“How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.” She sniffed.
I grabbed a tissue from her bedside table and handed it to her. She wiped her nose, then beneath her eyes.
“Do you want some company?” I didn’t want to intrude if she wanted to be alone, but I also didn’t want her to feel alone.
Hospice care was so much more than just making sure a patient was physically comfortable. It was also my job to make sure that I was there when they needed emotional support.
She nodded and I lowered down beside her on the window seat.
“If you want to talk, I’m here. But if you’d rather not, I’m still here.”
Moisture pooled in her eyes. “I know that I should be grateful to Nick for doing all this and I am. I am so grateful to be here and not in the infirmary.” Two large teardrops slid down her cheeks as she took in a labored breath. She wheezed loudly as she exhaled. “But I thought…I hoped…I hoped that he’d…not forgive me. I know that’s too much, but I don’t know. I thought he might…talk to me.”
Her body shook as she stared out the window.
I reached out and held her hand, hoping that my touch would bring her some comfort because there were no words I could say, that would. Out of all the families I’d worked with, I’d have to say that this situation was one of the more unique cases. It was delicate, and complicated.
Guilt and shame washed over me for the hours I’d spent thinking about Nick. Our time at the hotel. Him friend-zoning me. All of it was ridiculous.
Naomi was dying and she had unfinished business with her son. I wasn’t here to play house. I was here to do my job. And my job was not obsessing over Nick Locke.
