a first to have very nearly planned for it, to have hung around the bay until he knew Abraham would basically kick him out. It was a first to be grateful for it, to be dreading the moment they got to the exit doors. Frankly, Will could’ve listened to Gerald Abraham talk all evening, so long as it gave him an excuse to stay here.
An excuse to avoid going home.
“Orthopedics,” Dr. Abraham was saying, “needs to review their practices. I plan to call the chief up there tomorrow.”
“Good idea,” Will said, even though he knew that guy, and it probably wasn’t a good idea. He had an ego as big as the entire state.
When they pushed open the door, the heat and humidity felt oppressive, miserable. But Will didn’t much mind that, either. He’d get on his bike, take the long way back to his place. He’d sweat until he was so tired that he’dhaveto sleep tonight.
In fact it is against common sense, he thought, but ignored it.
“Dr. Sterling,” Abraham said, right as Will was setting his helmet on his head. “I would like to make note of my concern for you.”
Will paused, a hand frozen on one of his chin straps. For the first time, he noticed that Abraham wasn’t wearing the white coat. It made sense, he guessed, since the man was leaving, but it still made Will blink in surprise.
“Uh,” he said, which was not an approach he typically took with his boss.
“I note, for example, that you have taken two extra shifts this week.”
“Dr. Barrett-Goldberg had to take two personal days,” he said, by way of explanation, even though it was a cheap one. The scheduler had those shifts covered weeks ago.
“I also note that during those shifts you worked longer than twelve hours and you are, in fact, over the appropriate limit for physicians in our department.”
“I’m off tomorrow.” A horrible thought. His stomach hurt when he considered it, all those hours free, and no hope of Nora. Even the clinic wasn’t an option; he’d maxed out his hours there, too.
“And this is to say nothing of your mood,” Abraham added, as though Will hadn’t spoken. “Sullen, is how I would characterize it.”
Maybe, on any other day, Will would have taken offense. But the truth was, sullen wasn’t the half of it.
He wasmiserable.
In hell, exactly as he’d predicted.
Because he’d messed up with Nora, and now she was gone.
He’d known it as it had been happening, had experienced it almost in slow motion, outside of himself. Fragments of it felt clear, acute: his mom’s handwriting, youthful even when she’d gotten older. Mrs. Salas’s fingers at the edge of that photograph, her nails pink and glossy. His parents’ faces—unlined, joyful, intense. Nora’s arms around his waist, her cheek against his chest, her hair against his chin. Her hand letting go of his.
But so much of the rest of it felt fuzzy, too fast. He’d seen that picture and it was like smashing straight into a brick wall of everything he was afraid of becoming. And then he’d told Nora he wasn’t looking for serious.
Ah, here was another crystal clear fragment: the look on her face when he’d said it. He was pretty sure his hiccupping heart had stopped right then and there, no matter that he was still standing here right now, relentlessly alive.
“I’ve had a rough few days,” he said to Abraham, which was a comically understated understatement. It was like mentioning your broken finger instead of your possible brain bleed. In fact, maybe he and that surgeon had something in common. After all, “splinting the finger” was a pretty apt metaphor for what efforts he’d made with Nora since she’d left him standing, still shell-shocked, in Donny’s apartment. A text before he’d left the building to see if she’d changed her mind about wanting to talk. A call the next morning, the day of her flight, which had gone to voice mail. When she’d texted him back a couple of hours later, her message had been brief, kind, tentative.Got your message. Hope you’re okay. Boarding flight. We’ll talk when I get back. Xo.
I love you,he’d wanted to reply, which couldn’t make any sense. Sending her a text like that when he’d all but sent her away the day before? Sending her a text like that when he was still reeling from the shock of having had the idea to type it out in the first place?
He’d writtenGood luckinstead, and then he’d spent the rest of the day absolutely kicking his own ass for it, much like Gerald Abraham planned to kick the figurative ass of the finger splinter.
The problem was, if what had happened between him and Nora was, basically, a brain bleed, he wasn’t even sure if he should try to fix it. What he was going through now—this sullenness, this hell—this was the reason he didn’t belong in something serious with Nora. This intensity, this recklessness, this selfishness—all of it, he should’ve stopped weeks ago. He’d taken it to a place with Nora he knew he wasn’t capable of seeing through, not in the way she wanted. Not in the way she deserved.
But damn, he missed her. Like a hole right in the center of himself, a loneliness unlike anything he’d ever felt, and given the way he’d lived his life, that was really saying something.
“I’d like to invite you to dinner,” Abraham said, and Will coughed, and then stared.
He couldn’t even manage a reply.
